Ice Ship: The Epic Voyages of the Polar Adventurer Fram (32 page)

25 ›
RESCUE OR REBELLION?

W
ould Framheim still exist? Who would be there, all of them, or just Adolf Henrik Lindstrøm, who was to stay behind to tend the place alone? Or no one at all? Had they made it to the pole? These questions must have been swirling through Hjalmar Gjertsen’s head as he tried to find his way, as the
Fram
had come in to a different place along the Great Ice Barrier. Finally, he came onto familiar territory, from which he knew he would be able to see Framheim. He skied faster in anticipation.

His heart sank. Framheim was gone. Instead, there was only a “pile of rubble” covered with snow. What happened? Had the barrier cracked open and swallowed it? Had a storm crushed it and covered it with snow? Was anyone still alive inside? As he approached, tentatively, he saw someone emerge from the pile and recognized immediately that it was clean-shaven Lindstrøm. At Gjertsen’s cry, Lindstrøm looked up, startled at first by this heavily bearded stranger coming toward him, but then quickly realized who it was. After the thrill of reunion had calmed, Lindstrøm explained that, yes, he was alone but, no, Framheim had not been destroyed. Quite the contrary, it was intact but completely buried in snow, which helped keep it warm inside. Lindstrøm, like a majordomo, showed him around the grand hotel, the cozy, heated living space and the annex of rooms they had dug into the ice that was a protected warren for work and storage beneath the surface.

As Gjertsen settled in, Lindstrøm told him the stories, the good and the bad of what had happened over the year.

Everyone was still out, as Gjertsen could see, and due back soon. But not all had gone to the pole; there had been a change of plan. Roald Amundsen and four others had left in October toward the south, but three—Kristian Prestrud, Hjalmar Johansen, and Jørgen Stubberud—had gone instead to the unmapped territory to the north and east, King Edward VII Land. It seemed a strange and
obscure place to go, when the pole alone had been their goal, never a word about King Edward Land. No doubt Gjertsen was surprised and asked why, and Lindstrøm must have told him it was the Boss’s idea, because of what had happened.

›››
Everything had gone well for months after the
Fram
left, exactly according to plan. In the summer they immediately began setting out depots of food, fuel, and emergency supplies for the return journey. From these, stores would be relayed later, after winter, to new depots further south, as close to the pole as they could get. The depots were critical. There had to be enough to sustain men and dogs on the eight-hundred-mile trip back; they had to be at close enough intervals in case treacherous weather made travel tough or delayed it; and they had to be visible a long way off. Amundsen’s plan was to set a depot at every latitude degree (sixty-nine miles) in a straight line toward the pole, housed in tall igloos with flags planted atop. There were no plundering polar bears or Arctic foxes to worry about here, only the vastness of the barrier making things disappear in whiteness or in storms. As an added guide to keep the sledgers on track between depots, they set cairns and pennants along the way.

By the time they had to stop for winter, in April, they had set out three big depots, at 80°, 81°, and 82° south latitude (Framheim was at 78.5°), as far as halfway down the barrier toward the high, untrod mountain range they would have to
cross on the continent itself. A final fourth trip carried yet more food and supplies to the closest one, including (most importantly, as time would prove) a ton of fresh frozen meat from seals they had killed near Framheim and the edge of the barrier. They were off to a good start even before they started.

They passed the winter well, too, all the long, dark, cold months of it. As in all other previous expeditions of the
Fram
, winter was not just a time to get through but one for intense planning and preparation—every detail, every eventuality, and every possibility. The work, equally intense and careful, was to ensure the plan would go as flawlessly as possible. Nothing was left to chance. Many contingencies were in place in case something went wrong. It was Amundsen’s way, as it had been Fridtjof Nansen’s and Otto Sverdrup’s before him. In these environments, with no margin for error, it was the only way.

Much of the work took place in separate ice chambers below, away from the living and dining spaces of the house itself and in temperatures near freezing so the walls and ceiling would not melt or food spoil; in dim light, they kept busy during the clock-defined “day.” In one, Olav Bjaaland made, or continually improved, skis for both humans and the sledges. In another, Stubberud dealt with anything requiring carpentry or construction. Helmer Hanssen and Oscar Wisting were at Martin Rønne’s old sewing machine continually, making clothes and camping equipment. Sverre Hassel looked after supplies and fabricated leather whips and harnesses for use on the dogs. Prestrud and Johansen had the painstaking, critical task of weighing, packaging, and boxing food rations for both men and dogs, for all the trips and depots. Amundsen kept an eye on things and kept them moving, while Lindstrøm was always busy preparing food for such a crowd, serving it, or cleaning up afterward. Framheim was very much like the ship, its namesake.

By late winter Amundsen was anxious to get going. The sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon, giving light but no warmth. It was bitter cold, down to sixty below at night, too cold, said some of the men, to begin such a journey. Amundsen, however, counted on a warm spell coming, as other explorers had experienced this time of year. Such was the reason he gave to them, though in reality he probably wanted to get a jump on Robert Falcon Scott, not knowing his schedule or capabilities with the motor sledges. Amundsen was the Boss, so on September 8 they headed out, everyone but Lindstrøm.

After four punishing days of cold travel and colder nights, with men and dogs not fully hardened to such conditions and beginning to suffer from frostbite (four dogs died), Amundsen decided to abort the journey when they reached the 80° depot. There they unloaded their supplies and, in the morning of September 15, headed back. They camped that night, continuing early the next morning. Oddly, and uncharacteristically, they did not stay all together but spread out in pairs according to their speed, as if in a race for home. By four in the afternoon the next day, they began arriving at Framheim, first Hanssen (with frostbitten feet) and Wisting with Amundsen (as leader he did not drive a team of his own but rotated among the others). Two hours later in came Bjaaland and then, within thirty minutes, Hassel and Stubberud, both with frostbitten feet. There was no sign of Prestrud and Johansen. As Amundsen stated in his diary, “They have a tent and sleeping bags so they won’t have to worry.”
⁶
Evidently, he was not worried about them, either, though it was in the minus forties outside, as Johansen was one of the best sledgers. He finished writing his notes for the day and went to bed at nine.

When Amundsen awoke in the morning, Prestrud and Johansen were there, having arrived at half-past midnight. Prestrud had severely frostbitten feet; Johansen was furious. At breakfast, the Boss asked them why they had taken so long. For Johansen, that was the last straw. He exploded, hurling his anger at Amundsen in front of everyone.

The facts seemed clear. Prestrud had fallen far behind. Johansen, at first speeding out and even passing Hassel, stopped for him to catch up. He waited hours in the cold until finally Prestrud arrived, strength failing, barely able to move on his frozen feet. Johansen helped him back to Framheim and in the process probably saved his life. Behind the facts, the answer to
why
Amundsen acted the way he did depended on who was asked.

Johansen, the wizened polar veteran and the man who had spent fifteen months on the Arctic ice alone with Nansen, considered what Amundsen did an unforgivable, even immoral, act of a expeditionary leader. Amundsen had forsaken his men. He had gone off ahead of the pack instead of staying back to make sure everyone was all right. It was as if the captain of a troubled ship was first off to safety, leaving the crew behind.

Amundsen, the ambitious, self-sure leader who had his men sign documents
of loyalty and obedience, saw it otherwise. He had not abandoned his men. He sped in front with Wisting because Hanssen, Hassel, and Stubberud needed help and he wanted to get them back quickly to treat them. He said he did not know that Prestrud was also suffering from frostbite, as he had never said a word about a problem. Had he known, he of course would have given him his place on Wisting’s sledge, to hustle him home with the others.

Amundsen went to each man separately to get their opinion about what happened, so that whether by force of his personality, power of persuasion, or simply flexing his muscle as Boss, he built support for his actions. He did this in Madeira when he asked the men if they wanted to go to Antarctica instead of the North Pole. He would do it again in other circumstances. His technique worked, as it did before and would again. Except for Johansen, the bystanders were careful not to take sides overtly, though what they felt might have been quite different. Bjaaland wrote in his diary that Johansen said things he should not have. Stubberud thought that Amundsen just made a mistake. Lindstrøm, a favorite of Amundsen and one who wanted people to be happy, kept quiet. Amundsen showed who was the Boss.

›››
Amundsen had always been wary of Johansen, this powerful yet moody man foisted on him by Nansen, though he entrusted him with work befitting his seniority and experience. He had even put him in charge of the expedition, even over the officer Prestrud, during a period when Amundsen himself was incapacitated by an internal injury. But Johansen had questioned, even criticized, some of his decisions (e.g., too much weight for the sledges) and had been proved right. Now, his outburst and defiance changed everything. Johansen offended him and, more gravely, openly challenged his authority.

Amundsen could see it was a mutiny in the making, a potential mortal blow to the expedition, and he had to act. He demoted him that same day. Johansen, the best polar traveler of them all, would not be going to the pole. Instead, Amundsen came up with the equivalent of banishment in exile. He sent him and two others on a separate trip to explore King Edward VII Land. Prestrud would be in charge, with Stubberud and Johansen as team members. He gave each written orders to sign. Prestrud, an officer supplicating to his superior and perhaps just as happy to be out of it, did so. Stubberud also signed, though with some regret. Johansen, suffering the indignity of having to serve under a younger, far less experienced man, flatly refused.