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firstContents Detail:Liebherr LRT_1090-2.1 Wiring Diagram_RULiebherr LTM
1040-1 Wiring DiagramLiebherr LTM 1055 L2 Schematics Electric_DELiebherr
LTM 1070 Electrical & Hydraulic Schematic_ENLiebherr LTM 1070-4.2
Wiring_Diagram_RULiebherr LTM 1090-1 Wiring Diagram_ENLiebherr LTM
1090-4.1 Schematic Electric Hydraulic Pneumatic_ENLiebherr LTM 1095-5.1
Schematic Electric Hydraulic Pneumatic_EN_DELiebherr LTM 1100-4.1 Schematic
Electric Hydraulic_DELiebherr LTM 1100-4.2 Wiring Diagram_063977_RULiebherr
LTM 1100-5.2 Schematic Schematic Electric Hydraulic Pneumatic_ENLiebherr
LTM 1130-5.1 Wiring Diagram_045368_RULiebherr LTM 1130-5.1 Wiring
Diagram_066219_RULiebherr LTM 1150-1 Schematic
Diagram_SN67111_RULiebherr LTM 1150-5.1 Schematic Diagram SN
067182_ENLiebherr LTM 1150-6.1_SN 068576 Wiring Diagram_RULiebherr LTM
1160-5.1 SN 067224 Wiring Diagram_RULiebherr LTM 1160-5.1 Wiring
Diagram_RuLiebherr LTM 1220-5.2 Wiring Diagram_ENLiebherr LTM 1350-6.1
SN 071303 Wiring Diagram Electrics Hydraulics Pneumatics_RULiebherr LTM
1350-6.1 Wiring Digram_ENLiebherr LTM 1500-8.1 Wiring Diagram_RULiebherr
Crane LTM 1070-4.2 Hydraulic Schematic_ENLIEBHERR HYDRAULICS
SUPERSTRUCTURE LTM1350-6.1 GENERAL OUTLAY_ENLiebherr LTM 1060
Diagrams Schematic_ENLiebherr LTM 1060-1 Diagrams_DELiebherr LTM 1070
Electrical & Hydraulic Schematic_ENLiebherr LTM 1070-4.2 Electric
Diagrams_ENLiebherr LTM 1090-4.1 Hydraulic Schematic_ENLiebherr LTM
1160-5.1 Wiring Diagram_DELiebherr LTM 1250-6.1, LTM 1300-6.1 Electric
Diagram 985574008_999_ES_ENLiebherr LTM 1350-6.1 AUXILIARY
HYDRAULICS TELE REMOVING_ENLiebherr LTM 1350-6.1 CONTROL
HYDRAULICS COMPRESSED-AIR SYSTEM_ENLiebherr LTM 1350-61
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 Reading temperatures with lens

The open spaces, the lanes, and the rifts in the ice are, of course, produced, like the
pressure and packing, by the shifting winds and the tidal currents that set the ice drifting
first in one direction, then in another. And they best prove, perhaps, how the surface of
the Polar Sea must be considered as one continuous mass of ice-floes in constant motion,
now frozen together, now torn apart, or crushed against each other.

During the whole of our drift I paid great attention to this ice, not only with respect to its
motion, but to its formation and growth as well. In the Introduction of this book I have
pointed out that, even should the ice pass year after year in the cold Polar Sea, it could
not by mere freezing attain more than a certain thickness. From measurements that were
constantly being made, it appeared that the ice which was formed during the autumn in
October or November continued to increase in size during the whole of the winter and
out into the spring, but more slowly the thicker it became. On April 10th it was about
2.31 metres; April 21st, 2.41 metres; May 5th, 2.45 metres; May 31st, 2.52 metres; June
9th, 2.58 metres. It was thus continually increasing in bulk, notwithstanding that the
snow now melted quickly on the surface, and large pools of fresh water were formed on
the floes. On June 20th the thickness was the same, although the melting on the surface
had now increased considerably. On July 4th the thickness was 2.57 metres. On July
10th I was amazed to find that the ice had increased to 2.76 metres, notwithstanding that
it would now diminish several centimetres daily from surface melting. I bored in many
places, but found it everywhere the same—a thin, somewhat loose ice mass lay under the
old floe. I first thought it was a thin ice-floe that had got pushed under, but subsequently
discovered that it was actually a new formation of fresh-water ice on the lower side of
the old ice, due to the layer of fresh water of about 9 feet 9 inches (3 metres) in depth,
formed by the melting of the snow on the ice. Owing to its lightness this warm fresh
water floated on the salt sea-water, which was at a temperature of about -1.5° C. on its
surface. Thus by contact with the colder sea-water the fresh water became cooler, and so
a thick crust of ice was formed on the fresh water, where it came in contact with the salt
water lying underneath it. It was this ice crust, then, that augmented the thickness of the
ice on its under side. Later on in the summer, however, the ice diminished somewhat,
owing to melting on the surface. On July 23d the old ice was only 2.33 metres, and with
the newly formed layer 2.49 metres. On August 10th the thickness of the old ice had
decreased to 1.94 metres, and together the aggregate thickness to 3.17 metres. On August
22d the old ice was 1.86 metres, and the aggregate thickness 3.06 metres. On September
3d the aggregate thickness was 2.02 metres, and on September 30th 1.98 metres. On
October 3d it was the same; the thickness of the old ice was then 1.75 metres. On
October 12th the aggregate thickness was 2.08 metres, while the old ice was 1.8 metres.
On November 10th it was still about the same, with only a slight tendency to increase.
Further on, in November and in December, it increased quite slowly. On December 11th
the aggregate thickness reached 2.11 metres. On January 3d, 1895, 2.32 metres; January
10th, 2.48 metres; February 6th, 2.59 metres. Hence it will be seen that the ice does not
attain any enormous thickness by direct freezing. The packing caused by pressure can,
however, produce blocks and floes of a very different size. It often happens that the floes
get shoved in under each other in several layers, and are frozen together so as to appear
like one originally continuous mass of ice. Thus the Fram had got a good bed under her.

Juell and Peter had often disputed together during the winter as to the thickness of ice
the Fram had under her. Peter, who had seen a good deal of the ice before, maintained
that it must at least be 20 feet thick, while Juell would not believe it, and betted 20
kroner that it was not as thick as that. On April 19th this dispute again broke out, and I
say of it in my diary: “Juell has undertaken to make a bore, but unfortunately our borer
reaches no farther than 16 feet down. Peter, however, has undertaken to cut away the 4
feet that are lacking. There has been a lot of talk about this wager during the whole
winter, but they could never agree about it. Peter says that Juell should begin to bore,
while Juell maintains that Peter ought to cut the 4 feet first. This evening it ended in
Juell incautiously offering 10 kroner to any one who would bore. Bentzen took him at
his word, and immediately set to work at it with Amundsen; he thought one did not
always have the chance of earning 10 kroner so easily. Amundsen offered him a kroner
an hour, or else payment per foot; and time payment was finally agreed to. They worked
till late on into the night, and when they had got down 12 feet the borer slipped a little
way, and water rose in the hole, but this did not come to much, and presently the borer
struck on ice again. They went on for some time, but now the borer would reach no
farther, and Peter had to be called up to cut his four feet. He and Amundsen worked
away at cutting till they were dripping with perspiration. Amundsen, as usual, was very
eager, and vowed he would not give in till he had got through it, even if it were 30 feet
thick. Meanwhile Bentzen had turned in, but a message was sent to him to say that the
hole was cut, and that boring could now begin again. When it was only an inch or an
inch and a half short of 20 feet the borer slipped through, and the water spurted up and
filled the hole. They now sank a lead-line down it, and at 30 feet it again brought up
against ice. Now they were obliged to give it up. A fine lump of ice we are lying on! Not
taking into account a large, loose ice-floe that is lying packed up on the ice, it is 16
inches above the water; and adding to this the 2 feet which the Fram is raised up above
the ice, there is no small distance between her and the water.”

Peter Henriksen in a brown study. July 6, 1894

(From a photograph)

The temperature on the ice in summer is about thawing-point, but gradually as the winter
cold comes on, it, of course, falls rapidly on the surface, whence the cold slowly
penetrates deeper and deeper down towards the lower surface, where it naturally keeps at
an even temperature with the underlying water. Observations of the temperature of the
ice in its different layers were constantly taken in order to ascertain how quickly this
cooling-down process of the ice took place during the winter, and also how the
temperature rose again towards spring. The lowest temperature of the ice occurred in
March and the beginning of April, when at 1.2 metres it was about 3.2° Fahr. (-16° C),
and at 0.8 metre about 22° Fahr. below zero (-30° C). After the beginning of April it
began to rise slowly.
At these low temperatures the ice became very hard and brittle, and was readily cracked
or broken up by a blow or by packing. In the summer, on the other hand, when its
temperature was near melting-point, the ice became tough and plastic, and was not so
readily broken up under packing. This difference between the condition of the ice in
summer and winter was apparent also to the ear, as the ice-packing in winter was always
accompanied by the frequently mentioned loud noises, while the packing of the tough
summer ice was almost noiseless, so that the most violent convulsions might take place
close to us without our noticing them.

In the immediate vicinity of the Fram the ice remained perfectly at rest the whole year
through, and she was not at this time exposed to any great amount of pressure; she lay
safe and secure on the ice-floe to which she was firmly frozen; and gradually, as the
surface of the ice thawed under the summer sun, she rose up higher and higher. In the
autumn she again began to sink a little, either because the ice gave way under her
weight, or because it melted somewhat on the under surface, so that it no longer had so
much buoyancy as before.

Meanwhile, life on board went on in its usual way. Now that we had daylight, there was
of course more work of various descriptions on the ice than had been the case during the
winter. I have already alluded more than once to our unsuccessful endeavors to reach the
bottom by sounding. Unfortunately we were not prepared for such great depths, and had
not brought any deep-sea sounding apparatus with us. We had, therefore, to do the best
we could under the circumstances, and that was to sacrifice one of the ship’s steel cables
in order to make a lead-line. It was not difficult to find sufficient space on the ice for a
rope-walk, and although a temperature of from 22° Fahr. below zero (-30° C.) to 40°
Fahr. below zero (-40° C.) is not the pleasantest in which to manipulate such things as
steel wire, yet for all that the work went on well. The cable was unlaid into its separate
strands, and a fresh, pliant lead-line manufactured by twisting two of these strands
together. In this way we made a line of between 4000 and 5000 metres (2150 to 2700
fathoms) long, and could now at last reach the bottom. The depth proved to range
between 3300 and 3900 metres (1800 to 2100 fathoms).

This was a remarkable discovery, for, as I have frequently mentioned, the unknown polar
basin has always been supposed to be shallow, with numerous unknown lands and
islands. I, too, had assumed it to be shallow when I sketched out my plan (see page 24),
and had thought it was traversed by a deep channel which might possibly be a
continuation of the deep channel in the North Atlantic (see page 28).

From this assumption of a shallow Polar Sea it was concluded that the regions about the
Pole had formerly been covered with an extensive tract of land, of which the existing
islands are simply the remains. This extensive tract of polar land was furthermore
assumed to have been the nursery of many of our animal and plant forms, whence they
had found their way to lower latitudes. These conjectures now appear to rest on a
somewhat infirm basis.

This great depth indicates that here, at all events, there has not been land in any very
recent geological period; and this depth is, no doubt, as old as the depth of the Atlantic
Ocean, of which it is almost certainly a part.

Scott-Hansen Johansen taking water temperatures

Another task to which I attached great importance, and to which I have frequently
alluded, was the observation of the temperature of the sea at different depths, from the
surface down to the bottom. These observations we took as often as time permitted, and,
as already mentioned, they gave some surprising results, showing the existence of
warmer water below the cold surface stratum. This is not the place to give the results of
the different measurements, but as they are all very similar I will instance one of them in
order that an idea may be formed how the temperature is distributed.

This series of temperatures, of which an extract is given here, was taken from the 13th to
the 17th of August.

Table of Temperatures
Depths Temperature
Degrees
Metres Fathoms Centigrade Fahrenheit
Surface ... +1.02 33.83
2 1 -1.32 29.62
20 10 -1.33 29.61
40 21 -1.50 29.3
60 32 -1.50 29.3
80 43 -1.50 29.3
100 54 -1.40 29.48
120 65 -1.24 29.77
140 76 -0.97 30.254
160 87 -0.58 30.96
180 98 -0.31 31.44
200 109 -0.03 31.95
220 120 +0.19 32.34
240 131 +0.20 32.36
260 142 +0.34 32.61
280 153 +0.42 32.76
300 164 +0.34 32.61
350 191 +0.44 32.79
400 218 +0.35 32.63
450 273 +0.34 32.61
600 328 +0.26 32.47
700 382 +0.14 32.25
800 437 +0.07 32.126
900 492 -0.04 31.928
1000 546 -0.10 31.82
1200 656 -0.28 31.496
1400 765 -0.34 31.39
1600 874 -0.46 31.17
1800 984 -0.60 30.92
2000 1093 -0.66 30.81
2600 1421 -0.74 30.67
2900 1585 -0.76 30.63
3000 1640 -0.73 30.76
3700 2023 -0.65 30.83
3800 2077 -0.64 30.85
325 177 +0.49 32.88
+0.85 33.53
+0.76 33.37
+0.78 33.40
+0.62 33.12

These temperatures of the water are in many respects remarkable. In the first place, the
temperature falls, as will be seen, from the surface downward to a depth of 80 metres,
after which it rises to 280 metres, falls again at 300 metres, then rises again at 326
metres, where it was +0.49°; then falls to rise again at 450 metres, then falls steadily
down to 2000 metres, to rise once more slowly at the bottom. Similar risings and fallings
were to be found in almost all the series of temperatures taken, and the variations from
one month to another were so small that at the respective depths they often merely
amounted to the two-hundredth part of a degree. Occasionally the temperature of the
warm strata mounted even higher than mentioned here. Thus on October 17th at 300
metres it was +0.85°, at 350 metres +0.76°, at 400 metres +0.78°, and at 500 metres
+0.62°, after which it sank evenly, until, towards the bottom, it again rose as before.

We had not expected to meet with much bird life in these desolate regions. Our surprise,
therefore, was not small when on Whitsunday, May 13th, a gull paid us a visit. After that
date we regularly saw birds of different kinds in our vicinity till at last it became a daily
occurrence, to which we did not pay any particular attention. For the most part they were
ice mews (Larus eburneus), kittiwakes (Rissa tridactyla), fulmars (Procellaria
glacialis), and now and then a blue gull (L. glaucus), a herring gull (L. argentatus?), or a
black guillemot (Uria grylle); once or twice we also saw a skua (probably Lestris
parasitica)—for instance, on July 14th. On July 21st we had a visit from a snow-
bunting.
 Summer guests

Two Ivory Gulls (Larus eburneus) One Arctic Petrel (Procellaria glacialis) One Snow-bunting (Plectrophenax nivalis)

(From a photograph)

On August 3d a remarkable occurrence took place: we were visited by the Arctic rose
gull (Rhodostethia rosea). I wrote as follows about it in my diary: “To-day my longing
has at last been satisfied. I have shot Ross’s gull,”1 three specimens in one day. This rare
and mysterious inhabitant of the unknown north, which is only occasionally seen, and of
which no one knows whence it cometh or whither it goeth, which belongs exclusively to
the world to which the imagination aspires, is what, from the first moment I saw these
tracts, I had always hoped to discover, as my eyes roamed over the lonely plains of ice.
And now it came when I was least thinking of it. I was out for a little walk on the ice by
the ship, and as I was sitting down by a hummock my eyes wandered northward and lit
on a bird hovering over the great pressure-mound away to the northwest. At first I took it
to be a kittiwake, but soon discovered it rather resembled the skua by its swift flight,
sharp wings, and pointed tail. When I had got my gun, there were two of them together
flying round and round the ship. I now got a closer view of them, and discovered that
they were too light colored to be skuas. They were by no means shy, but continued
flying about close to the ship. On going after them on the ice I soon shot one of them,
and was not a little surprised, on picking it up, to find it was a little bird about the size of
a snipe; the mottled back, too, reminded me also of that bird. Soon after this I shot the
other. Later in the day there came another, which was also shot. On picking this one up I
found it was not quite dead, and it vomited up a couple of large shrimps, which it must
have caught in some channel or other. All three were young birds, about 12 inches in
length, with dark mottled gray plumage on the back and wings; the breast and under side
white, with a scarcely perceptible tinge of orange-red, and round the neck a dark ring
sprinkled with gray.” At a somewhat later age this mottled plumage disappears; they then
become blue on the back, with a black ring round the neck, while the breast assumes a
delicate pink hue. Some few days afterwards (August 6th and 8th) some more of these
birds were shot, making eight specimens in all.

Rhodos Tethia

(From a photograph)
While time was passing on, the plan I had been revolving in my mind during the winter
was ever uppermost in my thoughts—the plan, that is to say, of exploring the unknown
sea apart from the track in which the Fram was drifting. I kept an anxious eye upon the
dogs, for fear anything should happen to them, and also to see that they continued in
good condition, for all my hopes centred in them. Several of them, indeed, had been
bitten to death, and two had been killed by bears; but there were still twenty-six
remaining, and as a set-off against our losses we had the puppies, eight of which had
been permitted to live. As spring advanced they were allowed to roam the deck, but on
May 5th their world was considerably extended. I wrote thus: “In the afternoon we let
the puppies loose on the ice, and ‘Kvik’ at once took long expeditions with them to
familiarize them with their surroundings. First she introduced them to our
meteorological apparatus, then to the bear-trap, and after that to different pressure-
mounds. They were very cautious at first, staring timidly all around, and venturing out
very slowly, a step at a time, from the ship’s side; but soon they began to run riot in their
newly discovered world.

“‘Kvik’ was very proud to conduct her litter out into the world, and roamed about in the
highest of spirits, though she had only just returned from a long driving expedition, in
which, as usual, she had done good work in harness. In the afternoon one of the black
and white puppies had an attack of madness. It ran round the ship, barking furiously; the
others set on it, and it bit at everything that came in its way. At last we got it shut in on
the deck forward, where it was furious for a while, then quieted down, and now seems to
be all right again. This makes the fourth that has had a similar attack. What can it
possibly be? It cannot be hydrophobia, or it would have appeared among the grown-up
dogs. Can it be toothache, or hereditary epilepsy—or some other infernal thing?”
Unfortunately, several of them died from these strange attacks. The puppies were such
fine, nice animals, that we were all very sorry when a thing like this occurred.

On June 3d I write: “Another of the puppies died in the forenoon from one of those
mysterious attacks, and I cannot conceal from myself that I take it greatly to heart, and
feel low-spirited about it, I have been so used to these small polar creatures living their
sorrowless life on deck, romping and playing around us from morning to evening, and a
little of the night as well. I can watch them with pleasure by the hour together, or play
with them as with little children—have a game at hide-and-seek with them round the
skylight, the while they are beside themselves with glee. It is the largest and strongest of
the lot that has just died, a handsome dog; I called him ‘Löva’ (Lion). He was such a
confiding, gentle animal, and so affectionate. Only yesterday he was jumping and
playing about and rubbing himself against me, and to-day he is dead. Our ranks are
thinning, and the worst of it is we try in vain to make out what it is that ails them. This
one was apparently quite in his normal condition and as cheerful as ever until his
breakfast was given him; then he began to cry and tear round, yelping and barking as if
distracted, just as the others had done. After this convulsions set in, and the froth poured
from his mouth. One of these convulsions no doubt carried him off. Blessing and I held a
post mortem upon him in the afternoon, but we could discover no signs of anything
unusual. It does not seem to be an infectious ailment. I cannot understand it.

Nansen takes a walk (July 6, 1894)

(From a photograph)

“‘Ulenka,’ too, the handsomest dog in the whole pack, our consolation and our hope,
suddenly became ill the other day. It was the morning of May 24th that we found it
paralyzed and quite helpless, lying in its cask on deck. It kept trying to get up, but
couldn’t, and immediately fell down again—just like a man who has had a stroke and
has lost all power over his limbs. It was at once put to bed in a box and nursed most
carefully; except for being unable to walk, it is apparently quite well.” It must have been
a kind of apoplectic seizure that attacked the spinal cord in some spot or other, and
paralyzed one side of the body. The dog recovered slowly, but never got the complete
use of its legs again. It accompanied us, however, on our subsequent sledge expedition.
 Our kennels (September 27, 1894)

(From a Photograph)

The dogs did not seem to like the summer, it was so wet on the ice, and so warm. On
June 11th I write: “To-day the pools on the ice all round us have increased wonderfully
in size, and it is by no means agreeable to go off the ship with shoes that are not water-
tight; it is wetter and wetter for the dogs in the daytime, and they sweat more and more
from the heat, though it as yet only rarely rises above zero (C.). A few days ago they
were shifted on to the ice, where two long kennels were set up for them.”2 They were
made out of boxes, and really consist of only a wall and a roof. Here they spend the
greater part of the twenty-four hours, and we are now rid of all uncleanliness on board,
except for the four puppies which still remain, and lead a glorious life of it up there
between sleep and play. “Ulenka” is still on deck, and is slowly recovering. There is the
same daily routine for the dogs as in the winter. We let them loose in the morning about
half-past eight, and as the time for their release draws near they begin to get very
impatient. Every time any one shows himself on deck a wild chorus of howls issues from
twenty-six throats, clamoring for food and freedom.
After being let loose they get their breakfast, consisting of half a dried fish or three
biscuits apiece. The rest of the forenoon is spent in rooting round among all the refuse
heaps they can find; and they gnaw and lick all the empty tin cases which they have
ransacked hundreds of times before. If the cook sends a fresh tin dancing along the ice a
battle immediately rages around the prize. It often happens that one or another of them,
trying to get at a tempting piece of fat at the bottom of a deep, narrow tin, sticks his head
so far down into it that the tin sits fast, and he cannot release himself again; so with this
extinguisher on his head he sprawls about blindly over the ice, indulging in the most
wonderful antics in the effort to get rid of it, to the great amusement of us the spectators.
When tired of their work at the rubbish heaps they stretch out their round, sausage-like
bodies, panting in the sun, if there is any, and if it is too warm they get into the shade.
They are tied up again before dinner; but “Pan,” and others like-minded, sneak away a
little before that time, and hide up behind a hummock, so that one can only see a head or
an ear sticking up here and there. Should any one go to fetch him in he will probably
growl, show his teeth, or even snap; after which he will lie flat down, and allow himself
to be dragged off to prison. The remainder of the twenty-four hours they spend sleeping,
puffing and panting in the excessive heat, which, by-the-way, is two degrees of cold.
Every now and then they set up a chorus of howls that certainly must be heard in Siberia,
and quarrel among themselves till the fur flies in all directions. This removal of the dogs
on to the ice has imposed upon the watch the arduous duty of remaining on deck at
nights, which was not the practice before. But a bear having once been on board and
taken off two of our precious animals, we don’t want any more such visitors.
 The dogs basking in the sun (June 13, 1894)

(From a Photograph)

“On July 31st ‘Kvik’ again increased our population by bringing eleven puppies into the
world, one of which was deformed, and was at once killed; two others died later, but
most of them grew up and became fine, handsome animals. They are still living.

“Few or no incidents occurred during this time, except, naturally, the different red-letter
days were celebrated with great ceremony.”

May 17th3 we observed with special pomp, the following description of which I find in
my journal:

“Friday, May 18th. May 17th was celebrated yesterday with all possible festivity. In the
morning we were awakened with organ music—the enlivening strains of the ‘College
Hornpipe.’ After this a splendid breakfast off smoked salmon, ox tongues, etc., etc. The
whole ship’s company wore bows of ribbon in honor of the day—even old ‘Suggen’ had
one round his tail. The wind whistled, and the Norwegian flag floated on high, fluttering
bravely at the mast-head. About 11 o’clock the company assembled with their banners
on the ice on the port side of the ship, and the procession arranged itself in order. First of
all came the leader of the expedition with the ‘pure’ Norwegian flag;4 after him Sverdrup
with the Fram’s pennant, which, with its ‘FRAM’ on a red ground, 3 fathoms long,
looked splendid. Next came a dog-sledge, with the band (Johansen with the accordion),
and Mogstad, as coach-man; after them came the mate with rifles and harpoons,
Henriksen carrying a long harpoon; then Amundsen and Nordahl, with a red banner. The
doctor followed, with a demonstration flag in favor of a normal working-day. It
consisted of a woollen jersey, with the letters ‘N. A.’5 embroidered on the breast, and at
the top of a very long pole it looked most impressive. After him followed our chef, Juell,
with ‘peik’s’6 saucepan on his back; and then came the meteorologists, with a curious
apparatus, consisting of a large tin scutcheon, across which was fastened a red band,
with the letters ‘Al. St.,’ signifying ‘almindelig stemmeret,’ or ‘universal suffrage.’7
 The Seventeenth-of-May procession, 1894

(From a Photograph)

“At last the procession began to move on. The dogs marched demurely, as if they had
never done anything else in all their lives than walk in procession, and the band played a
magnificent festive march, not composed for the occasion. The stately cortège marched
twice round the Fram, after which with great solemnity it moved off in the direction of
the large hummock, and was photographed on the way by the photographer of the
expedition. At the hummock a hearty cheer was given for the Fram, which had brought
us hither so well, and which would, doubtless, take us equally well home again. After
this the procession turned back, cutting across the Fram’s bow. At the port gangway a
halt was called, and the photographer, mounting the bridge, made a speech in honor of
the day. This was succeeded by a thundering salute, consisting of six shots, the result of
which was that five or six of the dogs rushed off over hummocks and pressure-ridges,
and hid themselves for several hours. Meanwhile we went down into the cozy cabin,
decorated with flags for the occasion in a right festive manner, where we partook of a
splendid dinner, preluded by a lovely waltz. The menu was as follows: Minced fish with
curried lobster, melted butter, and potatoes; music; pork cutlets, with green pease,
potatoes, mango chutney, and Worcester sauce; music; apricots and custard, with cream;
much music. After this a siesta; then coffee, currants, figs, cakes; and the photographer
stood cigars. Great enthusiasm, then more siesta. After supper the violinist, Mogstad,
gave a recital, when refreshments were served in the shape of figs, sweetmeats, apricots,
and gingerbread (honey cakes). On the whole, a charming and very successful
Seventeenth of May, especially considering that we had passed the 81st degree of
latitude.

The drift-ice in Summer. July 12, 1894

(From a photograph)

“Monday, May 28th. Ugh! I am tired of these endless, white plains—cannot even be
bothered snow-shoeing over them, not to mention that the lanes stop one on every hand.
Day and night I pace up and down the deck, along the ice by the ship’s sides, revolving
the most elaborate scientific problems. For the past few days it is especially the shifting
of the Pole that has fascinated me. I am beset by the idea that the tidal wave, along with
the unequal distribution of land and sea, must have a disturbing effect on the situation of
the earth’s axis. When such an idea gets into one’s head, it is no easy matter to get it out
again. After pondering over it for several days, I have finally discovered that the
influence of the moon on the sea must be sufficient to cause a shifting of the Pole to the
extent of one minute in 800,000 years. In order to account for the European Glacial Age,
which was my main object, I must shift the Pole at least ten or twenty degrees. This
leaves an uncomfortably wide interval of time since that period, and shows that the
human race must have attained a respectable age. Of course, it is all nonsense. But while
I am indefatigably tramping the deck in a brown study, imagining myself no end of a
great thinker, I suddenly discover that my thoughts are at home, where all is summer and
loveliness, and those I have left are busy building castles in the air for the day when I
shall return. Yes, yes. I spend rather too much time on this sort of thing; but the drift
goes as slowly as ever, and the wind, the all-powerful wind, is still the same. The first
thing my eyes look for when I set foot on deck in the morning is the weathercock on the
mizzen-top, to see how the wind lies; thither they are forever straying during the whole
day, and there again they rest the last thing before I turn in. But it ever points in the same
direction, west and southwest, and we drift now quicker, now more slowly westward,
and only a little to the north. I have no doubt now about the success of the expedition,
and my miscalculation was not so great, after all; but I scarcely think we shall drift
higher than 85°, even if we do that. It will depend on how far Franz Josef Land extends
to the north. In that case it will be hard to give up reaching the Pole; it is in reality a
mere matter of vanity, merely child’s play, in comparison with what we are doing and
hoping to do; and yet I must confess that I am foolish enough to want to take in the Pole
while I am about it, and shall probably have a try at it if we get into its neighborhood
within any reasonable time.

“This is a mild May; the temperature has been about zero several times of late, and one
can walk up and down and almost imagine one’s self at home. There is seldom more
than a few degrees of cold; but the summer fogs are beginning, with occasional hoar-
frost. As a rule, however, the sky, with its light, fleeting clouds, is almost like a spring
sky in the south.

“We notice, too, that it has become milder on board; we no longer need to light a fire in
the stove to make ourselves warm and cozy; though, indeed, we have never indulged in
much luxury in this respect. In the store-room the rime frost and ice that had settled on
the ceiling and walls are beginning to melt; and in the compartments astern of the
saloon, and in the hold, we have been obliged to set about a grand cleaning-up, scraping
off and sweeping away the ice and rime, to save our provisions from taking harm,
through the damp penetrating the wrappings and rusting holes in the tin cases. We have,
moreover, for a long time kept the hatchways in the hold open, so that there has been a
thorough draught through it, and a good deal of the rime has evaporated. It is remarkable
how little damp we have on board. No doubt this is due to the Fram’s solid construction,
and to the deck over the hold being panelled on the under side. I am getting fonder and
fonder of this ship.

“Saturday, June 9th. Our politician, Amundsen, is celebrating the day with a white shirt
and collar.8 To-day I have moved with my work up into the deck-house again, where I
can sit and look out of the window in the daytime, and feel that I am living in the world
and not in a cavern, where one must have lamplight night and day. I intend remaining
here as long as possible out into the winter: it is so cozy and quiet, and the monotonous
surroundings are not constantly forcing themselves in upon me.

“I really have the feeling that summer has come. I can pace up and down the deck by the
hour together with the sun, or stand still and roast myself in it, while I smoke a pipe, and
my eyes glide over the confused masses of snow and ice. The snow is everywhere wet
now, and pools are beginning to form every here and there. The ice too is getting more
and more permeated with salt-water; if one bores ever so small a hole in it, it is at once
filled with water. The reason, of course, is that, owing to the rise in the temperature, the
particles of salt contained in the ice begin to melt their surroundings, and more and more
water is formed with a good admixture of salt in it, so that its freezing-point is lower
than the temperature of the ice around it. This, too, had risen materially; at about 4 feet
depth it is only 25.2° Fahr. (-3.8° C), at 5 feet it is somewhat warmer again, 26.5° Fahr.
(-3.1° C).

“Sunday, June 10th. Oddly enough we have had no cases of snow-blindness on board,
with the exception of the doctor, who, a couple of days ago, after we had been playing at
ball, got a touch of it in the evening. The tears poured from his eyes for some time, but
he soon recovered. Rather a humiliating trick of fate that he should be the first to suffer
from this ailment.” Subsequently we had a few isolated cases of slight snow-blindness,
so that one or two of our men had to go about with dark spectacles; but it was of little
importance and was due to their not thinking it worth while to take the necessary
precautions.

A Summer scene. July 21, 1894

(From a photograph)

“Monday, June 11th. To-day I made a joyful discovery. I thought I had begun my last
bundle of cigars, and calculated that by smoking one a day they would last a month, but
found quite unexpectedly a whole box in my locker. Great rejoicing! it will help to while
away a few more months, and where shall we be then? Poor fellow, you are really at a
low ebb! ‘To while away time’—that is an idea that has scarcely ever entered your head
before. It has always been your great trouble that time flew away so fast, and now it
cannot go fast enough to please you. And then so addicted to tobacco—you wrap
yourself in clouds of smoke to indulge in your everlasting day dreams. Hark to the south
wind, how it whistles in the rigging; it is quite inspiriting to listen to it. On Midsummer-
eve we ought, of course, to have had a bonfire as usual, but from my diary it does not
seem to have been the sort of weather for it.

“Saturday, June 23, 1894.

“‘Mid the shady vales and the leafy trees,

How sweet the approach of the summer breeze!
When the mountain slopes in the sunlight gleam,
And the eve of St. John comes in like a dream.’

The north wind continues with sleet. Gloomy weather. Drifting south. 81° 43′ north
latitude; that is, 9′ southward since Monday.

“I have seen many Midsummer-eves under different skies, but never such a one as this.
So far, far from all that one associates with this evening. I think of the merriment round
the bonfires at home, hear the scraping of the fiddle, the peals of laughter, and the
salvoes of the guns, with the echoes answering from the purple-tinted heights. And then I
look out over this boundless, white expanse into the fog and sleet and the driving wind.
Here is truly no trace of midsummer merriment. It is a gloomy lookout altogether!
Midsummer is past—and now the days are shortening again, and the long night of winter
approaching, which, maybe, will find us as far advanced as it left us.

“I was busily engaged with my examination of the salinity of the sea-water this
afternoon when Mogstad stuck his head in at the door and said that a bear must be
prowling about in the neighborhood. On returning after dinner to their work at the great
hummock, where they were busy making an ice-cellar for fresh meat,9 the men found
bear-tracks which were not there before. I put on my snow-shoes and went after it. But
what terrible going it had been the last few days! Soft slush, in which the snow-shoes
sink helplessly. The bear had come from the west right up to the Fram, had stopped and
inspected the work that was going on, had then retreated a little, made a considerable
detour, and set off eastward at its easy, shambling gait, without deigning to pay any
further attention to such a trifle as a ship. It had rummaged about in every hole and
corner where there seemed to be any chance of finding food, and had rooted in the snow
after anything the dogs had left, or whatever else it might be. It had then gone to the
lanes in the ice, and skirted them carefully, no doubt in the hope of finding a seal or two,
and after that it had gone off between the hummocks and over floes, with a surface of
nothing but slush and water. Had the surface been good I should no doubt have
overtaken Master Bruin, but he had too long a start in the slushy snow.

“A dismal, dispiriting landscape—nothing but white and gray, No shadows—merely

half-obliterated forms melting into the fog and slush. Everything is in a state of
disintegration, and one’s foothold gives way at every step. It is hard work for the poor
snow-shoer who stamps along through the slush and fog after bear-tracks that wind in
and out among the hummocks, or over them. The snow-shoes sink deep in, and the water
often reaches up to the ankles, so that it is hard work to get them up or to force them
forward; but without them one would be still worse off.

“Every here and there this monotonous grayish whiteness is broken by the coal-black
water, which winds, in narrower or broader lanes, in between the high hummocks.
White, snow-laden floes and lumps of ice float on the dark surface, looking like white
marble on a black ground. Occasionally there is a larger dark-colored pool, where the
wind gets a hold of the water and forms small waves that ripple and plash against the
edge of the ice, the only signs of life in this desert tract. It is like an old friend, the sound
of these playful wave-lets. And here, too, they eat away the floes and hollow out their
edges. One could almost imagine one’s self in more southern latitudes. But all around is
wreathed with ice, towering aloft in its ever-varying fantastic forms, in striking contrast
to the dark water on which a moment before the eye had rested. Everlastingly is this
shifting ice modelling, as it were, in pure, gray marble, and, with nature’s lavish
prodigality, strewing around the most glorious statuary, which perishes without any eye
having seen it. Wherefore? To what end all this shifting pageant of loveliness? It is
governed by the mere caprices of nature, following out those everlasting laws that pay
no heed to what we regard as aims and objects.

“In front of me towers one pressure-ridge after another, with lane after lane between. It
was in June the Jeannette was crushed and sank; what if the Fram were to meet her fate
here? No, the ice will not get the better of her. Yet, if it should, in spite of everything! As
I stood gazing around me I remembered it was Midsummer-eve. Far away yonder her
masts pointed aloft, half lost to view in the snowy haze. They must, indeed, have stout
hearts, those fellows on board that craft. Stout hearts, or else blind faith in a man’s word.