Farthest North Volume II Part 15

"Fridtjof Nansen."

As I was leaving the telegraph-office the manager told me that my friend Professor Mohn was in the town, staying, he understood, at the hotel. Strange that Mohn, a man so intimately connected with the expedition, should be the first friend I was to meet! Even while we were handing in our telegrams the news of our arrival had begun to filter through the town, and people were gradually flocking together to see the two polar bears who strode through the streets to the hotel. I rushed in and inquired for Mohn. He was in his room, number so-and-so, they told me, but he was taking his siesta. I had no respect for siestas at that moment; I thundered at the door and tore it open. There lay Mohn on the sofa, reading, with a long pipe in his mouth. He started up and stared fixedly, like a madman, at the long figure standing on the threshold; his pipe fell to the ground, his face twitched, and then he burst out, "Can it be true? Is it Fridtjof Nansen?" I believe he was alarmed about himself, thinking he had seen an apparition; but when he heard my well-known voice the tears came to his eyes, and, crying, "Thank G.o.d, you're still alive!" he rushed into my arms. Then came Johansen's turn. It was a moment of wild rejoicing, and numberless were the questions asked and answered on both sides. As one thing after another came into our heads, the questions rained around without coherence and almost without meaning. The whole thing seemed so incredible that a long time pa.s.sed before we even collected ourselves sufficiently to sit down, and I could tell him in a somewhat more connected fashion what experiences we had gone through during these three years. But where was the Fram? Had we left her? Where were the others? Was anything amiss? These questions poured forth with breathless anxiety, and it was no doubt the hardest thing of all to understand that there was nothing amiss, and yet that we had left our splendid ship. But little by little even that became comprehensible; and then all was rejoicing, and champagne and cigars presently appeared on the scene. Another acquaintance from the south was also in the hotel; he came in to speak to Mohn; but, seeing that he had visitors, was on the point of going again. Then he stopped, stared at us, discovered who the visitors were, and stood as though nailed to the spot; and then we all drank to the expedition and to Norway. It was clear that we must stop there that evening, and we sat the whole afternoon talking and talking without a pause. But meanwhile the whole town had learnt the names of its newly arrived guests, and when we looked out of the window the street was full of people, and from all the flagstaffs over the town, and from all the masts in the harbor, the Norwegian flag waved in the evening sunshine. And then came telegrams in torrents, all of them bringing good news. Now all our troubles were over. Only the arrival of the Fram was wanting to complete things; but we were quite at ease about her; she would soon turn up. The first thing we had to do, now that we were on Norwegian soil and could look about us a little, was to replenish our wardrobe. But it was now no joke to make our way through the streets, and if we went into a shop it was soon overflowing with people.

Thus we spent some never-to-be-forgotten days in Vardo, and the hospitality which we met was lavish and cordial. After we had said good-bye to our hosts on board the Windward and thanked them for all the kindness they had shown us, Captain Brown weighed anchor on the morning of Sunday, the 16th, to go on to Hammerfest. He wanted to pay his respects to my wife, who was to meet us there. On August 21st Johansen and I arrived at Hammerfest. Everywhere on the way people had greeted us with flowers and flags, and now, as we sailed into its harbor, the northernmost town in Norway was in festal array from the sea to the highest hilltop, and thousands of people were afoot. To my surprise, I also met here my old friend Sir George Baden-Powell, whose fine yacht, the Otaria, was in the harbor. He had just returned from a very successful scientific expedition to Novaya Zemlya, where he had been with several English astronomers to observe the solar eclipse of August 9th. With true English hospitality, he placed his yacht entirely at my disposal and I willingly accepted his generous invitation. Sir George Baden-Powell was one of the last people I had seen in England. When we parted--it was in the autumn of 1892--he asked me where we ought to be looked for if we were too long away. I answered that it would be of little use to look for us--it would be like searching for a needle in a hay-stack. He told me I must not think that people would be content to sit still and do nothing. In England, at any rate, he was sure that something would be done--and where ought they to go? "Well," I replied, "I can scarcely think of any other place than Franz Josef Land; for if the Fram goes to the bottom, or we are obliged to abandon her, we must come out that way. If the Fram does not go to the bottom, and the drift is as I believe it to be, we shall reach the open sea between Spitzbergen and Greenland." Sir George now thought that the time had come to look for us, and since he could not do more for the present, it was his intention, after having carried out his expedition to Novaya Zemlya, to skirt along the edge of the ice, and see if he could not pick up any news of us. Then, just at the right moment, we made our appearance at Hammerfest. In the evening, my wife arrived, and my secretary, Christofersen; and after having attended a brilliant fete given that night by the town of Hammerfest in our honor, we took up our quarters on board the Otaria, where the days now glided past so smoothly that we scarcely noticed the lapse of time. Telegrams of congratulation, and testimonies of goodwill and hearty rejoicing, arrived in an unbroken stream from all quarters of the world.

But the Fram? I had telegraphed confidently that I expected her home this year; but why had she not already arrived? I began more and more to think over this, and the more I calculated all chances and possibilities, the more firmly was I convinced that she ought to be out of the ice by this time if nothing had gone amiss. It was strange that she was not already here, and I thought with horror that if the autumn should pa.s.s without news of her, the coming winter and summer would be anything but pleasant.

Just as I had turned out on the morning of August 20th, Sir George knocked at my door and said there was a man there who insisted on speaking to me. I answered that I wasn't dressed yet, but that I would come immediately. "Oh, that doesn't matter," said he; "come as you are." I was a little surprised at all this urgency, and asked what it was all about. He said he did not know, but it was evidently something pressing. I nevertheless put on my clothes, and then went out into the saloon. There stood a gentleman with a telegram in his hand, who introduced himself as the head of the telegraph-office, and said that he had a telegram to deliver to me which he thought would interest me, so he had come with it himself. Something that would interest me? There was only one thing left in the world that could really interest me. With trembling hands I tore open the telegram:

"Fridtjof Nansen:

"Fram arrived in good condition. All well on board. Shall start at once for Tromso. Welcome home!

"Otto Sverdrup."

I felt as if I should have choked, and all I could say was, "The Fram has arrived!" Sir George, who was standing by, gave a great leap of joy; Johansen's face was radiant; Christofersen was quite overcome with gladness; and there in the midst of us stood the head of the telegraph-office enjoying the effect he had produced. In an instant I dashed into my cabin to shout to my wife that the Fram had arrived. She was dressed and out in double-quick time. But I could scarcely believe it--it seemed like a fairy tale. I read the telegram again and again before I could a.s.sure myself that it was not all a dream; and then there came a strange, serene happiness over my mind such as I had never known before.

There was jubilation on board and over all the harbor and town. From the Windward, which was just weighing anchor to precede us to Tromso, we heard ringing cheers for the Fram and the Norwegian flag. We had intended to start for Tromso that afternoon, but now we agreed to get under way as quickly as possible, so as to try to overtake the Fram at Skjaervo, which lay just on our route. I attempted to stop her by a telegram to Sverdrup, but it arrived too late.

It was a lively breakfast we had that morning. Johansen and I spoke of how incredible it seemed that we should soon press our comrades'

hands again. Sir George was almost beside himself with joy. Every now and then he would spring up from his chair, thump the table, and cry, "The Fram has arrived! The Fram has really arrived!" Lady Baden-Powell was quietly happy; she enjoyed our joy.

The next day we entered Tromso harbor, and there lay the Fram, strong and broad and weather-beaten. It was strange to see again that high rigging and the hull we knew so well. When last we saw her she was half buried in the ice; now she floated freely and proudly on the blue sea, in Norwegian waters. We glided alongside of her. The crew of the Otaria greeted the gallant ship with three times three English cheers, and the Fram replied with a ninefold Norwegian hurrah. We dropped our anchor, and the next moment the Otaria was boarded by the Fram's st.u.r.dy crew.

The meeting which followed I shall not attempt to describe. I don't think any of us knew anything clearly, except that we were all together again--we were in Norway--and the expedition had fulfilled its task.

Then we set off together southward along the Norwegian coast. First came the tug Haalogaland, chartered by the government; then the Fram, heavy and slow, but so much the surer; and last the elegant Otaria, with my wife and me on board--which was to take us to Trondhjem. What a blessed sensation it was to sit in peace at last, and see others take the lead and pick out the way!

Wherever we pa.s.sed, the heart of the Norwegian people went out to us, from the steamers crowded with holiday-making townsfolk, and from the poorest fishing-boat that lay alone among the skerries. It seemed as if old Mother Norway were proud of us, as if she pressed us in a close and warm embrace, and thanked us for what we had done. And what was it, after all? We had only done our duty; we had simply accomplished the task we had undertaken; and it was we who owed her thanks for the right to sail under her flag. I remember one morning in particular. It was in Bronosund--the morning was still gray and chill when I was called up--there were so many people who wanted to greet us. I was half asleep when I came on deck. The whole sound was crowded with boats. We had been going slowly through them, but now the Haalogaland in front put on more speed, and we too went a little quicker. A fisherman in his boat toiled at the oars to keep up with us; it was no easy work. Then he shouted up to me:

"You don't want to buy any fish, do you?"

"No, I don't think we do."

"I suppose you can't tell me where Nansen is? Is he on board the Fram?"

"No, I believe he's on board this ship," was the reply.

"Oh, I wonder if I couldn't get on board? I'm so desperately anxious to see him."

"It can hardly be done, I'm afraid; they haven't time to stop now."

"That's a pity. I want to see the man himself."

He went on rowing. It became harder and harder to keep up, but he stared fixedly at me as I leaned on the rail smiling, while Christofersen stood laughing at my side.

"Since you're so anxious to see the man himself, I may tell you that you see him now," said I.

"Is it you? Is it you? Didn't I guess as much! Welcome home again!"

And thereupon the fisherman dropped his oars, stood up in his boat, and took off his cap. As we went on through the splendor of the morning, and I sat on the deck of the luxurious English yacht and saw the beautiful barren coast stretching ahead in the sunshine, I realized to the full for the first time how near this land and this people lay to my heart. If we had sent a single gleam of sunlight over their lives, these three years had not been wasted.

"This Norway, this Norway...

It is dear to us, so dear, And no people has a fairer land than this our homeland here.

Oh, the shepherding in spring, When the birds begin to sing, When the mountain-peak glitters and green grows the lea, And the turbulent river sweeps brown to the sea!...

Whoso knows Norway must well understand How her sons can suffer for such a land."

One felt all the vitality and vigor throbbing in this people, and saw as in a vision its great and rich future, when all its prisoned forces shall be unfettered and set free.

Now one had returned to life, and it stretched before one full of light and hope. Then came the evenings when the sun sank far out behind the blue sea, and the clear melancholy of autumn lay over the face of the waters. It was too beautiful to believe in. A feeling of dread came over one; but the silhouette of a woman's form, standing out against the glow of the evening sky, gave peace and security.

So we pa.s.sed from town to town, from fete to fete, along the coast of Norway. It was on September 9th that the Fram steamed up Christiania Fjord and met with such a reception as a prince might have envied. The stout old men-of-war Nordstjernen and Elida, the new and elegant Valkyrie, and the nimble little torpedo-boats led the way for us. Steamboats swarmed around, all black with people. There were flags high and low, salutes, hurrahs, waving of handkerchiefs and hats, radiant faces everywhere, the whole fjord one mult.i.tudinous welcome. There lay home, and the well-known strand before it, glittering and smiling in the sunshine. Then steamers on steamers again, shouts after shouts; and we all stood, hat in hand, bowing as they cheered.

The whole of Peppervik was one ma.s.s of boats and people and flags and waving pennants. Then the men-of-war saluted with thirteen guns apiece, and the old fort of Akershus followed with its thirteen peals of thunder, that echoed from the hills around.

In the evening I stood on the strand out by the fjord. The echoes had died away, and the pine woods stood silent and dark around. On the headland the last embers of a bonfire of welcome still smouldered and smoked, and the sea rippling at my feet seemed to whisper, "Now you are at home." The deep peace of the autumn evening sank beneficently over the weary spirit.

I could not but recall that rainy morning in June when I last set foot on this strand. More than three years had pa.s.sed; we had toiled and we had sown, and now the harvest had come. In my heart I sobbed and wept for joy and thankfulness.

The ice and the long moonlit polar nights, with all their yearning, seemed like a far-off dream from another world--a dream that had come and pa.s.sed away. But what would life be worth without its dreams?

The Mean Temperature of Every Month during Nansen and Johansen's Sledge Journey

Date Mean Temperature Maximum Minimum (Fahr.)

March (16-31), 1895 -37 -9 -51 April, 1895 -20 -2 -35 May, 1895 -24 28 -11 June, 1895 30 38 9 July, 1895 32 37 28 August, 1895 29 36 19 September, 1895 +20 41 -4 October, 1895 -1 16 -13 November, 1895 -13 10 -35 December, 1895 -13 12 -37 January, 1896 -14 19 -46 February, 1896 -10 30 -40 March, 1896 10 30 -29 April, 1896 8 27 -16 May, 1896 18 43 -11 June (1-16), 1896 29 39 23

APPENDIX

REPORT OF CAPTAIN OTTO SVERDRUP ON THE DRIFTING OF THE "FRAM"

FROM MARCH 14, 1895