calculated for six days. The hypsometer showed 8,000 feet above sea level. On November 30 we began to ascend the glacier. The lower part was much broken up and dangerous, and the thin bridges of snow over the crevasses often broke under us. From our camp that evening we had a splendid view of the mountains to the east. Mount Helmer Hansen was the most remarkable of them all; it was 12,000 feet high, and covered by a glacier so rugged that in all probability it would have been impossible to find foothold on it. Here were also Mounts Oskar Wisting, Sverre Hassel, and Olav Bjaaland, grandly lighted up by the rays of the sun. In the distance, and only visible from time to time through the driving mists, we saw Mount Thorvald Nilsen, with peaks rising to 15,000 feet. We could only see those parts of them that lay nearest to us. It took us three days to get over the Devil’s Glacier, as the weather was unusually misty.
On December 1 we left the glacier in high spirits. It was cut up by innumerable crevasses and holes. We were now at a height of 9,370 feet. In the mist and driving snow it looked as if we had a frozen lake before us; but it proved to be a sloping plateau of ice, full of small blocks of ice. Our walk across this frozen lake was not pleasant. The ground under our feet was evidently hollow, and it sounded as if we were walking on empty barrels. First a man fell through, then a couple of dogs; but they got up again all right. We could not, of course, use our ski on this smooth-polished ice, but we got on fairly well with the sledges. We called this place the Devil’s Ballroom. This part of our march was the most unpleasant of the whole trip. On December 2 we reached our greatest elevation. According to the hypsometer and our aneroid barometer we were at a height of 11,075 feet — this was in lat. 87° 51’. On December 8 the bad weather came to an end, the sun shone on us once more, and we were able to take our observations again. It proved that the observations and our reckoning of the distance covered gave exactly the same result — namely, 88° 16’ S. lat. Before us lay an absolutely flat plateau, only broken by small crevices. In the afternoon we passed 88° 23’, Shackleton’s farthest south. We pitched our camp in 88° 25’, and established our last depot — No. 10. From 88° 25’ the plateau began to descend evenly and very slowly. We reached 88° 29’ on December 9. On December 10, 88° 56’; December 11, 89° 15’; December 12, 89° 30’; December 13, 89° 45’.
Up to this moment the observations and our reckoning had shown a surprising agreement. We reckoned that we should be at the Pole on December 14. On the afternoon of that day we had brilliant weather — a light wind from the south-east with a temperature of — 10° F. The sledges were going very well. The day passed without any occurrence worth mentioning, and at three o’clock in the afternoon we halted, as according to our reckoning we had reached our goal.
We all assembled about the Norwegian flag — a handsome silken flag — which we took and planted all together, and gave the immense plateau on which the Pole is situated the name of “King Haakon VII.‘s Plateau.”
It was a vast plain of the same character in every direction, mile after mile. During the afternoon we traversed the neighbourhood of the camp, and on the following day, as the weather was fine, we were occupied from six in the morning till seven in the evening in taking observations, which gave us 89° 55’ as the result. In order to take observations as near the Pole as possible, we went on, as near true south as we could, for the remaining 9 kilometres. On December 16 we pitched our camp in brilliant sunshine, with the best conditions for taking observations. Four of us took observations every hour of the day — twenty-four in all. The results of these will be submitted to the examination of experts.
We have thus taken observations as near to the Pole as was humanly possible with the instruments at our disposal. We had a sextant and artificial horizon calculated for a radius of 8 kilometres.
On December 17 we were ready to go. We raised on the spot a little circular tent, and planted above it the Norwegian flag and the Fram’s pennant. The Norwegian camp at the South Pole was given the name of “Polheim.” The distance from our winter quarters to the Pole was about 870 English miles, so that we had covered on an average 15 1/2 miles a day.
We began the return journey on December 17. The weather was unusually favourable, and this made our return considerably easier than the march to the Pole. We arrived at “Framheim,” our winter quarters, in January, 1912, with two sledges and eleven dogs, all well. On the homeward journey we covered an average of 22 1/2 miles a day. The lowest temperature we observed on this trip was — 24° F., and the highest +23° F.
The principal result — besides the attainment of the Pole — is the determination of the extent and character of the Ross Barrier. Next to this, the discovery of a connection between South Victoria Land and, probably, King Edward VII. Land through their continuation in huge mountain-ranges, which run to the south-east and were seen as far south as lat. 88° 8’, but which in all probability are continued right across the Antarctic Continent. We gave the name of “Queen Maud’s Mountains” to the whole range of these newly discovered mountains, about 530 miles in length.
The expedition to King Edward VII. Land, under Lieutenant Prestrud, has achieved excellent results. Scott’s discovery was confirmed, and the examination of the Bay of Whales and the Ice Barrier, which the party carried out, is of great interest. Good geological collections have been obtained from King Edward VII. Land and South Victoria Land.
The Fram arrived at the Bay of Whales on January 9, having been delayed in the “Roaring Forties “ by easterly winds.
On January 16 the Japanese expedition arrived at the Bay of Whales, and landed on the Barrier near our winter quarters.
We left the Bay of Whales on January 30. We had a long voyage on account of contrary wind.
We are all in the best of health.
Roald Amundsen.
Hobart,
March 8, 1912.
Introduction
When the explorer comes home victorious, everyone goes out to cheer him. We are all proud of his achievement — proud on behalf of the nation and of humanity. We think it is a new feather in our cap, and one we have come by cheaply.
How many of those who join in the cheering were there when the expedition was fitting out, when it was short of bare necessities, when support and assistance were most urgently wanted? Was there then any race to be first? At such a time the leader has usually found himself almost alone; too often he has had to confess that his greatest difficulties were those he had to overcome at home before he could set sail. So it was with Columbus, and so it has been with many since his time.
So it was, too, with Roald Amundsen — not only the first time, when he sailed in the Gjöa with the double object of discovering the Magnetic North Pole and of making the North–West Passage, but this time again, when in 1910 he left the fjord on his great expedition in the Fram, to drift right across the North Polar Sea. What anxieties that man has gone through, which might have been spared him if there had been more appreciation on the part of those who had it in their power to make things easier! And Amundsen had then shown what stuff he was made of: both the great objects of the Gjöa’s expedition were achieved. He has always reached the goal he has aimed at, this man who sailed his little yacht over the whole Arctic Ocean, round the north of America, on the course that had been sought in vain for four hundred years. If he staked his life and abilities, would it not have been natural if we had been proud of having such a man to support?
But was it so?
For a long time he struggled to complete his equipment. Money was still
