PART III
THE NAVIGATOR’S TASK
BY LIEUT. HJALMAR RIISER-LARSEN
THE NAVIGATOR’S TASK
“The Air Club has fixed up contracts with the publishers of several countries for a book of at least seventy thousand words. Therefore you must write several thousand. Come and stay with me so that you can work in peace.” Such were Amundsen’s orders immediately we stepped ashore in Oslo.
The manuscript of the entire 70,000 words should be delivered by the 10th of August. In view of the big task of arranging charts and pictorial matter, there would not be much time to spare, so we had to get down to it as quickly as possible.
There were also many other things to be done in the meantime. The expedition’s cinema film had to be cut and run off--run off again, and recut, as the cinema owners wanted to “fit in” three shows daily at 5 P.M., 7 P.M. and 9 P.M. It would take fifteen minutes to clear the theater, to ventilate it, and let the next audience get seated, therefore the run of the film must not exceed one hour and three-quarters. At first it took two and a half hours even without the caption lines. Berge continued cutting, and the film got shorter daily. The worst task was to arrange the sequence of the scenes. They were far from being in chronological order, but after a time it began to present a better picture of the expedition’s course--a picture which gave a calm straightforward story--a calendar of daily episodes. The caption lines, too, required writing, as they could not create themselves.
While we were busy with all this work we had also to attend to the returning of the expedition’s unused stores to the suppliers. Much of this had been bought conditionally so that we could return everything we had not used. The ever-helpful Omdal, who never seemed to have enough to do, took charge of this part of the work. The more I left to him the better pleased he was. I asked him often in those days if he would not like to be released to go home. “So long as I can be of use to the expedition there is no hurry,” was his reply. At last on August 1st he set off to his home in Kristiansand, which he had been longing for. But I am sure he would have been quite happy about it if I, even then, had said to him that he could not get off.
That’s the sort of man Omdal is!
In the meantime the post-bag was filled with requests for information regarding the instruments and other equipment we had used on the trip. Lantern slides for lectures had to be got ready and advertising matter sent to our business managers.
Thus the days passed and the dreadful 10th of August got nearer, so threateningly that at last to-day I had to take the bull by the horns and go to Amundsen for further particulars.
Now I sit here experiencing the same feelings as in my schooldays, when I used to put off writing Norwegian composition so long that I had to do it during the games’ interval.
The first thing I shall render an account of is--
_Why We Chose the Dornier-Wal Type_
As the expense of using airships was prohibitive, we could only consider the employment of flying-machines. The choice of type depended upon the idea we could form of the landing conditions among the ice. The highest authority in the “world of polar-exploration,” and many others who had hunted and fished Greenland’s east coast for many years, all contended that there would be many suitable landing places on the numerous big flat ice-floes, and also that we should find water-lanes where the seaplanes could land. Some voices were raised against these contentions but as they were only “voices” we didn’t lay much weight on their opinion, though, as was proved later, these latter were right,--but that is a different matter. We regarded it at that time as certain that we should find plenty of big-enough landing places. Accordingly we based our plans, on making an expedition which could land to carry out observations and which would be of considerably more value than an exploration expedition which would only fly over the ice. An expedition thus equipped would be safer, as a forced landing might have to be made at any time. We decided therefore to use two machines, which would allow the expedition to continue with one plane if the other had to make a forced landing on account of irreparable engine trouble. In a forced landing, too, the machine might be damaged, as there would not be the same opportunity to find a suitable landing-place, as in the case of a voluntary landing. It is also certain that it would double the chances of reaching the goal ahead to set off with two machines rather than with only one,--always, of course, banking on the probability of good opportunities for landing being found.
On the other hand, if such opportunities for landing did not offer, the use of two machines would halve the chances of success, as the risk of engine trouble where two are concerned is naturally double what it would be if only one machine were employed. The arrangements, therefore, were, that both seaplanes’ crews should keep together.
When we made our forced landing on the ice we were convinced that there were no suitable landing places to be found up there, and in consequence we decided that we would only use one seaplane for the homeward flight. We spent some days at first getting both machines ready for a start, because starting conditions were _so_ difficult, that it was an advantage to hold one machine in reserve in case the other should get damaged in attempting to get away; but we discovered that it would take the six of us to tackle the work in each case, so we chose the machine which was in the best condition and therefore safest for the homeward flight.
The reason why I have gone into so many details regarding this side of our plans and our conduct of the expedition, is that we have been publicly criticized “because we flew with _two_ machines over a stretch of territory that offered no landing possibilities, and thus we took a _double_ risk of engine trouble.” This is putting a wrong construction on it. The reason that we continued our northward flight after we had reached 83°, and, being free of the fog, saw that there were only bad chances of landing, was because we naturally had a goal to reach and we thought conditions would improve further north.
Back to the choice of type! In clear weather, especially in sunshine, one can see from overhead unevennesses on a place, even when one cannot be certain that all is clear, as the snow may have “covered-in” some banks of drift-ice. If the weather is hazy, even a voluntary landing is a matter of chance, for it is impossible to see even the biggest undulations in the snow.
There are three kinds of under-carriages to choose from--skis, floats, or flying boats. If one has chosen skis or floats, and should strike against a projection with them, tearing off the under part, the machine will turn over, and a continuation of the flight with the same machine will be impossible.
A flying boat on the contrary has fewer sidewise projections (which means that it would be less exposed to the danger of being damaged by unevennesses) and, furthermore, it will not capsize so quickly. If one has also ordered it of durable aluminium it will afford the uttermost safety. Where a big strain would tear the bottom of a wooden boat (making reparation impossible or at least very difficult in the conditions prevailing up there) under the same strain durable aluminium would only suffer some denting which could be straightened out again if it proved sufficient to hinder progress. Aluminium does not break easily.
There were also other reasons that counted in making the choice of a type of boat. Should one have the intention of rising from deep snow, the burden (of the boat or the machine’s under-carriage) lying on the snow must not be greater than a certain weight on the flat, namely, 600 kilograms per square meter.
As our machine would average a weight of six tons it was a simple matter to calculate that we must lie on an area of at least ten square yards, and even then it would be bearing the maximum weight. Thus, a ski-attachment would be particularly heavy, and the floats would have to be unnecessarily large if the bottom’s lines were to satisfy the seamanlike desire “to rise from the water.”
After making these calculations we were never in doubt, but decided that we should choose a flying boat built of durable aluminium. With regard to ski-machines, we should gain a further advantage in being able to land in, or rise from, possible water-lanes, while in a wooden boat a collision with ice in the water-lanes presented a smaller risk.
The point now was to find the _right_ dur-aluminium boat as Dornier was not the only builder of such boats. If one wishes to rise from loose snow it is not only the flat-weight which counts, but it is distinctly necessary that the bottom lines of the boat must be so designed that no power shall be lost by the unnecessary pushing aside of snow when gliding forward. There was thus only one type of boat which satisfied our demands and that was Dornier-Wal.
Dornier-Wal has furthermore a distinct advantage which we first became aware of up in the ice regions. It has not got wing-floats to afford the necessary stability on the water, but for this purpose--as shown in the illustration--has attached at each side of the propeller a big “flyndre.” During our start from the water-lane the boat sank through the new ice and a part of the weight fell on the “flyndres.” In this way we were able to go to the assistance of N 25 in the capacity of an ice-breaker and help it out of several critical situations. Had there been floats on the wings, too great a weight would naturally have fallen on these, and we should have been unable to avoid damage.
From the above it can be seen that there was nothing else for it but to choose Dornier-Wal for our flight even though it might have been handicapped by certain failings. I cannot at present mention one single failing, but it had numerous advantages. The best of these in my estimation is the fact that it is fitted with Rolls-Royce twin-engines (Eagle IX). I should scarcely have agreed to undertake a flight of this kind without a Rolls-Royce. It is not a matter of “chance” that made Dornier fix Rolls-Royce engines to his Wal type: it would have been bad policy to put anything but the very best engines in a flying-machine of the “Wal’s” high standard.
It will also be noticed from the illustrations that the “Wal” is fitted with two engines and that these are placed immediately behind each other--one pulls and one pushes--thus the aft propeller turns contrariwise to the fore propeller, each rotating in its own way. The wonderfully effective qualities which are thus attained, in conjunction with the suitable lines and ingenious “wing-frontage,” make it possible for a weight equal to that of the machine itself to be lifted. As we started from King’s Bay we had a load of 3,100 kilograms, while the “Wal” itself weighs 3,300 kilograms--yet the machine rose with such ease from the ice that I am sure we could have taken an additional 200 kilograms on board. This very fact seemed most apparent during the hardships we underwent in the ice regions, when we thought longingly of how many boxes of biscuits or how much tobacco we might safely have brought with us. We always closed these ruminations by a unanimous agreement that it was a good thing we had carried no more with us than we actually _had_ brought, for a heavier load might have demanded more revolutions from the engine.
The fact that the “Wal” had twin-engines gave us greater confidence in it. In view of the situation of each engine it is possible with a “Wal” to fly with one engine alone, with a heavy load on board, much more easily than if the engines had been placed by each wing, as they are in many other twin-motor machines. With a light load on board a “Wal” can rise quite easily from the water with one engine alone.
Our machine was built by “S. A. I. di Construzioni Mecchaniche i Marina di Pisa” with only a few unimportant differences from the usual Dornier-Wal. We owe a deep debt of gratitude to the factory’s technical director, Herr Schulte-Frohlinde, for the great interest he showed in our expedition. The director accompanied us to Spitzbergen and superintended the setting up of the machines. In all he spent three months of his valuable time on us. We, who otherwise would have been taken up with this work, could now (while the work of mounting was proceeding) give ourselves up to the completion of other tasks.
We also owe much gratitude to the Rolls-Royce factory. They sent five men to Marina di Pisa to introduce certain new improvements and inventions which they had hardly had time to “try out,” and they also sent Mr. Green with us to Spitzbergen. Mr. Green superintended all the trial flights and cared for the engines as though they were his “darlings.” As he (after his final inspection on the 21st of May) smiled and nodded in answer to my request to be told if all was in order, I set off at full speed feeling just as safe as if I were only going to cross the waters of the fjord.
_Measures Against the Cold_
The oil-tank on a Dornier-Wal stands with one of its sides outside the engine-gondola’s wall. This side is furnished with cooling-ribs for cooling off the oil. On our machine the tank was designed right into the engine’s gondola and therefore any cooling off was unnecessary. In addition to this capsules were built over the motors so that the heat from the engines could be kept in the gondolas without cooling down like the temperature outside. All the pipes were bound many times round with linen strappings. Certain pipes had the inner layer of bindings of _felt_. This provision was made both as a means of isolation from the cold and to prevent “burst pipes.” Experience here in Norway and in other lands shows us that most motor trouble on a long flight originates in one or other of the pipes. The motor conducts itself well generally. Truly I have seldom, if ever, seen a motor-construction so free from vibration as on our machines and therefore there was little possibility of burst pipes. As a safety measure, all the same, I regard such binding as necessary. To the cooling water we added 4% pure glycerine and thus had a mixture which would not have frozen before we had -17° c. and we did not have such a low temperature up in the ice regions. All the same we took the precaution of tapping the water down on to one of the petrol tanks whenever it was not necessary to be ready to start at a moment’s notice. By a special contrivance we could pump the water direct from the tank into the radiator again. We generally started the engine first, then pumped the water up. I should like to explain why. The lower part of the intake-pipe was encompassed by a water-cap through which a smaller quantity of the cooling water is led for the purpose of warming the pipe. When the propeller starts to turn, petrol begins to flow, lowering the temperature in the petrol pipe considerably below atmospheric temperature. The walls of the water-cap take on the same low temperature immediately. If the cooling mixture at this time stands at a temperature which is barely a few degrees above water’s freezing point, one runs the great risk of there being so much freezing that the exhaust of the cap will be blocked. If this occurs the cap will in one moment become a solid block of ice, causing the sides to burst in consequence. Should one, on the contrary, start the engine first and fill up, the cooling water will thus, in its passage through the cylinders, be so warmed when it reaches the cap that this calamity will be avoided.
As indicated above, we do not tap the water when we must be ready for an immediate start. In order to keep the temperature in the motor gondola so high that nothing should freeze, and the engines at the same time should be absolutely ready for a start, we used the Therm-X apparatus. This is the first time I have learned that this apparatus bears this amusing name; hitherto I believed it was called “Thermix.” (That is what we called it up in the ice and that is what we are going to call it henceforth!) This apparatus was constructed specially for us by the Société Lyonnaise des Chauds Catalytiques, and was made in a size and form suitable for placing under the engines or under the oil-tanks. Their manner of action was, otherwise, exactly the same as the ordinary Thermix apparatus. We had six apparatus in each gondola and could thus, in a short time, raise the temperature to 35° above atmospheric temperature.
In the early days “up in the ice” we took the Thermix apparatus down in the mess when the cooling water was tapped off. They warmed the place up so well that we found it really pleasant and comfortable. In the evening when we separated to go to bed, we divided the apparatus amongst us in the three sleeping compartments, and there we slept in a little Paradise (as compared with the later times) when of necessity we had to economize, even in the small quantity of petrol which they used. There we hung our frequently soaking-wet socks, goat’s-hair socks and shoes, directly over the apparatus to dry. I remember still how comfortable it was to put on the warm dry footwear in the morning. During the time that we were not able to use the Thermix apparatus we had to lay our stockings on our chests when we went to bed in the evening--a not too comfortable proceeding. The high temperature we were able to keep up in the body of the plane when we had the apparatus going prevented the machine from freezing fast in the ice. There was always a tiny little puddle outside the body of the machine.
In order to be able to warm up the motor and the oil with the help of this apparatus, it was necessary that we should start the engine, screw out the sparking plugs in each cylinder, warm it up well, and set it ready for starting again. This prevented moisture gathering on the plugs. To help to get the petrol warm we ran along the petrol pipes with a large soldering-lamp to help to make the petrol flow easily. On account of these preparations we never had starting difficulties; the engines started at once.
In case the petrol might be thick and slow in flowing we had brought with us a quantity of naphtha with which to spray the cylinders. We never needed, however, to make use of it.
The radiator was equipped with blinds, with which we could regulate the radiation. They were of untold benefit to us. When the blinds were fully barred, it took much less time to warm up the motors before attempting to start. We used thus less petrol for warming up. To get the greatest possible power out of the engines we could, by regulation of the blinds, keep the temperature almost at boiling point at the start, damping down later by opening the blinds wider.
That the compasses were filled with pure spirit, and not with the spirit mixture, was of course a necessity. The same referred to the levels and the water levels. Even though oil might not have frozen in the event of our having had an oil level, it would in any case have acted too slowly in the cold atmosphere. Moreover all the movable parts of our instruments, which were designated for use in the cold regions, were smeared with a special kind of oil which had been tested in a temperature of -40° c.
In my portion of the book I must make special mention of the pilot’s rig-out. For flying in a cold temperature it is of the greatest importance that the pilot, who must sit still the whole time, should be warm and appropriately clad. It is easy to find the most beautiful heavy leather suits which can withstand every attack of cold and frost, but it is not so easy to find garments which are appropriate for all circumstances. Even though the pilot has to sit still he must have freedom to move about without his clothes handicapping him. They must in all respects be easy and pliable. What is most important is that they should be absolutely suitable for any work which may be needed before the start. I shall try to explain why a little more intimately. There will always be one thing or another to be done immediately before a start is made, and as far as we were concerned we might have to land to take observations at any time, and start off again immediately afterwards. If during such a landing we kept on all our flying clothes as we moved about the ice, we should quickly become much too warm; our underclothes would become clammy, causing us to shiver when we should once again rise in the air. Had we only one heavy outer set of clothes, and we took it off for any reason, we should risk taking severe cold, and would start flying again thoroughly chilled. Our outer clothes were therefore arranged in several plies so that without waste of time we could take them off or put them on again to suit the temperature, according to whether our work was strenuous or not. Our undergarments were presented to us by the Norske Tricotagefabrikanters Forening. They were made after we had had a conference with one of the manufacturers, H. Meyer Jun. Next the skin we wore a quite thin woolen vest and a pair of pants of the same material. On the top of these we had a pair of heavy pants and a vest of Iceland wool. Then long trousers, and a jumper, with a woolen helmet to pull over the head. Rönne had made these suits which were of a thin comfortable wind-proof cloth (a present from A/S William Schmidt, Oslo). This was our working kit and also our skiing rig-out intended to be worn should we eventually have to set out on a march to reach land.
The flying suits were composed of a roomy jacket and long trousers of thin pliable leather with camel hair outside. The leather suits were presented to us by the Sporting Outfitters, S. Adam, Berlin. On the top of these we wore a sealskin “anorak” (Eskimo jacket with peaked hood). This outfit was made absolutely to accord with the demand of the aforedescribed conditions.
On our heads we had a leather-lined flying-helmet. Should this not afford sufficient warmth, we could draw the anorak’s hood over our heads. In order to have glasses which would be suitable for any possible condition we had taken with us a pair of ordinary spectacles with clear glass. At the side of the pilot’s seat hung a pair of goggles and a pair of sun-glasses; also a mask with which one could cover the greater part of the face. However, as we sat well protected behind the wind-screen, we were never required to use the mask. I might mention in conjunction with all this that we took advantage of the opportunity to discard shaving from the first day.
Round our necks we wore a big woolen scarf, and on our hands a pair of specially made gloves of double pig-skin, with wool both inside and out. Over these we drew a pair of gloves of thin wind-proof material, which went right up to the elbow, where they could be drawn up and tied. Roald Amundsen will have told you all about the footwear, but in conclusion I should like to point out that any one could fly in this kit daily in the most severe cold.
Progress is distressingly slow in this account of mine. To-day is the 3rd of August and up till now I have only written 4,000 words. That is scarcely 1,000 words per day. I shall have to triple my speed and push forward if I am to finish with my task in time.
As I sit and fag over the work of writing, and get irritated over the difficulties which present themselves, I comfort myself by repeating the words of an English admiral: “Good writers are generally rotten officers.”
I see moreover from to-day’s newspapers that they wish me to be a member of a new North Pole expedition next summer. In view of what I am going through at the present moment I almost believe I shall “decline with thanks.”
_Spare Parts_
Spare parts for the machines and engines presented an important consideration. Spitzbergen lay so far away from the factories which had made the material that we could not have any missing parts sent after us. So, as far as the engines were concerned, we decided to draw up a list of the spare parts which we should most likely need. As an engine is made up of so many different parts the best things to do seemed to me to order one complete reserve engine. We should thereby have the certainty that in every event we should have at hand _one_ reserve part for the complete engine no matter which part should suddenly be required. (By chance we came to need a reserve part which we never had thought about!)
“Rolls-Royce” also made up a list of the parts which they thought we might need _more than one of_, and thus we got an extraordinarily fine equipment. We had in all engine spare parts to a value of 38,000 kronen. We should not have been able to get this equipment had not the Rolls-Royce people shown us the great consideration of agreeing to take back everything which we had no use for. We were in a position similar to most expeditions, and had great financial difficulties to cope with. I mention this as every one here at home seemed to think that Ellsworth’s gift of 85,000 kronen would suffice for our needs. But that was not the case. The two flying machines together cost $82,000, and on these alone the money was almost all spent. When the expedition’s accounts are toted up I believed that they will show a sum of at least $100,000 in excess of Ellsworth’s gift--and _that_, even after we had pinched and spared on every side. Against this we can reckon with a certain income from stamps (this cannot at present be estimated), and the expedition will also have an income from newspapers, films, lectures and this book, all of which combined should cover the debt of this necessary $100,000. The essential part of the expenses all came before the start, but any income only accrued some time after our return. The position at Christmas time last year appeared very unpromising, and the outlook seemed hopeless. The till had long been empty. Yet orders must be placed if everything was to be ready in good time, and everything had to be paid in ready cash. Bills streamed in, followed by demands for payment whenever they were not settled at once. But where were we to get the money? It is satisfactory to look back, now that everything has been accomplished, but it was far from pleasant at the time. Our private household bills got very, _very_ old,--_so_ hard-up were we!
Dr. Ræstad, who had the financial management of the undertaking, worked on through these conditions quietly and calmly, and he was lucky in being able to carry through a task which probably no one else could have accomplished. Thanks to him we were able in April this year to have everything collected in Tromsö, ready for our departure for Spitzbergen, so that after looking through our equipment we were able to say, “There isn’t one thing missing.”
Up till now only the returns from the newspapers have come in. We have therefore an alarmingly large overdraft at the bank. As the account is so overdrawn we have still difficulties to face, and must therefore set about the fulfillment of our many obligations. We can now look forward to a time when our income will be sufficient to pay off our overdraft, and leave a balance, which will be used for the realization of Roald Amundsen’s old plans.
It is on that account that I have taken this opportunity to write about the financial side of the expedition. There are a number of people who think that we have become rich folk. How often have I not been congratulated--not only because I have come back with my life, but also because I have returned as a millionaire. Probably the films shown in this connection have given this impression. But people should realize that we are at the mercy of the big film companies who fix the price. If we ourselves had cinema theaters stretching through the world’s towns, then could Roald Amundsen set out to-day on the realization of his wonderful plan: the exploration of the sea between the Pole and Alaska.
* * * * *
Back to the matter which I am really discussing. The same goodwill met us in Marina di Pisa when Director Schulte-Frohlinde himself made out the list of spare parts, assuring us (by giving the matter his own personal attention) that we should have with us every article necessary for the flying boats’ requirements. The bill for these spare parts ran up to about 28,000 kronen.
_Instruments_
During his preparations for his earlier flight Roald Amundsen was struck with the idea of using a sun-compass, and arranged with “Goerz Optische Werke” to construct such an instrument. The firm met his suggestions in the most friendly manner, and the result was our invaluable solar-compasses. The principle of these is as follows:
The sun’s reflection is cast through a periscope down onto a dull disc directly in front of the pilot. By the side of the instrument there is a clock which can be coupled to a cogwheel on the periscope. The clock is constructed so that it can swing the periscope round 360° in the average time that it takes the sun to perform a similar movement. By the aid of a graduated scale on the periscope, which can be placed at a certain angle, one can set it in agreement with the flying-boat’s nose. Should I, for example, start exactly at midday, I should set the periscope so that it points direct astern. Exactly at twelve o’clock I attach the clock to the instrument. Should the seaplane now by chance face the north, I would see a little reflection of the sun in the center of the dull disc which is marked by a cross. The periscope will now follow the sun’s course so that the reflection will always be in the center of the disc as long as the seaplane continues the same course.
Should it be set working at another time, it would be calculated from the angle of the sun, at that moment when the clock is set going. The clock is always regulated according to Greenwich time (or any other recognized time), but the longitudinal distance must be taken into account, and in the same manner the angle must deviate away from the meridian beneath if one does not desire to steer parallel with it. On the top of the periscope there is a screw with an inner part, where an adjustment can be made according to the declination on that day. The solar-compass is mounted on a base on which can be made corrections for eventual latitudinal changes. The periscope’s axis must always stand parallel with the earth’s axis. A change in the upward tilt of the machine must also be reckoned with.
The lenses in the periscope are constructed to give a radius of 10°; that is to say, if the sun’s reflection appears in the disc’s outer edge, one can allow 10° before it disappears in the other outer edge. If one has set the solar-compass for a flight directly north, one will continue in the right direction so long as the flying machine has no deflection. In order to detect such deflections we had a combined speedometer and deviation measure which was also given to us free of charge by Goerz. Amundsen attended to these on the northward journey--Dietrichson on the southward. They both speak of them with high praise. Their uses are shortly as follows: Inside the instrument, on a move-able ring, is fastened a diametrical wire. One looks through the instrument down to the ground below or to the ice, and adjusts the wire the longitudinal way of the ship, then pays attention to the objects passing aftwards under the plane (icebergs, for example), noting whether they follow the direct line of the wire or deviate to the side. Should there be a deviation, one knows that they are not following the direct course in which the nose is pointing, so it has to be set at an angle allowing for the deviation. The wire must be drawn to the side quite slowly until one finds that the objects which one can notice now follow the line of the wire exactly. This points now in the direction one comes from, and the wire’s angle, compared with the boat’s nose, can be read directly in the instrument. That gives the angle of deviation.
One can also leave the wire as it is, and turn the whole instrument instead. The angle of deviation is to be read on the instrument’s base. This is the easiest way, as it allows one to get on quickly with measuring the speed. Having calculated the deviation, it is not correct to steer against the wind allowing only a corresponding number of degrees, or it will be found that there is _still_ a deviation, though not so great as before. To correct it it would have to be measured, then some steering would have to be done, then it would have to be measured again and so on, before it could be regulated. It is, therefore, better to come to a quick and exact result by quickly taking the speed measure. This is done with the same instrument, by watching an object pass between four points of the scale, as the machine goes over it. The pilot continues to fly in a steady course during the entire observations. The navigator sets a stop clock going when an object passes the scale at an angle of 45°, and he stops the clock when the object passes zero, as it will then be centrally under the machine. The altitude above the under-lying territory is read on the altimeter, and by aid of this and the stop clock’s indications it is possible to calculate correctly the speed over the ground-distance covered. We have now got the following particulars: The speed through the air which the speedometer shows and which is called the air-speed,--the steering course through the air which we will call the air-course,--the speed over the ground which we will call the ground-speed and last the deviation’s angle. These calculations have to be worked out in conjunction with each other on a calculating machine, showing in a second what steering-course shall be adopted under the existing wind conditions, to carry the plane in the desired direction. In addition to this there is a gratis enlightenment, showing the exact direction and strength of the wind at that altitude.
The pilot announces if a new course shall be steered. If he steers according to the solar-compass, the navigator adjusts the solar-compass by turning the periscope a corresponding number of degrees.
So long as one need not fly over clouds or fog all goes well. With steadiness it is possible to control the course over the ground and steer the plane straight to the Pole by territorial navigation. During the two first hours, after we had passed Spitzbergen’s north coast, we had thick fog under us and got no drift observations. As soon as we could get these the solar-compass was corrected. We had, however, in the meantime deviated so far westwards that the indicator pointed well over to the west side of the Pole. One must pay particular attention to the fact that the solar-compass only indicates a northward direction so long as one is on the same meridian which the compass was adjusted to. If one has deviated to the side and continues to steer according to the solar-compass, one will set a course directly parallel with the meridian for which the compass was adjusted when starting. For a new adjustment of the compass, so that it points towards the Pole, one must in every case take the bearings. Both during the northward journey, and during the homeward flight, the solar-compasses were of the utmost benefit to us. Without these and depending only on the magnetic compasses we should have been very much less confident. The selection of our magnetic compasses was only settled after we had studied the various types most analytically, paying particular attention to the conditions which they would have to answer to in the Arctic Ocean.
I should like here to mention a common mistake founded on a popular idea, that the _Magnetic_ Pole lies at the _North_ Pole. The globe is a great magnet which has two magnetic points, a North Pole and a South Pole, and fortunately the Magnetic Poles do not lie in the same places as the geographical poles. The earth’s magnetic North Pole, which draws towards itself the compasses’ _North_, lies on the north coast of Canada about 70° N. and 95° W. long. In general this is called for convenience the magnetic North Pole. Its position, as is well known, was verified by Roald Amundsen during the Gjoa expedition.
Looking at the map, it will be discovered that the magnetic pole lies about an equal length from the geographical North Pole as from Spitzbergen. Therefore it stands to reason that the compass which can be used in Spitzbergen can therefore be used in the fairway from there to the Pole. The one thing which might cause us moments of misgiving was the magnitude of the compass’s variations in the district we wished to reach. (There is little data resulting from exact observation to give us the reason of these variations.)
During a visit to Bedford, Dietrichson and I discussed this part of the enterprise with one of my English airman friends, Captain Johnstone, and we are most grateful for the assistance he gave us. The result of the discussion was that we chose a steering compass as well as a standard compass of an up-to-date type made by the firm of Hughes & Son, London. These compasses are made to repel movement, and to bring the needle slowly back to its correct position without the slightest oscillation either to the right or left. In the Arctic Sea, where the horizontal component of the earth’s magnetism is proportionately weak, it must always take time for the needle to swing back into position as it is so strongly repelled by existing conditions. But we preferred this to one with a lengthy oscillation and a big swing backwards and forwards. Steering compasses of the above kind are eminently suitable on account of a special construction which it will take too long to describe here. The standard compass was excellent. The magnetic condition in the navigation compartment was also ideal. The deviation’s coefficiency was shown by the readings we took to be so trifling that we could consider our compasses free from deviation. Just before leaving Spitzbergen we had one of the German Ludoph-compasses sent to us, with a request for us to give it a trial. I placed it in the pilot’s compartment of N 25, where it proved itself to be an excellent compass. If the machine heeled over the dial also took a certain tilt and the vertical component of the earth’s magnetism caused considerable oscillation as the natural result of its great attraction. Whilst the Ludoph-compass oscillated somewhat, the other took some time to swing back, making it impossible for me to say which I preferred. I steered with both of them, controlling the one by the other. During the homeward flight I continually steered by the magnetic compasses, and had no difficulty so long as I could have a “Landmark” ahead. During the fog it was not such an easy matter.
A/G Gyrorector, Berlin, kindly placed at our disposal a gyroscopic apparatus for each machine--as a loan. This instrument commended itself to me and is the best I have seen hitherto for flying in fog or darkness. The rising and tilting indicator was of use to me during the whole flight. The conditions, however, were such that I did not have to make great use of the direction indicator, beyond the fact that on the northward flight I experimented with it in case we should find it necessary at some time to make a forced landing in the fog. The arrangement between the two planes was that at all costs, if we should pass through fog, not to get separated from each other. At the close of the homeward journey, as mentioned elsewhere, we flew into such thick fog that I could have made use of the direction indicator. We flew, however, so low there that the whole time I had to keep my eye glued to the ice beneath and in front of us.
We had ordered a wireless installation for N 24, but went without it as it was not ready in time. It was the only thing we went off without. We never missed it. I might mention here that we had laid down a principle not to wait at all for any belated goods.
After seeing that many different suppliers, at home as well as abroad, should despatch the goods in time to reach Tromsö, to be loaded by a certain date, I got endless notices to say the goods would be belated and that we must put off our flight some days. The answer was always the same: “We shall go without goods if they have not arrived.” The result was, except in the case of the wireless, that everything was delivered in good time. Had we once started to put off our departure we should have had constant delays.
_Navigation_
It will perhaps interest those readers who have a knowledge of navigation to hear a little more about Sverdrup of the “Maud’s” cleverly calculated but simple methods of navigation in the Arctic Sea. I repeat word by word Sverdrup’s own well-known description:
“One single measuring of the sun’s altitude shows that one stands on one particular spot, in a small circle whose center is the point, where at that moment the sun has reached its zenith, the radius of which is 90° h. (h. indicates the measured height of the sun). This circle shall be called a local circle.”
In order to find the meridian the sun would be in at the exact moment of observation one must read a clock, the agreement of which with Greenwich mean time (G.M.T.) is known. An almanac gives the time level to be added to, or subtracted from, G.M.T.--giving Greenwich true time (G.T.T.). The sun would then be over that meridian, the latitudinal difference of which from Greenwich is equal to the time taken for a clock to strike, according to G.T.T., and would be in its zenith over the point, the breadth of which is equal to the sun’s declination.
Taking an observation of the sun’s altitude, with a simultaneous noting of the clock’s striking, can be done most rationally by describing a tangent from a local circle in the neighborhood of the place where one believes oneself to be. Such a tangent should be called a local line. In the neighborhood of the Pole it is easy to find local lines without scientific calculations. The meridian the sun is in can be found directly one has calculated the clock’s stroke by G.T.T. The local circle cuts the meridian in the distance h--d from the Pole, where d signifies the sun’s declination. This cutting-point we will call the local circle’s Pole point. If the difference h--d is positive, this point will be on the same side of the Pole as the sun, should it be negative it will be on the opposite side. A line dropped on the meridian which the sun is in, through the local circle’s Pole point, describes a tangent from the local circle. We will call this tangent the “Pole tangent.” At a distance from the Pole point equal to 5° of latitude, the Pole point will represent the local circle with sufficient exactitude, and can be considered as a local line. But if the distance increases, the tangent’s divergence from the circle will be noticeable. Sverdrup explains how, by an easy method, one can calculate the corrections which have to be made, should one find oneself within the above-mentioned limits from the Pole. During our observations in the ice region we were always within the limit, and had therefore no need for corrections. The method is of course particularly simple and sufficiently exact because there is so little difference between the hour-angle and azimuth. I here give a table of our observations on the night of the 22nd immediately after landing:
Clock readings: 3 h 23′ 3″ Error -1 h 0′ 19″ ------------------------------ G.M.T. 2 h 22′ 44″ Time level + 3′ 33″ ------------------------------ G.T.T. 2 h 25′ 17″
Converted into degrees: 36° 3′
Sun’s lower rim from the imaginary horizon measured 35° 58′ 2″
Half of this 17° 59′ Mistakes: 0 Corrections + 13′ ----------- Sun’s center correct altitude 18° 12′
Sun’s declination 20° 15′ 4″ ----------- h--d: - 2° 3′ 4″
Converted into nautical miles 123.4
On a chart we drew a line representing Greenwich meridian, and a point on that was selected as the North Pole. The angle 36° 3′ was set from north to east and the sun’s meridian drawn through the North Pole. From the last named point towards the southwest we marked out 123.4 nautical miles, as the h--d was negative we drew the local line straight up to the sun’s meridian.
Hereby we had the line on which we stood, and must wait until the sun had changed its position to complete our calculations. The cutting point between the local lines would give our position.
According to G.T.T. 5 h 47′ we took an observation in the morning which gave h--d by -33 nautical miles. These observation lines were constructed on the same chart, and the cutting point gave us our position 87° 47′ N. lat. and 13° W. long.
Some days later we used these data as examples and re-calculated the same observations according to the method of St. Hilaire, and thereby found that our landing point lay on N. lat. 87° 43′ 2″ and W. long. 10° 19′ 5″.
After our return our observations were again re-calculated according to absolutely exact astronomical formula by Cand. mag. R. Wesöe, under the guidance of Professor Schroeter. According to their calculations the most northerly point turned out to be N. lat. 87° 43′ and W. long. 10° 37′, the very spot where we had our first camp. During reconnoitering we went further north, but without taking observations. In addition to this Cand. mag. Wesöe calculated the positions as follows. I herewith give four:
1925. 22/5 N. lat. 87° 43′ Long. W. 10° 37′ 28/5 „ 87° 32′ „ „ 10° 54′ 6 29/5 „ 87° 31′ 8 „ „ 8° 3′ 9 12/6 „ 87° 33′ 3 „ „ 8° 32′ 6
These positions give an idea of the drift of the ice easterly and southerly.
_Soundings_
We could see that it would be a matter of great and special interest if we could take soundings where we landed, and, discussing it fully, we came to the conclusion that we ought to be able to get sounding materials with a reasonable weight. We got into communication with the Behm Echolot Factory in Kiel, and all our difficulties were immediately brushed aside. After I had been to Kiel and talked over the matter with Herr Behm an excellent apparatus was made and placed gratis at our disposal. (As there were great depths in the district where we were to land, it was not necessary to take the depth to the nearest meter, but we could make an approximate registration. The weight of the whole sounding equipment, with cartridges for a number of charges, was cut down to a few kilograms. There was therefore no obstacle in the way of our taking it with us in the flying machine--and we could also have taken it with us even had we had to make a march towards land.)
The principle was simply as follows. A watertight microphone was sunk about four meters down in the water of a crack in the ice. The microphone was attached by a line to an ordinary head-microphone, which the observer wore. At a distance of twenty-five to fifty meters from the observer a little charge was sunk under the surface which contained ten grams of trinol and was provided with a detonator. The charge was exploded by an electric spark. The observer set a stop-clock going when he heard the explosion, stopping it as soon as he heard the echo from the sea bottom.
On May 28th we took two soundings immediately after each other, and in both cases the stop-clock’s time proved to be five seconds. As sound travels in sea-water at the rate of 1,500 meters per second, the distance from the surface down to the bottom and up to the surface again is equal to 7,500 meters, and thus the sea’s depth is at this place half the amount, namely, 3,750 meters. The echo was quite sharp and not to be misunderstood. Therefore during a later drift, as we did not move far from the place where we had taken the first sounding, we took no more. We wished to reserve the spare charges for a possible march.
_Variations_
For the exact “taking of the sun” the standard compass was equipped with a special finder, in the same way, as there were water-levels on the compasses. The compass was placed in the best position, where it would be as far away as possible from every object likely to influence it. Observations were taken on the 23rd and 29th of May, with the results respectively, 39° 5′ and 30° westerly variation. This is about 5° more variation than the chart allows. These observations proved to be of great use to us when we started the homeward flight. By calculating with these variations in arranging our starting course we found we had achieved an important measure.
* * * * *
I will now briefly give particulars of our further equipment.
Photographic materials and binoculars, etc., were given to us by Goerz, the cinematograph appartus was a gift from the “Hahn Aktiengesellschaft für Optik & Mechanik,” Berlin. The films and plates for the camera, also the cinema films, were given to us in generous numbers by the “Goerz Photochemische Werke,” Berlin. It is quite unnecessary to mention that all the things given to us by these firms were of first class material and everything functioned to our greatest satisfaction, giving excellent results in spite of the difficult conditions. Our snow glasses were a present from the firm, Optikus, Oslo, and were specially made for us. They could not have been better. When I count them as amongst the most important part of our outfit, I have good grounds for doing so. Any one wishing to choose glasses, and looking through the different types, will find that there is a tremendous difference between them both as regards suitability of color and other things.
There is a small detail which I should like to mention in this connection. Many flying-men will have gone through the same experience as I and realized how unpleasant it is to fly towards the sun when it is at a low altitude, for, blinded by the sharp light, it is difficult to see the instruments, and in many ways it causes a continuous strain. As a deterrent we had small aluminium screens, made in the same shape as the wind screen. These could be fixed as desired. At 10 P.M. on the northward journey the sun was so dazzling that I placed the screen in position, leaving it there until at 1 A.M. I began to look out for a landing place, when I pushed the screen back, feeling satisfied with its utility.
From the ski-factory, “Johansen and Nilsen A/S., Fin Schiander,” we received the present of the most beautiful skiing equipment that any one could wish for--skis with staves, and ski-sledges. On the old ice the snow lay so deep that without the skis we should have sunk in well over the knees. Had we to cross the water-lane to fetch provisions and petrol from N 24, we were forced in many places to cross new ice, which was in such bad condition that it would not have borne us unless we had worn skis. For transport we made use of the ski-sledges. The transport of the 200 kg. heavy petrol cans over the ice was, for the sledges, a hard test which they successfully passed. (It was with intention that we did not spare the sledges from the greatest strain during these transportations. We learned, therefore, by experience what we could safely expose them to, in the event of a possible march towards land, during which we would have to avoid all possible loss of time, caused by having suddenly to unstrap the sledges if we had to cross over icebergs.) Had the sledges been affected adversely by these tests, we had the means at hand for repairing them. It would have been much worse if they had failed us during the march. The sledges, moreover, were made with a wide surface so that the canvas boats could stand in an unfolded position, “all clear” to be put into the water-lane in the shortest possible time that necessity might demand. As the boats in this position had to be protected against jagged ice on the icebergs, we would have had to cut aluminium plates away from the flying boats’ bottoms before we left--using them as a protecting screen for the canvas boats.
The reins and harness were made by Rönne, designed in such a way that they could be placed both on the hips and on the shoulders.
We took for our cooking needs two kinds of stoves; namely, the Meta apparatus and the ordinary Primus. When I say _ordinary_ Primus, it is not quite correct. It was really extraordinary so far as quality and utility go. The Meta apparatus, with plates, was a gift from the factory’s Norwegian representatives, the Brothers Klundbye, Oslo, in the same way as the Primus was a gift from the Christiania Glasmagasin, Oslo.
The Meta apparatus was used by us for cooking during the time when we were divided into two camps, but afterwards, when we were re-united (making six in all), we found it more convenient to use the Primus.
In the way of weapons each flying boat had one gun for big game, one shot-gun for fowl, and a Colt pistol. The last named we had taken in case of a chance visitor coming to the tent in the form of a polar bear; the pistol was also a lighter weapon to handle than a gun. We had seen on landing that there was animal life in this district, so the guard always carried a pistol on his nightly round. Polar bears are not quite such friendly creatures as people are inclined to believe, and so far north as we were they would most certainly be of an exceedingly hungry type. However, during the whole expedition we did not see a single one.
It was fortunate that we had taken pistols with us, for we found that all our heaviest things had to be jettisoned to lighten the load, and we came to the conclusion that if the worst came to the worst, after letting the heavy guns go, we at least had the pistols left.
We had two kinds of smoke bombs with us. A smaller kind for throwing out onto the snow immediately before landing to show us the direction of the wind. A larger type had been brought for the following purpose: We thought there might be a possibility of one machine having to make a forced landing and that the other might have to search for it while trying, at the same time, to find a suitable landing place. To aid the crews in finding each other these smoke bombs were really intended. As we had to economize in every gram of weight, we had to keep the weight of these bombs so small that they proved hardly big enough for our needs. We used a bomb the first day on board N 25 when we did not know where N 24 was. The wind, however, was so strong that the smoke lay in a long strip over the snow plains. Had the weather been calm we might have had a more helpful result.
People will no doubt say that we should have tested these bombs before leaving, and had they proved too light, we should have ordered others of the necessary weight. This was, in the first place, our intention, but the order we gave for new bombs was unproductive, and it was only owing to the great kindness of the firm, J. P. Eisfeld Silberhütte (who undertook in the course of a few days to make our bombs and deliver them to us), that we had them at all. I should have felt very uncomfortable if I had started on a flight of this kind without bombs to determine the exact direction of the wind in case we might have to make a forced landing in difficult circumstances.
There has been a lot of talk about the possibility of using aniline for marking the snow, and I should like to express an opinion on the question. We had discussed the possibility of being short of petrol during the return flight to Spitzbergen, and that we might have to land and take all the petrol into one machine and continue the journey with that one only. If the abandoned machine did not lie too far to the north, we would return later to fetch it. In order to make it easier to find it our intention was at certain distances from the machine to make a number of marks by throwing out quantities of aniline at certain spaces apart to mark the course of our continued flight to Spitzbergen. Last winter we made a number of experiments by throwing out large quantities of the powder at intervals from a flying machine, but got no satisfactory results. During our stay in Spitzbergen we experimented with marking the snow by scattering powder out by hand. The result of this test was that if the snow was damp or quite wet the effect was successful. If, on the contrary, there was frost and the snow was dry no sign remained to aid us. The aniline powder requires damp, therefore, before it can fulfill the purpose of marking a track. As we might expect to find these conditions further south in the Arctic Sea, and as we thought of the possibility of making such marks during the return journey, we took with us a small quantity of aniline. In connection with this we are indebted to the Badische Soda & Anilinfabrik for the interest which they and their firm’s representative, Erik Berrum (who gave us the idea), took in the experiment.
Our ice-anchors were made by the factory in Marina di Pisa according to Amundsen’s designs. We had at that time, however, no idea that these would be considered later to be our best tool for hacking the hard ice. As ice-anchors they were also particularly effective. It happened that during the worst of the drifting we had to fasten the flying-boat to hold it safe from the encroaching ice. When the ice edges were almost setting together it was not so difficult to hold the nose direct against the pressure. The trend, however, changed in the shortest space of time so that the one ice-border “set” in an angle directly frozen into the other, both pressing together sideways and overlapping like the teeth of a ruminating cow. This was where we found it difficult to raise the boat.
The footwear presented an important side of our rig-out. It might happen that we should have to make a march of many hundred kilometers back again. We were prepared to find that there would be deep mush on the ice, as it was the warmest time of summer, and we would often have to take off our skis for the purpose of clambering over the icebergs and ice-banks. Skiing boots were therefore needed, knee-high, with watertight legs. The long legs made the boots very heavy for anything but skiing, for which they proved they were admirably suited when we tried them in Spitzbergen. For ordinary wear, when we should be resting, in a district where skis would not be of use, each man had an extra pair of boots. We therefore took with us to Spitzbergen many different kinds of footwear, so that each man could choose those which he considered would suit him best. (If a man has had the opportunity of choosing his footwear, he will find them much easier to wear when on a long march and exposed to hardship.)
In order that we might have the opportunity to form an opinion of our own we obtained samples of every suitable type. In the accompanying photograph there is a complete row of the different kinds. From the left it will be seen that we had long-legged boots--skiing boots (fashioned like the Norwegian “lauparstövler”). These we could either choose or reject. The next in the row are a pair of long-legged kamikker, of which we had a considerable choice as also some with shorter legs. By the side of these, stand boots designed for flying and they are the kind which Roald Amundsen has described. Beside these you will see a pair of Laplander’s boots and a pair of Canadian lumber-man’s boots. In the foreground lie a pair of long rubber boots.
When I asked Ramm to take a photograph of this miscellaneous footgear which--“we required at Spitzbergen”--he, like the humorist he is, could not let such an opportunity pass without a joke, and therefore placed on the extreme right a pair of dancing shoes!
The result of the selection was that Amundsen, Omdal and Feucht chose Laplanders’ boots; the two latter because this type of boot was practical when they had to climb from the motor gondola to the tank compartment. Ellsworth and Dietrichson chose short-legged kamikker, whilst I took the long-legged rubber boots. As every one, during and after the flight, was particularly well pleased, and praised his own selection in loud tones, it goes without saying that the original purpose of individual selection was thus attained.
In accordance with the request of Rolls-Royce, we used Shell Aero-petrol, and Wakefield’s Castrol R. oil. We cannot speak too highly of both. The fact that N 25’s engine always started instantly on the many occasions when we had to free the flying boat from the clutch of the ice, without the use of naphtha, is a credit which Feucht and Rolls-Royce must share with the petrol.
I come now to our provisions. There are many people who do not know what pemmican is, so I shall tell them about it shortly here. Pemmican is _not_ a bird, as several people have asked me, nor has it anything to do with a pelican. The preparation of it is as follows: Beef is dried in the lowest possible temperature in such a manner that it shall not lose its tastiness. It is then ground to powder. This powder is mixed with dried pulverized vegetables. The whole is mixed together in melted fat, filled into molds and allowed to set. That this is nutritious fare is shown by the fact that five kilograms of beef make only one kilogram of beef powder. Our pemmican was a gift from the Danish Wine and Conserves Factory. It was analyzed by Professor Torup and was found to be in excellent condition. By cooking it with water, the pemmican will make either soup or a kind of porridge, or something between the two like gruel. Eighty grams of pemmican per man made a most delicious cup of soup. In the ice regions pemmican tastes equally good in its uncooked state. The little extra ration of forty grams which we got during the last days for the evening meal we ate like bread with our cup of chocolate.
The Freia Chocolate Factory made our chocolate according to a special recipe and presented us with it. We were, however, unable to follow the factory’s directions, which, inscribed upon the packet, informed us that we should use 125 grams (one tablet) to half a liter of water. We used a third part of a tablet to 400 grams of water, and it seemed to us most excellent chocolate. As we later had to reduce our bread ration from five oatcakes, we balanced it by adding Molico dried milk to the chocolate (a gift from the Norwegian Milk Factories). Even now as I write I see again the scene which was enacted each morning. We came creeping out of our sleeping bags, tumbled to our places in the mess, then sat and shuddered in our clothes as though to dispel the cold, while we rubbed our hands together. The Primus stoves’ kindly glow was warm and pleasant; we bent nearer to them, anxiously looking into the chocolate pan to see if it would not soon begin to bubble and steam. Soon it would bubble up in the middle, and a delightful steam rising from the little pan, came streaming out into the tiny room and enveloped us. We closed the trap doors to keep the warmth in the mess. The three small breakfast biscuits were passed round to each man; the cups were filled and sent after them; six pairs of hands clasped themselves involuntarily round the six cups. (I can still feel the warmth circulating from my hands up into my arms.) Faces were bent over the cups to be warmed by the rising steam, while hungry mouths cautiously and gratefully drank in the chocolate, which heated the body as it glided downwards. After this we started to talk.
Many readers will be asking themselves the question, “Didn’t they take any coffee with them?” No, we had no coffee with us, and even if we had had it, it would not have been touched so long as any chocolate remained. We five “new-beginners in the ice,” were almost ready to say when we came back that we should _never_ have anything but chocolate for breakfast. We _did_ say it in fact, but Amundsen only smiled and reminded us that the moment we boarded the “Sjöliv,” on the evening of June 15th, it was difficult for us to wait until the coffee was poured into the cups.
The oatcakes were also specially made and supplied by Sætre Kjæksfabrik, Oslo. In addition to the specified biscuit ration we should have taken with us, Director Knutsen gave us a box of “Fru Clausen’s cakes” for each machine. How grateful we were later for these! Not only were the cakes delicious, but they helped us to continue our long and tedious work, and augmented our rations in such a way that we were provisioned for some time longer, thereby postponing the possible need of our setting off on a march to Greenland, which we should have had to do had we failed to start the machine.
In addition to this, Amundsen’s good friend, Mr. Horlick, had sent us to Spitzbergen a supply of Horlick’s malted milk (malted milk in tablet form). When we felt a little weak we took ten of these tablets per man per day. The intention was that we should take one at a time at equal intervals during the day’s course. I began by taking one as I crept into my sleeping bag in the evening. In a few days I had got so used to these tablets that I had to get out of my sleeping bag to fetch another one. This course became burdensome, so I placed the box beside me. Soon I found that I had to take five or six of them before I could stop. They tasted like good sweetmeats, and the next step was to take the box into my sleeping bag with me because I found it too tiresome to crawl halfway in and out every time I wanted to reach a tablet. The result was that I could sleep peacefully for the rest of the night. At that time if one of us was on guard all night, he got an extra ration of ten malted milk tablets, and could make a warm drink with them which we called “a cup of tea” because it looked like tea with milk in it and because it had a similar taste. We placed an incalculable value on these tablets and felt how greatly they strengthened us.
Our full ration list comprised the following:
Per Man Pemmican 400 grams per day. For 30 days 12.00 kg. Chocolate 2 tablets each 125 grams 7.50 „ Oatcakes 125 grams per day (12 cakes) 3.75 „ Molico dried milk 100 grams per day 3.00 „ Malted milk 125 grams per day 3.75 „ In all per man for 30 days 30.00 kg.
The list of our additional equipment per man:
Rucksack, which held a change of underclothes (comprising woolen vests, drawers, pair of stockings, a pair of goat’s-hair socks). Matches in a waterproof bag. Automatic lighter. Housewife. A cup and a spoon. One can. Tobacco. Pipe. Diary. Telescope and all small personal belongings.
In footwear we had ski boots and a pair of boots of our own selection.
One pair of skis, two staves, one set of reins.
Every man should have a clasp knife.
_List of “Mutual Belongings for Flying Boat Equipment”_
One canvas boat. One sledge. One medicine chest. One tent. Reserve ski straps. Reserve pig-skin reins for sledges. One Primus with cooking vessel (large). One box, reserve screws, etc., for Primus. Thirty liters petroleum. Meta cooking vessel with case of plates. One kilogram Dubbin. Sail-cloth gloves, syringes, large nails and sail thread. One sextant. One pocket sextant (for sledge journey). One spirit level. One chart ruler. Navigation tables. One log-book. Pair of compasses. Two T squares. Pencils. Binoculars. Six large and four small smoke-bombs. Smoke-bomb pistol. One leeway measure. One solar compass. One shot gun with 200 cartridges. One rifle with 200 cartridges. One Colt pistol with fifty cartridges. One electric pocket lamp. Motor reserve parts. Motor tools. One ax. One snow shovel. One rucksack. Ropes. One ice anchor. One reserve ski pole. One petrol bucket. One petrol funnel. One oil funnel. One kilogram aniline. One half sack senna grass. Ski Dubbin. Three pilot balloons. Three pairs of snow-shoes.
On account of weight we were debarred from taking any reserve ski equipment with us. In the event of our requiring new ski parts before the end of a march, the sledges were arranged with a lower part like skis, which could be detached and rigged out as skis with reserve strappings. The idea was that towards the end of such a march everything could, in the event of trouble, be put onto one sledge, leaving the other free for us to dismantle and use. Should any misfortune occur at the beginning of the journey, we would be in a much worse position. For such an eventuality we took snow-shoes with us.
Of these we took a generous number as they weighed so little. Strange to say we did meet with a misfortune. Dietrichson lost both his skis; and one of Omdal’s, which he kicked off, fell through the ice, disappeared in the water, and was carried away by the current.
With the weight divided equally between the two machines we had the following load:
One large and one smaller cinematograph apparatus. Six hundred meter film. Two cameras with films and plates. One petrol pump with long hose. Behm sounding apparatus with charges. Arctic maps.
* * * * *
The next thing I am going to write about is:--
_The Transport of the Machines from Italy to Spitzbergen_
The name of the ship broker, Axel B. Lorentzen, should be inscribed at the beginning of this section of my story in large capital letters. Without his help I don’t know how things would have gone. The work we first set about was to find a means of conveying our large machine cases and all our extra equipment from Norway to Spitzbergen. Considering the time of year it was necessary that we should have a ship which could cope with the ice conditions. Should we charter any other kind we would risk incalculable delay. Out of the six large crates the engine-cases must in every event find room in the hold. It was out of the question for these to be stowed on deck. Lorentzen got for us the “blueprints” of ship after ship, and I sat at home for hours studying the plans and working out the dimensions of the cases and the hatches. In the end we got a sketch of “Hobby,” just when I had almost given up the idea of ever being able to get the motor cases down into the hold, for it seemed that the only way would be to take the engine gondolas out of the crates, and at least stow _them_ safely in the hold. In the case of “Hobby,” from the figures given, it appeared that the crates could just be passed through the hatches and lowered. Our joy was great. The four other crates could be stowed on deck, so we chartered “Hobby” to be taken over on the 5th of April.
We had believed that it would be an absolutely simple matter to get the machines home to Norway from Italy, but we had miscalculated. We learnt this very quickly! The regular lines went to ten or twelve different ports taking on board parcels here and parcels there. Therefore this means of transport was of no use to us. A Dutch line offered to take the machines for 50 per cent of the ordinary freight to Amsterdam. This was very tempting, but we should be under the necessity of transporting them to Rotterdam in order to join the ore-boat leaving for Narvik. We also tried other ways, but without result.
Then came Lorentzen one day and brushed all our troubles aside by saying, “All we need to do is to arrange something for ourselves.”
He calculated that if a boat of the size of the usual coal-boat, sailing from England to the Mediterranean, could carry our wing cases and propellers on deck, taking the engine cases and extras in the hold, there would be sufficient space left for the boat to carry 200 tons of salt. Thus he calculated that the round tour--England, Mediterranean, Norway (West Coast) (even after allowing for the unloading of the coal and the journey to Sicily for the salt)--would only leave a reasonable sum to be paid by us for our goods’ transport,--namely, the difference in freight,--to which cost we agreed.
The next move was to examine plans of boats which were “in position” (so far as jargon goes I became a perfect shipping man!), and to find out if the holds were big enough to take our wing cases and propellers, or if they could get protected positions on deck. The crossing of the Bay of Biscay had also to be taken into consideration.
At last there was a suitable boat on the market, namely, the S. S. “Vaga,” in charge of Captain Eriksen. The boat was “due Liverpool,” at a suitable date, and belonged to the Norwegian-Russian Shipping Company. They took the freight without haggling, and showed extreme willingness to assist us in every respect.
In the middle of January Dietrichson went to Marina di Pisa and made a trial flight with N 24. Omdal went to Pisa after he had spent some time at the Rolls-Royce Factory. Dietrichson returned home in the middle of February, but Omdal remained behind to make a wider study of the machines, and to accompany them and all our belongings, on the S. S. “Vaga,” on the voyage to Norway. I myself went down to Marina di Pisa in February and made a trial flight with N 25. Just before the end of my stay there Amundsen returned from America and joined me. And thus our lengthy conferences by correspondence came to an end, and matters could at last be arranged by word of mouth.
Following a speedy journey home, word went round that our extensive outfit should be sent at once by the different suppliers to Tromsö. In the days which followed cases and crates bearing our address could be seen being transported to us on most of Northern Europe’s routes of communication; goods even came from over the Atlantic, while Oslo, Bergen, and Trondhjem were the critical points. The Storthing consented to supply the means to allow the naval boat “Fram” to be placed at our disposal, and thus a large quantity of the goods arriving at Oslo was re-directed to Horten so that we could save the extra carriage. I learned in those days to set great value on the telephone, regarding it as a marvelous institution. Indeed I felt I had not valued it sufficiently, for the Oslo exchange appeared to be working day and night. Roald Amundsen, for instance, would ring me before eight o’clock in the morning to give me the day’s orders. At that hour Amundsen had already breakfasted and was ready to begin his day, whereas I had hardly finished with the night.
There was not the slightest use in trying to turn round for another little five-minute snooze, for immediately after eight Dr. Ræstad would come on with his orders. I was therefore very impressed by the earliness of the hour at which the Doctor started his day, but it was not very long before I learned just exactly what attire he was in when he rang! (The last remark, to use a flying expression, was a “side-slip.”)
Back to the spot where I began to glide.
None of our goods were delayed anywhere, not even the tiniest little case. And for this we owe much gratitude to the Railway Goods Managers, the Bergen Steamship Company’s Despatch Managers, and the Nordenfeld Steamship Company’s Despatch Managers in Trondhjem, and also Einer Sundbye of Oslo, and to Horten’s Quay.
In Tromsö our “Goods Manager,” Zapffe, collected and stored everything. When we checked our lists everything was in order.
We should have taken over “Hobby” on the 30th of March. At that date it lay at the shipyard without cylinders in the engine, but by Tuesday the engines were in order. When, however, the boat should have proceeded to the quayside to begin loading, the engines refused to turn the propeller round. The explanation was that they had changed the propeller for a new one which was too large. The boat went back into dock and was fitted again with its old propeller. Fortunately the S. S. “Vaga” was belated on account of stormy weather. This delay, therefore, did not inconvenience us. As there were no cranes in Tromsö we had had to order the S. S. “Vaga” to Narvik.
During Wednesday, the 1st of April, “Hobby” finished loading everything which should go into the hold, and we left at night for Narvik, arriving Thursday evening. On Friday, April the 3rd, “Vaga” arrived at 6 A.M. The cases were undamaged to our great joy. The “Vaga” had indeed had bad weather on several occasions during the journey, but Captain Eriksen forgot the interests of his owners and steamed slowly on account of our goods.
By Friday afternoon we had all our cases ashore and on the railway to be run along under the cranes, and the loading of S. S. “Hobby” began. The cases with the reserve parts went down into the hold.
The engine cases should also have gone down into the hold, but we found that my measurements were for the outer edge of the hatches instead of for the actual dimensions of the opening. The cases would not go down, not even when we tried them on the slant. We took the engine gondolas out of the cases, thus dividing them in two, and placed the first part down in the hold, with the second part stowed on top of it.
On Thursday we had one case stowed away in the large hold and speedily set about building a foundation for the wing cases, which should lie on top of that hatch. The aft mast stood a foot further forward in one sketch than it did in reality, therefore we could not get sufficient room to lay the wing cases behind each other alongships. This was a bad business. Either we must lay the cases across the decks where they would stretch out one and one-half meters each side, or we must charter an additional ship. I approached a Shipping Company, which had a small boat lying at Narvik, but as they wanted 20,000 kronen to carry one wing case to Spitzbergen, I had no choice left in the matter but to carry on as well as possible with S. S. “Hobby.”
During Sunday night the whole expedition nearly came to a sudden end. A hurricane of tremendous force suddenly arose. The wing cases and the propellers, alongside the engine cases, stood directly in the wind on a railway wagon on a branch line near by. The watchman called for help and ran to the rescue, assisted by the despatching staff, and in a short time they managed to get the cases securely fastened to the railway wagon, which in turn they secured to the quay. Just as they finished, the wagon which held the engine cases decided to set off on its own account, and tore away, driven by the wind, at the very moment when the brake was released inadvertently by some one during the course of operations. Fortunately, in the center of the quay it collided with a shed and came to a full stop by running into a stack of timber.
Had the watchman not called for help immediately, undoubtedly some of the cases would have been blown out to sea. The wind got stronger and stronger during the time that people were busy securing the cases, and they all had to move with the greatest caution to prevent themselves being blown off the quay. The explanation of this strong wind lies, I believe, with the high hills which surround the harbor.
Several ore-boats drifted off in the dock and were damaged. As it continued to blow all Sunday we had to discontinue loading. During Monday we got the second engine case and both wing crates on board. Those which were loaded aft we had managed to place alongships, but we decided to lay the forward ones crosswise on the deck, well forward, where they (on account of the curve in the boat’s build) lay higher and out of line of any waves which the boat might ship and which would leave her decks awash.
On Thursday, the 7th, by midday both propellers were on board, stowed above the wing cases. It was a long, tedious piece of work, but the main point was that everything went well. S. S. “Hobby’s” deck cargo looked alarmingly high and when one realized that our course lay amongst the ice, it made one apprehensive. For my part, when I thought of what a bill for damages would mean to us--the sacrifice of the expedition for that year--it was little wonder that I trembled. There were plenty of people to utter cautions, but “Hobby’s” captain (Captain Holm) and the ice pilot Johansen both said things would be all right “if only luck went with us.”
The top weight was not alarming, but it was an anxious moment all the same when we saw the deck cargo piled so high. As soon as we got away from the quay and got up a little speed, we put the rudder hard over to see if the boat was specially “tender.” S. S. “Hobby” listed over considerably less than I had expected. I trusted we should have only a small swell before we reached Tjellsund, but fortunately we found smooth water. In view of what we learned later we have great reason to be glad of this, for had we had an example there of “Hobby’s” rolling abilities, we should certainly never have assailed the ice conditions ahead. We should certainly have chartered the extra ship which I mentioned and would have had 20,000 kronen bigger debt to-day.
We arrived at Tromsö on Wednesday, the 9th, at 9 A.M. It was a great day for us all, and for me especially. Roald Amundsen and the other members of the expedition had arrived. S. S. “Fram” was there as well. For the first time we were all gathered together. I felt so confident when Amundsen took over the direct leadership, that I went off to do a little business of my own.
During the day Amundsen went through the whole outfit, and everything which had been ordered in Tromsö was placed on board. The entire day was given up to work and it was late at night when we began to make ready for sea. All questions in connection with transport insurance were attended to with the greatest of skill and of kindness by my friend, Herr R. Wesmann.
In Narvik, during the loading, I had stepped inadvertently on a nail which had penetrated my right foot. The day in Tromsö therefore proved a very hard one, as I suffered extreme pain with every step I took. The worst part of my affliction, however, was that so many people showed their sympathy with me by relating all the dreadful things which had happened to _this_ acquaintance or to _that_ one who had had a similar accident, and they threatened me with blood-poisoning or something equally unpleasant. Blood-poisoning would have rendered me useless for flying and I swore to myself that I would go right round the old boat many times in future without trying to take a near cut in rubber-soled shoes along a plank or something similar, running the risk of treading on another nail.
A newspaper suddenly made the discovery that Thursday was the expedition’s lucky day, as we started from Spitzbergen on a Thursday and came back with the “Sjöliv” on a Thursday! I can supplement these facts by adding that some of us traveled home on a Thursday and the expedition left Tromsö on a Thursday, which was also a day full of fateful happenings during the entire course of the expedition.
On the morning of Thursday in Easter week at five o’clock we left Tromsö with “Fram” just ahead of us. On board S. S. “Hobby” we were busy fastening the last lashings to the deck-cargo, until 7 A.M., when I went to bed. At 9:30 I was awakened suddenly by some one shouting, “‘Fram’ is signaling.” Expecting something of the kind to happen, I had gone to bed fully dressed, and was therefore prepared to rush on deck almost before my eyes were opened. A man on board the “Fram” was semaphoring ... I signaled that I was ready, and the communications started. I had just received the words “We are going to ...” when the “Fram’s” rudder was put hard over, and the rest of the sentence was lost by the aftermast swinging round in my line of vision, cutting off the signaler and his message from view. He missed my “repeat” signal probably because I had not taken my flag with me in the hurry, and was only replying with my arms. He must apparently have seen something which he took for confirmation that his signals had been understood, for he hopped away seemingly quite satisfied and the “Fram” continued on her way. If “Hobby” had had her steam whistle in readiness I would at once have blown the “repeat” blast, but it would have been necessary to have got in touch with the engine-room first in order to get air into the whistle. I gave it up, therefore, and came to the conclusion that the “Fram” had no more serious intentions than merely to maneuver. I had heard something about a good landmark on the other side of the fairway, and thought thus that they were making a deviation from the usual course. Knowing that the “Fram,” with her greater speed, could soon overhaul us again, we continued straight on to prevent delay. S. S. “Fram” in the meantime hurried across the fjord and, as it turned westwards out of its course, I knew it had some special move in view. We turned as quickly as possible, following behind with all possible speed, but it was too late and “Fram” disappeared in the distance. We believed it would appear again westward of Fugleö and stood by in the hope of meeting it.
We had not been long in the open sea before we met heavy weather. How the “Hobby” rolled! The wing-cases which lay across the decks were dipped in the water at each side. I carefully surveyed the various lashings to see that none were working loose as the boat tossed and rolled. It was midday and a heavy sea was striking us abeam. Soon I noticed that the securing-ropes of the forward case had slackened, and it was sliding a couple of feet backwards and forwards as “Hobby” continued rolling. We “hove to,” therefore, until we managed to fix the cases with new lashings.
The situation was unpleasant. The “Fram” was not to be seen, and it had the meteorologists on board and would thus get weather reports. I would have given anything I possessed to have learned whether the weather would get better or worse. I gravely considered the advisability of turning back, but this proceeding would have meant giving up the idea of “Hobby” carrying everything to Spitzbergen, as the ice-pilot’s only hope was that we would find better weather to get through the ice at this time of year with our high deck cargo. Much valuable time would be lost if we had to go in search of an auxiliary ship, remove some of the heavy cases from the “Hobby” and re-load them on the new boat. On the other hand the welfare of the whole expedition was at stake, and my thoughts turned to Amundsen. Had the cases only contained ordinary goods, the sea could gladly have had them, but they contained our flying machines! When we “hove to” to secure the lashings I noticed how much steadier S. S. “Hobby” lay on the waves and decided that we could perform the same tactics again at any moment if things got too bad. The Meteorological Institute had promised us good weather so we decided to continue in the present position for a little while even after the cases were secured, until we should see if conditions were likely to improve. Another thought came to me when things were at their worst. Just before leaving Oslo I had been called before the Admiralty, and it was pointed out to me that they had doubts about sending the “Fram” amongst the ice at that time of year--not on account of the vessel itself, but on account of the crew. I replied that “Fram” and “Hobby” should always remain together so that “Hobby” would always be at hand to render any necessary assistance. Simultaneously we got a message from “Hobby’s” brokers to say they were very doubtful whether the Board of Trade would permit “Hobby” to leave with a deck-cargo--not on account of the vessel, but on account of the crew. I calmed them down by assuring them that “Fram” and “Hobby” should remain together so that “Fram” could go to “Hobby’s” assistance if necessary. Tragic as the situation was, I could not help smiling, for both vessels instead of being able to help each other had enough to do to look after themselves.
It seemed to me in one respect that it was a good thing the “Fram” was out of our immediate neighborhood, as it would have been dreadful for Amundsen to see how frightfully we rolled from side to side, without being himself on board with us to know that in all the “happenings” we remained masters of the situation.
Between Thursday night and Friday morning the weather improved--the wind had lowered, but there still remained a heavy swell on the water. If the “Hobby” got a little off the right course now and again, she was steered round with a tremendous pull which brought me flying on deck to see how things were going. Thus there was little sleep the whole night, certainly never more than an hour at a time. On Thursday morning we passed Björnöen to the westward without seeing the island, as there was a thick fog. Here we passed the first ice, which was typical pancake-ice.
During the day a southeasterly wind came up and increased later to a stiff breeze. So long as the sea was moderately calm, we did not mind, as the wind was blowing direct aft, and we were making good speed. By midday the sea had become so rough and the wind so strong that we were faced by the same dilemma which has faced many a seaman before us. How long could we carry on without having to “heave to”? We altered our course a little in order to get as quickly into the ice as possible by way of Sydkap. We knew that if we could only get along in that direction we would be sure to find smooth water, so we continued on that course and made fair progress. If the sea should get too rough, so that we could no longer keep going, it might be too late to “heave to,” for during that maneuver we might steer into the wind, getting the heavy seas abeam, and there was every possibility of our losing our deck cargo. If, therefore, we were going to steer into the wind, it would be advisable to do it in good time.
Occasionally “Hobby” rocked heavily when a heavy sea caught it astern. We rolled violently, not nicely and comfortably, but with heavy violent heaves so that the lashings cut into the planks which lay between them and the corners of the cases. During one of these heaves the man at the wheel was thrown across the wheel, against the rail, at the lee side of the bridge. He hurt himself pretty badly, and was unable to work for some time. The mate’s comforting remark was that conditions might be much worse when we got nearer to the banks. I was more afraid than I have ever been before in my life, and I hope sincerely that I shall never get into a similar position again. It was not my life I feared losing, for there was meantime no danger of this. It was the deck cargo’s fate about which I was concerned, namely, the flying machines. If the cases had been filled with gold they would have been heartily welcome to go overboard, but we must at all costs keep the flying-machines safe and sound. The expedition must not be put off this year. I felt thankful again in my heart that the ships had got separated, for “Fram” could have given us no help. Those on board that vessel could only have stood as helpless spectators.
During the evening of Easter Saturday the wind stopped increasing, and in the course of the night died down somewhat. On Easter Sunday evening we got into the ice and calculated that we were almost in a direct line with Spitzbergen. Under ordinary circumstances the proper thing to do would have been to steer northwest into free water until we were level with King’s Bay. Meantime there was a considerable swell, which now came from the southwest. The fog still surrounded us, coming thicker from the southwest. But the ice meant smooth water for us and safety for the deck cargo. We were, therefore, in no doubt what to do. Hoping that we might be able to keep on a clear water-course, we proceeded through the ice towards the land. Little by little, as we got further in, the swell decreased, and at last almost calmed down. How heartily I blessed that ice. At eleven o’clock we could not risk going any further, as we could no longer see anything ahead. “Hobby” was brought into some compact ice, and we “laid to” for the night.
Even if we should still encounter difficulties in finding our way to King’s Bay, and if the fog should not lift, at least we were now safe for some hours, so I went to my bunk and slept like a log as soon as my head touched the pillow. Six A.M. we were under way again. The fog was still as thick as ever. During the trip we had not taken any observations, apart from the “noon observation” on the day before Easter. But even this was uncertain, as the horizon was hardly visible on account of haze. We therefore did not care to go nearer to the land, but steered along it as well as the clearings in the ice permitted. Our course therefore varied between northeast and northwest. When we thought we were abreast of King’s Bay, we steered right in towards the land and got ready to “cast the lead.” We could now see far enough ahead to stop in good time when necessary. Then it seemed suddenly as if a curtain had been raised right abreast of us to starboard, and in pale clear sunshine we could see the northerly point of Prince Charles Foreland. Holm and Johansen can with good reason be proud of their calculations and navigating. We had kept the right course, steamed full speed and now we sailed right out into the radiant sunshine. Behind us lay the fog like a high gray wall. It was “död dam stille” as we say, and ahead lay King’s Bay. How glad we were. We just looked at each other and smiled as we heaved deep sighs of relief. What a wonderful sensation! We were there! Nothing could now impede the progress of the expedition. How annoyed all the skeptics would be. They would have no reason now to walk through the streets and shout: “I was right. I told you so!” There was a strong feeling of thankfulness, mingled with our satisfaction, that we had been able to get through all right and bring happiness to Amundsen.
We were not long in getting shaved and letting our faces make the acquaintance of fresh water again. Then we went up on deck to see whether “Fram” had arrived. The burning question during the trip had of course been, “Where can ‘Fram’ be?” We had also laid wagers and held various opinions about this, but I believe we forgot these in our joy.
Yes, there she was right up against the ice-edge. “Hobby” had still to force her way through an ice-belt, which was fairly clear, but yet progress seemed to be terribly slow. We were overcome by our own feelings, which seemed to shout the words, “Here we are and everything is all right!” At last we were through, and right up to the edge of the ice. We noticed that things became lively on the “Fram.” I went forward onto the deck-cargo and waved my cap to show that everything was all right. My challenge brought instant response. Ringing cheers reached us. Naval flags were dipped confirming our supposition that they had been anxious about us. When “Hobby” put its nose into the ice-edge we were all on the forecastle. Amundsen came towards us with a broad smile on his face. We knew and understood how pleased he was, and all our anxiety and the terrible strain on our nervous system were soon forgotten.
_In King’s Bay_
The remainder of my report will nearly be an illustrated book accompanied by a little text in order to avoid what Amundsen has already written in his account.
It was a disappointment that the ice stretched so far out. On the ships’ arrival it was so thick that none of them could break it. The next day, however, on account of the mild weather, the ice got so brittle that “Knut Skaaluren” (although with difficulty) managed to break up a channel for us all. As the “Skaaluren” had a good deal of cargo to discharge “Hobby” could not get to the quay for several days. It was a disappointment, but turned out to be a piece of good luck. I had thought about rigging up some booms (which we had on board) to the crane on the upper deck in order to discharge our large cases onto the quay. We had no time to wait until “Skaaluren” was finished, so we had to take our chance with “Hobby’s” own derricks and winches. The last were not specially suitable for lifting heavy pieces. They were electrical ones and could go full speed one way or the other. This would mean stopping with a nasty wrench. In order to reduce this we rigged up some tackle instead of leaving the single wire.
When I said that the disappointment turned out to be a piece of good fortune, I meant that on account of these circumstances we saved a lot of time by using “Hobby’s” own gear and discharging right onto the ice without loss of time.
In order to reduce the weight of the bodies of the machines we first of all took off the packing.
As the forward derrick could not swing the boats’ bodies clear of the wing cases, which stretched over the railings, we had to take both boats’ bodies in the after derrick. N 25, which stood aft, was lifted first and swung out. It came nicely down onto the ice and N 24 followed.
The aft case with the wings was then turned so that it lay right across the railings. Both cases were put on end so that we could get at the hatches. The motor gondolas were then lifted up and put into their places.
In the meantime the “Fram’s” boys hacked a glide from the fjord ice to the land and the boats’ bodies were pulled along and taken straight to the place which had been chosen for their mounting.
Our assistance for the mounting of them could not have been better. On the one side a mechanical workshop and on the other a smithy, and a big room which was put at our disposal. Here we had benches with vices, etc.
For getting the wings ashore we had to get to the quay under all circumstances, but there was no hurry now, as we had plenty to do in getting the motors ready. It was not just the most comfortable temperature to work in. Now and again one could see war-dances being performed round the warming-pan.
In the meantime “Fram’s” boys cut the ice up round about the quay and kept the water channels open so that the ships could change places more easily.
Just when we had finished our work with the motors, “Skaaluren” left the quay and “Hobby” came into her place. The wing-cases were just lying at the same height as the quay, so that everything considered, it was easy work to get them ashore. Luckily we had no wind that day, so conditions permitted us to carry the cases on end, which was necessary on account of the space.
Under the guidance of Schulte-Frohlinde we started immediately to mount N 24, and soon it began to look more like a flying machine.
When taking N 24’s wings ashore, we had a good deal of wind. It was therefore not easy to get them ashore on end. After landing them we had to carry them in a horizontal position.
We could not wait for calm weather, as the meteorologists predicted a long period of fresh breezes. The bringing ashore of the machines was carried through without the slightest damage to the material, nor had any damage taken place during the long transport from Marina di Pisa to King’s Bay. All of us therefore had good reason to feel pleased that day.
Whilst Schulte-Frohlinde, Feucht and Zinsmayer completed the mounting, Green and Omdal continued their work with the motor and completed it by putting on the propellers.
After everything had been tried and tested and proved to be in splendid order, there arose the burning question, which had been in my mind for the last half year, namely, how would the machines run on the snow? Exactly in front of the mounting place were any number of suitable spots where we could make a trial on level snow, so I made the first test on May 9th. The boat, as was only natural, stuck fast at first, but got free quite easily with a strong pull. It was a delightful sensation to realize how easily it glided along. Had it sunk heavily down into the snow and stuck there, matters would have looked less bright for us.
Flying boats of this size had never been tried on snow before, but we built on our own belief in its being possible; had it not been so we should have been in an unpleasant position.
From the day we gathered all our material together, our program went according to date, and in the beginning of May we were all in readiness to set off in the second half of the month if conditions permitted.
That day was for me, therefore, a _great_ day in the expedition’s course, and every one will understand my feeling of joy when after testing the machine I was able to announce to Amundsen, “We are clear to start the moment our leader says the word!”