Part 5

Andrée, who had thought of everything else, had forgotten to reckon with these diminutive factors. The generators and valves are cleared out and cleaned, and the suction pipe is fitted with a rose, whereupon work goes on without any further hitch.

For the production of the hydrogen 55,115 lbs. of sulphuric acid and 33,069 lbs. of iron shavings have been used. All that chemistry and physical science has hitherto produced by way of purifying, weighing, and testing instruments is embodied in Andrée’s plant.

On the morning of the 24th of July the tourists brought over by the _Erline Jarl_ begin to arrive on the island; there are about sixty of them, from all countries. Several of them bring me news from my friends, and an acquaintance is soon struck up. We are assailed with questions on all hands. Andrée does the honours of the establishment with much grace, and propounds his theories as to the means he proposes to adopt in his endeavours to reach the pole. He explains the instruments and apparatus, while I distribute among the tourists some samples of the material employed for the balloon.

We hear news from Europe, always acceptable to a degree which no one can conceive who has never been far away from his native country. Besides, in these wild regions everything tends to augment the unconscious longing for all that one has left behind, and those who come from a region more or less near to one’s native country at once assume something of the nature of long-expected personal friends.

The night of the 24th is spent very pleasantly. I dine on board the _Erline Jarl_, and hear a concert given by real artistes. My thoughts wander back to scenes of the past, and I say to myself that had some one sitting next to me at a concert in Paris told me at the time that in so many months, or at such and such a time, I should hear the same instruments and enjoy the same tunes at Spitzbergen, I should have been very much surprised at such a suggestion.

_Saturday, 25th._—At noon the small sloop _Express_ arrives, carrying mails. At 1 p.m. the _Erline Jarl_ leaves on a trip towards the north. The programme consists in approaching close to the ice-field, and the amiable Captain Bade offers me a place on board his ship. But, however much inclined to accept, I cannot leave Andrée at this moment, as the balloon demands all our attention.

_Sunday, 26th._—Andrée lectures to our crew. His spirited and expressive language, his technical explanations, given with perfect clearness, frequently elicit loud applause.

_Monday, 27th._—The inflation is completed at the moment when the _Erline Jarl_ returns from her trip.

The _Victoria_ arrives at night, and the simultaneous presence of the four vessels gives Dansk-Gatt a festive air, which is greatly enhanced by the lovely sunshine. Our little international colony is very lively.

After waiting a week in order to witness the start of the balloon, the tourists lose patience. They want to be at Vadso on the 9th of August to see the eclipse of the sun.

On July 30th a sumptuous dinner is given us on board the _Erline Jarl_, and on the 31st the tourists come in a body to the foot of the shed.

To the right and to the left of the entrance the crews of the _Virgo_ and the _Erline Jarl_ are formed up in line; at the back the passengers are grouped round the explorers. Several speeches are made by the captain of the _Erline Jarl_ and some of the tourists; thereupon a young lady, who is travelling with her _fiancé_ and a relative, attaches to Andrée’s arm a blue ribbon, and then hands him for the journey a bottle of the best wine, a cake, and a rose-tree with four roses, one for each explorer.

Captain Bade, of the _Erline Jarl_, then addressed Andrée as follows:—

“If you reach the mysterious point for which you are bound, deposit there the fourth of the roses, as a token of peace with the old world.”

“My dear friend,” Andrée replied, in accents full of emotion, “you who have come so far to see me set out for the conquest of the unknown, my dear friends, I thank you!

“Mademoiselle, you have adorned me with a ribbon on the eve of my departure; this ribbon shall be my talisman. I have been called a great man, but it will be difficult for me to earn this title if the north winds still continue to blow for some weeks as they do now. Our greatness will fly with them—far, far away! What can we do to remedy this? If we cannot make a start, we shall, at least, be able to say that we have done all that is humanly possible, and you will be able to bear witness thereto.

“You are about to return to the south, and if you meet the winds we are so urgently in need of, send them on to us here, and we shall welcome them as messengers from our good friends on board the _Erline Jarl_.

“My friends of the _Virgo_, a fourfold cheer for our friends who will send us a South Wind!”

During this touching speech the _Erline Jarl_ fires off a salvo of twenty-one guns in honour of the Andrée Expedition, the report of which shook the valleys to the echo.

Thereupon, the speeches being over, we leave the isle in order to spend the rest of the night on board the _Erline Jarl_, which is dressed, as is also the _Virgo_, with a multitude of flags, as on great gala days, and I never feel weary of contemplating the noble colours of the French flag proudly floating at the head of the splendid vessel,—a delicate compliment to me on the part of the captain, which moves me more than I can tell.

How full of meaning to me is this flag! How full of souvenirs and consolation! And how well one can understand, when far away from his native country, all the silent eloquence of this impersonal being, this glorious symbol! Amidst all these people, speaking languages which I do not understand, amidst all this group of men isolated at the world’s end, and I myself feeling lost in the midst of them, so to speak, owing to the difficulty of making myself understood by them, it contains a living embodiment of my native land, the very representative of the soil of France—her flag hoisted on a foreign vessel in token of the esteem in which the children of this noble country are held. And this flag seems to say to me: “You are not alone; I am here too! You are no longer isolated; we are _some one_; we are taken into account here!”

We go on board, and soon the peaceful reports of champagne corks—another reminder of French soil—accentuate the numerous toasts which follow each other in the large saloon. Then our spirits becoming more and more elated, there are songs, cheers, the loud hum of animated conversation, wishes of good luck, plans for future meetings, and we leave the hospitable vessel in order to return to the _Virgo_ at a very advanced hour.

What a day! And how hearts are drawn to each other under circumstances like these, when at rare intervals, few and far between, the oppressive and monotonous loneliness of arduous travels in these frigid solitudes is suddenly broken by boisterous meetings of persons, hitherto strangers, who are so speedily transformed into old friends!

_August 1st, 9 a.m._—Under a misty sky, heavy with snow, the _Erline Jarl_ hoists her anchor, sweeps round majestically, sends us her last farewells and good wishes, and then slowly glides away over the waters, leaving behind her a foamy wake. The throbs of her engine become more and more regular; soon we no longer hear them; and it is with a choking sensation in our bosom, which will readily be understood, that we see this fine vessel outlined and gradually disappearing on the horizon, which, for a short moment, had come to bring life and joy into our midst.

Yet a long time after, leaning with my arms on the handrail of the gangway, I followed with my eyes the black cloud of smoke which the _Erline Jarl_ trails over the waves; I still hear a last salute from the siren, and return in deep thought to my cabin, in a sadder frame of mind than I should care to admit.

Grumberg, the naturalist, is working unceasingly to enrich his collection; he dredges, fishes, hunts, and sets snares for foxes. He has succeeded in capturing two very young animals, which he has installed on the island, in a nice improvised cage, to which some anonymous wag has attached a card bearing one of the petitions of the Lord’s Prayer in Swedish: “Give us this day our daily bread.”

Grumberg watches his protégés with jealous care, and intends to offer them to a zoological garden in Stockholm; but on the night of the departure the foxes, who for a long time past had been working to effect their escape by gnawing through the boards of the cage, made good their escape and fled into the mountains, pursued by the sailors, who gave chase. They are not caught yet. I much doubt whether Grumberg will be able to catch them again next summer.

But who knows; Fate is so fitful! You ought, said some one, to have attached a “favour” to their tails, so as to recognise them again. I, on my part, remarked that these young foxes might, perhaps, have been acquainted with La Fontaine’s fable, entitled “The Little Fish and the Fisherman,” and that they would be sure to return to him as soon as they had grown to a reasonable size. And I amused myself by producing a revised copy of this fable, specially re-edited to meet the circumstances.

TRANSLATION.

The little fox will grow a big fox, Provided God will grant him life; But to release him in the meantime I think would be foolish indeed.

Two foxes that were but foxlets, as yet, Quite young little things, Were captured by chance By the good Doctor Grumberg On the Isles of Spitzbergen.

“All is fish that comes to the net,” said he, on beholding his prey.

They will serve to start a collection; Let us make a pretty cage for them.

One of these foxlets, regretting his captivity, said to him, in his own fashion,—

“What are you going to do with us? We should make a very poor present for a small museum.

“Let us grow up into foxes; you can catch us later on, some fine day, and a good museum will pay you a good price for us.

“Whereas, in order to make a gift worth giving, you would have to get about a hundred of our size, which gift, after all, would be little worth.”

Little worth? “Well then,” replied the hunter, “that may be.

“My good friend, Renard, you who preach so well, you must go into the cage; and you may say what you like, it will be made at once.

“‘One bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,’—one is sure and the other is not.”

But the two foxlets, deaf to these remarks,—possibly they did not understand the doctor’s language,—worked so hard and so well, that one day the learned man, in search of curiosities, found an empty cage.

The amiable Dr. Ekelund has rarely had any occasion to act in his professional character, as apart from a few jammed fingers and other minor injuries the state of health is excellent. Hence he employs his leisure time in pulling nails out of cases, or else he prepares for stuffing the birds of various species which he has killed when out hunting. During the inflation of the balloon, he superintends the action of the gas apparatus, and takes turns in this duty with Professor Arrhénius and Stake.

These gentlemen are also taking their share in the meteorological service which is carried on regularly by the staff of the expedition.

The observations are minutely recorded every hour in the ship’s log. On the Isle of Amsterdam the snow is tinged with red for a considerable distance, and the _savants_ are collecting it to examine it microscopically. It presents, in fact, certain peculiarities; it is thought that it contains very small plants. Scoresby, the famous whaler, had already remarked this.

IX

The Snow

_Dansk-Gatt, August 4th._—The _Express_ left last night, carrying away our last letters; and as the season is advanced, we have now no hope of receiving at Dansk-Gatt any more news from Europe.

The north wind is still blowing, and has brought a regular snowstorm; the mountains have donned their winter mantle, and nature seems to prepare for sleep. Birds are becoming rare, and their joyful cries are no longer to be heard. A white hood covers the top of the balloon, which only awaits a current of wind from the south to take flight; but this wind, which was blowing during July, has now completely subsided. What an irony of fate! Who could foresee such a _contretemps_, and how admirably successful the expedition would have been were we in possession of the secrets of the gods.

At present the sky is overcast and dark in the north; it is a long time since the sun has shown itself. The sea is very rough.

The flag hoisted on top of the mountain, behind the balloon-shed, to indicate the direction of the wind, was blown down last night by the squall. It was the opinion of the ice-pilot that we were in no danger of being packed in the ice until the end of the month; but the captain, who was answerable for the safety of the men, declared that the _Virgo_ should weigh anchor on the 20th at the latest, at any cost, to resume her voyage southwards, no matter what the fate of the polar expedition might be.

Andrée and his two companions were patiently waiting for the clouds to break up and for a fresh southern wind, in order to take their flight. They have the faith which gives courage. The balloon seems anxious to be freed from her fetters to show her strength and her power. Everything is ready, weighed and anticipated; everything is seen to and checked in the smallest details by Andrée; provisions, instruments, and outfits, all are in their places.

We have only to suspend the car and to pull down the northern part of the shed. This would not take many hours, but we want a favourable wind, and for this we are waiting in vain. The delay, unavoidable though it is, endangers the success of Andrée’s expedition, and is very regrettable, for the sun is very low, and the polar night is approaching.

_August 5th, noon._—The snow keeps on falling, but the wind is turning to the south-west. It is almost what is required, and hope is quickly reviving. May Fate soon open the route to the north to Andrée, and return me to my country and my anxious family! At seven o’clock in the evening the state of the atmosphere remains unchanged; the snow is whirling about, and the sky is gloomy.

_Dansk-Gatt, August 6th._—A small balloon, launched at 6 o’clock, having ascended to the height of 325 yards, took an easterly direction. The gas apparatus is working; the balloon which has been inflated for ten days, is full. It is covered with snow and there is not a single spot on the balloon shed that is not white. The car is, however, protected by an awning, but the whirling snow penetrates everywhere.

It is impossible to stop on deck, for the wind is raging, and the day goes by in monotony and gloom. Every one longs for the end of this campaign which seems interminable; so long as tourists and whaling boats were moored near us, and brought with them life and movement to this solitary spot, our stay was very agreeable—it was a lively and cheerful international colony. Now Dansk-Gatt has resumed its mournful and forsaken aspect. “And the snow was still falling,” as Xavier de Montépin would say.

Then, confined within the walls of my cabin, my dominion of two square metres, I begin to peruse the few books I have and which, alas! I know already by heart, but still hoping to find therein something very interesting, if not new, at least old. And I was not disappointed, for I read over with great interest _La Mer_, by my playfellow, the excellent poet Jean Richepin, whose verses on snow were very much to the point.

It is long, long since, when sitting on the benches in our little school at Belleville, we were looking together over the top of the map of Europe at this small archipelago, named Spitzbergen, which appeared to my childest imagination to be an inaccessible point.

X

A Long Wait

_Smeerenburg, Friday, August 7th._—Noon. The sky is bright and the sun is sending us a few rays which are reviving our hopes a little. The snow is melting; but the wind, though slight, is still blowing from the west. The balloon which holds its gas well is dripping little by little.

I made a long excursion on the east side of Dane’s Island. The island of Fogll-Sund is glittering in the midday sun. The birds have awakened. I saw several flocks of eiders. At six o’clock four pilot balloons are launched, three were driven south-west at 547 yards and one towards the sea at 65 yards.

_Saturday, 8th, 10 o’clock._—Sky overcast, wind slight and uncertain, with tendency to turn S.E. Thermometer 7° (44·6 Fahr.).

Afternoon, S.E. wind at 1,093 yards; on land wind still, or slightly to the north.

At nine o’clock in the evening the upper wind is still S. Let us hope that it will descend and that, at last, our plans may be realized.

_Sunday, August 9th._—Morning, S. wind slight; afternoon, dead calm; hardly any need to say every one is weary. Ekholm declares that the balloon is losing about 66 lbs. per day; he thinks it able to stand a voyage of from forty to fifty days’ duration. But under the circumstances it is really very little; yet the envelope is solid and well finished.

_Monday, August 10th._—Balloon very full although no gas was let in since last Friday (sixty-five yards). Temperature somewhat higher. S. wind, very slight, barometer at a standstill.

_4 o’clock p.m._—Wind on land, nil.

A pilot balloon launched at 2 o’clock. Rose to 109 yards; direction N. Speed from thirteen to fourteen feet per second. Evening, 7 p.m., S. wind, pretty strong in the upper regions.

Then a complete change, the north wind prevailing.

What, then, are we going to fail at the last moment?

Must we pack up this balloon, ready to take her flight to a land around which so many vain efforts have been made for centuries past?

“My kingdom for a horse!” cried Richard III., in one of those struggles in which the human wretch thinks he acquires so much glory by massacring his fellow-man and by spreading death in his path. And what would not the three hardy explorers have given for a breath of favourable wind, which would have enabled them to carry on the struggle they had commenced against the unknown!

What bitter reflections came into my mind!

In a smiling country, where everything bespeaks work and prosperity, where each one trusts to the future, happy in the labours undertaken, happy in his daily tasks, suddenly there arises this very wind so much longed for here, and in a few minutes the tempest in its blind fury has sown death and ruin where life and wealth were working together!

Here science stood in need of a little of this destructive wind, of ever so little, but none came.

And possibly, further away, ships were being wrecked and lives destroyed by it.

Oh, for a balloon that could be steered! Why have we not one here?

_Friday, August 14th (19th day of inflation), 7 a.m._—The lieutenant has just informed us that a south wind is blowing; in fact it is pretty strong. The gas apparatus is set to work to complete the inflation.

The snow is falling gently, but it melts quickly. At nine o’clock Andrée launches a small balloon which takes a northerly course at an elevation of forty to fifty yards, but it immediately turns off to the east as it rises, _then the wind turns due west and we cease to hope_.

Our joy was of short duration. Besides, the season is now too far advanced to attempt such a voyage. It is winter.

XI

The _Fram_

At half-past nine the ice-pilot signalled a three-master off the eastern cape of the Isle of Amsterdam.

Great excitement prevails on board the _Virgo_. What object has this vessel in coming to these regions visited only by whalers and tourists? She stops and hoists the Norwegian flag on her main mast. One cry went up from all hearts: “Nansen! Nansen coming back from the Pole.”

Those who had seen the photo of the ship _Fram_, recognise her perfectly well in the steamer which is lying at a distance of 2½ miles from us.

The snow is falling fine and thick. The captain and Andrée, Ekholm and Strindberg, are leaving in a steam launch to receive their valiant compatriots. When a few fathoms from the _Fram_, Andrée and his companions raise a vigorous cheer in honour of Nansen, but the faces of the sailors on board are saddened with a painful expression. Nansen is not with them. On the 14th of March, 1895, he left them at 84° lat., accompanied by the young lieutenant, Johannsen, taking with him sledges, twenty-eight dogs, and provisions for 120 days. He directed his steps towards the North Pole in the hope of returning by way of Franz-Josef land, where the Jackson Expedition was to winter.

After the exchange of greetings of welcome and when the emotion of the first moment had subsided, the members of the two expeditions indulged in a friendly conversation, happy and surprised at the same time to meet again in the glacial Arctic Ocean, free at last.

The _Fram_, which only a day before was packed in the ice at 81°, heard of our presence from a whaler; as soon as she was in open water she made for Dansk-Gatt in the hope of getting news of Nansen.

Captain Sverdrup, Lieutenant Hansen, the doctor and five other members of the crew, take their places in the launch. The remaining three men stay on board, while the small party are coming to visit our quarters and the balloon, which is waiting in the shed.

It is easy to imagine how greatly these brave men are astonished.

Then the expedition comes on board the _Virgo_ where champagne soon foams in glasses. It is a pleasure to look at these brave sailors who, after three years and two months passed amidst the polar ice, are so happy to find themselves in the company of their “brothers in arms, and companions in peril.”

I am proud to be one of the first to greet the _Fram_ on her return to these distant regions. I had the good fortune to converse at some length with Lieutenant Hansen, who speaks French fairly well. He is an amiable man, of about thirty years of age, a little over medium height, dark, with bright eyes and intelligent forehead, and pleasing manner.

He put numerous questions to me concerning the events which had taken place in Europe during the last three years. I informed him of the death of Alexander III., of the assassination of President Carnot, etc., and I spoke to him also of new discoveries and inventions: cinematographe, X-rays, etc., etc.

All this seemed to greatly interest him. Then in a few words he told me the extremely touching story of the _Fram’s_ voyage.

Andrée made a speech and proposed a toast to Nansen and his gallant companions. The captain and the lieutenant replied in a few vigorous and moving words, and I felt myself struck with admiration for these brave men who have carried the European colours to the 86th degree of latitude.

They are happy to see their country and their homes again, but they are calm and patient as becomes true heroes. The lieutenant has a _fiancée_ awaiting him, Andrée hands him a letter, only just arrived, from his mother. He also hands Captain Sverdrup a letter addressed to Nansen, and bearing the inscription, “The North Pole.”

The _Fram’s_ library contains the _Five Weeks in a Balloon_, by Jules Verne, and the crew had often dreamt of the possibility of a balloon expedition coming to their relief. The dream was very near reality. In life everything is unforeseen, yet everything happens. If the polar balloon had started a few days ago it would have surely noticed the _Fram_ on its way. “Man proposes and God disposes.”