‘This one’s pregnant.’ Oscar Wisting runs a hand over the dog’s belly.
‘Just what we need, more disgusting dogs cluttering up my deck,’ mutters the captain.
Oscar jerks his head in surprise. ‘What? Don’t you like them?’ He’s already formed a deep attachment to his ten dogs. Camilla is one of his favourites. And now he has an excuse to increase her rations. They greet their master with howls of uncontained joy, especially on the days when Oscar mixes the dried fish with a generous dollop of beef fat and boiled cornmeal. The more intelligent dogs have worked out that this treat is dished up every third day. Others just apply their intelligence to stealing from neighbours.
The night is warm. The crew gathers on deck. They’ve been told an important announcement is coming. Hjalmar Johansen squeezes in beside Helmer Hansen. Both men are seasoned Arctic adventurers. Both have their suspicions that all is not what it seems aboard the Fram.
‘What do you think?’ says Johansen knowingly. ‘Are we finally going to find out what’s going on?’
The two men chuckle. They’ve shared their theories with a few others aboard and there’s a certain nervous tension in the air. Amundsen appears before the assembled men. He’s an imposing figure, tall, with a regal bearing. The serious set of his face, his unwavering gaze and his large hooked nose lend a heroic cast to his appearance. He is, after all, a world-famous explorer, the first man to navigate the Northwest Passage. The one man who succeeded where so many had died trying. They’re all a bit awed by his reputation. All except Johansen, that is. He has his own impressive reputation.
Amundsen’s brother Leon, who has been heavily involved in expedition planning, stands to one side with Captain Nilsen, who flicks the edge of a rolled-up chart back and forth with his fingernail in an obsessive fashion. Leon’s eyes dart from man to man. Roald stands erect, his expression unreadable.
Finally the great explorer speaks. ‘Thank you for waiting so patiently, and thank you for your hard work. Our first weeks together have been most enjoyable. As you’re aware, I’ve chosen each of you for your strong character. Ours is an ambitious expedition and I require a certain type of individual, capable of adapting to changing conditions. You each have much to contribute and I trust we will end our association not only as colleagues but as friends. I have no doubt that you will be tested greatly in the coming months, but I have perhaps one of the greatest tests for you tonight.’ Amundsen pauses and asks the captain to unroll his chart.
And there it is. Antarctica. Johansen chortles to himself. He finally understands the need for secrecy, and the absurd excuses for all the odd preparations.
‘I have deceived you,’ says Amundsen flatly. ‘We will not be heading round the Horn and up through the Bering Strait towards the North Pole. We are in fact heading due south. To Antarctica. To the South Pole.’
Amundsen examines the men’s faces. This is shattering news and they’re clearly dumbfounded. Except Johansen, of course, who has a grin spreading from ear to ear. Johansen elbows Helmer in the ribs. He too starts to smile. They’re going to race Captain Scott to the South Pole. No wonder Amundsen had to keep his true intentions a secret.
‘Anyone who wishes to be released from his contract must leave the Fram by tomorrow morning and return to Norway with my brother Leon. I will cover all the costs of your return travel.’
The smiles prove contagious. Each man turns to his neighbour and starts to talk. Several crewmen draw closer to Nilsen’s chart and point at the big black dot at the centre of the continent, drawing a line with their fingers out to the coast.
Captain Nilsen’s voice rises above the hubbub. ‘We need you each to signal your commitment to the new plan.’
Amundsen is already circulating among the men. He’s noticed Johansen, read his enthusiastic expression. ‘Up for adventure, Johansen?’
‘Never been readier.’
Amundsen nods mildly at the man Fridtjof Nansen insisted he bring on the expedition, practically made it impossible to refuse. The fact still irks him.
Adolf Lindstrøm doesn’t wait to be asked. ‘You’ll need a cook,’ he says, clasping Amundsen’s shoulders and planting a kiss on each cheek.
The familiarity doesn’t bother the chief – not from Lindstrøm, his beloved Northwest Passage cook. ‘Good on you, Fatty,’ he says.
‘And you, Helmer?’ Another veteran of the Northwest journey, Helmer is a restless spirit with unstinting loyalty. Amundsen barely needs to ask. Oscar Wisting is swept along by the excitement. He’s suddenly laughing with the national ski champion, Olav Bjaaland, at the boldness of the plan, at what’s being asked of them. Both lack experience and yet both are quick to offer their support.
Jørgen Stubberud squeezes in to shake Amundsen’s hand with his strong carpenter’s grip. ‘You’ve got me hook, line and sinker, sir.’
Relief eases the knot in Amundsen’s chest as more men pledge themselves to the expedition. For a whole year he’s held his secret so close. Now, with so many hands to shake, so many agreeing to accompany him, Amundsen allows the tension to leave his body. Who would have thought that revealing his hand would be so freeing?
‘Looks like you’ll be going home on your own,’ Amundsen says to his brother. ‘I’ll get the men to write to their families – tell them of the change in plan. You can take the letters with you.’ He reaches into his pocket and retrieves two envelopes. ‘Two from me to deliver. One to Nansen. One to the king.’
Leon swallows hard.
Amundsen ignores the feeble gesture and proffers a slip of paper. ‘You’ll need to send a telegram too.’
Leon looks down. The wording is simple and direct:
CAPTAIN SCOTT TERRA NOVA CHRISTCHURCH
BEG INFORM YOU FRAM PROCEEDING ANTARCTICA. AMUNDSEN.
‘This is it, Leon,’ says Amundsen with obvious delight. ‘Whether Scott likes it or not. The race is on.’