Chapter XI: Part V: Whilst We Wait (2)

This evening a telegram arrives to say that America is forming a Committee to arrange a search for Amundsen in the neighborhood of Cape Columbia. They are collecting the necessary funds. A brother-in-law of Ellsworth’s is a member of the Committee.

_Virgo-havn. Thursday, June 4th_

Now the fourteen days have passed during which we should lie here in the fairway, according to Amundsen’s orders, and wait for the airmen. The “Fram” should now continue a course westwards from the northern coast of Norskeöene, as the boat is not constructed for ice navigation; “Hobby,” on the other hand, is built of wood and has a strong ice-bow of solid oak, and can safely follow a course eastwards along the ice border, probably being able to reach Northeastland. As soon as “Fram” has got her tanks filled (which should be by to-morrow evening), the patrolling shall begin. We shall remain here in the north till the 2nd of July--six weeks from the start (that is the limit Amundsen fixed for the airmen to return to Spitzbergen on foot or in the small canvas boats), after which the last members of the Amundsen-Ellsworth expedition were to set off southwards.

This afternoon we live through an occurrence which smacks of sensation. The fog had lifted and there was only a slight thickness remaining on the high points of Spitzbergen’s mainland, the rest had been blown to sea by a fresh breeze. Now visibility is good. We have just drunk our coffee and come on deck, and we suddenly notice a little boat rowing towards us. Instinctively we lift our binoculars. There are two men in the boat, which lies deep in the water. Apparently it is one of “Hobby’s” “seal-boats” which has probably been out and caught a number of seals. The boat approaches, rows past our ship, and lies by the side of a little hut on the beach at Danskeöen. This hut was built by a Scottish scientist, and is called Pike’s House, after him. The two men land and empty the boat of its load. We realize that they are two trappers whom “Hobby” has met in the course of her patrolling near Norskeöene, where they have remained since autumn trapping bears and foxes. In a short time they come on board to learn if they can possibly find a ship to carry them southwards.

With true Polar hospitality we invite them to have coffee with us and tell them the news from the outer world which they have not been in touch with since September. They listen with the same interest to our news as we do to their tales of the life of a trapper in the polar night. They have kept diaries and have made notes of wind and weather.

We borrow their diaries and read their accounts of the weather about the time of the start. They have made the following notes: May 18th. Calm, air very thick -3° c. 19th May. Fresh easterly wind, cloudy air, -4° c. 20th May. Slight northeast wind, atmosphere thick, a little snow, -3° c. Afternoon. Fresh easterly wind, snow. Evening. Easterly, snow, -5° c.

Thus we arrive at the starting day, which gave us the brilliant weather the airmen were waiting for, and which the meteorologists believe continued straight to the Pole.

In the diary the notes were: May 21st. Fresh, north east, atmosphere thick, and snow, -7° c. Evening, weather conditions the same -8° c. On the following day, May 22nd, when “Fram” and “Hobby” came northwards, they had noted clear weather in their diaries. These trappers’ diaries give us a new subject for conversation. If their observations are correct our airmen must have flown into thick fog opposite Danskeöen and Amsterdamöen. Supposing they followed a northward course after passing Amsterdamöen, it is not likely that the weather could have changed extensively between there and Norskeöene, especially with such a wind blowing as the diaries describe. We discuss it from every point of view and arrive at the only possible result. Around Spitzbergen’s northwest point and the islands immediately near it there has been a local storm on the day of the start. The airmen could not have missed seeing it, and the fact that they have continued northwards in spite of it, is because they have seen clear weather ahead in the polar basin, where they could make use of their sun compasses and deviation measures for navigating. The trappers are of the same opinion--one of them has spent many winters in Spitzbergen, and tells us that the weather conditions there are often quite different to what they are a little further south. The two trappers row away to their hut, where they intend to live until “Fram” goes southwards to coal, when they will accompany us in order to join a coal-boat from Ny-Aalesund to carry them to one or other Norwegian port. They will sell the two polar bear skins and thirty fox skins from their winter’s trapping and will live on the proceeds for a few months in Norway, then return to Spitzbergen again when they wish to gather a fresh harvest.

In the evening we hold a council of war in “Fram’s” mess regarding the patrolling, and we arrange exactly which parts of the fairway each boat shall cruise over. The first trip is to begin to-morrow, Friday, June 5th, continuing until June 9th, when at eight o’clock on that day “Hobby” and “Fram” shall be back in Virgo-havn again. There is a little difficulty about the fact that “Hobby” is not fitted with wireless, and for this reason we have made the first cruise of so short a duration, as word may come at any moment which would do away with the necessity for further patrolling.

Hardly any of us believe that there is a chance of our picking up the airmen. With such good flying machines there is hardly any doubt but that they must have reached the Pole before they had to land. Therefore we conclude that any accident can only have taken place where they have landed at the Pole point. It will, thus, be a shorter distance to Cape Columbia than to Northeastland, especially taking into consideration the fact that the going is easier over the flat ice towards the American coast than scrambling over the screw-ice north of Spitzbergen. From what the airmen said before they left it was their intention to return to Cape Columbia, and we had often noticed in King’s Bay during the conversation that Amundsen himself always counted on the possibility of coming home on foot. Every small item of the equipment which could be required on a march was gone through most carefully by Amundsen himself and tested and examined over and over again. He thought of everything, but when we remember what a small space the entire equipment for a march took up in the two machines it seems impossible that six men could have had enough material to keep life and soul together and get clear away. But Amundsen has experience from former years....

The first part of the waiting period is over. The thought of the last fourteen days arouses a chaos of memories and sensations. The last lunch in the mess on the starting day, three or four hours before they left, seems to be as far away as a childhood’s memory. We sat round the long table talking as usual, when suddenly the six men got up, saying: “It is time we put on our flying clothes,” and the whole occurrence appeared so natural to us all that many of us remained to drink an additional cup of the extra fine coffee which the steward had made for the occasion.

And thus they started, and we passed impatient days of anxious waiting to see them return. And now we can hardly understand our first great confidence. It seems to me quite impossible that for ten or fourteen days I could have believed in their home-coming with a certainty as firm as that of the six themselves. But should a miracle happen on the other hand, and we should suddenly see them flying towards us, and hear the thrumming of their engines, it would seem to be the most natural thing that could take place.

_Virgo-havn. Friday, June 5th._

The “Fram’s” crew have continued filling the water-tanks to-day. They fill the lifeboats with fresh water ice and the motor-boats tow them to the ship’s side, where they empty bucket after bucket into the tanks. They are finished by 5 P.M. and they are ready to sail northwards.

The weather prospects are good. The frost is over for this year and one can see the bare patches amongst the snow growing bigger and bigger, as it melts and runs away down the hillside in several little brooks, which increase in size as they descend, carrying gravel and sand right out to sea. A wide stretch in front of the beach is muddy and thick in rainbow sections with one part gray, another brown, turning into red or yellow, according to the color of the mud which the hill stream has carried with it. The weather is mild and we no longer require our mittens and leather hats. When we take a little walk ashore, we have not gone far up the hill before perspiration breaks out on us.

This barren Virgo-havn which we came to a fort-night ago and which seemed so deserted has now awakened to life. Even unaccustomed eyes can see how the birds are preparing for the joys of family life. The capercailzies, which were arriving in flocks when we first came, are now settling down in pairs,--the dark brown hen flies seawards with a crooning note, followed by her mate. With a splash they alight on the water by the side of the island, where they land, and together search like two every-day citizens for a suitable nesting place. A flock of little auks flies throughout the day round a high hilltop which rises from the beach. Their wings fill the air with a whirring noise, and their squawking nearly deafens us as we pass near their nests, for they are apprehensive of our intentions. Large plundering sea-mews swirl around overhead in the hope of espying an egg.

Yes! spring is really here, taking hold of this island, where conditions of life are so poor that only a great thaw gives anything a chance to grow.

The last boat-load of water has been towed to the side of the “Fram”: the whistle recalls those of us who are ashore, and we see that the vessel is ready to leave. Everything on deck is secured and fast. The photographer Berge, Wharton and I shall go eastwards with “Hobby” towards Northeastland, where the chances of meeting the six are greatest. We pack all our belongings together and row towards “Hobby,” as “Fram” is to leave in half an hour’s time.

_“Hobby” Saturday, 6th June_

At 6 P.M. to-day “Fram” steamed off and disappeared along Amsterdamöen’s east coast. “Hobby” made ready for sailing and at eight o’clock we followed. To begin with we kept to the same course as “Fram.” The weather was not of the best. Visibility was fairly good, but the sky was covered with gray, low-lying clouds, while the air was damp and heavy. A nor’-easter made our position on deck anything but comfortable, but the mere fact that we were moving engendered a satisfactory feeling and we sat up late into the night. Leaving Virgo-havn we got a good chance to study, on Spitzbergen’s mainland, how the glaciers here in the north have diminished in recent years. In one of the dales we can see the remainder of a glacier which not so many years ago reached right down to the sea. Now there is hardly a small ice hillock left of it. The neighboring glaciers have also shrunk and no longer fill the dales as they did formerly. We remember what our friends in King’s Bay told us, that the large glaciers in the Bay have moved 1,500–2,000 meters further out than they were ten years ago, when the coal miners first started to work. During the trip through the sound we are accompanied part of the way by a young seal, which unconcernedly swims by the side of the vessel regarding us curiously with black shining eyes. Our sporting instincts awaken--we have no intention of shooting a young seal, but the sight of it reminds us that there will be plenty of sport further north, where at this time of year seals are plentiful. It is not impossible that we may also bag a polar bear or two. “Hobby” in the meantime has passed Singing-Bird Island, which could hardly have borne a more fitting name. Town dwellers who are on board the vessel, to whom fifty or sixty sparrows appear as a _crowd_ of birds, have always listened with skepticism to the tales told of flocks of birds so dense that they obliterate the sun. As we pass the Island we get a proof that these tales have not been exaggerated. I admit that there was no sun to obliterate, but round the high Island we can see flocks of auk flying in such numbers that they look like big black thunder clouds driving before the wind. We turn into the sound, passing Norskeöene and lose sight of Amsterdamöen’s double-peaked top. In a small opening between Singing-Bird Island and Cloven-Cliff Island we catch sight of “Fram.” It is lying still, and it would appear that the officers on board have begun their hydrographic work. They are quickly lost to sight as we pass Outer-Norskeöene, where we see thousands of capercailzies flying backwards and forwards.

When we return after three or four days’ absence we shall be able to gather enough eggs to last us a lifetime. The island is famed amongst trappers as being one of the best nesting places on Spitzbergen. It is almost as good as Moss Island at the entrance to South Gate and Dunn Island outside Horn Sound. Through the glasses we can see that the capercailzies are busy building their nests--the most fortunate of them have found places to build in the crannies of the broken ice heaps. Coming out of the sound, we have the whole polar sea lying in front of us. Up till now fate has provided that we should only see the water calm and in sunshine. (Although we had a storm crossing from Tromsö to King’s Bay it is so long ago that we have forgotten it.) Now we get raw, cold and stormy weather. The sea is not blue and pleasant-looking, but gray and heavy as lead. The waves toss the ship about, and we have to hold fast to anything near us to prevent ourselves being slung overboard, whilst from the pantry we hear kitchen utensils and cooking pots crashing about accompanied by the steward’s high-pitched curses. We don’t see much ice! Here and there a small floe or a patch of mush rocks past on the waves, strengthening the impression that this deserted sea stretches to the world’s end. During a sea journey in the south, even if land is not to be seen, one knows that in a few hours a strip of coast line will appear--and behind that coast line there is land, with people and life and new things to see, to hear, and to learn, which gives the journey a purpose! But this sea! It stretches northwards and northwards. The heavy lead-gray mass of water is never broken by a bit of smiling coast, with green-clad mountain sides or high hills, but goes on in an endless monotony of drifting ice. As it lies before us now it has no charm; it only repels with its cold indifference. We prefer not to look at it, and go down into the little saloon, where we who have come to the “Fram” are delighted to find that here also they have the praiseworthy habit of serving coffee at night whilst the ship is at sea. We go to bed at ten o’clock, after which the engines stop and “Hobby” lies drifting through the night (it is just as well to spare our fuel). As we settled down for the night “Hobby” lay a little northwest of Mofföen, almost directly north of Welcome Point in Reindeerland.

When we wakened about ten in the morning, we still lay drifting, for towards morning a heavy fog had descended and it was useless to try to proceed. It would be impossible to see our course, and to get a sight of the airmen was equally out of the question in such density. The fog we experienced in Virgo-havn some days ago was nothing compared to this, which seemed like a mass of thick wool enveloping us. There was no rest for the eye, no gap in the foggy curtain. How long will it last? People who know the conditions here shrug their shoulders.... There is nothing to be done but to remain where we are. There is a little snow shower which does not improve matters. Should the weather remain like this, it seems to us that a reconnoitering expedition will have to be sent to search for us as well.

We go down, throw ourselves on our mattresses and sleep!

An hour or two after lunch time and the fog has lifted a little. We can see several ship-lengths ahead, and above it is distinctly clearer; the sun is still shining behind it all. A few ice-floes pass out of the density and we follow them gladly with our eyes as they serve to break the awful monotony. A small breeze begins to blow, bringing us the same feelings which come to a prisoner when he hears the key turn in the lock of his prison door, opening it for him. The fog disappears like magic before the wind and as we stand on deck we hear a voice shout something which makes us all stare excitedly at a large ice-floe to starboard:

Polar bear!

Where?

There, on the top of the floe!

Right enough, there before us with the dispersing fog as a background the bear stands like a yellow shadow. In less than a second we have got the seal-boat out on the water; sportsmen and photographers all tumble in, in company with their guns and their oars, so that five men lie in a mixed heap at the bottom of the boat. It is not long before the oarsmen are in their places and bearing down towards the ice-floe where the polar bear is sending foam flecks flying over its shoulder. It is a few hundred yards away--nearer and nearer we approach and see the bear more and more distinctly. It is three or four years old, and those of us who have never seen the polar bear living in its natural surroundings are delighted to see it disporting itself on the floe. It has not yet noticed the boat approaching. Contented to play with the top of an ice-clump, it stands up on its hind legs, striking it with a fore paw, and sending the snowflakes flying around it. Then it turns a somersault, lies on its back and waves its four legs in the air, jumps up and starts to play “peek-a-boo” with itself round the ice-clump. We are close up to it ... twenty meters, ten meters.... Still it does not see us, for it is lying behind the clump. We round it, and just when we are five meters away the bear hears the splash of the oars. It rises up on its hind legs, stands like a statue for a second, gazes at us doubtfully, then turns round and rushes away in a heavy gallop over the floe, sending the snow flying in all directions. From the other side of the floe we hear a splash; it has jumped into the sea to try and save itself by swimming....

The three oarsmen bend their backs; we round the floe and see the bear swimming towards “Hobby.” It is a thrilling moment! Here are three strong men rowing until the boat trembles under their exertions: while the perspiration runs from them, the distance between boat and bear increases, and we believe for a moment that it will be able to get away by reaching an ice-floe on the other side of the vessel. Should it manage to get there, it has a good chance of saving its skin. But the poor beast cannot keep up this great speed for long; it swims more and more slowly and, catching sight of “Hobby,” decides to change its course towards a smaller floe onto which it jumps, gallops over it and slips into the sea on the other side. Our boat gains on it now with every stroke of the oars, and we can hear its heavy breathing. A little later we are close up to the bear; it lifts its head and gives a terrified glance at the boat, then turns towards “Hobby” and tries to cast itself underneath while Berge stands filming on the deck. We are three meters from the vessel’s side. The bear turns its tired shiny eyes towards the boat, opens its large mouth and gives a hoarse roar. An oar is stretched towards it which it bites into splinters.

There is a shot. The bear is hit in the neck. A stream of blood welters out, coloring the water and the bear’s own skin with crimson. The heavy body gives a mighty lurch and with its last ounce of strength attempts to dive, and we can see when it is in the water how it tries with its powerful claws to get deeper down. But its strength gives out, and, turning on its back, it gives out a series of terrible roars. A shot in the chest and now it lies still beside the crimson-dyed water. We cut a hole in its neck and drag it across the ice-floe, where we proceed to skin it. They watch us from the ship and, putting a boat out, row across to where we are skinning the bear--an operation which is being filmed and photographed. “Hobby’s” dog Sally accompanies them; she is a mongrel resembling a fox terrier and has the name of every canine breed included in her pedigree. The little animal snuffles around the bear and is finally photographed, by her proud owner, sitting on its back. We take the bear-skin on board, also the gall bladder, the contents of which, according to Arctic traditions, constitute a cure for gout when mixed with an equal quantity of brandy.

Safely on board again and we feel like new men. We forget that only an hour ago we cursed the Arctic seas and everything connected with them, whilst we only longed for sunshine and for warmth--for flowers and leafy trees, and for the songs of woodland birds on a summer evening. But now it is changed; we are no longer merely passengers on board, we have become part of the actual life of the ice regions. We at last begin to understand how it is possible for people, year after year, to leave their summer homes and set off to journey amongst ice and snowfields here in the north--not only is it a possibility, but a necessity--for this region possesses a power which draws back to it those who have once visited it. The fog has now vanished, and in the distance we can see Spitzbergen’s coast quite clearly from Norskeöene in the west, to Verlegen Hook in the east. Northwards and eastwards the sea is almost free of ice, while a number of cracks break pieces off the unending ice-plains. We hear an order given to set the engines going, and we, who in the fever of the chase after the bear have almost forgotten the reason we are here, are called back to a world of reality by the first thrum of the motor-engines. “Hobby” is soon steering towards the northeast, making for the most northerly of the Seven Islands. This afternoon the weather has got clearer, and soon after 7 P.M. we enter into the first belt of drift-ice. We understand more and more the charm of life in these high latitudes. The sea is blue, the sky is blue, and jolly little waves are washing over the small ice-floes, while each ripple (under the influence of a northeast breeze) is tipped with foam which glistens in the glorious sunshine, making all on board feel well pleased with the world at large. We pass one large iceberg after another, heavy, stranded icebergs, which stand thirty, forty or fifty meters above the surface of the sea. They are eight or nine times deeper than the part which we can see, and stand on the sea bottom until such a time as sun and wind leave their mark on them to such an extent that they overbalance and drift off southwards. We ask if it is possible for “Hobby” to sail close up to them so that we can get good photographs, but Captain Johansen says “No.” He has experience in this matter and knows that an iceberg, which at the moment is lying quite still, can suddenly topple,--and although “Hobby” is a very strong ship, she could hardly stand being struck by such a colossus. As we pass a heavy flat ice-floe, we see an interesting sight. The waves are swaying it with a regular rhythm, and spouting up from its very center there is a large column of water which rises twenty to twenty-five meters into the air. The explanation of this strange spring is simple enough. A caprice of nature has formed a hole in the floe, and as the waves rock it, the water presses through the hole with such force that the floe becomes a floating fountain.

We never tire of standing on the deck watching the drift-ice, which has a charm for any one who is observing it for the first time, even as it has for “old hands” in the northern regions. Against the sides of the great icebergs waves are breaking, just as they do against the island reefs of the Norwegian coast. The drifting pieces of ice have ever-changing forms. During a thaw, sea, sun, and wind turn them into shapes more weird and fantastic than even a sculptor could do. “Hobby” passes every possible kind of fabulous animal; we see extraordinary buildings, and twisted, stiffened trees; profiles of dead and living people whom we recognize; Gothic and Grecian pillars; floating models in a variety sufficient for a complete generation of artists and sculptors. From the floating ice we can see dangerous projections which are often many yards below the sea’s surface--projections which, should they come in contact with a steamer’s hull, might be as fateful as striking a rock. While we pass through the belt of drift ice we have a watchman continually on the lookout for these projections--with a wave of the hand he warns the man at the wheel each time it is necessary to change our course; thus we do not follow a straight line, and if we drew a plan of the course we pursue it would resemble an arabesque.

We pass out of the belt of drift-ice and after a half hour’s duration are in a sea that is clear of ice. Looking back upon the belt we have just left, we notice that it appears like a white strip between sea and sky. Southwards through the hazy air we see Spitzbergen’s cliffs, and westwards we can just glimpse the coast of Northeastland and the ice which covers it. Straight ahead new masses of ice begin to appear on the horizon. Is it another belt of drift-ice, or is it the border of the polar ice? We can only answer this question in an hour’s time, and we shall then know how soon “Hobby” can begin the first patrolling operations.

It was only drift ice. We cross it in the same manner as we crossed the former belt and continue northeastwards till late evening. The unbelievable happens! On the eastern horizon one island after another appears--and we have proof that in the _beginning_ of June “Hobby” has managed without difficulty to break right through to the Seven Islands, which, in a year of bad ice conditions, can only be approached in the late summer, and in very bad years cannot be approached at all. Last year at St. Hans’ time it was hopeless to try and pass Moffenöen. Thus the conditions change from year to year with a capriciousness, the factors of which scientists are beginning to understand at last.

At midnight we are in 80° 45´ N. lat., 18° 15´ E. long., and we cease operations for the night, lying fifty yards from the border of the polar ice, which stretches northwards and eastwards as far as we can see through our binoculars.

_“Hobby.” Sunday June 7th_

Our awakening to-day was dramatic. Half asleep, we lay for some time in our bunks as we heard and felt bump after bump on the ship’s hull, so that in spite of its strong timbers it trembled under the force. When we were wide awake, even the greatest landlubbers amongst us were aware that the bumping came from the bottom and not from the sides, but before we had time to utter an opinion about the occurrence, we saw the skipper, who had been taking a well-earned sleep after his strenuous work, disappear from his cabin with his trousers in his hand. We stretched ourselves and turned over in our beds, for any help we could give would be worthless, and therefore we settled down for another little snooze.

The bumping continued and from the bridge we heard orders called in language which might have been couched in more parliamentary form. A noise like a storm issued from the engine room; they were trying at all costs to get the engines to work. We scrambled into our clothes and went up on deck, where we saw immediately the cause of the uproar, and the reason why the Captain was shouting out hoarse orders, while he still stood with his trousers in his hand. “Hobby” was lying “far in,” amongst the drift ice, and it was necessary to get out of it as quickly as possible, otherwise we might stick there for a much longer period than we should care to do. We also saw at a glance the cause of the bumping. A tremendous block of ice which lay close to the “Hobby” had a long projection under water--of such large dimensions that it stretched right under the vessel, and was visible at the other side knocking against an ice-floe which was crushing in on the side of the boat. Every time the floe heaved it struck the projection and drove it against the ship. The situation was not one of imminent danger, but it could become so at any moment, and we longed to hear the throbbing sound which would tell us the engines had started....

At last our wish was gratified and a start was made. Gently and carefully “Hobby” glided over the “ice-projection” which, by way of a farewell greeting as we got free of it, gave us a heavy double bump. We heaved a sigh of relief all round and the captain at last had leisure to put on his trousers. We were not right out of our trouble, however, as we had still 200–300 meters of ice to get through before we reached a clear water-course, but after a good deal of maneuvering we got through and steered eastwards. It seemed to us at first that the ice lay in a straight line to Ross Island (the most northerly of the Seven Islands), but after we patrolled its edge for an hour we found there was a large bay at the middle island and from the deck we could already see that the boundary between the loose “screw-ice” and the solid ice continued eastward to North Cape in Northeastland. It appeared as though the solid ice lay in a curve starting from a point within the bay and stretching northeast from Seven Islands, where we then lay.

The engine stopped, and “Hobby” “lay to.” The sea was still and not even the smallest puff of wind ruffled its surface. We were far away from the great “ocean-highways” at a spot where neither the charts nor the northern seamen on board could give us much information. New charts had to be drawn according to photographs and descriptions (for _exact_ measurements and observations can never be taken), nor can much reliance be placed in the existing charts, for good ones of this district are scarce. The seal-boats which sail these waters get through, guided by the wits of their skippers, who mostly possess the explorer’s sense of direction. The landscape is different in this part to that of the coast lying westward. There the hills are high and jagged, a condition which rightly caused the Dutchmen to call the island-group “Spitzbergen” (spits, point; bergen, hills) when they discovered it in 1596.

Here the hills are lower, more rounded,--sloping evenly towards the sea and ending in long tongues of rock which stretch out from the coast. The Seven Islands have a formation which is characteristic of the whole district; they rise right up from the sea 200–300 meters high. One of them--the chart calls it Nelson Island--presents the appearance of the façade of l’Eglise de Notre Dame of Paris. We wished to call it Cathedral Island, but several people said the Island had been called after Admiral Nelson so we decided to let it keep its name.

We lay on the deck in the grateful warmth of the sun, while the captain stood with his glasses ranging the entire landscape for a sight of the airmen. He has traveled the polar seas for twenty-five years; his father, uncles and grandfather have done the same before him, for he belongs to a race, found frequently in Northern Norway, which has wrested its living from the ice regions. The other evening as we sat in the cabin and studied the Arctic charts, we noticed a little spot called Lonely Island lying beyond the Taimur Peninsula in Siberia, and in parentheses under its name stood the name “Johannessen 1878.” It turned out to be the uncle of our Captain, Kristian Johannessen. He had sailed round Novoje Semlia before any one else and had been with our skipper’s father many times on the polar expeditions of the Swede Nordenskiöld.

He has a history of northern custom and tradition behind him, for his people have often left their work of trapping if they believed that there was some geographical secret to be unraveled or some new road to be opened up. The Hammerfest skipper, Elling Carlsen, came into this neighborhood where we are now lying with a little vessel in 1863 in order to follow his calling as a trapper. As the fairway northwards appeared to be free from ice, he did not turn back the way he had come. He steered eastwards, sailed round Northeastland, and set his course southwards towards Norway, passing Giles Land, Barentsöen and Hopen. For such enterprise (in days when ice-boats only had sails) he got a well-deserved reward from the Royal Geographical Society in London.

How much this skipper’s experience has helped in our present expedition it would be difficult to say, but certain it is that many an explorer has been aided considerably by this man’s discoveries and by his accounts of conditions in districts hitherto unexplored and unknown. Polar explorers have always worked in company with the trappers in the Arctic--and Nansen, Sverdrup and Amundsen all made their first expedition in a seal-boat. Can one not regard their enterprise as a continuation of the work done by brave skippers in earlier days who took advantage of every opportunity which offered?

Nothing is to be seen of the airmen. On an ice-floe near the coast Johannessen notices that a number of seals are lying sleeping and sunning themselves. The seal-boat has been hanging on its derricks since the bear-hunt, so we quickly lower it and some of our party row towards the floe. They have to row very quietly (and have not gone far from the side of the vessel when we on board can no longer hear the sound of the rowlocks) for the slightest noise will waken the seals, which are light sleepers, and once awake they will flop into the sea and dive. Through our glasses we follow the progress of the boat. They crouch over their oars, and we can see nothing but their heads over the side of the boat as with long steady strokes they approach the ice-floe. The seals lie in such a position that if they are to be shot the boat will have to round the floe. At last they are within shooting range and the man with the gun rises noiselessly and takes aim. All the same the seal wakens, lifts its head and looks at him. It amazedly catches sight of the boat and we can see it draw itself together for a plunge into the sea. But it has been a good shot, and the fear that the animal would escape is groundless, for it remains lying on the outer edge of the floe with only its head lying in the water. The boat then draws alongside and the boys jump onto the ice, stick a hook into the heavy, slippery skin and haul the animal into a more favorable position. The shot has struck it behind the ear, killing it instantly. In a few moments the big heavy body is skinned, several pounds of seal-flesh are cut off and all carried on board the boat. Then the men row on to where the next seal lies on a floe some hundred meters away. Hardly has the boat rowed off when the remains of the dead animal are being fought over by flocks of sea-gulls and sea-mews. They tear the remainder of the fat and flesh into pieces, swallowing one big lump after another, until there is not one morsel to be found. But, even then, they cannot leave the place, as they have become so heavy it is impossible for them to fly.

An hour after the boat returns with four seal-skins as their “bag,” also provision for the larder:

“Fresh meat this evening, Steward!”

Then the engines start again and “Hobby” continues southwards along the coast. About 10 P.M. we “lay to” for the night, slightly to the northeast of Lavöen outside Brandy Bay. The seal-boat rows out once more as the crew wish to make the little extra money which a night’s seal-hunting will bring them. From the deck we watch them row away between the ice-floes. We hope it will not turn out for these three men on board the little boat as it did for the three others who once landed east of Spitzbergen and went inland to search for eggs and eiderdown on the Tusindöene. We heard of them from a seal-skipper whom we met in King’s Bay. “They took with them only a hook in a small lifeboat, and hardly had they landed when the drift-ice closed in between the island and the vessel, which lay some hundreds of meters away. The fog descended around them and everything disappeared in its density. The three men decided to wait. They waited eight days before the fog cleared. They turned the ship’s boat over them to give them shelter from snow and wind, while they lived on eggs and uncooked birds, for any available fuel was too wet to use. When the fog lifted the vessel had disappeared, and they had no other way to save themselves but to cross over the ice-floes in their little boat towards the mainland-coast round South Cape, and nineteen days afterwards they arrived thin and emaciated, but otherwise in good condition, at the Swedish coal-fields in Bellsund. From there they were able to get a coal-boat to Tromsö. Arriving home, they found that their vessel had not returned, however, as it had remained to search for Kristian and his companions, and when it arrived several days after their return it was flying its flag half-mast, causing Kristian, who stood on the quay, to burst out in loud laughter as he shouted, ‘Hullo, father, what have you done with the top of the flag cord?’

The weather is still calm, and the seal-boat does not row very far away from the vessel. One could not imagine a calmer night. The barren landscape is as still as death. The only noise that we can hear is an occasional clang from the boat when an oar strikes the ice. The echo of it rolls from cliff to cliff along the coast. The sky is cloudless, but the atmosphere is hazy, so that the sun, which blazes high in the north, appears distant and unreal. The cliffs with their icy crests are reflected in the water. We hang over the side and gaze upon it all. It would be delightful if only we knew that the six airmen were safe. It is Riiser-Larsen’s birthday. We remember a remark of his early in May, “Now we must _really_ start so that I can spend my birthday at home in Norway.”

_“Hobby.” Monday, June 8th_

There is not a great difference between night and day up here. When we went on deck in the morning the sun was shining from another part of the sky, otherwise everything was as before. The birds, after having taken two hours’ rest at midnight, were also full of activity. Auks in dress-coats and white shirts are still in full flight and whizz in flocks upon flocks from the land to the open sea in order to catch food. Black guillemots and little auks fly madly away, their direction being determined by the higher air currents. Sea gulls rest on their wings and keep moving round and round the boat, waiting for the steward to heave the contents of the rubbish bin overboard. They hover untiringly, hour after hour, though now and then one hears a beat of their wings when they have to change from one air-current to another. During the night a seal-boat has come along--it lies some hundreds of meters away from us and we pass alongside of it. We row up to it and explain “Hobby’s” mission up here--the captain promises to keep a good lookout for our airmen and also to warn any other “sealers” he may possibly get into touch with. No doubt there will be plenty of them up here as the conditions for making good catches are specially promising this year. (We can _already_ see the mast-tops of another boat appearing on the horizon.) We also request the captain to warn those trappers who spend the winter in the huts along the north coast, if some of them by chance should visit him. He promises this, and as a farewell gift gets some packages of tobacco, because his supply is low, for his boat has been a long time at sea.

“Hobby” moves off; the course is set northwards to the ice-edge; we shall steer past it westwards until we reach a point north of Norskeöene. The trip back to Virgo-havn on Danskeöen has started. After a few hours we near the ice-edge again, directly west of Ross-öen, and proceed along it: little by little Syvöene and Northeastland disappear in the horizon and we see no more land. Northwards is only ice and the edge stretches westward as far as we can see. We continue our course past it at a distance of 50–100 meters. A fresh breeze is blowing from the southward, which produces white crests on the waves--it must have been blowing the whole of the previous day, because during the course of the day we notice that the belts of drift-ice, which we passed through on the way up, have disappeared. The wind has driven them northwards and pressed them into the edge of the pack-ice.

On the trip along the ice-edge we help the crew in “blubbering” the sealskins. During the work Wharton makes a strange discovery. The crew he is working with had, during the war, served on the western front in the same American division to which he had belonged.

Having finished with the “blubbering,” we see another polar bear. It is standing on a high ice shoal at the extreme edge. We put a boat out and row towards it, climb ashore, and try to get within shooting range. Slowly we approach from shoal to shoal. In the excitement we fire from too long a range; the bullet passes the bear, which becomes alarmed, and, looking like a yellow-white streak on the drift-ice, it jumps from one shoal to another and speedily disappears from sight. Shall we leave it in peace or shall we try to find it again? We climb an iceberg and sight the bear through the glasses some hundred meters further ahead. One of the shots we fired after it when it sprang away must have injured it, for it appears to be lame on one side. It is not running any longer, but jogs along slowly over the ice. We follow it with glasses. Then it stops, and we see it lying down at the foot of a big iceberg about a kilometer from us. We speculate what to do. To proceed across the pack-ice is impossible. Most of the shoals lying at the outside are not sufficiently large to bear the weight of a man, and between the bigger pieces there are either big cracks or wide openings filled with mush and small lumps of ice.

If we have to get hold of the bear we must pull the boat along with us, push it over the shoals and row where we can. We look at each other and come to a quick decision. It will mean hard work! One man goes forward with the boat-hook, which has to be hooked into the shoals so that the boat can be hauled along; two men push with the oars, and two men jump now and again onto the shoals to help to push the boat over the mush. But they have to be nimble-footed, because many of the shoals they trust themselves on are not big enough to carry them and sink immediately. Then it is a question of getting on board again before they get too wet. (Now and then they are _not_ quick enough.) In such a manner we get slowly along. The bear is still lying at the same spot. At last we get into gun-range and shoot. It jumps up, we shoot again, it collapses and we run towards it and fire a mortal shot. We skin it and take the skin with us to the boat, which we have left in a clearing between two shoals. Then we sit down to enjoy a few moments’ rest which is very necessary. It took us one and one-half hours in the snow to cover one kilometer from the ice-edge to the bear, and we are wet through, partly from perspiration and partly from sea water.

Then we press on again. The same toil on the return journey has to be gone through and about three hours after having left the “Hobby” we are on board again. They had been a little anxious when they noticed how far we had ventured onto the ice, because a fog-bank was approaching from the south. We had not noticed it in the excitement of hunting the bear. Barely half an hour after we are safely on board, the fog gets so thick that we only proceed at half speed along the ice-edge, which we can just catch a glimpse of fifty to sixty meters away from the ship. We are exactly north of the “worst-weather-corner” in Svalbard: Hinlopen Strait (between Spitzbergen and Northeastland), where there is always fog or wind at sea. The fog-belt we have got into is not very extensive. After an hour’s steaming we are out of it; we get clear weather again, but the sky is still a little overcast. We continue full speed along the ice-edge.

Throughout the evening we discuss the result of the trip. The experts on board are unanimous in the opinion that if the airmen get to Svalbard, the only place where one could expect to find them would be Northeastland, and the greatest chance of picking them up, if they get near land, would be on the east side of Syvöen and Nordkap, where the distance from the solid ice to the land is shortest and where the belt of pack-ice is smallest. It is practically impossible that they, with their primitive outfit and scanty remaining provisions, can manage to trek westwards to the ice-edge here, and if they _should_ succeed, their position would be infinitely more difficult than further east. How broad the belt of pack-ice in front of the solid ice may be is of course a matter we cannot judge. But right away from Syvöen we can see it stretching as far as our glasses can range, namely, about fifteen kilometers. The further westward one goes the broader the belt probably gets. Seeing we took one and one-half hours to cover a bare kilometer when we chased the bear, although we had good assistance in having the boat to help us and nothing to carry, it would take a much longer time for the airmen to force their way forward over a similar distance. They would have to carry a burdensome pack, and the small canvas boats are far too fragile to carry the heavy packages when being pulled through the ice. If, notwithstanding all this, they manage to get westwards to the ice-edge, they will have to go along to Northeastland, because from the edge of the ice to the north coast of Spitzbergen there is an open sea channel to a breadth of about 100 kilometers, and to try and row across this in canvas boats means certain death.

We are further agreed that if flying-machines come northwards in order to take part in reconnoitering, they would be of most service if they chose Lavöen, on the west coast of Northeastland, as a basis for their operations. Therefrom they can fly westwards and eastwards as far over the ice as is considered justifiable.

_Virgo-havn. Tuesday, June 9th_

We proceed the whole night, steering along the ice-edge, which north of Moffenöen bends southwards and at 80° 14′ bends again westwards. During the night the watchman on the bridge has seen four bears on the ice. Almost due north of Norskeöene we left the ice-edge and set our course for the islands.

We lie a few hours in the sound between the Islands to collect eggs, and then continue down to Virgo-havn, where we arrive about half-past seven. “Fram” is not here, but inside the hut--Pike’s House--is a message from Captain Hagerup, also the following telegram dated Oslo, June 6th, from the Aero-Club:

“Decided last night establish safety polar-flyers following places Spitzbergen East Greenland West Greenland Cape Columbia, stop. At Spitzbergen it is considered that the two vessels and two aeroplanes are sufficient but will warn Norwegian seal-hunting vessels, search also Eastside Spitzbergen, East Greenland in all probability by French explorer Charcot with Ritmester Isachsen stop Approaching committee New York to take over work at Northeast Greenland and Cape Columbia.”

In the message from Captain Hagerup of the “Fram” to First-Lieutenant Horgen he informed us that orders had arrived from the Commanding Admiral that the ship was to go to Advent Bay to coal, and meet the two flying boats which were on the way northwards from Horten with a collier. “Fram” had gone southwards last night, and if she had not returned to Virgo-havn by Tuesday, June 16th, at 8 A.M., “Hobby” was to go down to King’s Bay again. In the meantime “Hobby” was to go northwards and eastwards on a new reconnoitering trip. As there was a possibility that “Fram” might arrive before “Hobby” returned from its other reconnoitering trip we journalists were to go ashore at Danskeöen, and wait for four or five days in Pike’s House until “Hobby” or “Fram” should return.

_Danskeöen. Wednesday, June 10th_

We are living _here_ now! “Hobby” went north at 4 P.M. and we have established ourselves as well as possible in the little hut. During the few days we have been with “Hobby” it has practically turned to summer here. Snow lies only on the high hillsides and in occasional heavy layers here and there in the bottom of the valleys. Otherwise the fields are bare--to says “fields,” by the way, is not to use the right expression, because the whole of Danskeöen is one complete heap of stones! In course of time water and ice have burst the sides of the hills into pieces, and it is only the very steepest of the precipices which are not covered with loose stones. We hear the water trickling everywhere, deep down between the stones, which lie so loosely that we have to be more than careful in climbing over them. To-day it has rained for the first time during our stay in Spitzbergen. It is nice and homely to sit in the hut and listen to the rain lashing against the glass windowpanes, and to watch it splashing onto the ground outside.