Virgo-havn. Tuesday, June 2nd
Our water supply is very low. To take ice on board is impracticable. Down in the dark tanks the water only keeps a few degrees of heat, the ice melts so slowly that in the after-tank large lumps are still lying unmelted, since we put them in the tanks at Magdalena Bay. In a handbook of Spitzbergen, which is found in the ship’s library, Captain Hagerup discovers that at Seal Bay there is a small lake which never freezes to its lowest depth. Perhaps we can get water there. The motor boat is lowered, we take out guns and ammunition and accompany Hagerup and the ice-pilot shore wards. Seal flesh is not altogether a luxury, but it is at least fresh meat, and the steward on board has shown us that auk can taste like ptarmigan when the gravy is made with cream and butter. We push off, and the little trip to Seal Bay seems almost as exciting for us as the reading of a thrilling novel, for it is such a welcome change. The boat can approach quite near to land, where “Fram” cannot steer, as there are many sand-banks and rocks, unmarked on the charts. Lying in the sound just before we swing round and down the coast to the open sea is a little island no larger than the floor of an ordinary-sized room, ten or fifteen meters from Danskeöen. It is three or four meters high and has a skull-cap of snow, on which is perched a large sea-gull looking down at us. The bird is so glistening white that the snow appears like a gray shadowed background for the heavy bird. As we approach it flies upwards with long sweeping wings, and with a hoarse scream disappears seawards. From the boat we can see on the top of the snow-cap a green egg which is lying there.
There is a history attached to this little island—sad as are so many of these fateful stories of the north. One winter before Wellman set off in his balloon he had his big balloon shed ready, and in another of his houses which stands there were stored provisions for a long period. He had engaged two watchmen to look after his belongings. They spent the time trapping foxes which at that time were to be found on Danskeöen in great numbers. The two watchmen (Björvik and Johnsen they were called) wished one day to go out to the little island. The sound between it and the land is ten to fifteen meters broad. It was in the month of May Johnsen went a little in advance of Björvik, who suddenly saw his comrade disappear through the ice. Johnsen called for help, but before Björvik could get to him the ice broke up entirely round the spot where he was, and the stream carried him away under the ice while Björvik could only stand helplessly by and look on. He lived there alone afterwards for a long time before a ship arrived from Norway. For the greater part of the time he sat by a signaling post and stared out over the sea. He kept a diary of his life there: “It is the second time I have had to see a good comrade die here in the north,” he writes, “but this is worse than it is in Franz Joseph Land; I must pull myself together and find something or other to do.” His remark applies to a time when he had lived ten years ago on the above mentioned island, when he and a man from the “Fram” named Bentzon spent the winter there. Bentzon got scurvy and died. So that his corpse should not be eaten by bears or foxes, Björvik kept it in the little hut beside him for several months before a vessel came and carried him and the dead man away to Norway.
Whilst this is being related, we steer out of the sound. We round Danskeöen’s northwest point and turn down the coast past several 400 to 500 meter-high cliffs rising directly out of the sea. The waves toss the motor boat up and down and wash over us. We send a shot towards the cliffs; the echo reverberates and thousands of auks fly out. We pick up our fowling pieces and aim at the birds which fly past in a whirling flock, and we anticipate having auk for lunch. But we miss our mark, for motor boats are not built with the idea of their being a shooting ground for auk! We get proof of this when a shot aimed at two birds falls directly into the sea sending the spray flying. The non-sporting men in the boat rub their hands with joy when they see the birds escape from the bloodthirsty marksmen. Occasionally we shoot a brace of puffins; the small black and white birds with red parrot beaks always lie rocking on the waves, and are an easy prey. They are clumsy flyers and never try to escape until it is too late. We turn into Seal Bay, and as we enter, the rolling ceases, for there is a sandbank which acts as a breakwater, and beyond it the water lies like a mirror. It is so clear that we can see the fine white sand at the bottom, where the seaweed waves above in the gentle current. Here we are able to note that the water in the neighborhood of Spitzbergen must indeed have become warmer in recent years, for scarcely ten years ago it was a rare thing to see seaweed growing so far north. Now it can be found on the sea bottom of all the bays where current conditions are favorable.
We go ashore and try to break the ice on the lake. We hack and hack, but never get through. If this lake is not frozen solid it is at any rate frozen to such a depth that we shall require other tools to get through the ice. As we return to the motor boat, Captain Hagerup points to a little hillock saying: “That is where we found the bodies of two meteorologists who drifted here in an open boat from Quade Hook on the way to King’s Bay and lay here two months, where they slowly starved and froze to death.”
We return to the “Fram” at 6 P.M. It seems to us that we have as much to tell those on board as though we had been away three weeks instead of only three hours. The sportsmen too receive grateful thanks for bringing auk with them, “which taste nearly as good as ptarmigan.”
A telegram awaits us on board saying that MacMillan is to start his expedition on the 20th of June from Boston to search for Amundsen and his companions, north of Cape Columbia. We comment on this. If the ice conditions in the north are favorable, he can be in Etah with his ships and flying machines by the end of the month or the beginning of July, and by sending his flying machines northwards from there he can probably sight our airmen if they are walking towards Grant’s Land.
And why should they not have proceeded so far? The account which Peary has given of the ice conditions between the Pole and Grant’s Land show that it is even and flat so that a long day’s march is possible. His accounts are backed up by the trappers, who describe the condition of the ice as it drifts towards Greenland’s east coast. There great floes can be seen, many kilometers long and without the slightest mooring. We recall to memory what Amundsen said to Ellsworth one day when we walked on ice as flat as a floor: “Landing places like these are numerous where we are going.” Now we know that even if the machines have been damaged in landing, the airmen will still be able to walk many miles a day on the ice until they see land ahead.
And we reason further: even if one or two men have been so hurt in an unfortunate landing that they must be helped by the others, the sledges are not so heavy but that they can be pulled along, for all of them have the will and the strength to get home. The more we discuss the point, the more sure we are that there is a chance of the MacMillan expedition joining up with our six. How astonished they will be to hear of all the plans which have been made to search for them, for they count on no help whatever (certainly not from Norway, for they understood that they had received all the help they could from there when the State aided the actual expedition). Twelve days since they left us!—in two days “Fram” and “Hobby” must begin to patrol the ice border.