Part 2 — VI THE NORTH POLAR REGIONS

Sir John Franklin and the North-West Passage

We have now surveyed the earth's mainland, islands, and seas. We have seen how man by his endurance and thirst for knowledge has penetrated everywhere, how he has wandered over the hottest deserts and the coldest mountains. The nearer we come to our own times, the more eager have explorers become, and we no longer suffer blank patches to exist on our maps. The most obstinate resistance to the advance of man has been presented by the Poles and their surroundings, where the margin of the eternal ice seems to call out a peremptory "Thus far shalt thou come, but no farther." But even the boundless ice-packs could not deter the bold and resolute seafarers. One vessel after another was lost, crew and all, but the icy sea was constantly ploughed by fresh keels. The North Pole naturally exercised the greater attraction, for it lies nearer to Europe, amidst the Arctic Ocean, which is enclosed between the coasts of Asia, Europe, and North America.

In the "forties" of last century, English and American explorers were occupied in searching for a north-west passage, or a navigable channel for vessels making by the shortest route from the North Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. Let us look at the story of a famous expedition which set out to find this passage.

Sir John Franklin was an officer in the Royal Navy. He had led expeditions by land and sea, in both the northern and southern hemispheres, and in particular had mapped considerable areas of the north coast of America east of Behring Strait. Most of the coast of the mainland was thus known, and it remained only to find a channel between the large islands to the north of it. Such a passage must exist, but whether it was available for navigation was another question. A number of learned and experienced men decided to send out a large and well-furnished expedition for the purpose of effecting the north-west passage. The whole English people took up the scheme with enthusiasm. Hundreds of courageous men volunteered for the voyage, and Admiral Sir John Franklin was appointed leader of the expedition, from which neither he nor any of his subordinates was ever to return.

THE NORTH POLAR REGIONS.

The ships chosen were the Erebus and Terror, which (as we shall see later) had already made a voyage to South Polar regions, and which were now refitted from keel to topmasts. Captain Crozier was the second in command and captain of the Terror, while Franklin hoisted his flag on the Erebus, where Captain James was under him. The members of the expedition were chosen with the greatest care, and when they were all mustered, the vessels had on board twenty-three officers and a hundred and eleven men. Provisions were taken for three years, and the vessels were fitted with small auxiliary engines, which had never before been tried in Polar seas.

The constituted authorities drew up a plan which Franklin was to follow, but he was left free to act as he thought proper when circumstances demanded alterations. The main thing was to sail north of America from the Atlantic side and come out into the Pacific Ocean through Behring Strait.

The Erebus and Terror left England on May 19, 1845. All officers and men were full of the most lively expectations of success, and were resolved to do all in their power to achieve the object of the expedition. They passed the Orkney Islands and on Midsummer Day saw the southern extremity of Greenland, Cape Farewell, disappear to windward. Next day they encountered the first ice, huge floating icebergs of wild, jagged form or washed into rounded lumps by the action of the waves, and ten days later the ships anchored near Disko Island, on the west coast of Greenland. Here they met another vessel which had come up north with an additional store of provisions and equipment. Its captain, the last man who spoke with Franklin and the members of the expedition, said that he had never seen a finer set of men so well prepared and so eager for their work. He thought that they could go anywhere.

On July 26 the Erebus and Terror were seen, for the last time, by an English whaler. After that day the fate of the most unfortunate of all Polar expeditions was involved in an obscurity much denser than that which surrounded Gordon in Khartum after the telegraph line was cut. What is known only came to light many years later through the relief expeditions that were sent out, or was communicated by parties of wandering Eskimos.

Meanwhile the voyage was continued north-westwards between two large islands into Lancaster Sound. Soon progress was delayed by masses of pack ice, and the engines were found to be so weak that they could be used only in smooth, open water. In another sound, to the north, the water was open, and here the ships managed to sail 150 miles before the ice set fast again. Then they passed through another open sound back to the south. Early autumn had now come, and all the hills and mountains were covered with snow and fresh ice was forming in the sound. Here Franklin laid the Erebus and Terror up for the winter, having found fairly sheltered anchorage at a small island.

What kind of life the men led on board during the long winter we do not know. We can only conjecture that the officers read and studied, and that the men were employed in throwing up banks of snow reaching up above the bulwarks to keep in the warmth; that snow huts were built on the ice and on land for scientific observations; and that a hole was kept open day and night that water might always be procurable in case of fire when the pumps were frozen into pillars of ice. When the long night was over and February came with a faint illumination to the south, and when the sky grew brighter day by day till at last the expedition welcomed the return of the sun, probably men and officers made excursions to the neighbouring islands to hunt. Their hopes revived with the increasing light. Only 260 miles of unknown coast remained of the north-west passage, and they believed that the New Year would see them return home. The sun remained longer and longer above the horizon, and at last the long Polar day commenced.

When the Erebus and Terror were released in late summer from their prison of ice, and the small island could at last be left, three sailors remained on the beach. Their gravestones, carved with a few simple words, were found five years later by a relief expedition, and they constitute the only proof that Franklin wintered at this particular spot.

To the south lay an open channel, and this southern passage must in time bend to the west. Mile after mile the vessels sailed southwards, carefully avoiding the drifting ice. East and west were seen the coasts of islands, and in front, in the distance, could be descried King William Land, a large island which is the nearest neighbour to the mainland. The north-west passage was nearly accomplished, for it was now only about 120 miles westward to coasts already known. How hopelessly long this distance seemed, however, when the vessels were caught in the grip of the ice only a day or two later! Firmer and firmer the ice froze and heaped itself up round the Erebus and Terror; the days became shorter, the second winter drew on with rapid strides, and preparations to meet it were made as in the preceding year. The vessels lay frozen in on the seventieth parallel, or a little south of the northernmost promontory of Scandinavia; but here there was no Gulf Stream to keep the sea open with its warm water. Little did the officers and crew suspect that the waves would never again splash round the hulls of the Erebus and Terror.

We can well believe that they were not so cheerful this winter as in the former. The vessels were badly placed in the ice, in an open roadstead without the shelter of a coast. They lay as in a vice, and the hulls creaked and groaned under the constant pressure. Life on board such an imprisoned vessel must be full of unrest. The vessel seems to moan and complain, and pray that it may escape to the waves again. The men must wonder how long it will hold out, and must be always prepared for a deafening crash when the planks will give way and the ship, crushed like a nutshell, will sink at once. But worst of all is the darkness when the sun sets for the last time.

However, the winter passed at last, and the sun came back. It grew gradually light in the passages below deck, and it was no longer necessary to light a candle to read by in the evening. Soon there was no night at all, but the sun shone the whole twenty-four hours, and all the brighter because the vessels were surrounded by nothing but ice and snow. Far to the south and east were seen the hills on King William Land. If only the ice would release its hold and begin to drift! But the pack-ice still remained to the westward, and it was possible of course that the vessels had been damaged by the pressure.

Two officers with six men undertook a journey to the south coast of King William Land, whence the mainland of North America could be descried in clear weather. At their turning-point they deposited in a cairn a narrative of the most important events that had happened on board up to date. This small document was found many years after. The little party returned with good news and bright hopes, but found sorrow on the ships. Admiral Franklin lay on his deathbed. The suspense had lasted too long for him. He just heard that the north-west passage had been practically discovered, and died a few days later, in June, 1847. This was fortunate for him. His life had been a career of manliness and courage, and he might well go to sleep with a smile of victory on his lips. But we can imagine the gloom cast upon the expedition by the death of its leader.

It was now the season when the ice begins to move, and open water may be expected. No doubt they made excursions in all directions to find out where the surge of the salt sea was nearest. Perhaps they resorted to ice saws and powder to get out, but in vain; the ice held them fast. However, they were delighted to find that the whole pack was moving southwards. Could they reach the mainland in this way? A great American company, named after Hudson's Bay, had small trading-posts far in the north. If they could only reach one of them they would be saved.

Autumn came on, and their hope of getting free was disappointed. To try and reach the mainland now when winter was approaching was not to be thought of, for in winter no game is to be found in these endless wastes, and a journey southwards meant therefore death by starvation. In summer, on the other hand, there was a prospect of falling in with reindeer and musk oxen, those singular Polar animals as much like sheep as oxen, which live on lichens and mosses and do not wander farther south than the sixtieth parallel. In the western half of North America the southern limit of the musk ox coincides with the northern limit of trees. A herd of twenty or thirty musk oxen would have saved Franklin's distressed mariners. If they could only have found Polar bears, or, even better, seals or whales, with their thick layer of blubber beneath the hide; and Arctic hares would not have been despised if in sufficient numbers! But the season was too far advanced, and the wild animals had retreated before the cold and the abundant snow which covered their scanty food. No doubt the officers deliberated on the plan they should adopt. They had maps and books on board and knew fairly accurately how far they had to travel to the nearest trading-posts of the Hudson's Bay Company, and on the way they had every prospect of finding game and meeting Eskimos. It was decided to pass the third winter on board.

The cold increased day by day, and the length of the days became shorter. The sun still rose, described a flat arch to the south, and sank after an hour and a half. Soon the days lasted only half an hour, until one day they had only a glimpse of the sun's upper curve glittering for a moment like a flashing ruby above the horizon. Next day there was twilight at noon, but at any rate there was a reflection of the sunset red. During the following weeks the gloominess became more and more intense. At noon, however, there was still a perceptible light, and the blood-red streak appeared to the south, throwing a dull purple tinge over the ice-pack. Then this dim illumination faded away also, and the Polar night, which at this latitude lasts sixty days and at the North Pole itself six months, was come, and the stars sparkled like torches on the bluish-black background even when the bell struck midday in the officers' mess.

Those who for the first time winter in high northern latitudes find a wonderful charm even in the Polar night. They are astonished at the deep silence in the cold darkness, at the rushing, moaning howl of the snowstorms, and even at the overwhelming solitude and the total absence of life. Nothing, however, excites their astonishment and admiration so much as the "northern lights." We know that the magnetic and electric forces of the earth time after time envelop practically the whole globe in a mantle of light, but this mysterious phenomenon is still unexplained. Usually the aurora is inconstant. It flashes out suddenly, quivers for a moment in the sky, and then grows pale and vanishes. Most lasting are the bow-shaped northern lights, which sometimes stretch their milk-white arches high above the horizon. It may be that only one half of the arch is visible, rising like a pillar of light over the field of vision. Another time the aurora takes the form of flames and rays, red below and green above, and darting rapidly over the sky. Farther north the light is more yellowish. If groups of rays seem to converge to the same point, they are described as an auroral crown. Beautiful colours change quickly in these bundles of rays, but exceedingly seldom is the light as strong as that of the full moon. The light is grandest when it seems to fall like unrolled curtains vertically down, and is in undulating motion as though it fluttered in the wind.

To the sailors in the ice-bound ships, however, the northern lights had lost their fascination. Enfeebled and depressed, disgusted with bad provisions, worn out with three years' hardships, they lay on their berths listening to the ticking of their watches. The only break in their monotonous existence was when a death occurred. The carpenter had plenty of work, and Captain Crozier knew the funeral service by heart. Nine officers and eleven of the crew died during the last two winters, and certainly a far greater number in the third. This we know from a small slip of paper well sealed up and deposited in a cairn on the coast, which was found eleven years afterwards.

At length the months of darkness again came to an end. The red streak appeared once more in the south, and it gradually grew lighter. Twilight followed in the footsteps of darkness, and at last the first sun's rays glistened above the horizon. Then the men awakened once more to new hope; Brahmins on the bank of the Ganges never welcomed the rising sun with more delight.

With increasing daylight came greater opportunity and disposition to work. Several sledges were made ready, heavy and clumsy, but strong. Three whale-boats, which for three years had hung fast frozen to the davits, were loosened and hauled on to the ice. The best of the provisions still remaining in the store-room were taken out, and great piles of things were raised round the boats. When everything to be taken was down on the ice, the stores, tents, instruments, guns, ammunition, and all the other articles were packed on the sledges. The three whale-boats were bound with ropes, each on a separate sledge, and a sledge with a comfortable bed was assigned to the invalids. During all this work the days had grown longer, and at last the men could no longer control their eagerness to set out. This early start sealed their fate, for neither game nor Eskimos come up so far north till the summer is well advanced, and even with the sledges fully laden, their provisions would last only forty days.

On April 22, 1848, the signal for departure was given, and the heavy sledges creaked slowly and in jerks over the uneven snow-covered ice. Axes, picks, and spades were constantly in use to break to pieces the sharp ridges and blocks in the way. The distance to King William Land was only 15 miles, yet it took them three days to get there. The masts and hulls of the Erebus and Terror grew smaller all too slowly, but they vanished at last. Captain Crozier perceived that it was impossible to proceed in this manner, so all the baggage was looked through again and every unnecessary article was discarded. At this place one of the relief expeditions found quantities of things, uniform decorations, brass buttons, metal articles, etc., which no doubt had been thought suitable for barter with Eskimos and Indians.

With lightened sledges, they marched on along the west coast. They had not travelled far when John Irving, lieutenant on the Terror, died. Dressed in his uniform, wrapped in sailcloth, and with a silk handkerchief round his head, he was interred between stones set on end and covered with a flat slab. On his head was laid a silver medal with an inscription on the obverse side, "Second prize in Mathematics at the Royal Naval College. Awarded to John Irving, Midsummer, 1830." Owing to the medal the deceased officer was identified long after, and so in time was laid to rest in his native town.

Two bays on the west coast of King William Land have been named after the unfortunate ships. At the shore of the northern, Erebus Bay, the strength of the English seamen was so weakened that they had to abandon two of the boats, together with the sledges on which they had been drawn so far uselessly. At their arrival at Terror Bay the bonds of comradeship were no longer strong enough to keep the party together, or it may be that they agreed to separate. They were now less than a hundred men. At any rate, they divided into two parties, probably of nearly equal strength. The one, which evidently consisted of the more feeble, turned back towards the ships, where at least they would obtain shelter against wind and weather, and where there were provisions left. The other continued along the south coast with the whale-boat, and intended to cross to the mainland and try to reach the Great Fish River. No doubt, when they had been succoured themselves, they meant to return to their distressed comrades.

Terrible must have been the march of the returning party, and terrible also that of those who went on. Of the former we know next to nothing. The latter marched and marched, dragging their heavy sledges after them till they died one after another. There was no longer any thought of burying the dead. Every one had to take care of himself. If a dying man lagged behind, the others could not stop on his account. Some died as they were walking: this was proved afterwards by the skeletons which were found lying on their faces. Not a trace of game was found in May and June on the island, and they dragged their heavy ammunition boxes and guns to no purpose, not firing a shot.

Now the small remnant waited only for open water to cross the sound to the mainland. At the beginning of June the ice broke up, and it may be taken for granted that at this time the survivors actually crossed, for the boat was afterwards found in a bay called Starvation Cove. If only the boat had been found here, it might have been drifted over by wind and waves; but skeletons and articles both in and outside the boat were found, showing that it was manned when it passed over the sound and when it landed.

Many circumstances connected with this sad journey are mysterious. Why did the men drag the heavy whale-boat with them for two months when they must have seen the mainland to the south the year before, on the excursion which they undertook when the Admiral was lying on his deathbed? Where the sound is narrowest it is only three miles broad; and, besides, they could have crossed anywhere on the ice. But as all died and as not a line in a diary came to light, we know nothing about it.

When no news was heard of Franklin after two years, the first relief expeditions were sent out. Time passed, and it became still more certain that he was in need of help. In the autumn of 1850 fifteen ships were on the outlook for him. The most courageous and energetic of all, who for years would not give up hope of seeing him again, was Franklin's wife. She spent all her means in relief work. In the course of six years the English Government disbursed £890,000 in relief expeditions. Most of them were useless, for when they set out the disaster had already taken place. One expedition which sailed in 1848 was caught in the ice, and resorted to a singular means of sending information to the distressed men, wherever they might be. About a hundred foxes were caught and fitted with brass collars, in which a short description of the position of the relief ship was engraved, and then the foxes were let loose again.

In 1854 the names of Franklin, Crozier, and all the other men were removed from the muster roll of the Royal Navy. A statue of Franklin was set up in his native town, and a memorial of marble was erected in Westminster Abbey with the words of Tennyson:

Not here! the white North has thy bones; and thou Heroic sailor-soul, Art passing on thine happier voyage now Toward no earthly pole.

The Voyage of the "Vega"

A brilliant remembrance of the Arctic Ocean is the pride of the Swedes. The north-west passage had been discovered by Englishmen; but the north-east passage, which for 350 years had been attempted by all seafaring nations, was not yet achieved. By a series of voyages to Spitzbergen, Greenland, and the Yenisei, Adolf Nordenskiöld had made himself an experienced Polar voyager. He perfected a scheme to sail along the north coasts of Europe and Asia and through the Behring Strait out into the Pacific Ocean. His plan, then, was nothing less than to circumnavigate Asia and Europe, an exploit which had never been performed and which the learned declared to be impossible. It was thought that the ice-pack always lay pressed up against the Siberian coast, rendering it impossible to get past; parts had been already sailed along and stretches of coasts were known, but to voyage all the way to the Behring Strait was out of the question.

Now Nordenskiöld reasoned that the ice must begin to drift in summer, and leave an open channel close to the land. The great Siberian rivers, the Obi, the Yenisei, and the Lena, bring down volumes of warm water from southern regions into the Arctic Ocean. As this water is fresh, it must spread itself over the heavier sea water, and must form a surface current which keeps the ice at a distance and the passage open. Along the ice-free coast a vessel could sail anywhere and pass out into the Pacific Ocean before the end of summer.

Accordingly he made ready for a voyage in which the Vega was to sail round Asia and Europe and carry his name to the ends of the earth. The Vega was a whaler built to encounter drift ice in the northern seas. A staff of scientific observers was appointed, and a crew of seventeen Swedish men-of-war's men were selected. The Vega was to be the home of thirty men, and provisions were taken for two years. Smaller vessels were to accompany her for part of the voyage, laden with coal.

The Vega left Carlskrona in June, 1878, and steamed along the coast of Norway, past the North Cape, towards the east. The islands of Novaia Zemlia were left behind, the waters of the Obi and Yenisei splashed against the hull, no drift ice opposed the passage of the Swedish vessel, and on August 19 Cape Cheliuskin, the most northern point of the Old World, was reached.

Farther east the coast was followed to Nordenskiöld Sea. Great caution was necessary, for the fairway was shallow, and the Vega often steamed across bays which were represented as land on maps. The delta of the Lena was left behind, and to the east of this only small rivers enter the sea. Nordenskiöld therefore feared that the last bit of the voyage would be the hardest, for open water along the coast could not be depended upon. At the end of August the most westerly of the group called the New Siberia Islands was sighted. The Vega could not go at full speed, for the sea was shallow, and floating fragments of ice were in the way. The prospects became brighter again, however, open water stretching for a long distance eastwards.

On September 6 two large skin boats appeared, full of fur-clad natives who had rowed out from land. All the men on the Vega, except the cook, hastened on deck to look at these unexpected visitors of Chukchi race. They rushed up the companion ladder, talking and laughing, and were well received, being given tobacco, Dutch clay pipes, old clothes, and other presents. None of the Vega men understood a word they said, but the Chukchis chattered gaily all the same, and with their hands full of presents tumbled down to their boats again and rowed home.

Two days later the Vega was in the midst of ice and fog, and had to be moored to a floe near land. Then came more Chukchis, who pulled the Swedes by the collar and pointed to the skin tents on land. The invitation was accepted with pleasure by several of the Vega men, who rowed to land and went from tent to tent. In one of them reindeer meat was boiling in a cast-iron pot over the fire. Outside another two reindeer were being cut up. Each tent contained an inner sleeping-room of deerskin, which was lighted and warmed by lamps of train oil. There played small stark-naked children, plump and chubby as little pigs, and sometimes they ran in the same light attire out over the rime between the tents. The tiniest were carried, well wrapped up in furs, on the backs of their fathers and mothers, and whatever pranks they played these small wild cats never heard a harsh word from their elders.

The next day the Vega tried to continue her voyage, but the fog was too dense, and the shelter of a mass of ground ice had again to be sought. Nordenskiöld was, however, sure of gaining the Pacific Ocean in a short time, and when fresh visitors came on board he distributed tobacco and other presents among them with a lavish hand. He also distributed a number of krona[21] pieces and fifty earrings which, if any misfortune happened to the Vega, would serve to show her course.

During the following days the ice closed up and fog lay dense over the sea. Only now and then could the vessel sail a short distance, and then was stopped and had to moor again. On September 18 the vessel glided gently and cautiously between huge blocks of grounded ice like castle walls and towers of glass. Here patience and great care were necessary, for the coast was unknown and there was frequently barely a span of water beneath the keel. The captain stood on the bridge, and wherever there was a gap between the ice-blocks he made for it. It was only possible to sail in the daytime, and at night the Vega lay fastened by her ice anchors. One calm and fine evening some of our seafarers went ashore and lighted an enormous bonfire of driftwood. Here they sat talking of the warm countries they would sail past for two months. They were only a few miles from the easternmost extremity of Asia at Behring Strait.

The Vega had anchored on the eastern side of Koliuchin Bay. It was September 28. Newly formed ice had stretched a tough sheet between the scattered blocks of ground ice, and to the east lay an ice-belt barely six miles broad. If only a south wind would spring up, the pack would drift northwards, and the last short bit of the north-east passage would be traversed.

But the Fates decreed otherwise. No wind appeared, the temperature fell, and the ice increased in thickness. If the Vega had come a few hours sooner, she would not have been stopped on the very threshold of the Pacific Ocean. And how easily might these few hours have been saved during the voyage! The Vega was entrapped so unexpectedly in the ice that there was not even time to look for safe and sheltered winter quarters. She lay about a mile from the coast exposed to the northern storms. Under strong ice pressure she might easily drift southwards, run aground, capsize, or be crushed.

The ice-pack became heavier in all directions, and by October 10 the Chukchis were able to come out on foot to the vessel. Preparations were made for the winter. High banks of snow were thrown up around, and on the deck a thick layer of snow was left to keep the heat in. From the bridge to the bow was stretched a large awning, under which the Chukchis were received daily. It was like a market-place, and here barter trade was carried on. A collection of household utensils, implements of the chase, clothes, and indeed everything which the northern people made with their own hands, was acquired during the winter.

The Vega soon became quite a rendezvous for the three hundred Chukchis living in the neighbourhood, and one team of dogs after another came daily rushing through the snow. They had small, light sledges drawn by six to ten dogs, shaggy and strong, but thin and hungry. The dogs had to lie waiting in the snow on the ice while their masters sat bargaining under the large awning. At every baking on board special loaves were made for the native visitors, who would sit by the hour watching the smith shaping the white hot iron on his anvil. Women and children were regaled with sugar and cakes, and all the visitors went round and looked about just as they liked on the deck, where a quantity of articles, weapons, and utensils lay about. Not the smallest trifle disappeared. The Chukchis were honest and decent people, and the only roguery they permitted themselves was to try and persuade the men of the Vega that a skinned and decapitated fox was a hare. When it grew dusk the fur-clad Polar savages went down the staircase of ice from the deck, put their teams in order, took their seats in the sledges, and set off again over the ice to their tents of reindeer skins.

The winter was stormy and severe. Clouds of snow swept over the ice, fine and dry as flour. Again and again the cold scene was lighted up by the arcs of the aurora. In the middle of December the planks in the sides of the Vega cracked as the ice pressed against her. If the pressure had been bad, the vessel might have been broken to pieces and have sunk in a few minutes. It would not have been so serious for the crew as in the case of the Erebus and Terror, for here there were people far and near. But to ensure a safe retreat, the men of the Vega carried to the nearest shore provisions, guns, and ammunition to last a hundred men for thirty days. These things were all stacked up into a heap covered with sails and oars. No watch was kept at the depôt, and though the Chukchis knew that valuable goods lay under the sails, they never touched a thing.

Near the Vega two holes were kept always open. In one the captain observed the rise and fall of the tide; the other was for water in case of fire. A small seal splashed for a long time in one of the holes and came up on to the ice after fishing below. One day his retreat was cut off and he was caught and brought up on deck. When fish bought from the Chukchis had been offered him in vain, he was let loose in the hole again and he never came back.

A house of ice was erected for the purpose of observing the wind and weather, and a thermometer cage was set up on the coast. Men took turns to go out, and each observer remained six hours at the ice-house and the cage to read off the various instruments. It was bitterly cold going out when the temperature fell to-51°, but the compulsory walk was beneficial. One danger was that a man might lose his way when snowstorms raged in the dark winter nights, so a line was stretched the whole way, supported on posts of ice, and with this guide it was impossible to go astray.

Then came Christmas, when they slaughtered two fat pigs which had been brought on purpose. The middle deck was swept out, all the litter was cleared away, and flags were hung round the walls and ceiling. The Chukchis brought willow bushes from the valleys beyond the mountains to the south, and branches were fastened round a trunk of driftwood. This was the Vega's Christmas tree, and it was decked with strips of coloured paper and small wax candles. Officers and men swung round in merry dance beneath flaming lanterns suspended from the roof. Two hundred Christmas boxes were found packed on board, parting gifts of friends and acquaintances. For these lots were drawn, and many amusing surprises excited general hilarity. So the polka was danced on the deck, while cold reigned outside and snow whizzed through the frozen rigging. For supper there was ham and Christmas ale, just as at home in Sweden. Old well-known songs echoed through the saloon, and toasts were given of king and country, officers and men, and the fine little vessel which had carried our Vikings from their home in the west to their captivity in the shore ice of Siberia.

The winter ran its course and the days lengthened in the spring. Cold and continual storms were persistent. Even a Chukchi dog can have too much of them. One day at the end of February a Chukchi who had lost his way came on board, carrying a dog by the hind legs. The man had lost his way on the ice, and had slept out in the cold with his dog. A capital dinner was served for him on the middle deck, and the dog was rolled about and pommelled till he came to life again.

During the spring the Vega explorers made several longer or shorter excursions with dog sledges and visited all the villages in the country. Of course they became the best of friends with the Chukchis. The language was the difficulty at first, but somehow or other they learned enough of it to make themselves understood. Even the sailors struggled with the Chukchi vocabulary, and tried to teach their savage friends Swedish. One of the officers learned to speak Chukchi fluently, and compiled a dictionary of this peculiar language.

Summer came on, but the ground was not free from ice until July. The Vega still lay fast as in a vice. On July 18 Nordenskiöld made ready for another excursion on land. The captain had long had the engines ready and the boilers cleaned. Just as they were sitting at dinner in the ward-room they felt the Vega roll a little. The captain rushed up on deck. The pack had broken up and left a free passage open. "Fire under the boilers!" was the order, and two hours later, at half-past three o'clock, the Vega glided under steam and sail and a festoon of flags away from the home of the Chukchis.

Farther east the sea was like a mirror and free of ice beneath the fog. Walruses raised their shiny wet heads above the water, in which numerous seals disported themselves. With the wildest delight the Vega expedition sailed southwards through Behring Strait. In the year 1553 a daring Englishman had commenced the quest of the north-east passage and had perished with all his men, and during the following centuries numberless other expeditions had tried to solve the problem, but always in vain; now it was solved by Swedes. The vessel glided out into the Pacific Ocean without a leak; not a man had been lost and not one had been seriously ill. It was one of the most fortunate and most brilliant Polar voyages that had ever been achieved.

Yokohama was the first port, where the Vega was welcomed with immense jubilation, and then the homeward journey via the Suez Canal and Gibraltar became a continuous triumphal procession.

Nansen

From many signs around the northern cap of the world a young Norwegian, Fridtjof Nansen, came to the conclusion that a constant current must flow from the neighbourhood of Behring Strait to the east coast of Greenland.

Nansen resolved to make use of this current. Others had gone up from the Atlantic side and been driven back by the current. He would start from the opposite side and get the help of the current. Others had feared and avoided the pack-ice. He would make for it and allow himself to be caught in it. Others had sailed in unsuitable vessels which had been crushed like nut-shells among the floes. He would build a vessel with sides sloping inwards which would afford no hold to the ice. The more the ice pressed the more surely would this ship be lifted up out of the water and be borne safely on the ice with the current.

The progress would be slow, no doubt, but the expedition would see regions of the world never before visited, and would have opportunities of investigating the depth of the sea, the weather and winds. To reach the small point called the North Pole was in Nansen's opinion of minor importance.

PLATE XXXIX. THE "FRAM."

Among the many who wished to go with him he chose the best twelve. The vessel was christened the Fram (Plate XXXIX.), and the captain was named Sverdrup. He had been with Nansen before on an expedition when they crossed the inland ice of Greenland from coast to coast. They took provisions for five years and were excellently equipped.

The first thing was to reach the New Siberia Islands. To those the Vega had shown the way, and the Fram had only to follow in her track. Just to the west of them a course was steered northwards, and soon the vessel was set fast in the ice and was lifted satisfactorily on to its surface without the smallest leak. So far everything had gone as Nansen anticipated, and the experienced Polar voyagers who had declared that the whole scheme was madness had to acknowledge that they were not so clever as they thought.

We have unfortunately no time to accompany the voyagers on their slow journey. They got on well, and were comfortable on board. The ice groaned and cracked as usual, but within the heavy timbers of the Fram there was peace. The night came, long, dark, and silent. Polar bears stalked outside and were often shot. Before it became quite dark Nansen tried the dogs at drawing sledges. They were harnessed, but when he took his seat, off they went in the wildest career. They romped over blocks and holes, and Nansen was thrown backwards, but sat fast in the sledge and could not be thrown out. In time the driving went better, and the poor, faithful animals had always to go on sledge excursions. Two were seized by Polar bears and two were bitten to death by their comrades. One fine day, however, puppies came into the world in the midst of the deepest darkness. When they first saw the sun they barked furiously.

The Fram drifted north-west just as Nansen had foreseen, passing over great depths where the two thousand fathom line did not reach the bottom. Christmas was kept with a Norwegian festival, and when the eightieth parallel was crossed a tremendous feast was held; but the return of the sun on February 20 excited the greatest delight. The spring and summer passed without any remarkable events. Kennels were erected on the ice out of boxes, and more puppies came into the world. Possibly these were as much astonished at the winter darkness as their cousins had been at seeing the sun.

Nansen had long been pondering on a bold scheme—namely, to advance with dog sledges as far as possible to the north and then turn southwards to Franz Josef Land. The ship was meanwhile to go on with the drift and the usual observations were to be taken on board. Only one man was to go with him, and he chose Lieutenant Johansen. He first spoke to him about the scheme in November, 1894. It was, of course, a matter of life or death, so he told Johansen to take a day or two to think it over before he gave his answer. But the latter said "Yes" at once without a moment's hesitation. "Then we will begin our preparations to-morrow," said Nansen.

All the winter was spent in them. They made two "kayaks," each to hold a single man, somewhat larger and stronger than those the Eskimos use when they go fishing or seal-hunting. With a frame of ribs and covered with sailcloth these canoes weighed only thirty pounds. They were covered in all over, and when the boatman had taken his seat in the middle and made all tight around him, seas might sweep right over him and the kayak without doing any harm. A dog sledge, harness, a sleeping-bag for two, skis, staffs, provisions, oil cooking-stove—all was made ready.

The start took place at the turn of the year, when the most terrible ice pressure broke loose on all sides threatening the Fram. Mountains of ice-blocks and snow were thrust against the vessel, which was in danger of being buried under them. The sea water was forced up over the ice and the dogs were nearly drowned in their kennels and had to be rescued quickly. Banks of ice were pushed against the vessel, rolled over the bulwarks, and weighed down the awning on the deck; and it was pitch dark, so that they could not find out where danger threatened. They had, however, stored provisions for two hundred days in a safe place. By degrees the ice came to rest again and the great rampart was digged away.

Twice did Nansen and Johansen set out northwards, only to come back again. Once a sledge broke, and on the other occasion the load was too heavy. On March 14 they left the Fram for the last time and directed their steps northward. They had three sledges and twenty-eight dogs, but they themselves walked on skis and looked after their teams. At first the ice was level and the pace was rapid, but afterwards it became lumpy and uneven, and travelling was slow, as first one sledge and then another stuck fast.

After two marches the temperature fell to-45°, and it was very cold in the small silk tent. They were able to march for nine hours, and when the ice was level it seemed as if the endless white plains might extend up to the Pole. So long as they were travelling they did not feel the cold, but the perspiration from their bodies froze in their clothes, so that they were encased in a hauberk of ice which cracked at every step. Nansen's wrists were made sore by rubbing against his hard sleeves, and did not heal till far on in the summer.

They always looked out for some sheltered crevice in the ice to camp in. Johansen looked after the dogs and fed them, while Nansen set up the tent and filled the pot with ice. The evening meal was the pleasantest in the day, for then at any rate they were warmed inside. After it they packed themselves in their sleeping bag, when the ice on their clothes melted and they lay all night as in a cold compress. They dreamed of sledges and dog teams, and Johansen would call out to the dogs in his sleep, urging them on. Then they would wake up again in the bitter morning, rouse up the dogs, lying huddled up together and growling at the cold, disentangle the trace lines, load the sledges, and off they would go through the great solitude.

Only too frequently the ice was unfavourable, the sledges stuck fast, and had to be pushed over ridges and fissures. They struggle on northwards, however, and have travelled a degree of latitude. It is tiring work to march and crawl in this way, and sometimes they are so worn out that they almost go to sleep on their skis while the dogs gently trot beside them. The dogs too are tired of this toil, and two of them have to be killed. They are cut up and distributed among their comrades, some of whom refuse to turn cannibals.

When the ice became still worse and the cold white desert looked like a heap of stones as far northwards as the eye could see, Nansen decided to turn back. It was impossible to find their way back to the Fram, for several snowstorms had swept over the ice obliterating their tracks. The only thing to do was to steer a course for the group of islands called Franz Josef Land. It was 430 miles off, and the provisions were coming to an end; but when the spring really set in they would surely find game, and they had for their two guns a hundred and eighty cartridges with ball and a hundred and fifty with shot. The dogs had the worst of it; for them it was a real "dog's life" up there. The stronger were gradually to eat up the weaker.

So they turned back and made long marches over easy ice. One day they saw a complete tree trunk sticking up out of the ice. What singular fortunes it must have experienced since it parted from its root! At the end of April the spoor of two foxes was seen in the snow. Was land near, or what were these fellows doing out here on the ice-covered sea? Two days later a dog named Gulen was sacrificed. He was born on the Fram, and during his short life had never seen anything but snow and ice; now he was worn out and exhausted, and the travellers were sorry to part from the faithful soul.

Open water, sunlit billows! How delightful to hear them splash against the edge of the ice! The sound seemed to speak of spring and summer, and to give them a greeting from the great ocean and the way back home. More tracks of foxes indicated land, and they looked out for it daily. They did not suspect that they had to travel for three months to the nearest island.

At the beginning of May only sixteen dogs were left. Now the long summer day commenced in the Arctic Ocean, and when the temperature was only twenty degrees below freezing point they suffered from heat. But the ice was bad, and they had to force the sledges over deep channels and high hummocks thrust up by pressure. After great difficulties they staggered along on skis. The work became heavier for the dogs as fewer were left, but the provisions also diminished.

A furious snowstorm compelled them to remain in a camp. There they left one of the sledges, and some broken skis were offered to the flames and made a grand fire. Six dogs could still be harnessed to each of the two remaining sledges.

At the end of May they came to an expanse of ice intersected by a network of channels with open water, which blocked the way. Now animal life began to appear with the coming of summer. In a large opening were seen the grey backs of narwhals rolling over in the dark-blue water. A seal or two were seeking fish, and tracks of Polar bears made them long for fresh meat. Nansen often made long excursions in front to see where the ice was best. Then Johansen remained waiting by the sledges, and if the bold ski-runner were long away he began to fear that an accident had happened. He dared not pursue his thoughts to an end—he would then be quite alone.

June comes. The scream of ivory gulls pierces the air. The two men remain a week in a camp to make their kayaks seaworthy. They have still bread for quite a month. Only six dogs are left; when only three remain they will have to harness themselves to the sledges.

In a large strip of open water they shoved out the kayaks, fastened them together with skis, and paddled them along the margin of the ice. On the other side they shot two seals and three Polar bears, and therefore had meat for a long time. The last two dogs, too, could eat their fill.

At last the land they longed for appeared to the south, and they hastened thither, a man and a dog to each sledge. Once they had again to cross a strip of open water in kayaks, Nansen was at the edge of the ice when he heard Johansen call out, "Get your gun." Nansen turned and saw that a large bear had knocked Johansen down and was sniffing at him. Nansen was about to take up his gun when the kayak slipped out into the water, and while he was hauling and pulling at it he heard Johansen say quite quietly, "You must look sharp if you want to be in time." So at last he got hold of his gun, and the bear received his death-wound.

For five months they had struggled over the ice, when at the beginning of August they stood at the margin of the ice and had open water before them off the land. Now the sea voyage was to begin, and they had to part with their last two dogs. It was a bitter moment. Nansen took Johansen's dog and Johansen Nansen's, and a couple of bullets were the reward of their faithfulness.

Now they travelled more easily and quickly. The kayaks were fastened together, and with masts and sails they skimmed past unknown islands. Heavy seas forced them to land on one of them. Just as they drew up their kayaks a white bear came waddling along, got scent of them, and began to sniff along their track. To our travellers his visit meant provisions for a long time. Nansen and his travelling companion took possession of their new territory, wandered over the island, and returned to their dinner of bear, which did them good. Next day they looked for a suitable dwelling-place. As they could not find a cave, they built a small stone cabin, which they roofed with skis and the silk tent. Light and wind came in on all sides, but it was comfortable enough and the meat pot bubbled over a fire of fat.

Nansen decided to remain on this island for the winter. The islands they had hitherto seen were unlike any of the known parts of Franz Josef Land, and Nansen did not know exactly where he was. It was impossible to venture out on the open sea in the kayaks. It was better to lay in a supply of food for the winter, for when darkness came all the game would disappear. First of all they must build a comfortable hut. There was plenty of stone and moss, a trunk of driftwood found on the beach would form a roof ridge, and if they could only get hold of a couple of walruses, their roofing would be provided.

A large male walrus was lying puffing out in the water. The kayaks were shoved out and lashed together, and from them the colossus was bombarded. He dived, but came up under the boats, and the whole contrivance was nearly capsized. At last he received his death-wound, but just as Nansen was about to strike his harpoon into him he sank. They had better luck, however, with two others which lay bellowing on the ice and gradually went to sleep, unconscious that their minutes were numbered. Nansen says that it seemed like murder to shoot them, and that he never forgot their brown, imploring, melancholy eyes as they lay supporting their heads on their tusks and coughing up blood. Then the great brutes were flayed, and their flesh, blubber, and hides carried into the hut. When they brought out the sledges and knives, Nansen thought it might be as well to take the kayaks with them also. And that was fortunate, for while they stood cutting up as in a slaughter-house, a strong, biting land wind sprang up, their ice-floe parted from the land ice and drifted away from the island. Dark-green water and white foaming surge yawned behind them. There was no time to think. They were drifting out to sea as fast as they could. But to go back empty-handed would have been too vexatious; so they cut off a quarter of a hide and dragged it with some lumps of blubber to the kayaks. They reached the land in safety, dead tired after an adventurous row, and sought the shelter of the hut.

In the night came a bear mamma with two large cubs, and made a thorough inspection of the outside of the hut. The mother was shot and the cubs made off to the shore, plunged in, and swam out to a slab of ice which would just bear them, and scrambled up. There they stood moaning and whining, and wondering why their mother stayed so long on shore. One tumbled over the edge, but climbed up again on to the slippery floe and the clean salt water ran off his fur. They drifted away with the wind and soon looked like two white spots on the almost black water. Nansen and Johansen wanted their meat, the more because the bears had torn and mangled all the walrus meat lying outside the hut. The kayaks were pushed out and were soon on the farther side of the floe with the bear cubs. They were chased into the water and followed all the way to the beach, where they were shot.

Things now began to look better—three bears all at once! Then the first walrus came to the surface again, and while he was being skinned another came to look on and had to join him. It was disgusting work to flay the huge brutes. Both the men had their worn clothes smeared with train-oil and blood, so that they were soaked right through. Ivory and glaucous gulls, noisy and greedy, collected from far and near and picked up all the offal. They would soon fly south, the sea would be covered with ice, and the Polar night would be so dismal and silent.

It took a week to get the new hut ready. The shoulder blade of a walrus fastened to a ski served as spade. A walrus tusk tied to a broken ski staff made an excellent hoe. Then they raised the walls of the hut, and inside they dug into the ground and made a sort of couch for both of them, which they covered with bearskin. After two more walruses had been shot they had plenty of roofing material, which they laid over the trunk of driftwood. A bear came, indeed, and pulled down everything, but it cost him dear, and afterwards the roof was strengthened with a weight of stones. To make a draught through the open fireplace they set up on the roof a chimney of ice. Then they moved into the new hut, which was to be their abode through the long winter.

On October 15 they saw the sun for the last time. The bears vanished, and did not return till the next spring. But foxes were left, and they were extremely inquisitive and thievish. They stole their sail thread and steel wire, their harpoon and line, and it was quite impossible to find the stolen goods again. What they wanted with a thermometer which lay outside it is hard to conceive, for it must have been all the same to the foxes how many degrees of temperature there were in their earths. All winter they were up on the roof pattering, growling, howling, and quarrelling. There was a pleasant rattling up above, and the two men really would not have been without their fox company.

One can hardly say that the days passed slowly, for the whole winter was, of course, one long night. It was so silent and empty, and an oppressive, solemn stillness reigned during the calm night. Sometimes the aurora blazed in a mysterious crown in the sky, at other times so dark, and the stars glittered with inconceivable brilliance. The weather, however, was seldom calm. Usually the wind howled round the bare rocks lashed by millions of storms since the earliest times, and snow swished outside and built up walls close around the hut.

The endlessly long night passed slowly on. The men ate and slept, and walked up and down in the darkness to stretch their limbs. Then came Christmas with its old memories. They clean up, sweep and brush, and take up a foot's depth of frozen refuse from the floor of the hut. They rummage for some of the last good things from the Fram, and then Nansen lies listening and fancies he hears the church bells at home.

In the midst of the winter night comes New Year's Day, when it is so cold that they can only lie down and sleep, and look out of their sleeping-bag only to eat. Sometimes they do not put out their noses for twenty hours on end, but lie dosing just like bears in their lairs.

On the last day of February the sun at last appears again. He is heartily welcome, and he is accompanied by some morning birds, Little Auks. The two men are frightened of each other when daylight shines on them, as their hair and beards have grown so long. They have not washed for a year or more, and are as black in the face as negroes. Nansen, who is usually extremely fair, has now jet-black hair. They may be excused for not bathing at a temperature of-40°.

The first bear has come. Here he is scratching at the hut and wanting to get in; there is such a good smell from inside. A bullet meets him on the way. And as he runs off up a steep slope he gets another, and comes rolling down in wild bounces like a football. They lived on him for six weeks.

While the days grew lighter they worked at a new outfit. They made trousers out of their blankets. Shoes were patched, rope was cut out of walrus hide, new runners were put on the sledges, the provisions were packed, and on May 19 they left their cabin and marched farther south-west.

Time after time they had to rest on account of snowstorms. They had thrown away the tent, and instead they crept in between the sledges covered with the sail. Once Nansen came down when on skis, and would have been drowned if Johansen had not helped him up in time. The snow lying on this ice was soaked with water. They had always to keep their eyes open and look for firm ice. The provisions came to an end, but the sea swarmed with walruses. Sometimes the animals were so bold that Nansen could go up to them and take photographs. When a fine brute had been shot the others still lay quiet, and only by hitting them with their alpenstocks could the travellers get rid of them. Then the animals would waddle off in single file and plunge head first into the water, which seemed to boil up around them.

Once they had such level ice and a good wind behind them that they hoisted sail on the sledges, stood on skis in front of them to steer, and flew along so that the snow was thrown up around them.

Another time they sailed with the kayaks lashed together and went ashore on an island to get a better view. The kayak raft was moored with a walrus rope. As they were strolling round Johansen called out, "Hullo, the kayaks are adrift."

They ran down. The wind was blowing off the land. Out on the fiord all they possessed in the world was being mercilessly carried away.

"Take my watch," cried Nansen, and throwing off a few clothes he jumped into the ice-cold water, and swam after the kayaks. But they drifted more rapidly than Nansen swam, and the case seemed hopeless. He felt his limbs growing numb, but he thought he might as well drown as swim back without the boats. He struck out for his life, became tired, lay on his back, went on again, saw that the distance was lessening, and put out all his strength for a last spurt. He was quite spent and on the point of sinking when he caught hold of one of the canoes and could hang on and get his breath. Then he heaved himself up into the kayak, and rowed back shivering, with chattering teeth, benumbed, and frozen blue. When he reached the land Johansen put him in the sleeping-bag and laid over him everything he could find. And when he had slept a few hours he was as lively as a cricket and did justice to the supper.

Farther and farther south they continued their daring journey over ice and waves. A walrus came up beside Nansen's canoe, and tried its solidity with his tusks, nearly taking kayak and oarsman down with him to the salt depths. When the animal went off, Nansen felt uncomfortably cold and wet about the legs. He rowed to the nearest ice, where the kayak sank in shallow water and all he possessed was wet and spoiled. Then they had to give themselves a good rest and repair all damages, while walruses grunted and snorted close beside them.

This journey of Nansen's is a unique feat in the history of Polar travels. Of the crews of the Erebus and Terror, a hundred and thirty-four men, not one had escaped, though they had not lost their vessels and though they lay quite close to a coast where there were human beings and game. But these two Norwegians had now held out in the Polar sea for fifteen months, and had preserved their lives and limbs and were in excellent condition.

Their hour of delivery was at hand. On June 17 Nansen ascended an ice hummock and listened to the commotion made by a whole multitude of birds. What now? He listens holding his breath. No, it is impossible! Yes, indeed, that is a dog's bark. It must surely be a bird with a peculiar cry. No, it is a dog barking.

He hurried back to the camp. Johansen thought it was a mistake. They bolted their breakfast. Then Nansen fastened skis on his feet, took his gun, field-glass, and alpenstock, and flew swiftly as the wind over the white snow.

See, there are the footprints of a dog! Perhaps a fox? No, they would be much smaller. He flies over the ice towards the land. Now he hears a man's voice. He yells with all the power of his lungs and takes no heed of holes and lumps as he speeds along towards life, safety, and home.

Then a dog runs up barking. Behind him comes a man. Nansen hurries to meet him, and both wave their caps. Whoever this traveller with the dog may be, he has good reason for astonishment at seeing a jet-black giant come jolting on skis straight from the North Pole.

They meet. They put out their hands.

"How do you do?" asks the Englishman.

"Very well, thank you," says Nansen.

"I am very glad to see you here."

"So am I," cries Nansen.

The Englishman with the dog is named Jackson, and has been for two years in Franz Joseph Land making sledge journeys and explorations. He concludes that the black man on skis is some one from the Fram, but when he hears that it is Nansen himself he is still more astonished and agreeably surprised.

They went to Jackson's house, whither Johansen also was fetched. Both our explorers washed with soap and brush several times to get off the worst of the dirt, all that was not firmly set and imbedded in their skins. They scrubbed and scraped and changed their clothes from top to toe, and at last looked like human beings.

Later in the summer a vessel came with supplies for Jackson. With this vessel Nansen and Johansen sailed home. At Vardö they received telegrams from their families, and their delight was unbounded. Only one thing troubled them. Where was the Fram? Some little time later Nansen was awakened at Hammerfest one morning by a telegraph messenger. The telegram he brought read: "Fram arrived in good condition. All well on board. Shall start at once for Tromsö. Welcome home." The sender of the telegram was the captain of the Fram, the brave and faithful Sverdrup.

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