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during our stay amongst the ice. When I say “in a rush” it is only
relatively speaking. For a rush was impossible in our circumstances.
The pilot’s room offered good sleeping accommodation for two people
if they went to bed quietly and carefully. There were so many uprights,
struts, and pipes that our bedroom had the appearance of a birdcage.
The making of a miscalculated movement landed one against a pipe or
a strut, sometimes both. In addition to this one could not stand at full
height. To speak of a rush under such conditions is therefore stupid.
The sight which met us when we put our heads through the trap-door
was interesting, but not altogether inviting. It was interesting to note
how much four desperate men can straighten out. The pool we had
made was now covered with ice in the center of which N 25 was stuck.
The pressure was tremendous and a catastrophe seemed
unavoidable. Gathering all his strength, Riiser-Larsen sprang like a
tiger. He jumped high in the air in order to land anywhere on the ice
which jammed the seaplane. The result was always the same. The ice
broke under him without resistance. Omdal had got hold of a tool (I
don’t know which one) and helped his comrade splendidly with its aid.
Larsen pushed for all he was worth against the seaplane’s nose and
tried to free it from the ice pressure. By this united work they managed
to loosen the machine about 45° and thereby lighten the pressure
against the sides. In the meantime Ellsworth and I were occupied in
putting the provisions and equipment on the old ice. We were masters
of the situation at last, but it was a near thing that time.
To return to our old quarters was unthinkable, so we looked round
for a safe place somewhere else. We lay in a favorable position for
crossing to N 24 and decided it might be wise to pursue this course.
There was a possibility that we might reach it by way of the new ice,
but this seemed unlikely after our last experience. However we would
try our best to get over because it would be an advantage to be able to
use N 24’s petrol without transporting it. Moreover it appeared that
conditions across there were calmer and offered a safer resting place.
That this was not the case we shall see later.
Thus we began again to hack and to level and by breakfast time
the track was finished. Exactly as though we ourselves had dispersed
it the fog lifted, and we could soon start. This reminds me of an
amusing occurrence, amusing for others, but not exactly for me. On
account of the small accommodation in the machines it was necessary
for us always to move about in tabloid form, bent, drawn together and
compact. The result of this was cramp, sometimes in the legs, in the
thighs, in the stomach, in the back. These attacks came on at the most
inopportune moments and the martyr was a never-failing object of
general amusement. Everything was ready that morning for departure
and I suddenly remembered my glasses which I had forgotten in the
mess and which I now rushed to fetch. But it was a mistaken move on
my part. My first hasty jerk gave me cramp in both thighs with the
result that I could not move from the spot. I heard titters and giggles
and notwithstanding the infernal pain I could not do otherwise than join
in the general amusement.
The second start was not more fortunate than the first. The ice
broke all the way and N 25 became famous as an icebreaker. One
good result came from it, however, namely, that we got near to the
other machine. That presented a sad appearance as it lay there lonely
and forlorn with one wing high in the air, and the other down on the ice.
They had been lucky enough to get its nose up on to a grade of the old
ice floe, but the tail lay right out in the ice.
The conditions here seemed quite promising. We had an open
waterway about 400 meters long with fine new ice quite near. The third
attempt to start was undertaken the same afternoon but without result.
We decided to join up the waterway and the new ice. It was possible
that the great speed one could attain on the waterway would carry one
up onto the ice and if that happened there was a big chance of rising in
the air as the track would then have become about 700 meters long. At
2 a.m. on the 4th June we started the work, continuing all day. As by
eventide we had got the track finished, down came the fog and
prevented us from starting. A little later the ice got rather lively,
beginning to screw during the night. Fortunately it was only the new-
frozen ice, but even it was eight inches thick. There were pipings and
singings all round us as the ice jammed against the machine. The
methods and tools we now used were most original. Dietrichson armed
himself with a four-yard-long aluminium pole with which he did
wonderful work. Omdal used the film camera tripod, which was very
heavy, ending in three iron-bound points. Every blow therefore was
trebled and was most effective. Riiser-Larsen was the only one who
had brought rubber boots with him; these reached to his waist. As the
ice encroached it was met by ringing blows. The battle against it
continued the whole night and by morning we could once again look
back upon a conquest. Meantime the old ice had crept up nearer to us.
It now appeared as though the “Sphinx” was taking aim at us; this was
an ugly forbidding iceberg, formed in the shape of the Sphinx. The
movements of the ice had caused the sides of the waterway to set
together and our starting place was ruined again. The fog lay thick on
the 5th of June while fine rain was falling. The ice cracked and piped
as though it would draw our attention to the fact that it still existed.
Now what should one do?
With his usual energy Riiser-Larsen had gone for a walk that
afternoon amongst the icebergs accompanied by Omdal; they wished
to see if they could find another place which could be converted into a
starting place. They had already turned round to return home, as the
fog was preventing them from seeing anything, when suddenly it lifted
and there they stood in the center of the only plain which could be
used. This was 500 meters square and not too uneven to be made
level by a little work and patience. They came back happy and full of
hope and shouted to the “Sphinx”: “You may be amused and smile
even when others despair—even when the position is hopeless we still
sing with pleasure aha! aha! aha! Things are improving day by day.”
The “Sphinx” frowned! It did not like this!
COLLECTING SNOW BLOCKS FOR A RUN-WAY
The way to the plain which the two men had found was both long
and difficult, but we lived under conditions where difficulties frightened
us no more. First of all the machine must be driven there—about 300
meters through new ice to a high old plain. Here we would have to
hack out a slide to drive the machine up. From here the road crossed
over to the Thermopylæ Pass, which was formed by two moderately
sized icebergs, and ended in a three-yards-wide ditch over which the
machine must be negotiated on to the next plain. On the other side
one could see the last obstacle which must be overcome in the form of
an old crack about five yards wide with sides formed of high icebergs
and loose snow—rotten conditions to work in. Early on the morning of
the 6th the work was started. After breakfast we took all our tools and
attacked the old ice where the grade should be built. In order to get to
this spot we had to pass round a corner which took us out of sight of
N 25. Under general circumstances one would not have left the
machine unattended, but conditions were otherwise than general and
we had no man we could spare. Singing “In Swinemunde träumt man
im Sand,” the popular melody associated with our comfortable days in
Spitzbergen, we used our knives, axes, and ice-anchor to the best
advantage, and fragments of ice flew in all directions. It is with pride
and joy that I look back on these days, joy because I worked in
company with such men, proud because our task was accomplished.
Let me say quite frankly and honestly that I often regarded the
situation as hopeless and impossible. Ice-walls upon ice-walls raised
themselves up and had to be removed from our course; an
unfathomable gulf seemed to yawn before us threatening to stop our
progress. It had to be bridged by cheeky heroes who, never grumbling,
tackled the most hopeless tasks with laughter and with song.
By Lincoln Ellsworth
THE AMUNDSEN-ELLSWORTH
POLAR FLIGHT
So long as the human ear can hark back to the breaking of
waves over deep seas; so long as the human eye can follow the
gleam of the Northern Lights over the silent snow fields; then so
long, no doubt, will the lure of the unknown draw restless souls into
those great Arctic wastes.
I sit here about to set down a brief record of our late Polar
experience, and I stop to try to recall when it was that my
imagination was first captured by the lure of the Arctic. I must have
been very young, because I cannot now recall when first it was.
Doubtless somewhere in my ancestry there was a restless wanderer
with an unappeasable desire to attain the furthest north. And, not
attaining it, he passed it on with other sins and virtues to torment his
descendants.
The large blank spaces surrounding the North Pole have been a
challenge to the daring since charts first were made. For nearly four
generations that mysterious plain has been the ultimate quest of
numberless adventurers.
Before this adventure of ours explorers had depended upon
ships and dogs. Andrée and Wellmann planned to reach the Pole
with balloons, but theirs were hardly more than plans. Andrée met
with disaster soon after leaving Spitzbergen. Wellmann’s expedition
never left the ground.
What days they were—those ship and dog days! What small
returns came to those men for their vast spending of energy and toil
and gold! I am filled with admiration for the courage and the
hardihood of the men who cut adrift from civilization and set out with
dogs or on foot over the tractless ice fields of the Far North. All honor
to them! Yet now what utter neglect it seems of the resources of
modern science!
No doubt the men who have been through it best realize what a
hopeless, heart-breaking quest it was. Peary’s land base at Camp
Columbia was only 413 miles from the Pole; yet it took him twenty-
three years to traverse that 413 miles.
At 4:15 p.m. all is ready for the start. The 450 H. P. Rolls-Royce
motors are turned over for warming up. At five o’clock the full horse
power is turned on. We move. The N 25 has Captain Amundsen as
navigator. Riiser-Larsen is his pilot, and Feucht mechanic. I am
navigator of N 24, with Dietrichson for pilot, and Omdal my
mechanic. Six men in all.
The first two hours of our flight, after leaving Amsterdam Islands,
we ran into a heavy bank of fog and rose 1,000 meters to clear it.
This ascent was glorified by as beautiful a natural phenomenon as I
have ever seen. Looking down into the mist, we saw a double halo in
the middle of which the sun cast a perfect shadow of our plane.
Evanescent and phantom-like, these two multicolored halos
beckoned us enticingly into the Unknown. I recalled the ancient
legend which says that the rainbow is a token that man shall not
perish by water. The fog lasted until midway between latitudes
eighty-two and eighty-three. Through rifts in the mist we caught
glimpses of the open sea. This lasted for an hour; then, after another
hour, the ocean showed, strewn with small ice floes, which indicated
the fringe of the Polar pack. Then, to quote Captain Amundsen,
“suddenly the mist disappeared and the entire panorama of Polar ice
stretched away before our eyes—the most spectacular sheet of
snow and ice ever seen by man from an aerial perspective.” From
our altitude we could overlook sixty or seventy miles in any direction.
The far-flung expanse was strikingly beautiful in its simplicity. There
was nothing to break the deadly monotony of snow and ice but a
network of narrow cracks, or “leads,” which scarred this white
surface and was the only indication to an aerial observer of the
ceaseless movement of the Polar pack. We had crossed the
threshold into the Unknown! I was thrilled at the thought that never
before had man lost himself with such speed—75 miles per hour—
into unknown space. The silence of ages was now being broken for
the first time by the roar of our motors. We were but gnats in an
immense void. We had lost all contacts with civilization. Time and
distance suddenly seemed to count for nothing. What lay ahead was
all that mattered now.
On we sped for eight hours, till the sun had shifted from the west
to a point directly ahead of us. By all rights we should now be at the
Pole, for our dead reckoning shows that we have traveled just one
thousand kilometers (six hundred miles), at seventy-five miles per
hour, but shortly after leaving Amsterdam Islands we had run into a
heavy northeast wind, which had been steadily driving us westward.
Our fuel supply was now about half exhausted, and at this juncture,