Tho' ice in the rear Pack--it will clear.

Food enough--strength enough-- Means enough--clothes enough.

Then will the Fram's crew Reach the Pole in months few.

Good luck on thy journey to thee and thy hand, And a good welcome back to the dear Fatherland!"

These lines, needless to say, were received with great acclamation.

Meanwhile month after month pa.s.ses without much change. The men on the Fram live their lonely lives. They take observations in the biting frost--Scott Hansen usually attends to this work. The others, who are sitting down in the cabins, often hear a noise of feet on the deck, as if some one were dancing a jig.

"Is it cold?" asks Nansen, when Hansen and his a.s.sistants come below.

"Cold? oh, no! not at all!--quite a pleasant temperature!" a piece of information which is received with shouts of laughter.

"Don't you find it cold about the feet either?"

"No, can't say I do; but every now and then it's rather cool for one's fingers!" He had just had two of his frostbitten.

One morning, indeed, when an observation had to be taken in a hurry, Scott Hansen was seen on deck with nothing on but his shirt and trousers when the thermometer registered -40 Fahrenheit.

Occasionally they would have to go out on the ice to take observations, when they might be seen standing with their lanterns and tackle, bending over their instruments, and then all at once tearing away over the ice, swinging their arms like the sails of a windmill; but it was always, "Oh! it's not at all cold! Nothing to speak of!"

On Friday, Feb. 2, the Fram reached eighty degrees north lat.i.tude, an event that was duly celebrated on board. They were all, moreover, in wonderful spirits, especially as the gloom of winter was beginning to lighten at the approach of spring.

By March 23 they had again drifted to the south, and it was not till April 17 that they reached 80 20' north lat.i.tude. On May 21, it was 81 20', one degree further north, and on June 18, 81 52'. They were progressing! But after this a back drift set in, and on Sept. 15, 1894, the Fram lay in 81 14' north lat.i.tude.

The weather had been tolerably fine during the summer; but there was little else for them to do except take observations, ascertain the temperature of the water at different depths, etc., and collect specimens of sea-weed, etc. And so another winter with its gloom and darkness was approaching.

During this summer Nansen had often contemplated the idea of leaving the Fram, and of going with one of his companions on a sleigh expedition to the regions nearer the Pole; for he feared the Fram would not drift much farther in a northerly direction, and was most unwilling to return home without first having done his utmost to explore the northern regions. Accordingly he occupied himself a good deal in making sleigh excursions in order to get the dogs into training, and in other preparations. He had mentioned his plan to Sverdrup, who quite approved of it.

About the middle of September a rather strange thing happened. Peterson, who was acting as cook that week, came one day to Nansen, and said he had had a wonderful dream. He dreamt that Nansen intended to go on an expedition to the Pole with four of the men, but would not take him with them.

"You told me," he said, "you wouldn't want a cook on your expedition, and that the ship was to meet you at some other place; anyhow, that you would not return here, but would go to some other land. It's strange what a lot of nonsense one can dream!"

Nansen replied that perhaps it was not such great nonsense, after all; whereon Petersen said, "Well, if you do go, I would ask you to take me with you; I should like it very much! I can't say I am a good hand on ski, but I could manage to keep up with the rest." When Nansen remarked that such an expedition would be attended with no little danger, one involving even the risk of life; "Psha!" answered Petersen, "one can but die once! If I were with you I shouldn't be a bit afraid!" And that he would willingly have accompanied Nansen to the North Pole in the middle of the dark winter, without the slightest hesitation, is sure enough. And so, indeed, would all the others have done.

On Monday, Nov. 19, Nansen mentioned his scheme to Johansen, whom he had selected to be his companion, and on the following day he took the rest of the crew into his confidence. They evinced the greatest interest in the proposed scheme, and, indeed, considered it highly necessary that such an expedition should take place.

And now they all set to work in earnest about the necessary preparations, such as making sleighs, kayaks, exercising the dogs, and weighing out provisions, etc.

Meanwhile winter dragged on its weary way. Another Christmas came, finding them in lat.i.tude, eighty-three degrees, and ice pressures were increasing daily. The New Year of 1895 was ushered in with wind, and was dark and dreary in the extreme. On Jan. 3, the famous ice-pressure occurred, that exposed the Fram to the severest strain any ship ever encountered, and lived.

At 8 A.M. on the morning of the 3d of January Nansen was awakened by the familiar sound of an approaching pressure. On going up on deck he was not a little surprised to see a huge pressure-ridge scarcely thirty paces away from the Fram, with deep cracks reaching almost to the ship itself. All loose articles were at once stowed away on board. At noon the pressure began again, and the dreaded ridge came nearer and nearer. In the afternoon preparations were made to abandon the ship, the sleighs and kayaks being placed ready on deck. At supper-time it began crunching again, and Nordahl came below to say that they had better go up on deck at once. The dogs, too, had to be let loose, for the water stood high in their kennels.

During the night the ice remained comparatively quiet, but next morning the pressure began again. The huge ridge was now only a few feet from the ship.

At 6.30 Jan. 5 Nansen was awakened by Sverdrup telling him that the ridge had now reached the ship, and was level with the rails. All hands at once rushed on deck; but nothing further occurred that day till late in the evening, when the climax came. At eight P.M. the crunching and thundering was worse than ever; ma.s.ses of ice and snow dashed over the tent and rails amidships. Every one set to work to save what he could. Indeed, the crashing and thundering made them think doomsday had come; and all the while the crew were rushing about here and there, carrying sacks and bags, the dogs howling, and ma.s.ses of ice pouring in every moment. Yet they worked away with a will till everything was put in a place of safety.

When the pressure finally was over, the Fram's port-side was completely buried in the ice-mound; only the top of the tent being visible. But she had stood the trial--pa.s.sed through it gloriously; for she came out of it all uninjured, without even a crack. There she lay as sound as ever, but with a mound of ice over her, higher indeed than the second ratline of her fore-shrouds, and six feet above the rails.

CHAPTER IX.

Nansen and Johansen start on a Sleighing Expedition.--Reach Eighty-six Degrees, Fourteen Minutes, North Lat.i.tude.--Winter in Franz Joseph's Land.

March 17, 1895, was a memorable day in the Fram's history, for it was on that date that Nansen and Johansen set out on the most adventurous expedition ever undertaken in the polar sea. At the time of leaving the ship, she was in eighty-four degrees north lat.i.tude.

On quitting her they fired a salute on board with all their guns as a farewell; and, though the lads on the Fram kept their spirits up bravely, every eye was full of tears, something quite uncommon with them: and they watched their two adventurous comrades, with their sleighs and dogs, as they set off toward the Pole, till they were lost to sight among the hummocks.

The ice was terribly difficult, and they had a wearisome march over it; and, to make matters worse, a southerly drift set in, driving them nearly as far back as they advanced. However, they got on pretty well till reaching eighty-five degrees north lat.i.tude, when another back drift set in, lasting, indeed, without intermission during the whole of the expedition. The dogs, too, got worn out, and had to be killed one after the other; while, to add to their discomfort, their clothes would get frozen so stiff during the day that they had to thaw them in their sleeping-bags at night with the warmth of their bodies. Very often they were so tired in the evening that they would fall asleep with the food in their hands. Their expedition, too, haunted them in their sleep; and often Nansen would be awakened by hearing Johansen call out in the night, "Pan!" "Barabbas!" or "The whole sleigh is going over!" or "Sa.s.s-sa.s.s," "Prr!" Lappish words to make the dogs quicken their pace or to halt.

It was sorrowful work to have to kill these faithful animals when they were worn out. Nansen himself says that he often felt the bitterest self-reproaches, and confessed that this expedition seemed to destroy all the better feelings of his nature. But forward they must go, and forward they went, though their progress was very slow.

It was not long before Nansen became convinced that it would be an utter impossibility to reach the Pole through such ma.s.ses of pack-ice and hummocks as they encountered. The question, therefore, was how far they should venture toward it before turning their faces southward.

On Monday, April 8, they had reached eighty-six degrees, ten minutes, north lat.i.tude (though it subsequently turned out to be eighty-six degrees, fourteen minutes, north lat.i.tude, that renowned degree of lat.i.tude that became historical when the news of the Nansen expedition was flashed all over the world), and determined to go on no farther. So, on the day following, they changed their course to the south. The going improved a little as they travelled on. As far as the eye could reach huge ma.s.ses of ice towered aloft toward the north, while toward the south the ice became each day more favorable, a circ.u.mstance that cheered them up not a little.

On Sunday, May 5, they were in eighty-four degrees, thirty-one minutes, north lat.i.tude, and on the 17th, in eighty-three degrees, thirty minutes, north lat.i.tude.

They found it very hard work crossing the open channels in the ice; and what made it harder was that the number of their dogs diminished daily, one after another having to be killed as food for the survivors. It was absolutely necessary, however, to reach a lat.i.tude where game could be procured, before their stock of provisions gave out.

On May 19 they came on the tracks of a bear, but did not see the animal itself. Tracks of foxes they had already seen when in eighty-five degrees north lat.i.tude.

It seemed as if there was no end to these channels which must be crossed, and of the young ice which made hauling the sleighs such terribly hard work. Moreover, soon they would have no dogs left to help them, and they would have to drag the sleighs themselves.

May pa.s.sed and June set in, and still no end to the channels or to their excessive hard work, and not a glimpse of land to be seen yet. Every now and then a narwhal would be seen, or a seal, heralds, doubtless, that they were approaching the regions of animated nature. The ice, too, no longer hard and smooth, became regular slush, so that it clogged on the under surface of their ski, and strained to the utmost the poor dogs, who could hardly drag their loads after them. Everything, indeed, seemed against them! Three months had elapsed since quitting the Fram, and as yet they had met with no change for the better.

On June 16 Kaifas, Haren, and Suggen were the sole survivors of the pack, and Nansen and Johansen had to do dogs' work themselves in dragging the sleighs.

But a turn for the better set in. On the 22d, as they were rowing the kayaks over some open water, they were fortunate enough to shoot a large seal. Its flesh lasted them a good while, and indeed proved a great G.o.dsend, though they did set fire to the tent while frying blood pancakes in blubber--a mere trifle, however, on such an expedition as theirs! They soon mended it with one of the sleigh sails, and the blood pancakes were voted to be delicious. On the 24th Nansen shot another seal, an event duly celebrated with great festivity; viz., a supper of chocolate and blubber.

On June 30 Nansen discovered, to his great chagrin, that they had advanced no farther south than they were a month ago, and it began to dawn upon him that in all probability they would have to winter up there--a pleasant prospect, forsooth! Their stock of provisions was nearly exhausted, and only three dogs left.

On July 6 they shot three bears, so that all anxiety as regards food was happily at end for the time; though the prospect of reaching home that year, at least, was infinitesimally small.

On Tuesday, July 23, they finally broke up "Longing Camp," as they termed their quarters, and devoted all their energies to their journey homeward.

The next day they saw land for the first time. Through the telescope its hazy outline could be discerned; but it took them a fortnight to reach it, and when they did reach it, they were so exhausted that they had to lie up several days.

During this time Johansen was nearly killed by a bear. Nansen tells the story:--

"After some very hard work we at last reached an open channel in the ice which we had to cross in our kayaks. I had just got mine ready, and was holding it to prevent its sliding down into the water, when I heard a scuffle going on behind me; and Johansen, who was dragging his sleigh, called out, 'Get your gun!' I looked round, and saw a huge bear dash at him, and knock him down on his back. I made a grab at my gun, which was in its case on the foredeck; but at the same moment my kayak unfortunately slipped down into the water. My first impulse was to jump in after it, and shoot from the deck; but it was too risky a venture to attempt, so I set to work to haul it up on the ice again as quickly as I could. But it was so heavy that I had to kneel down on one knee, pulling and hauling and struggling to get hold of the gun, without even time to turn around and see what was going on behind me. Presently I heard Johansen say very calmly, 'If you don't look sharp, it will be too late.' Look sharp! I should think I did look sharp! At last I got hold of the b.u.t.t-end of the gun, drew it out of its case, whipped round in a sitting posture, and c.o.c.ked one of the barrels which was loaded with shot. Meanwhile the bear stood there scarcely a yard away from me, and was on the point of doing for Kaifas. I had no time to c.o.c.k the other barrel, so I gave it the whole charge of shot behind the ear, and the brute fell dead between us.

"The bear must have followed on our tracks like a cat, and hiding behind blocks of ice, have slunk after us while we were busy clearing the loose ice away in the channel, with our backs turned toward it. We could see by its tracks that it had wormed its way on its stomach over a ridge in our rear, under cover of an ice-mound in close proximity to Johansen's kayak.

"While Johansen, without of course suspecting anything, or even looking behind him, was stooping down to lay hold of the hauling-rope, he got a glimpse of some animal lying in a crouching posture at the stern of the kayak. He thought at first it was only the dog Suggen; but before he had time to notice how large it was, he received a blow over the right ear that made him 'silly,' and over he went on his back. He now tried to defend himself the best he could with his bare fists, and with one hand gripped the brute by the throat, never once relaxing his hold.