Chapter XII: Part V: Whilst We Wait (3)

_Danskeöen. Thursday, June 11th_

During the night whilst we slept we were aroused by a rustling outside. Wharton (who having met so many bears had the feeling that we might meet some here) wakened me with a hard dig in the ribs, shouting: “Load your gun. Polar bear outside.” It was, however, only three hunters who had spent the winter on the east side of Spitzbergen in a little arm of Hinlopen Strait, called Lommebukten (or Pocket Bay). They had rowed the long distance round the north coast in a little boat which was deeply laden with fox-skins, the remainder of their provisions, and all the outfit they had used during the winter. The use of their boat afforded us a great deal of pleasure. We rowed about auk-shooting in the forenoon, and later we went out in it round the islets collecting fresh eggs.

There we were received by eider-duck and gulls, kittiwakes, sea-swallows and geese, which flew up in thousands from the nests, chirping, whistling and shrieking as they in desperation swooped down over the heads of the robbers of their nests, flapping their wings about our eyes. We hit out at them with our caps, but did not allow ourselves to be frightened back to our boat again. Nest after nest has to be looked into--it is principally the nest of the eider-duck we care about. There are about five or six eggs in each and a handful of down. We are not actual robbers for we leave one egg in each nest and a little bit of down so that the hen will continue to lay--she will come back and bustle about till the nest is all right again. (If we removed all the eggs and the down, the hen would desert the nest.) Egg and down collecting is not a pleasant occupation from the point of view of smell.

When we get to within about ten to fifteen meters from the nest, the male bird starts to cry “Oi-oi-oi-oi-e,” while the hen sits close over her eggs. She sits immovable, only a blink now and again of her black eyes betrays that she is watching us. (Will she manage to deceive us into believing that her nest is a moss-covered stone?) But like all menfolk the male bird is frightened at the bottom of his heart. We only take two or three steps towards the nest when he rises up and sets noisily out towards the sea. The deserted hen follows. But at the last moment when she rises she makes one final frantic effort to save her eggs. Had we not been coarsened by our stay up here she might have succeeded in saving them, but as it is, we plunder the nest.

It has stopped raining. White clouds drive across the blue sky and it is warm in the sun. The air is fresh and mild; to lie here now on the island is like being in the fields at home in Norway in the summertime.

_Danskeöen. Friday, June 12th_

We have plenty to do in the hut. Roasting, cooking and making coffee the whole day, but we have plenty of time to look at the remains of André and Wellmann’s expedition equipment, which lies spread about in the valley where the hut stands. They are not just small things. The apparatus they used to make the gas for filling the balloon, which is lost forever, and the airship, which fell down immediately after the start, lie in a heap, rusted and weather-stained during the passage of time. Heaps of cases filled with filings, damaged acid-balloons and heaps of timber from the collapsed balloon sheds lie spread about. On the lids of the packing cases we can still read the half-blurred addresses. In Wellmann’s house the stonework is still standing practically untouched, and there is a kitchen range which looks much better than the old trumpery one we have in our hut. The other part of the house has disappeared--until some years ago it was still there, but then it was stolen (in the true sense of the word). An enterprising skipper who had bagged no seal that year pulled it down and took all the timber on board, covering his expenses for the trip (and even more than that) by selling it all to one of the collieries.

The northwest corner of Spitzbergen is, on the whole, one of the most classical parts in the history of Arctic expeditions. The first expedition which started from here for the North Pole was a British one. Two men-of-war passed here in 1773, but they did not get further north than 80° 36′ when the ice forced them south again. On board one of these was Nelson as midshipman, and during this trip he was not far from being killed by a polar bear. In the following decades several attempts were made to get northwards from Spitzbergen, but all the experiences which these expeditions showed was that it was impossible to reach the great goal from this side by sailing ship. The ice stretched too far down, and the current turned the boats southwards as soon as they had got well amongst the ice, so that maneuvering was difficult. For a long time no attempt was made--the next was André and Wellmann’s. It was left to Fridtjof Nansen to show the way to the North Pole, with the “Fram.” This last-named boat when it came out of the ice in 1896 passed Virgo-havn steering southwards to Norway. That summer André was on Danskeöen waiting anxiously for a favorable wind to allow him to start his balloon trip, but it did not take place that year and it was only in the following summer that he got away.

_Danskeöen. Saturday, June 13th_

Weather fine, calm and clear with slightly blurred sky.

_Danskeöen. Sunday, June 14th_

Same as yesterday.

_Danskeöen. Monday, June 15th_

About four o’clock “Hobby” returns from the second trip. It has had a spell of drizzly weather, has rolled a lot and has seen nothing of the airmen. Ice was about the same as on the first trip; north of Syvöen it had successfully forced its way right up to 81°. “Fram” has not yet got back. If it is not here by 8 A.M. to-morrow “Hobby” will go to King’s Bay.

_Ny-Aalesund. King’s Bay. Tuesday, June 16th_

“Hobby” arrived here at 4 P.M. after a good trip along the coast past the seven glaciers. A fresh wind blew, and now and then the vessel took a little water on deck. During our stay up north great things have happened. There is a telegram for us from Advent Bay telling us that two naval flying-boats have arrived with a collier from Horten. “Fram,” which has to be taken over by a scientific expedition, has gone southwards to Norway, and the naval patrol-boat “Heimdal” will be the flying-boats’ mother-ship. We communicated immediately by wireless with “Heimdal,” which had also arrived at Advent Bay. The flying-boats are on the water and can start whenever the weather conditions permit. We have put out buoys at places where they can moor, but we advise “Heimdal” that it is blowing so hard here that the start must be delayed until the wind abates.

_Ny-Aalesund. Wednesday, June 17th_

When we wakened in the morning the weather was good for flying. The sky blue, clear and high, the fjord ruffled a little by a slight breeze from the east, First-Lieutenant Horgen informed the airmen in Advent Bay that everything was all right for their reception here, and we received word that they had set off immediately on receipt of Horgen’s message. That was at 9:35. A little after eleven o’clock we expected them, and we had hardly begun to look for them over the entrance to the fjord when we heard their engines in the distance. Soon afterwards we saw them appear like two small specks 1,200–1,500 meters up in the air over the flat tongue of land at Quade Hook. A few minutes after F 18, piloted by First Lieutenant Lutzow-Holm, and F 22, piloted by First Lieutenant Styr, landed and moored by the buoys. We were naturally very pleased to see the boats and the airmen, but our pleasure was mixed with sadness. To-morrow, Thursday, 18th of June, it will be four weeks since N 24 and N 25 started. That day the weather was just as fine and ideal for flying as to-day.

In company with the newly arrived airmen we got by the starting place, which is quite free from snow. On the beach still lay some of the petrol cans from which we filled the tanks of the two machines the night before they started. We ask about the news from the south, and then we tell them what has happened up here. It seems that the opinions at home are the same as up here--nobody thinks that the six will be able now to come _flying_ back; every one is of the opinion that most likely the machines have got damaged through landing in the ice region and that the airmen are now on their way to Cape Columbia. But as there is a possibility that the six may be on the way to the north coast of Spitzbergen, it is thought that the expedition which has arrived here _must_ be sent there to search for them.

“Heimdal” arrived at 8 P.M. to-day. Captain Hagerup is on board and is now to lead the expedition. He has not got special instructions how long “Heimdal,” “Hobby” and the two flying-boats shall patrol, but probably we shall still be here for two more weeks. On Thursday, 2nd July, “the six weeks from the start” are up--the time limit which Amundsen laid down in his instructions for patrolling the ice-edge. Plans for the coming fourteen days are being made, and in accordance with the experience which “Hobby” has garnered on the two trips, it is agreed that Lavöen by the West coast of Northeastland is the best base for the two flying boats to operate from, and it is settled that the two vessels shall go northwards to Danskeöen at midnight. They will be there to-morrow 8–9 A.M., and the flyers are to follow.

The uniformed officers and the naval armaments remind us of a world from which we have been cut off for the last six weeks, and they have a stranger and more unfamiliar effect on us than one might have expected in such a short time. We have had a taste of both winter and spring up here and now we are experiencing the short summer of the Arctic regions. Our thoughts go back to the start--to the long weeks preceding it in Ny-Aalesund, and to the still longer weeks we have spent in the ice area since the six departed. We have seen men whom we (until they disappeared outside the fjord in two gray flying-machines) considered as ordinary mortals, but who are now regarded by us as something apart, since the light of adventure started to shine over them. Shall we see them again? We put the matter out of our minds, but the thought returns to us again and again. It is even stronger to-day than it has been recently because “Heimdal” and the flying-boats are lying here,--actual proof that the world at large is possessed by the same doubts and the same fears as we are.

We also think about all the types of humanity we have met in this frozen northern area. People who wrest their living from the ice. In milder climes they could earn more and live under better conditions, but the “unknown,” the danger, the ice and the love of adventure all call to them just as they called the six. With modest outfits and simple means they answered the call and set off to the sound of the enthusiastic jubilation of mankind: a jubilation that has turned into doubt and fear. But now an expedition fitted out with all the aid that science can offer is to look for the explorers or at least to try and find trace of them.

We have dined with the newly arrived flying-men and the officers of the “Heimdal” at Director Knutsen’s to-day. We were in the same room where we had been so often with those six, and where only two or three weeks ago we had said good-by to those comrades of ours who had first traveled south. Our host, who at that time had been very optimistic, tries to buoy us up with hope. But we notice that he himself is no longer confident, doubt has entered into his optimism. It has taken longer to come to him than to the rest of us, but it has come in spite of himself, all the same. Conversation drags. Here we sit--more than fifteen men--all different in mind and character, and all following different occupations, and we are trying to find a theme that will interest us all. But there are long intervals, because our thoughts are all on the one subject, which we do not want to mention. One after another goes down to the ships, which will soon carry us north again, where we are to wait for the end of the fourteen days when we can return to Norway. That will be a sign to the waiting world that all hope of finding the six in these regions has been given up. (Spitzbergen will then glide away out of our consciousness.)

_Ny-Aalesund. King’s Bay. Thursday, June 18th_

The last guests left Director Knutsen’s at 1 A.M. and went on board. “Heimdal” was under steam and ready to start. In a few minutes the third and last period of the reconnoitering was to begin. We approach the quay and can see the tops of the masts over the crown of a little hill. People from the mining village, who are not used to any great excitement, stand “en masse” on the high loading-pier. We are right down below them and only forty to fifty meters away from them. Then the great thing happens! A man comes tearing along the loading-pier towards the shore. He waves his hands to us, bends over the side of the railings and shouts: “Amundsen has arrived.” Then he dashes on and his voice is hoarse and rough. “Only a drunken man can make such a bad joke,” we say to each other, and continue on our way for another four or five steps.

What can be taking place?

People on the pier are waving their hats. We hear hurrahs and shouts and see a new vessel lying alongside the quay. We know immediately that they have come. We dash along the short distance so that the mud splashes over us whilst the cheers from down below increase. We spring on board the “Heimdal,” which lies nearest the quay, then onto the “Hobby,” which is lying outside.

Lord! it is true!

From “Hobby’s” rail we look down upon the deck of a small sealer which lies alongside. There they are, all six! Amundsen, Dietrichson, Ellsworth, Feucht, Omdal, Riiser-Larsen, dirty and grimy, but living and safe and sound, surrounded by workers and seamen, a motley crowd who shout hurrah, clap their hands and carry them shoulder high. We jump down on to the overfilled deck, we cry and we laugh, we pat their cheeks, we embrace them and words fail us. Not a sensible word could be spoken. Surely it can’t be true! We must be dreaming! Is it really they?

We reflect about matters a little, and then Director Knutsen takes them up to his house. The rooms are filled both by invited and uninvited guests who suddenly begin to sing “Ja vi elsker.” Little by little we get to know what has happened to them. We don’t learn much to begin with.

We learn enough, however, to understand why they seem to have two different mentalities. A present one which sees and understands all that happens around about them,--and a past which is part of their life in the north, and which will not leave them for a long time to come. They get food, a hot bath and a bed with fresh white sheets. In the course of the day their long four-weeks-old whiskers disappear.

The people who were at the quay when the motorboat “Sjoliv” arrived tell us about the unbelievable moment when they realized who it was who stood on the vessel’s deck. When it had become known in Ny-Aalesund that “Heimdal” and “Hobby” were to go northwards to Danskeöen at midnight, many people collected in the twilight on the quay in order to watch the departure. The midnight sun, which stood high in the sky over the hills on the other side of the fjord, shone through a light cloud bank. At the mouth of the fjord was a little cloud-belt and the people noticed how a little sea-boat came in through the evening haze. Nobody took special notice of it or showed special delight, as they all thought it was one of the many vessels which in the course of the summer call in at Ny-Aalesund to get coal and water. People watched indifferently remarking only that it seemed to carry an unusually big crew for such a small vessel. Forward stand some heavily fur-clad men who wave their arms towards the land. The vessel approaches quickly. Then somebody shouts: “It’s Amundsen!” At the same moment everybody knows it. Cheers are given. The six on the foredeck wave shorewards and the vessel berths alongside the “Hobby.” All six are with us, safe and sound. A few minutes later the quay is black with people. One would have thought that the inhabitants of Ny-Aalesund had slept with their clothes on, for in a second the “Sjoliv’s” deck is filled with people who go mad with joy.

_Oslo. July 1st_

This morning I arrived home. I now read through my diary of the trip and understand little of the whole. All that happened during the first hours on the deck of that little polar seal-boat is like a fog in my mind. The whole seems so far away. If I shut my eyes and try to charm those fourteen days back I feel bewildered in mind and in spirit.

For now we all stood there beside them--beside the six.

We looked into their faces, which bore signs of all they had suffered and gone through, and then we asked them to tell us about the four weeks of hope and doubt.

All power of thought seemed to leave us and our souls were filled with feelings both boundless and indescribable. Could this be on account of the pleasure of seeing our comrades again?

Or have our souls been touched by the Unknown Being to whom all turn in moments of trouble when things have to be settled which are beyond human power?