 Section 5, Volume 1, Chapter 2, Plan and Preparations, Part 2 Before I proceed to our further equipment, I must say a few more words about the dogs. The greatest difference between Scots and my equipment lay undoubtedly in our choice of draft animals. We had heard that Scot, relying on his own experience and that of Shackleton, had come to the conclusion that Manchurian ponies were superior to dogs in the barrier. Among those who were acquainted with the Eskimo dog, I do not suppose I was the only one who was startled on first hearing this. Afterwards, as I read the different narratives, and was able to form an accurate opinion of the conditions of surface and going, my astonishment became even greater. Although I had never seen this part of the Antarctic regions, I was not long informing an opinion diametrically opposed to that of Shackleton and Scot, for the conditions both of going and surface were precisely what one would desire for sledging with Eskimo dogs to judge from the descriptions of these explorers. If Peary could make a record trip on the arctic with ice dogs, one ought surely with equally good tackle to be able to beat Peary's record on the splendidly even surface of the barrier. There must be some misunderstanding or rather at the bottom of the Englishman's estimate of the Eskimo's dog utility in the polar regions. Can it be that the dog has not understood his master, or is it the master who has not understood his dog? The right footing must be established from the outset. The dog must understand that he has to obey in everything, and the master must know how to make himself respected. If obedience is once established, I am convinced that the dog will be superior to all other draught animals over these long distances. Another very important reason for using the dog is that this small creature can much more easily cross the numerous slight snow-bridges that are not to be avoided on the barrier and on the glaciers. If a dog falls into a crevice, there is no great harm done—a target is harnessed and he is out again. But it is another matter with a pony. This comparatively large and heavy animal, of course, falls through far more easily, and if this happens, it is a long and stiff job to get the beast hauled up again. Unless indeed the traces have broken and the pony lies at the bottom of a crevice one thousand feet deep. And then there is the obvious advantage that the dog can be fed on dog. One can reduce one's pack little by little, slaughtering the feebler ones and feeding the chosen with them. In this way they get fresh meat. Our dogs lived on dogs flesh and pemmican the whole way, and this enabled them to do splendid work. And if we ourselves wanted a piece of fresh meat we could cut off a delicate little fillet. It tasted to us as good as the best beef. The dogs do not object at all. As long as they get their share they do not mind what part of their comrades' carcass it comes from. All that was left after one of these canine meals was the teeth of the victim. If it had been a really hard day these also disappeared. If we take a step further from the barrier to the plateau it would seem that every doubt of the dog's superiority must disappear. Not only can one get the dogs up over the huge glaciers that lead to the plateau, but one can make full use of them the whole way. Ponies on the other hand have to be left at the foot of the glacier while the men themselves have the doubtful pleasure of acting as ponies. As I understand Shackleton's account there can be no question of hauling the ponies over the steep and crevice glaciers. It must be rather hard to have to abandon one's motive power voluntarily when only a quarter of the distance has been covered. I for my part prefer to use it all the way. From the very beginning I saw that the first part of our expedition from Norway to the barrier would be the most dangerous section. If we could only reach the barrier with our dogs safe and well the future would be bright enough. Fortunately all my comrades took the same view of the matter, and with their cooperation we succeeded not only in bringing the dogs safely to our field of operations, but in landing them in far better condition than we had received them. Their number was also considerably increased on the way, which seems to be another proof of a flourishing state of things. To protect them against damp and heat we laid a loose deck of planed boards about three inches above the fixed deck, an arrangement by which all the rain and spray ran underneath the dogs. In this way we kept them out of the water, which must always be running from side to side on the deck of a deep laden vessel on her way to the Antarctic Ocean. Going through the tropics this loose deck did double service. It always afforded a somewhat cool surface, as there was a fresh current of air between the two decks. The main deck, which was black with tar, would have been unbearably hot for the animals. The false deck was high and kept fairly white during the whole voyage. We carried awnings in addition, chiefly on account of the dogs. These awnings could be stretched over the whole vessel and give the dogs constant protection from the burning sun. I still cannot help smiling when I think of the compassionate voices that were raised here and there, and even made their way into print about the cruelty to animals on board the Fram. Presumably these cries came from tender-hearted individuals who themselves kept watch dogs tied up. Besides our four-footed companions, we took with us a two-footed one, not so much on account of the serious work on the polar regions as for pleasant entertainment on the way. This was our canary, Fridjof. It was one of the many presents made to the expedition, and not the least welcome of them. It began to sing as soon as it came on board, and has now kept it going on two circumnavigations through the most inhospitable waters of the earth. It probably holds the record as a polar traveller among its kind. Later on we had a considerable collection of various families, pigs, fowls, sheep, cats, and rats. Yes, unfortunately we knew what it was to have rats on board, the most repulsive of all creatures, and the worst vermin I know of. But we have declared war against them, and oft they shall go before the Fram starts on her next voyage. We got them in bonus eras, and the best thing will be to bury them in their native land. On account of the rather straightened circumstances the expedition had to contend with, I had to look twice at every shelling before I spent it. Articles of clothing are an important factor in a polar expedition, and I consider it necessary that the expedition should provide each of its members with the actual polar clothing. If one left this part of the equipment to each individual, I'm afraid things would look badly before the journey was done. I must admit that there was some temptation to do this. It would have been very much cheaper if I had simply given each man a list of what clothes he was required to provide for himself. But by so doing I should have missed the opportunity of personally supervising the quality of the clothing to the extent I desired. It was not an outfit that cut a dash by its appearance, but it was warm and strong. From the commiserate stores at Horton I obtained many excellent articles. I owe Captain Pedersen, the present chief of the commiserate department, my heartiest thanks for the courtesy he has always showed me when I came to get things out of him. Through him I had about two hundred blankets served out to me. Now the reader must not imagine a bed and bedding, such as he may see exhibited in the windows of furniture shops with thick white blankets so delicate that in spite of their thickness they look as if they might float away of their own accord. So light and fine do they appear. It was not blankets like these that Captain Pedersen gave us. We should not have known what to do with them if he had. The blankets the commiserate gave us were of an entirely different sort. As to their colour, well I can only call it indeterminable. And they did not give one the impression that they would float away either if one let go of them. No, they would keep on the ground right enough. They were felted and pressed together into a thick hard mass. From the dawn of time they had served our brave warriors at sea, and it is by no means impossible that some of them had gruesome stories to tell of the days of a torgence called. The first thing I did on untabling possession of these treasures was to get them into the dying vat. They were unrecognisable when we got them back, in ultramarine blue or whatever it is called. The metamorphosis was complete, their warlike past was wiped out. My intention was to have these two hundred blankets made into polar clothing, and I took counsel with myself how I might get this done. To disclose the origin of the stuff would be an unfortunate policy. No tailor in the world would make clothes out of old blankets. I was pretty sure of that. I had to hit upon some stratagem. I heard of a man who was a capable worker at his trade and asked him to come and see me. My office looked exactly like a woolen warehouse with blankets everywhere. The tailor arrived. Was that the stuff? Yes, that was it, just imported from abroad, a great bargain, a lot of samples, dirt cheap. I had put on my most innocent and unconcerned expression. I saw the tailor glance at me sideways. I suppose he thought the samples were rather large. A closely woven stuff, said he, holding it up to the light. I could almost swear it was felted. We went carefully through every single sample and took the number. It was a long and tedious business, and I was glad when I saw that at last we were nearing the end. Over in a corner there lay a few more. We had reached the one hundred and ninety-third, so there could not be many in the pile. I was occupied with something else, and the tailor went through the remainder by himself. I was just congratulating myself on the apparently fortunate result of the morning's work, when I was startled by an exclamation from the man in the corner. It sounded like the bellow of a mad bull. Alas, there stood the tailor, enveloped in ultraminarine, and swinging over his head a blanket, the cholera changing of which left no doubt as to the origin of the directly imported goods. With a look of thunder the man quitted me, and I sank in black despair. I never saw him again. The fact was that in my hurry I had forgotten the sample blanket that Captain Pedersen had sent me. That was the cause of the catastrophe. Well, I finally succeeded in getting the work executed, and it is certain that no expedition has ever had warmer and stronger clothing than this. It was a great favour on board. I also thought it best to provide good oil skins and especially good sea boots for every man. The sea boots were therefore made to measure, and of the very best material. I had them made by the firm I have always regarded as the best in that branch. How then shall I describe our grief when, on the day we were to wear our beautiful sea boots, we discovered that most of them were useless. Some of the men could dance a hornpipe in theirs without taking the boots off their deck. Others, by exerting all their strength, could not squeeze their foot through the narrow way and reach paradise. The leg was so narrow that even the most delicate little foot could not get through it. And to make up for this, the foot of the boot was so huge that it could comfortably accommodate twice as much as its owner could show. Very few were able to wear their boots. We tried changing, but that was no use. The boots were not made for any creatures of this planet. But sailors are sailors wherever they may be, and it is not easy to beat them. Most of them knew the proverb that one pair of boots that fit is better than 10 pairs that you can't put on, and had brought their own with them. And so we got out of that difficulty. We took three sets of linen underclothing for every man to wear in the warm regions. This part of the equipment was left to each individual. Most men possess a few old shirts, and not much more is wanted through the tropics. For the cold regions, there were two sets of extra thick woolen underclothing, two thick-haired knitted woolen jerseys, six pairs of knitted stockings, Iceland and other lighter jackets, socks, and stockings from the penitentiary. Besides these, we had a quantity of clothing from the army depots. I owe many thanks to General Kilho for the kind way in which he fell in with all my wishes. From this quarter we obtained outer clothing for cold and warm climates, underclothes, boots, shoes, wind clothing, and cloths of different kinds. As the last item of our personal equipment, I may mention that each man had a suit of seal skin from Greenland. Then there were such things as darning wool, sewing yarn, needles of all possible sizes, buttons, scissors, tapes, broad and narrow, black and white, blue and red. I may safely assert that nothing was forgotten. We were well and amply equipped in every way. Another side of our preparations, which claimed some attention, was the fitting up of the quarters we were to inhabit, the saloons and the cabins. What an immense difference it makes if one lives in comfortable surroundings. For my part, I can do twice the amount of work when I see tidiness and comfort around me. The saloons on the frown were very handsomely and tastefully fitted. Here we owe, in the first place, our respectful thanks to King Hakon and Queen Maude for the photographs they presented to us. They were the most precious of our gifts. The ladies of Horton gave us a number of pretty things for decorating the cabins, and they will no doubt be glad to hear of the admiration they aroused wherever we went. Is this really a hollership, people asked? We expected to see nothing but wooden benches and bare walls, and they began to talk about board wires and that sort of thing. Besides splendid embroideries, our walls were decorated with the most wonderful photographs. It would have rejoiced the giver of these to hear all the words of praise that have been bestowed upon them. The sleeping quarters I left to individual taste. Every man could take a bit of his home in his own little compartment. The bed clothes came from the naval factory at Horton. They were first-class work, like everything else that came from there. We owe our best thanks to the giver of the soft blankets that have so often been our joy, and put warmth into us after a bitter day. They came from a woollen mill in Troncham. I must also mention our paper supplier, which was, in all respects, as fine and elegant as it could possibly be. The most exquisite note paper stamped with a picture of the Fram and the name of the expedition, in large and small size, broad and narrow, old-style and new-style, every kind of note paper, in fact, of pens and pen holders, pencils, black and coloured, India rubber, Indian ink, drawing pins, and other kinds of pins, ink and ink powder, white chalk and red chalk, gum Arabic and other gums, date holders, and almanacs, ship slogs and private diaries, notebooks and sledging diaries, and many other things of the same sort. We have such a stock that we shall be able to circumnavigate the earth several times more before running short. This gift does honour to the firm which sent it. Every time I have sent a letter or written in my diary, I have had a grateful thought for the givers. From one of the largest houses in Christiana, we had a complete set of kitchen utensils and breakfast and dinner services of all the best kind, the cups, plates, knives, forks, spoons, jugs, glasses, et cetera, were all marked with the ship's name. We carried an extraordinary copious library. Presence of books were shelled upon us in great quantities. I suppose the Fram's library at the present moment contains at least 3,000 volumes. For our entertainment, we also had a good many different games. One of these became our favourite pastime in leisure evenings down in the south. Packs of cards we had by the dozen, and many of them have already been well used. A gramophone, with a large supply of records, was, I think, our best friend. Of musical instruments, we had a piano, a violin, a flute, mandolins, not forgetting a mouth organ and an accordion. All the publishers had been kind enough to send us music so that we could cultivate this art as much as we wished. Christmas presents streamed in from all sides. I suppose we had about 500 on board. Christmas trees and decorations for them, with many other things to amuse us at Christmas, were sent with us by friends and acquaintances. People have indeed been kind to us, and I can assure the givers that all their presents have been and are still much appreciated. We were well supplied with wines and spirits thanks to one of the largest firms of wine merchants in Christiana. An occasional glass of wine or a tot of spirits were things that we all, without exception, were very glad of. The question of alcohol on polar expeditions has often been discussed. Personally, I regard alcohol used in moderation as a medicine in the polar regions. I mean, of course, so long as one is in winter quarters. It is another matter on sledge journeys. There we all know from experience that alcohol must be banished. Not because a drink of spirits can do any harm, but on account of the weight and space. On sledgeing journeys one has, of course, to save weight as much as possible, and to take only what is strictly necessary. And I do not include alcohol under the head of strictly necessary things. Alcohol was the only in winter quarters that we had used for alcohol, but also on the long monotonous voyage through raw, cold and stormy regions. A tot of spirits is often a very good thing when one goes below after a bitter watch on deck and is just turning in. A total abstainer will no doubt turn up his nose and ask whether a cup of good warm coffee would not do as well. For my part, I think the quantity of coffee people pour into themselves at such times is far more harmful than a little ice-home of snaps. And think of the important part, a glass of wine or toddy plays in social gatherings on such a voyage. Two men have fallen out a little in the course of the week. I reconciled at once by the scent of rum. The past is forgiven, and they start a fresh and friendly cooperation. Take alcohol away from these little festivities, and you will soon see the difference. It is a sad thing. Someone will say that men absolutely must have alcohol to put them in a good humour. And I am quite ready to agree. But seeing that our nature is what it is, we must try to make the best of it. It seems as though we civilised human beings must have stimulating drinks. And that being so, we have to follow our own convictions. I am for a glass of toddy. Let who will eat plum cake and swill hot coffee. Heartburn and other troubles are often the result of this kind of refreshment. A little toddy doesn't hurt anybody. The consumption of alcohol on the Fram's third voyage was as follows. One dram and 15 drops at dinner on Wednesdays and Sundays, and a glass of toddy on Saturday evenings. On holidays there was an additional allowance. We were all well supplied with tobacco and cigars from various firms at home and abroad. We had enough cigars to allow us one each on Saturday evenings and after dinner on Sundays. Two Christiana manufacturers sent us their finest bonbons and drops, and a foreign firm gave us gala pita, so that it was no rare thing to see the polar explorers helping themselves to a sweet meat or a piece of chocolate. An establishment at Drammen gave us as much fruit syrup as we could drink. And if the giver only knew how many times we blessed the excellent product he supplied, I am sure he would be pleased. On the homewood march from the pole we looked forward every day to getting nearer to our supply of syrup. From three different firms in Christiana we received all our requirements in the way of cheese, biscuits, tea, sugar, and coffee. The packing of the last name was so efficient that although the coffee was roasted, it is still as fresh and aromatic as the day it left the warehouse. Another firm sent us soap enough for five years, and one uses a good deal of that commodity even on a polar voyage. A man in Christiana had seen to the care of our skin, hair, and teeth, and it is not his fault if we have not delicate skin's abundant growth of hair and teeth like pearls, for the outfit was certainly complete enough. An important item of the equipment is the medical department, and here my advisers were Dr. Jacob Role and Dr. Holt. Therefore nothing was wanting. A chemist in Christiana supplied all the necessary medicines as a contribution, carefully chosen, and beautifully arranged. Unfortunately no doctor accompanied the expedition so that I was obliged to take all the responsibility myself. Lieutenant Jertson, who had a pronounced aptitude both for drawing teeth and amputating legs, went through a lightning course at the hospital and the dental hospital. He clearly showed that much may be learned in a short time by giving one's mind to it. With surprising rapidity and apparent confidence Lieutenant Jertson disposed of the most complicated cases, whether invariably to the patient's advantage is another question which I shall leave undecided. He drew teeth with a dexterity that strongly reminded one of the conjure's art. One moment he showed an empty pair of faucets, the next there was a big molar in their grip. The yells one heard while the operation was in progress seemed to indicate that it was not entirely painless. A match factory gave us all the safety matches we wanted. They were packed so securely that we could quite well have towed the cases after us in the sea all the way and found the matches perfectly dry on arrival. We had a quantity of ammunition and explosives. As the whole of the lower hold was full of petroleum the Fram had a rather dangerous cargo on board. We therefore took all possible precautions against fire. Extinguishing apparatus was fitted in every cabin and were ever practical and pumps with hose were always in readiness on deck. The necessary ice tools such as saws from two to six meters long, ice drills, et cetera, were not forgotten. We had a number of scientific instruments with us. Professors Nansen and Helen Hansen had devoted many an hour to our oceanographical equipment which was therefore a model of what such an equipment should be. Lieutenant's Prestrad and Jertzen had both gone through the necessary course in oceanography under Helen Hansen at the Bergen Biological Station. I myself had spent a summer there and taken part in one of the oceanographical courses. Professor Helen Hansen was a brilliant teacher. I'm afraid I cannot assert that I was an equally brilliant pupil. Professor Mon had given us a complete meteorological outfit. Among the instruments belonging to the Fram, I may mention a pendulum apparatus, an excellent astronomical theodolite, and a sextant. Lieutenant Prestrad studied the use of the pendulum apparatus under Professor Schultz and the use of the astromanical theodite under Professor Juhlmeiden. We had an additional several sextants and artificial horizons, both glass and mercury. We had binoculars of all sizes, from the largest to the smallest. End of Section 5. Recording by Martina Sydney, Australia. Section 6 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 Jer Folly Beach, South Carolina. The South Pole by Roald Amundsen. Translation by A. G. Carter. Section 6, Volume 1, Chapter 2. Plan and Preparations, Part 3. So far I have been dealing with our general outfit and shall now pass to the special equipment of the shore party. The hut we took out was built on my property in Bundefjord, so that I was able to watch the work as it progressed. It was built by the brothers Hans and Jorgen Stuberud and was throughout a splendid piece of work, which did honor to both the brothers. The materials prove excellent in every way. The hut was 26 feet long by 13 feet wide. Its height from the floor to the ridge of the roof was about 12 feet. It was built as an ordinary Norwegian house with pointed gable and had two rooms. One of these was 19.5 feet long and was to serve as our dormitory, dining room and sitting room. The other room was 6.5 feet long and was to be Lindstrom's kitchen. From the kitchen a double trap door led to the loft where we intended to keep a quantity of provisions and outfit. The walls consisted of three inch planks with airspaces between, panels outside and inside with airspaces between them and the plank walling. For insulation we used cellulose pulp. The floor and the ceiling between the rooms and the loft were double while the upper room was single. The doors were extraordinarily thick and strong and fitted into oblique grooves so that they closed very tightly. There were two windows, a triple one in the end wall of the main room and a double one in the kitchen. For the covering of the roof we took out roofing paper and for the floor linoleum. In the main room there were two air pipes, one to admit fresh air and the other for the exhaust. There were bunks for ten men in two stages, six on one wall and four on the other. The furniture of the room consisted of a table, a stool for each man and a luxe lamp. One half of the kitchen was occupied by the range, the other by shelves and cooking utensils. The hut was tarred several times and every part was carefully marked so that it could easily be set up. To fasten it to the ground and prevent the Antarctic storms from blowing it away I had strong eye bolts screwed into each end of the roof ridge and the four corners of the roof. We carried six strong eye bolts a meter long to be rammed into the barrier between these bolts and those on the hut. Steel wires were to be stretched which could be drawn quite tight. We also had two spare cables which could be stretched over the roof if the gales were too severe. The two ventilating pipes and the chimney were secured outside with strong stays. As will be seen every precaution was taken to make the hut warm and comfortable and to hold it down on the ground. We also took on board a quantity of loose timber, boards and planks. Besides the hut we took with us fifteen tents for sixteen men each. Ten of these were old but good. They were served out to us from the naval stores. The other five were new and we bought them from the army depots. It was our intention to use the tents as temporary houses. They were easily and quickly set up and were strong and warm. On the voyage to the south Rhone sowed new floors of good strong canvas to the five new tents. All cases of provisions that were intended for winter quarters were marked and stowed separately in the hold in such a way that they could be put out on the ice at once. We had ten sledges made by a firm of sporting outfitters in Cristiana. They were built like the old Nansen sledges but rather broader and were twelve feet long. The runners were of the best American hickory shod with steel. The other parts were of good tough Norwegian ash. To each sledge belonged a pair of spare runners which could easily be fitted underneath by means of clamps and as easily removed were not required. The steel shewing of the runners was well coated with red lead and the spare runners with tar. These sledges were extremely strongly built and could stand all kinds of work on every sort of surface. At that time I did not know the conditions on the barrier as I afterwards came to know them. Of course these sledges were very heavy. We took 20 pairs of ski, all of the finest hickory. They were eight feet long and proportionately narrow. I chose them of this length with a view to being able to cross the numerous cracks in the glaciers. The greater the surface over which the weight could be distributed, the better prospect we should have of slipping over the snow bridges. We had forty ski poles with ebonite points. The ski bindings were a combination of the Hoodfeld and the Hoyer-Elefson bindings. We also had quantities of loose straps. We had six three-man tents all made in the Navy workshops. The workmanship could not have been better. They were the strongest and most practical tents that have ever been used. They were made of the closest canvas with the floor in one piece. One man was sufficient to set up the tent in the stiffest breeze. I have come to the conclusion that the fewer poles a tent has, the easier it is to set up, which seems quite natural. These tents have only one pole. How often one reads in narratives of polar travel that it took such and such a time, often hours, to set up the tent, and then, when at last it was up, one lay expecting it to be blown down at any moment. There was no question of this with our tents. They were up in a twinkling and stood against all kinds of wind. We could lie securely in our sleeping bags and let it blow. The arrangement of the door was on the usual sack principle, which is now recognized as the only serviceable one for the polar regions. The sack patent is quite simple, like all patents that are any good. Not a particle of snow can get into a tent with this floor sewed on, and an entrance of this kind, even in the worst storm. The cases for sledging provisions were made of fairly thin, tough ash, which came from the estate of Palsgaard in Yutland, and the material did all it promised. These cases were one foot square and fifteen and a half inches high. They had only a little round opening on the top, closed with an aluminum lid, which fitted exactly like the lid of a milk can. Large lids weaken the cases, and I had therefore chosen this form. We did not have to throw off the lashing of the case to get the lid off, and this is a very great advantage. We could always get at it. A case with a large lid, covered by the lashing, gives constant trouble. The whole lashing has to be undone for every little thing one wants out of the case. This is not always convenient. If one is tired and slack, it may sometimes happen that one will put off till tomorrow what ought to be done today, especially when it is bitterly cold. The handier one sledging outfit, the sooner one gets into the tent and to rest, and that is no small consideration on a long journey. Our outfit of clothing was abundant and more complete, I suppose, than that of any former polar expedition. We may divide it into two classes, the outfit for especially low temperatures, and that for more moderate temperatures. It must be remembered that no one had yet wintered on the barrier, so we had to be prepared for anything. In order to be able to grapple with any degree of cold, we were supplied with a richest assortment of reindeer skin clothing. We had especially thick, medium, and quite light. It took a long time to get these skin clothes prepared. First the reindeer skins had to be bought in a raw state, and this was done for me by Mr. Zapfah at Trompso, Kerasrok, and Kato Kaino. Let me take the opportunity of thanking this man for the many and great services he has rendered me, not only during my preparations for the third voyage of the Fram, but in the fitting out of the Gyoah expedition as well. With his help I have succeeded in obtaining things that I should otherwise never have been able to get. He shrank from no amount of work, but went on till he had found what I wanted. This time he procured nearly 250 good reindeer skins, dressed by the laps, and sent them to Christiana. Here I had great trouble in finding a man who could sew skins, but at last I found one. We then went to work to make clothes after the pattern of the Nacelli Eskimo, and the sewing went on early and late. Thick anorax and thin ones, heavy breeches and light, winter stockings and summer stockings. We also had a dozen thin sleeping bags which I thought of using inside the big thick ones if the cold should be too severe. Everything was finished but not until the last moment. The outer sleeping bags were made by Mr. Brant, furrier, of Bergen, and they were so excellent, both in material and making up, that no one in the world could have done better. It was a model piece of work. To save this outer sleeping bag we had it provided with a cover of the lightest canvas, which was a good deal longer than the bag itself. It was easy to tie the end of the cover together like the mouth of the sack, and this kept the snow out of the bag during the day's march. In this way we always kept ourselves free from the annoyance of drifting snow. We attached great importance to having the bags made of the very best sort of skin, and took care that the thin skin of the belly was removed. I have seen sleeping bags of the finest reindeer skin spoiled on a comparatively short time if they contained a few patches of this thin skin, as of course the cold penetrates more easily through the thin skin, and gives rise to dampness in the form of rhyme on meeting the warmth of the body. These thin patches remain damp whenever one is in the bag, and in a short time they lose their hair. The damp spreads like decay in wood, and continually attacks the surrounding skin, with the result that one fine day you find yourself with a hairless sleeping bag. One cannot be too careful in the choice of skins. For the sake of economy, the makers of reindeer skin sleeping bags are in the habit of sewing them in such a way that the direction of the hair is towards the opening of the bag. Of course this suits the shape of the skin's best, but it does not suit the man who is going to use the bag, for it is no easy matter to crawl into a sleeping bag which is only just wide enough to allow one to get in, and if the way of the hair is against one it is doubly difficult. I had them all made as one man bags, with lacing round the neck. This did not of course meet with the approval of all, as will be seen later. The upper part of this thick sleeping bag was made of thinner reindeer skin, so that we might be able to tie it closely round the neck. The thick skin will not draw so well, and fit so closely as the thin. Our clothing and moderate temperatures consisted of thick woollen underclothing and Burberry windproof overalls. This underclothing was specially designed for the purpose. I had myself watched the preparation of the material, and knew that it contained nothing but pure wool. We had overalls of two different materials, Burberry gabardine, and the ordinary green kind that is used in Norway in the winter. For sledge journeys, where one has to save weight and to work in loose, easy garments, I must unhesitatingly recommend Burberry. It is extraordinarily light and strong, and keeps the wind completely out. For hard work I prefer the green kind. It keeps out the wind equally well, but is heavier and more bulky, and less comfortable to wear on a long march. Our Burberry windclothes were made in the form of anorak, blouse, and trousers, both very roomy. The others consisted of trousers and jacket with hood. Our mitts were for the most part, such as one can buy in any shop. We wanted nothing else in and around winter quarters. Outside the mitts we wore an outer covering of windproof material, so as not to wear them out too quickly. These mitts are not very strong, though they are good and warm. Besides these, we had ten pairs of ordinary kid mitts, which were bought at a glove shop in Christiana, and were practically impossible to wear out. I wore mine from Frannheim to the Pole and back again, and afterwards on the voyage to Tasmania. The lining of course was torn in places, but the seams of the mitts were just as perfect as the day I bought them. Taking into consideration the fact that I went on ski the whole way and used two poles, it will be understood that the mitts were strongly made. We also had a number of woolen gloves, which curiously enough the others greatly prized. For myself I was never able to wear such things, they simply freeze the fingers off me. But most important of all is the covering of the feet. For the feet are the most exposed members and the most difficult to protect. One can look after the hands. If they grow cold, it is easy to beat them into warmth again. Not so with the feet. They are covered up in the morning, and this is a sufficiently troublesome piece of work to make one disinclined to do it again until one is turning in. They cannot be seen in the course of the day, and one has to depend entirely on feeling. But feeling, in this case, often plays curious tricks. How often it has happened that men have had their feet frozen off without knowing it, for if they had known it they could not possibly have let it go so far. The fact is that in this case sensation is a somewhat doubtful guide. For the feet lose all sensation. It is true that there is a transitional stage when one feels the cold smarting in one's toes, and tries to get rid of it by stamping the feet. As a rule, this is successful. The warmth returns or the circulation is restored, but it occasionally happens that sensation is lost at the very moment when these precautions are taken. And then one must be an old hand to know what has happened. Many men conclude that as they no longer feel the unpleasant smarting sensation all is well. And at the evening inspection a frozen foot of tallow-like appearance presents itself. An event of this kind may ruin the most elaborately prepared enterprise, and it is therefore advisable in the matter of feet to carry one's caution to lengths which may seem ridiculous. Now, it is a fact that if one can wear soft foot gear exclusively, the risk of frostbite is far less than if one is compelled to wear stiff boots. In soft foot gear, of course, the foot can move far more easily and keep warm, but we were to take ski and to get full use out of them, so that in any case we had to have a stiff sole for the sake of the bindings. It is of no use to have a good binding unless you can use it in the right way. In my opinion, on a long journey such as that we had before us, the ski must be perfectly steady. I do not know anything that tires me more than a bad fastening, that is, one that allows the foot to shift in the binding. I want the ski to be a part of oneself, so that one always has full command of them. I have tried many patents, for I have always been afraid of a stiff fastening in cold temperatures, but all these patents, without exception, are worthless in the long run. I decided this time to try a combination of stiff and soft foot gear, so that we could use the splendid hood-filled Heuer-Elevson bindings. But this was no easy matter. Of our whole outfit nothing caused me more worry or gave us all more work in the course of the expedition than the stiff outer covering which we had to have. But we solved the problem at last. I applied to one of the leading makers of ski boots in Christiana and explained the difficulty to him. Fortunately I had found a man who was evidently interested in the question. We agreed that he should make a sampled pair after the pattern of ski boots. The sole was to be thick and stiff, for we had to be prepared to use crampons, but the uppers as soft as possible. In order to avoid leather, which usually becomes stiff and easily cracked in the cold, he was to use a combination of leather and thin canvas for the uppers, leather nearest the sole and canvas above it. The measurements were taken from my foot, which is not exactly a child's foot, with two pairs of reindeer skin stockings on, and ten pairs were made. I well remember seeing those boots in civilized Christiana. They were exhibited in the bootmaker's windows. I used to go a long way around to avoid coming face to face with these monsters in public. We are all a trifle vein and dislike having our own shortcomings shown up in electric light. If I had ever cherished any illusions on the subject of a dainty little foot, I am sure the last trace of such vanity died out on the day I passed the shoemaker's window and beheld my own boots. I never went that way again until I was certain that the exhibition was closed. One thing is certain that the boots were a fine piece of workmanship. We shall hear later on of the alterations they had to undergo before we at last made them as large as we wanted, for the giant boots turned out much too small. Among other equipment, I must mention our excellent Primus cooking apparatus. This all came complete from a firm in Stockholm. For cooking on sledge journeys, the Primus stove ranks above all others. It gives a great deal of heat, uses little oil, and requires no attention. Advantages which are important enough anywhere, but especially when sledging. There is never any trouble with this apparatus. It has come as near perfection as possible. We took five Nansen cookers with us. The cooker utilizes the heat more completely than any other, but I have one objection to make to it. It takes up space. We used it on our depot journeys, but were unfortunately obliged to give it up on the main southern journey. We were so many in a tent, and space was so limited that I dared not risk using it. If one has room enough, it is ideal in my opinion. We had with us ten pairs of snowshoes and one hundred sets of dog harness of the Alaska Eskimo pattern. The Alaska Eskimo drive their dogs in tandem. The whole pull is thus straight ahead in the direction the sledge is going, and this is undoubtedly the best way of utilizing the power. I had made up my mind to adopt the same system in sledging on the barrier. Another great advantage it had was that the dogs would pass singly across fissures, so that the danger of falling through was considerably reduced. The exertion of pulling is also less trying with Alaska harness than with the Greenland kind, as the Alaska harness has a shallow padded collar which is slipped over the animal's head and makes the weight of the pull come on his shoulders, whereas the Greenland harness presses on his chest. Raw places which occur rather frequently with the Greenland harness are almost entirely avoided with the other. All the sets of harness were made in the Navy workshops, and after their long and hard use they are as good as ever. There could be no better recommendation than this. Of instruments and apparatus for the sledge journeys we carried two sextants, three artificial horizons of which two were glass horizons with dark glasses, and one a mercury horizon, and four spirit compasses made in Christiana. They were excellent little compasses, but unfortunately useless in cold weather, that is to say when the temperature went below minus forty degrees Fahrenheit. At this point the liquid froze. I had drawn the maker's attention to this beforehand and asked him to use as pure a spirit as possible. What his object was I still do not know, but the spirit he employed was highly dilute. The best proof of this was that the liquid in our compasses froze before the spirits in a flask. We were naturally inconvenienced by this. Besides these we had an ordinary little pocket compass, two pairs of binoculars, one by Zeiss and the other by Gortz, and snow goggles from Dr. Schantz. We had various kinds of glasses for these, so that we could change when we were tired of one color. During the whole stay on the barrier I myself wore a pair of ordinary spectacles with yellow glasses of quite a light tint. These are prepared by a chemical process in such a way that they nullify the harmful colors of the sun's rays. How excellent these glasses are appears clearly enough from the fact that I never had the slightest touch of snow blindness on the southern journey, although the spectacles were perfectly open and allowed the light to enter freely everywhere. It will perhaps be suggested that I am less susceptible to this ailment than others, but I know from personal experience that such is not the case. I have previously had several severe attacks of snow blindness. We had two photographic cameras, an aetheromometer, two aneroids with altitude scale to 15,000 feet, and two hypsometers. The hypsometer is only an instrument for determining the boiling point, which gives one the height above the sea. The method is both simple and reliable. The medical stores for sledging were given by a London firm, and the way in which the things were packed speaks for the whole outfit. There is not a speck of rust on needles, scissors, knives, or anything else, although they have been exposed to much damp. Our own medical outfit, which was bought in Christiana, and according to the vendor's statement unusually well-packed, became in a short time so damaged that the whole of it is now entirely spoiled. The sledging provisions must be mentioned briefly. I have already spoken of the pemmican. I have never considered it necessary to take a whole grosser shop with me when sledging. The food should be simple and nourishing, and that is enough. A rich and varied menu is for people who have no work to do. Besides the pemmican, we had biscuits, milk powder, and chocolate. The biscuits were a present from a well-known Norwegian factory, and did all honor to their origin. They were specially baked for us, and were made of oatmeal with the addition of dried milk and a little sugar. They were extremely nourishing and pleasant to the taste. Thanks to efficient packing, they kept fresh and crisp all the time. These biscuits formed a great part of our daily diet, and undoubtedly contributed in no small degree to the successful result. Milk powder is a comparatively new commodity with us, but it deserves to be better known. It came from the district of Jeteran. Neither heat nor cold, dryness nor wet could hurt it. We had large quantities of it lying out in small, thin linen bags in every possible state of the weather. The powder was as good the last day as the first. We also took dry milk from a firm in Wisconsin. This milk had an addition of malt and sugar, and was, in my opinion, excellent. It also kept good the whole time. The chocolate came from a world-renowned firm and was beyond all praise. The whole supply was a very acceptable gift. We are bringing all the purveyors of our sledging provisions, samples of their goods, that have made the journey to the South Pole and back, in gratitude for the kind assistance they afforded us. 7. Volume 1, Chapter 3, On the Way to the South Part 1 The month of May, 1910, ran its course, beautiful only as a spring month in Norway can be. A lovely dream of verdu and flowers, but unfortunately, we had little time to admire all the splendor that surrounded us. Our watchword was away. Away from beautiful sights as quickly as possible. From the beginning of the month, the frame lay moored to her buoy outside the old walls of Akkers. Fresh in trim, she came from the yard at Horton. You could see the shine on her new paint a long way off. Involuntarily, one thought of holidays and yachting tours at the site of her. But the thought was soon banished. The first day after her arrival, the vessel's deck assumed the most everyday appearance that could be desired. The loading had begun. A long procession of cases and provisions made it way unceasingly from the basement of the Historical Museum down into the roomy hold of the Fram, where Lieutenant Nielsen and the three Norrlanders were ready to receive them. The process was not an altogether simple one on the contrary. It was a very serious affair. It was not enough to know that all the cases were duly on board. The problem was to know exactly where each particular case was placed and, at the same time, to stow them all in such a way that they could be easily got at in the future. This was a difficult piece of work, and it was not rendered any more easy by the attention that had to be paid to the numerous hatches leading down into the lower hold, where the big petroleum tanks stood. All these hatches had to be left accessible, otherwise we should have been cut off from pumping the oil into the engine room. However, Nielsen and his assistants accomplished their task with brilliant success. Among the hundreds of cases, there was not one that was misplaced, not one that was stowed so that could not instantly be brought into the light of day. While the provisioning was going on, the rest of the equipment was also taken on board. Each member of the expedition was busily engaged in looking after the needs of his own department in the best way possible. Nor was this a question of trifles, when may cudgel one's brains endlessly in advance, but some new requirement will constantly be cropping up, until one puts a full stop to it by casting off and sailing. The event was becoming imminent and the arrival of June. The day before leaving the Christiana, we had the honor and pleasure of receiving a visit from the King and Queen of Norway on board the Fram. Having been informed beforehand of their Majesties coming, we endeavored as far as possible to bring some order into the chaos that reigned on board. I do not know that we were particularly successful, but I am sure that every one of the Fram's crew will always remember, with respectful gratitude, King Hekkens' cordial words of farewell. On the same occasion, the expedition received from their Majesties the gift of a beautiful silver jug, which afterwards formed the most handsome ornament of our table on every festive occasion. On June 3, early in the forenoon, the Fram left Christiana bound at first for my home in Boonford. The object of her call there was to take on board the house for the winter station, which stood readily built in the garden. Our excellent carpenter, Jorgen Stoddard, had superintended the construction of the strong building. It was now rapidly taken to pieces and every single plank and beam was carefully numbered. We had quite an imposing pile of materials to get aboard, when even there was not so much room to spare. The bulk of it was stored forward and the remainder in the hold. The more experienced among the members of the expedition were evidently absorbed in profound conjectures as to the meaning of this observation house, as the newspaper said Christendot. It may willingly be admitted that they had good reason for their speculations. By an observation house, it usually meant a comparatively simple construction, sufficient to provide the necessary shelter from wind and weather. Our house, on the other hand, was a model of solidity, with three double walls, a double roof, and floor. Its arrangements included ten inviting bunks, a kitchener, and a table. The latter, moreover, had a brand new American cloth cover. I can understand that they want to keep themselves warm when they're making observations, St. Helmer Hansen, but what do they want with a cloth on the table I cannot make out? On the afternoon of June 6th, it was announced that everything was ready, and in the evening we all assembled at a simple farewell supper in the garden. I took the opportunity of wishing good luck to every man in turn, and finally we knighted in, God preserve the king and the fatherland. Then we broke up. The last man to get into the boat was a second-in-command. He arrived armed with a horseshoe, and his opinion it is quite incredible what luck an old horseshoe will bring. Possibly he is right. Anyhow, the horseshoe was firmly nailed to the mast in the Fram saloon, and there it still hangs. When on board, we promptly set to work to get up the anchor. The bowler motor hummed, and the heavy cable rattled in through the hazy hole. Precisely at midnight the anchor let go to the bottom, and just as the 7th of June, rolled in over us, the Fram stood out of Christiane Ford for the third time. Twice already had a band of stout-hearted men brought the ship back with honor after years of service. Would it be much safe to us to uphold this honorable tradition? Such were, no doubt, the thoughts with which most of us were occupied, as our vessel glided over the motionless fjord in the light summer night. The start was made under the sign of the 7th of June, and this was taken as a promise omen. But among our bright and confident hopes, there crept a shadow of melancholy. The hillsides, the woods, the fjord, were so bewitchingly fair and so dear to us, they called to us with their allurement. But the diesel motor knew no pity. Its tough tough went on brutally through the stillness, a little boat, in which some of my nearest relations dropped gradually astern. There was a glimpse of white handkerchiefs in the twilight, and then, farewell. The next morning we were moored in the inner harbor at Horton, and apparently innocent lighter came alongside at once. But the lighter's cargo was not quite as innocent as its appearance. It consisted of no less than a half ton of gun-cotton and rifle ammunition. A somewhat unpleasant, but nonetheless necessary item of our equipment. Besides taking on board the ammunition, we availed ourselves of the opportunity of completing our water supply. When this was done, we lost no time in getting away. As we passed the warships lying in the harbor, they man-shipped and the bands played the national anthem. Outside Vellos, we had the pleasure of waving a last farewell to a man to whom the expedition will always owe a debt of gratitude. Captain Christian Blom, superintendent of the Dockyard, who had supervised the extensive repairs to the Fram with un-relaxing interest and obligateness. He slipped past us in his sailing boat. I do not remember if he got a cheer if he did not. It was a mistake. Now we are on our way to the south, as the heading of this chapter announces. Though not yet an earnest, we had an additional task before us. The oceanographical cruise in the Atlantic. This necessitated a considerable detour on the way. The scientific results of the cruise will be dealt with by specialists in due course. If it is briefly referred to here, this is chiefly for the sake of continuity. After consultation with Professor Nansen, the plan was to begin investigations in the region to the south of Ireland, and thence to work our way westward as far as time and circumstances permitted. The work was to be resumed on the Homer voyage in the direction of the north of Scotland. For various reasons, this program afterwards had to be considerably reduced. For the first few days after leaving Norway, we were favoured with the most splendid summer weather. The North Sea was as calm as a milpawn, and the Fram had little more motion than when she was lying in Buemford. This was all the better for us, as we could hardly be said to be absolutely ready for sea when we passed Faradar, and came into the Capricius-Scagejack. Hard-pressed as we had been for time, it had not been possible to lash and stow the last of our cargo as securely as was desirable. A stiff breeze at the mouth of the fjord would therefore have been rather inconvenient. As it was, everything was arranged admirably, but to do this we had to work night and day. I have been told that on former occasions, sea sickness made fearful ravages on board the Fram, but from this trial, we also had an easy escape. Nearly all the members of the expedition were used to the sea, and the few who perhaps were not so entirely proof against it had a whole week of fine weather to get into training. So far as I know, not a single case occurred of this unpleasant and justly dreadful complaint. After passing the Dogger Bank, we had a very welcomed northeast breeze. With the help of the sails, we could now increase the not very reckless speed that the motor was capable of accomplishing. Before we sailed, the most contradictory accounts were current of the Fram's sailing qualities. There were some who asserted that the ship could not be got through the water at all, while with equal force the contrary view was maintained, that she was a notable fast sailor. As might be supposed, the truth as usual lay about halfway between these two extremes. The ship was no racer, nor was she an absolute log. We ran before the northeast wind towards the English Channel at a speed of about seven knots, and with that, we were satisfied for the time being. The important question for us was whether we should keep the favorable wind till we were well through the Straits of Dover, and preferably a good way down the channel. Our engine power was far too limited to make it of any use trying to go against the wind, and we should have been obliged in that case to have recourse to the sailing ship's method, beating. Attacking in the English Channel, the busiest of the world seas, is in itself not a very pleasant work. For us it would be so much the worse, as it would greatly encroach on the time that could be devoted to oceanographical investigations. But the east wind held with praiseworthy steadiness. In the course of a few days, we were through the channel, and about a week after leaving Norway, we were able to take the first oceanographical station at the point arranged according to the plan. Hitherto, everything had gone as smoothly as we could wish, but now, for a change, difficulties began to appear. First, in the form of unfavorable weather, when the northwestern begins to blow in the North Atlantic, it is generally good while before it drops again, and this time it did not belie its reputation. Far from getting to the westward, we were threatened for a time with being driven onto the Irish coast. It was not quite so bad as that, but we soon found ourselves obliged to shorten the route originally laid down, very considerably. A contributing cause of this determination was the fact that the motor was out of order. Whether it was the fault of the oil, or a defect in the engine itself, our engineer was not clear. It was therefore necessary to make for home in good time, in case of extensions for repairs being required. In spite of these difficulties, we had quite respectable collection of samples, with water and temperature, at different depths, before we set our course for Norway at the beginning of July, with Bergen as our destination. During the passage from the Pentland Firth, we had a violent gale from the North, which gave us an opportunity of experiencing how the fram behaved in bad weather. The trial was by no means an easy one. It was a blowing gale, with a cross-sea. We kept going practically under full sail, and had the satisfaction of seeing our ship make over nine knots. In the rather severe rolling, the color of the mast in the fore cabin was loosened a little. This let the water in, and there was a slight flooding of Lieutenant Nielsen's cabin, and mine. The others who burst work to port were on the weather side, and kept dry. We came out of it all with the loss of a few boxes of cigars, which were wet through. They were not entirely lost for all that. Ronnie took charge of them, and regaled himself with a salt and moldy cigars for six months afterwards. Going eight or nine knots an hour, we did not make much of the distance between Scotland and Norway. On the afternoon of Saturday, July 9th, the wind dropped, and at the same time, the lookout reported land in sight. This was Sigen and Bommelu. In the course of the night, we came under the coast, and on Sunday morning, July 10th, we ran into Sjönsford. We had no detailed chart of this inlet, but after making a great noise with our powerful air siren, we at last browsed the inmates of the pilot station, and a pilot came aboard. He showed visible signs of surprise when he found out by reading the name of the ship's side, that it was the Fram he had before him. Lord, I thought you were Russian, he exclaimed. This supposition was presumably intended to serve as a sort of excuse for his small hurry in coming aboard. It was a lovely trip through the Fuyards to Bergen, as warm and pleasant in here as it had been bitter and cold outside. We had a dead calm all day, and with the four knots an hour, which was all the motor could manage, it was late in the evening when we anchored off the naval dockyard and solved this. Our stay in Bergen happened at the time of the expedition, and the committee paid the expedition the compliment of giving all its members free passes. Business of one kind or another compelled me to go to Christiana, leaving the Fram in charge of Lieutenant Nielsen. They had their hands more than full on board. Diesel's firm in Stockholm sent their experienced fitter, Aspillen, who at once set to work to overhaul the motor thoroughly. The work that had to be done was executed grotesque by the Lexmvagg engineering works. After going into the matter thoroughly, it was decided to change the solar oil we had on board for refined petroleum. Through the courtesy of the west of Norway petroleum company, we got this done on very favorable terms at the company's storage dock and satellite. This was troublesome work, but it paid in the future. The samples of water from our trip were taken to the biological station, where Kutschen at once went to work with filtering, and determination of the proportion of chlorine. Our German shipmate, the oceanographer Schroer, left us at Bergen. On July 23rd, the Fram left Bergen and arrived on the following day at Christiansson, where I met her. Here we again had a series of busy days, and one of the custom house warehouses were piled a quantity of things that had to go on board. No less than 400 bundles of dried fish, all our ski and sledging outfit, a wagon load of timber, etc. At Frediksholm, out on Fleckow, we had found room for perhaps the most important of all, the passengers, the 97 Eskimo dogs which had arrived from Greenland in the middle of July, on the steamer Hans E. The ship had a rather long and rough passage, and the dogs were in not very good condition on their arrival, but they had not been many days in the island under the supervision of Hassel and Lindstrom, before they again were in full vigor. Plentiful supply of fresh meat worked wonders. The usually peaceful island with the remains of the old fortress resounded day by day, and sometimes at night, with the most glorious concerts of howling. These musical performances attracted a number of inquisitive visitors who were anxious to submit the members of the chorus to a closer examination, and therefore at certain times the public were omitted to see the animals. It soon turned out that the majority of the dogs, far from being ferocious or shy, were on the contrary very appreciative of these visits. They sometimes came in for an extra tit pit in the form of a sandwich or something of the sort. Besides which, it was a little diversion in their life of captivity, so uncongenial to an Arctic dog, for every one of them was securely chained up. This was necessary, especially to prevent fighting amongst themselves. It happened not infrequently that one or more of them got loose, but the two guardians were always ready to capture the runaways. One enterprising rascal started to swim over the sound to the nearest land. The objective of his expedition was undoubtedly certain unsuspecting sheep that were grazing by the shore, but his swim was interrupted in time. After the Fran's arrival, Wisting took over the position of dogkeeper in Housel's place. He and Lindstrom stayed close to the island where the dogs were. Wisting had a way of his own with the four-footed subject, and was soon on a confidential footing with them. He also showed himself to be possessed of considerable veterinary skill, an exceedingly useful qualification in this case, where there was often some injury or other to be attended to. As I have already mentioned, up to this time, no member of the expedition, except Lieutenant Nelson, knew anything of the extension of plan that had been made. Therefore, amongst the things that came on board, and amongst the preparations that were made during our stay at Christians then, there must have been a great deal that appeared very strange to those who, for the present, were only looking forward to a voyage around Cape Horn to San Francisco. What was the object of taking all these dogs on board and transporting them all that long way? And if it came to that, would any of them survive the voyage around the formidable promontory? Besides, were there not dogs enough, and good dogs too, in Alaska? Why was the whole afterdeck full of coal? What was the use of all these planks and boards? Would it not have been so much more convenient to take all the kind of goods on board in Frisco? These and many similar questions began to pass from man to man. Indeed, their very faces began to resemble notes of interrogation. Not that anyone asked me, far from it. It was the second command who had to bear the brunt and answer as well as he could. An extremely thankless and unpleasant task for a man who already had his hands more than full. In order to relieve his difficult situation, I resolved, shortly before leaving Christian son, to inform Lieutenants Prestron and Jürtsen of the true state of affairs. After having signed an undertaking of secrecy, they received full information of the intended dash to the South Pole, and an explanation of the reasons for keeping the whole thing secret. When asked whether they wished to take part in the new plan, they both answered at once in the affirmative, and that settled it. There were now three men on board, all the officers, who were acquainted with the situation, and were thus in a position to parry troublesome questions and remove possible anxieties on the part of the uninitiated. Two of the members of the expedition joined during the stay of Christian son, Hassel and the Lindström, and one change was made. The engineer, Eliasen, was discharged. It was no easy matter to find a man who possessed the qualifications for taking over the post of engineer to the Fram. Few, or perhaps no one in Norway, could be expected to have much knowledge of the motors of the size of ours. The only thing to be done was to go to the place where the engine had been built, to Sweden. Diesel's firm in Stockholm helped us out of the difficulty. They sent us the man, and it afterwards turned out that he was the right man. Knut Sundbeck was his name. A chapter might be written on the good work that the man did, and the quiet, unestacious way in which he did it. From the very beginning he had assisted in the construction of the Fram's motor, so that he knew his engine thoroughly. He treated it as his darling. Therefore, there was never anything the matter with it. It may truly be said that he did honor to his firm and the nation to which he belongs. Meanwhile, we were hard at work getting ready to sail. We decided to leave before the middle of August, the sooner, the better. The Fram had been in dry dock, where the hull was thoroughly coated with composition. Heavily laden as the ship was, the false keel was a good deal injured by the severe pressure on the blocks, but with the help of a diver, the damage was quickly made good. The 100 bundles of dried fish were squeezed in the main hold, full as it was. All sledging and ski outfit was carefully stowed away, so as to be protected as far as possible from the damp. These things had to be kept dry, otherwise they would become warped and useless. Bjaaland had the charge of his outfit, and he knew how it should be treated. As his right and proper, when all the goods had been shipped, it was the turn of the passengers. The Fram was anchored off Frederick's home, and the necessary preparations were immediately made for receiving our four-footed friends, under the expert direction of Bjaaland and Studerob. As many as possible of the crew were set to work with ax and saw, and in the course of a few hours, the Fram had got a new deck. This consisted of loose pieces of decking, which could easily be raised and removed for flushing and cleaning. This false deck rested on the three-inch planks nailed to the ship's deck. Between the ladder and the loose deck, there was therefore considerable space, the object of which was a double one. Namely, to let the water, which would unavoidably be shipped on such a voyage, run off rapidly, and allow air to circulate, and thus keeping the space below the animals as cool as possible. This arrangement afterwards proved very successful. The bulwarks on the fore part of the Fram's deck consisted of an iron railing covered with wire netting, in order to provide both shade and shelter from the wind. A lining of boards was now put up along the inside of the railing, and chains were fastened in all possible and impossible places to tie the dogs up to. There could be no question of letting them go loose. To begin with, at any rate, possibly we might hope to be at least a set free later on, when they knew their masters better, and were more familiar with their surroundings generally. Late in the afternoon of August 9th, we were ready to receive our new shipmates, and they conveyed a cross from the island in a big glider, 20 at a time. Wisting in Lindstrom, Superintendent of the Work of Transport, and maintained order capitalally. They had succeeded in gaining the dog's confidence, and at the time, their complete respect. Just what we wanted. Fact. At the Fram's gangway, the dogs came in for an active and determined reception, and before they had recovered from their surprise and fright, they were securely fastened on deck, and given to understand with all politeness, that the best thing they could do for the time was to accept the situation with calmness. The whole proceeding went so rapidly, that in the course of a couple hours, we had all the 97 dogs on board, and had found room for them. But it must be added that the Fram's deck was utilized to the utmost. We had thought we should be able to keep the bridge free, but this could not be done if we were to take them all with us. The last boatload, 14 in number, had to be accommodated there. All that was left was a little free space for the man at the wheel. As for the officer of the watch, it looked as if he would be badly off for elbow room. There was reason to fear that he would be compelled to kill time by standing sock still in one spot, through the whole watch. But then, just there, there was no time for small troubles of the sort. No sooner was the last dog on board, than we said about putting visitors ashore, and then the motor began working the windlass under the foxtel. The anchors up. Full speed ahead, and the voyage towards our goal, 16,000 miles away it was begun. Quietly and out of deserved, we went out on the fjord at dusk, a few of our friends accompanied us out. After the pilot had left us outside Fleco, it was not long before the darkness of the August evening hid the outlines of the country from our view. But Oxo and Riven flashed their farewells to us all through the night. End of Section 7. Recording by Greg Bell. Katie, Texas. Section 8 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 Scott Carpenter. The South Pole by Rold Amundsen. Translation by A.G. Carter. Section 8, Volume 1, Chapter 3. On the Way to the South, Part 2. We had been lucky with wind and weather at the commencement of our Atlantic cruise in the early summer. This time we were, if possible, even more favored. It was perfectly calm when we sailed, and the North Sea lay perfectly calm for several days after. What we had to do now was to become familiar with and used to all these dogs, and this was enormously facilitated by the fact that for the first week we experienced nothing but fine weather. Before we sailed there was no lack of all kinds of prophecies of the evil that would befall us with our dogs. We heard a number of these predictions. Presumably a great many more were whispered about, but did not reach our ears. The unfortunate beasts were to fair terribly badly. The heat of the tropics would make short work of the greater part of them. If any were left they would have but a miserable respite before being washed overboard or drowned in the seas that would come on deck in the West Wind Belt. To keep them alive with a few bits of dried fish was an impossibility, etc. As everyone knows all these predictions were very far from being fulfilled. The exact opposite happened. Since then I expect most of us who made the trip have been asked the question, was not that voyage to the South an excessively wearysome and tedious business? Didn't you get sick of all those dogs? How on earth did you manage to keep them alive? It goes without saying that a five months voyage in such waters as we were navigating must necessarily present a good deal of monotony. How much will depend on what resources one has for providing occupation? In this respect we had in these very dogs just what was wanted. No doubt it was work that very often called for the exercise of patience. Nevertheless, like any other work, it furnished diversion and amusement. And so much the more since we here had to deal with living creatures that had sense enough fully to appreciate and reciprocate in their own way any advance that was made to them. From the very first I tried in every way to insist upon the paramount importance to our whole enterprise of getting our draft animals successfully conveyed to our destination. If we had any watchword at this time it was dogs first and dogs all the time. The result speaks best for the way in which this watchword was followed. The following was the arrangement we made. The dogs, who at first were always tied up on the same spot, were divided into parties of ten. To each party one or two keepers were assigned, with full responsibility for their animals and their treatment. For my own share I took the fourteen that lived on the bridge. Feeding the animals was a maneuver that required the presence of all hands on deck. It therefore took place when the watch was changed. The Arctic dog's greatest enjoyment in life is putting away his food. It may safely be asserted that the way to his heart lies through his dish of meat. We acted on this principle, and the result did not disappoint us. After the lapse of a few days the different squads were the best of friends with their respective keepers. As may be supposed it was not altogether to the taste of the dogs to stand chained up all the time. Their temperament is far too lively for that. We would gladly have allowed them the pleasure of running about and thus getting healthy exercise, but for the present we dared not run the risk of letting the whole pack loose. A little more education was required first. It was easy enough to win their affection, to provide them with a good education was of course a more difficult matter. It was quite touching to see their joy and gratitude when one gave up a little time to their entertainment. One's first meeting with them in the morning was specially cordial. Their feelings were then apt to find vent in a chorus of joyful howls. This was called forth by the very sight of their masters, but they asked more than that. They were not satisfied until we had gone round, patting and talking to everyone, if by chance one was so careless as to miss a dog, he at once showed the most unmistakable signs of disappointment. There can hardly be an animal that is capable of expressing its feelings to the same extent as the dog, joy, sorrow, gratitude, scruples of conscience. All are reflected as plainly as could be desired in his behaviour, and above all in his eyes. We human beings are apt to cherish the conviction that we have a monopoly of what is called a living soul. The eyes, it is said, are the mirror of this soul. That is all right enough, but now take a look at a dog's eyes, study them attentively. How often do we see something human in their expression? The same variations that we meet with in human eyes. This, at all events, is something that strikingly resembles soul. We will leave the question open for those who are interested in its solution, and we'll hear only mention another point which seems to show that a dog is something more than a mere machine of flesh and blood, is pronounced individuality. There were about a hundred dogs on board the Fram. Gradually, as we got to know, each one of them by daily intercourse, they each revealed some characteristic trait, some peculiarity. Hardly two of them were alike, either in disposition or in appearance. To an observant eye, there was here ample opportunity for the most amusing exercise. If now and then one grew a little tired of one's fellow men, which I must admit seldom happened, there was, as a rule, diversion to be found in the society of the animals. I say, as a rule, there were, of course, exceptions. It was not an unmixed pleasure having the whole deck full of dogs for all those months. Our patience was severely tested many a time. But in spite of all the trouble and inconvenience to which the transport of the dogs necessarily gave rise, I am certainly right in saying that these months of sea voyage would have seemed far more monotonous and tedious if we had been without our passengers. During the first four or five days we had now been making our way towards the Straits of Dover, and the hope began to dawn within us that this time at last we should slip through without any great difficulty. There had been five days of absolute calm. Why should it not last out the week? But it did not. As we passed the light ship at the western end of the Goodwinns, the fine weather left us, and in its place came the southwest wind with rain, fog, and foul weather in its train. In the course of half an hour it became so thick that it was impossible to see more than two or three ships' lengths ahead. But if we could see nothing we heard all the more. The ceaseless shrieks of many steam whistles and sirens told us only too plainly what a crowd of vessels we were in. It was not exactly a pleasant situation. Our excellent ship had many good points, but they did not prevent her from being extraordinarily slow and awkward in turning. This is an element of great danger in these waters. It must be remembered that a possible accident, whether our own fault or not, would to us be absolutely fatal. We had so little time to spare that the resulting delay might ruin the whole enterprise. An ordinary trading vessel can take the risk. By careful maneuvering, Skipper can almost always keep out of the way. Collisions are as a rule the result of rashness or carelessness on one side or another. The rash one has to pay. The careful one may perhaps make money out of it. Carefulness on our part was a matter of course. It would have been a poor consolation to us if another ship had had to pay for her carelessness. We could not take that risk. Therefore, little as we liked doing so, we put into the downs and anchored there. Right opposite to us, we had the town of Deal, then in the height of its season. The only amusement we had was to observe all these apparently unconcerned people who passed their time in bathing or walking about the white inviting sands. They had no need to worry themselves much about what quarter the wind blew from. Our only wish was that it would veer or in any case drop. Our communication with the land was limited to sending ashore telegrams and letters for home. By the next morning our patience was already quite exhausted. But not so with the south-western. It kept going as steadily as ever. But it was clear weather, and therefore we decided once to make an attempt to get to the west. There was nothing to be done but to have recourse to the ancient method of beating. We cleared one point and then another, but more than that we could not manage for the time being. We took one bearing after another. Now there was no visible progress. Off-dungeness we had to anchor again, and once more console ourselves with a much vaunted balm of patience. This time we escaped with passing the night there. The wind now thought fit to veer sufficiently to let us get out at daybreak. But it was still a contrary wind, and we had to beat almost all the way down the English Channel. The whole week was spent in doing these three hundred miles. That was rather hard considering the distance we had to go. I fancy most of us gave a good sigh of relief when at last we were clear of the Cicely Isles. The everlasting south-west wind was still blowing, but that did not matter so much now. The main thing was that we found ourselves in open sea with the whole Atlantic before us. Perhaps one must have sailed in the Fram to be fully able to understand what a blessing it was to feel ourselves altogether clear of the surrounding land and the many sailing ships in the Channel, to say nothing of constantly working the ship with a deck swarming with dogs. On our first voyage through the Channel in June we had got two or three carrier pigeons which had come to rest in the rigging utterly tired out. On the approach of darkness we were able to get hold of them without difficulty. Their numbers and marks were noted, and after they had been taken care of for a couple of days and had recovered their strength we let them go. They circled once or twice round the mass-teds, and then made for the English coast. I think this episode led to our taking a few carrier pigeons with us when we left Christian's Land. Lieutenant Nielsen, as a former owner of pigeons, was to take charge of them. Then a nice house was made for them, and the pigeons lived happily in their new boat on the top of the whale boat amid ships. Now in some way or other the Second in Command found out that the circulation of air in the Pigeon House was faulty. To remedy this defect he one day set the door a little ajar. Air certainly got into the house, but the pigeons came out. A joker, on discovering that the birds had flown, wrote up to let in big letters on the wall of the Pigeon House. The Second in Command was not in a very gentle frame of mind that day. As far as I know the escape took place in the Channel. The Pigeons found their way home to Norway. The Bay of Biscay has bad name among seamen, and it fully deserves it. That tempestuous corner of the sea conceals forever in its depths, so many a stout ship and her crew. We for our part, however, had good hopes of escaping unharmed, considering the time of year, and our hopes were fulfilled. We had better luck than we dared to anticipate. Our stubborn opponent, the Southwest Wind, got tired at last of trying to stop our progress. It was no use. We went slowly, it was true, but still we got along. Of the meteorological lessons of our youth, we especially recalled at that moment the frequent northerly winds off the coast of Portugal, and as a pleasant surprise we already had them far up in the Bay. This was an agreeable change after all our close hauled tacking in the Channel. The North Wind held almost as bravely as the Southwest had done before, and at what was, to our ideas, quite a respectable rate, we went southward day after day towards the fine weather zone, where we could be sure of a fair wind, and where a sailor's life is, as a rule, a pleasant one. For that matter, as far as seamanship was concerned, our work had gone on smoothly enough even during these first difficult weeks. There were always willing and practised hands enough for what was wanted, even though the work to be done was frequently of a not very pleasant kind. Take washing decks, for instance. Every seaman will have something to say about what it is like on board ships that carry live animals, especially when these are carried on deck, in the way of all work that has to be done. I have always held the opinion that a puller ship ought not, any more than any other vessel, to be a wholesale establishment for dirt and filth, however many dogs there may be on board. On the contrary, I should say that on voyages of this kind, it is more than ever vitally necessary to keep one's surroundings as clean and sweet as possible. The important thing is to get rid of anything that may have a demoralizing and depressing effect. The influence of uncleanliness, in this way, is so well known that it is needless to preach about it here. My views were shared by everyone on board the Fram, and everything was done to act in accordance with them, in spite of what may be considered great difficulties. Twice a day the whole deck was thoroughly washed down besides all the extra turns at odd times with bucket and scrubber. At least once a week the whole of the loose deck was taken up, and each separate part of it thoroughly washed until it was clean as when it was laid down at Christian's Lent. This was a labour that required great patience and perseverance on the part of those who had to perform it, but I never saw any shorecomings. Let's just see and get it clean, they said. At night, when it was not always easy to see what one was doing, it might often happen that one heard some more or less heated exclamations from those who had to handle coils of rope in working the ship. I need not hint more explicitly at the cause of them, if it is remembered that there were dogs lying about everywhere who had eaten and drunk well in the course of the day. But after time the oaths gave way to jokes. There's nothing in the world that custom does not help us to get over. It is the universal practice on board ship to divide the day and night into watches of four hours. The two watches into which the crew is divided relieve each other every four hours, but on vessels that sail to the Arctic Ocean it is customary to have watches of six hours. We adopted the latter plan, which on its being put to the boat proved to have a compact majority in its favour. By this arrangement of watches we only had to turn out twice in the course of twenty-four hours and the watch below had had a proper sleep whenever it turned out. If one has to eat, smoke, and perhaps chat a little during four hours watch below, it does not leave much time for sleeping, and if there should be a call for all hands on deck it means no sleep at all. To cope with the work of the engine room we had from the beginning the two engineers, Sundbeck and Nadvet. They took watch and watch, four hours each, when the motor was in use for a long time continuously. This was a rather severe duty, and on the whole it was just as well to have a man in reserve. I therefore decided to have a third man trained as reserve engineer, Christensen applied for this post, and it may be said in his praise that he accomplished the change remarkably well. Thorough deckhand as he was, there might have been reason to fear that he would repent of the transfer, but no he quickly became life and soul an engineer. This did not prevent our seeing him on deck, many a time during the passage through the west wind belt when there was need of a good man during a gale. The motor which during the Atlantic cruise had been a constant source of uneasiness and anxiety regained our entire confidence under Sundbeck's capable command. It hummed so that it was a pleasure to hear it. To judge from the sound of the engine room, one would have thought the Fram was moving through the water with the speed of a torpedo boat. If this was not the case, the engine was not to blame. Possibly the screw had a share of it, the latter ought probably to have been somewhat larger, though experts are not agreed about this. In any case, there was something radically wrong with our propeller. Whenever there was a little seaway it was apt to work loose in the brasses. This disadvantage is of very common occurrence in vessels which have to be fitted with lifting propellers on account of the ice and we did not escape it. The only remedy was to lift the whole propeller frame and renew the brasses. An extremely difficult work when it had to be done in the open sea and on as lively a ship as the Fram. Day by day we had the satisfaction of seeing how the dogs found themselves more and more at home on board. Perhaps even among ourselves there were one or two who had felt some doubt at first of what the solution of the dog-question would be, but in any case all such doubts were soon swept away. Even at an early stage of the voyage we had every reason to hope that we should land our animals safe and sound. What we had to see in the first place was to let them have as much and as good food as circumstances permitted. As already mentioned we had provided ourselves with dried fish for their consumption. Eskimo dogs do not suffer very greatly from daintiness, but an exclusive diet of dried fish would seem rather monotonous in the long run, even to their appetites. And a certain addition of fatty substances was necessary, otherwise we should have some trouble with them. We had on board several great barrels of tallow or fat, but our store was not so large that we did not have to economize. In order to make the supply of fat last, and at the same time to induce our borders to take as much dried fish as possible, we invented a mixture which was called by a sailor's term, denja. This must not be confused with thrashing, which was also served out liberally from time to time, but the denja was more in demand. It consisted of a mixture of chopped-up fish, tallow, and maize-meal, all boiled together into a sort of porridge. This dish was served three times a week, and the dogs were simply mad for it. They very soon learned to keep count of the days when this mess was to be expected, and as soon as they heard the rattling of the tin dishes in which separate portions were carried round, they set up such a noise that it was impossible to hear oneself speak. Both the preparation and the serving out of this extra ration were at times rather troublesome, but it was well worth it. It is quite certain that our complement of dogs would have made a poor show on arrival at the Bay of Wales if we had shrunk from the trouble. The dried fish was not nearly so popular as the denja, but to make up for that there was plenty of it. Not that the dogs themselves ever thought they could have enough. Indeed, they were always stealing from their neighbors, perhaps more for the sake of the sport than for anything else. In any case, as sport was extremely popular, and it took many a good hiding to get the rascals to understand that it could not be allowed. I'm afraid though that they kept up their thieving even after they knew very well that it was wrong, the habit was too old to be corrected. Another habit and a very bad one that these Eskimo dogs have fallen into in the course of ages, and of which we tried to break them at all events during the sea voyage, is their tendency to hold howling concerts. What the real meaning of these performances may be, whether they are pastime or an expression of gratification or the reverse, we could never decide to our satisfaction. They began suddenly and without warning. The whole pack might be lying perfectly still and quiet when a single individual, who for that occasion had taken upon himself the part of leader of the chorus, would set up a long blood-curdling yowl. If they were left to themselves, it was not long before the whole pack joined in, and this infernal den was kept going at full steam for two or three minutes. The only amusing thing about the entertainment was its conclusion. They all stopped short at the same instant, just as a well-trained chorus obeys the baton of its conductor. Those of us, however, who happened to be in our bunks, found nothing at all amusing in these concerts, either in the finale or anything else, for they were calculated to tear the soundest sleeper from his slumbers. But if only one took care to stop the leader in his efforts, the whole affair was nipped in the bud, and we usually succeeded in doing this. If there were some who at first were anxious about their night's rest, these fears were soon dispersed. On leaving Norway we had ninety-seven dogs in all, and of these no less than ten were bitches. This fact justified us in expecting an increase of the canine population on our voyage to the south, and our expectations were very soon fulfilled. The first happy event occurred when we had been no more than three weeks at sea. An incident of this kind may seem in itself of no great importance to us living under conditions in which, one day was almost exactly like another, it was more than enough to be an object of the greatest interest. Therefore when the report went round that Camilla had got four shapely youngsters, there was general rejoicing. Two of the pups who happened to be of the male sex were allowed to live. The females were sent out of this world long before their eyes were opened to its joys and sorrows. It might be thought that seeing we had nearly a hundred grown-up dogs on board, there would be little opportunity for looking after puppies, that this was done nevertheless with all the care that could be wished, is due in the first instance to the touching affection of the second in command for the little ones. From the very first moment he was there avowed protector. Gradually as the numbers increased there was a difficulty in finding room on the already well-occupied deck. I'll take them in my bunk, said the second in command. It did not come to that, but if it had been necessary he would certainly have done so. The example was catching. Later on, when the little chaps were weaned and had begun to take other nourishment, one might see regularly, and after every meal, one after another of the crew coming on deck with some carefully scrapped-up bits of food on his plate, the little hungry mouths were to have what was left over. Something more than patience and punctual performance of duty is displayed in such things as those of which I have been speaking. It is love of and a living interest in one's work. From what I saw and heard every day I was certain that these necessary incentives were present. Although as far as most of the men were concerned our object was still the protracted one of drifting for years in the Arctic ice. The extension of the plan, the far more imminent battle with the ice flows of the south, was still undreamt of by the majority of the ship's company. I considered it necessary to keep it to myself for a little while yet, until our departure from the port we were now making for, Funchal Madeira. It may possibly appear to many people that I was running a pretty big risk and thus putting off till the last moment the duty of informing my comrades of the very considerable detour we were to make. Suppose some or perhaps all of them had objected. It must be admitted that it was a big risk, but there were so many risks that had to be taken at that time. However, as I got to know each man during these first few weeks of our long voyage, I soon arrived at the conviction that there was nobody on board the Fram who would try to put difficulties in the way. On the contrary, I had more and more reason to hope that they would all receive the news with joy when they heard it, for then their whole prospect would be so different. Everything had gone with surprising ease up to this time. In future it would go even better. It was not without a certain longing that I had looked forward to our arrival at Madeira. It would be grand to be able to speak out. No doubt the others who knew of the plan were equally eager. Secrets are neither amusing nor easy to carry about, least of all on board a ship, where one has to live at such close quarters as we had. We were chatting together every day, of course, and the uninitiated could not be deterred from leading the conversation round to the ugly difficulties that would imbiter our lives and hinder our progress when rounding the horn. It was likely enough that we should manage to bring the dog safely through the tropics once, but whether we should succeed in doing so twice was more doubtful, and so on to infinity. It is easier to imagine than to describe how awkward all this was, and how cunningly one had to choose one's words to avoid saying too much. Among inexperienced men there would have been no great difficulty, but it must be remembered that on the Fram pretty nearly every second man had spent years of his life in polar voyages. A single slight hint to them would have been enough to expose the whole plan, that neither those on board nor anyone else discovered it prematurely can only be explained by its being so obvious. Our ship was a good deal too dependent on wind and weather to enable us to make any accurate estimate of the time our voyage would occupy, especially as regards those latitudes in which the winds are variable. The estimate for the whole voyage was based on an average speed of four knots, and at this very modest rate, as it may seem, we ought to arrive at the ice barrier about the middle of January, 1911. As will be seen later, this was realized with remarkable exactness. For reaching Madeira we had allowed a month as a reasonable time. We did a good deal better than this, as we were able to leave Funchal a month to the day after our departure from Christian's land. We were always ready to forgive the estimate when it was at fault in this way. The delay to which we had been subjected in the English Channel was fortunately made up along the coast of Spain and to the south of it. The north wind held until we were in the northeast trade, and then we were all right. On September 5 our observations at noon told us that we might expect to see the lights that evening, and at 10 p.m. the light of San Lorenzo on the little island of Fora near Madeira was reported from the rigging.