The wind is whistling among the hummocks; the snow flies rustling through the air; ice and sky are melted into one. It is dark; our skins are smarting with the cold; but we are going north at full speed, and are in the wildest of gay spirits.

A remarkable event happened yesterday afternoon: I got Munthe’s picture of the ‘Three Princesses’ fastened firmly on the wall. It is a thing that we have been going to do ever since we left Christiania, but we have never been able to summon up energy for such a heavy undertaking—it meant knocking in four nails—and the picture has amused itself by constantly falling and guillotining whoever happened to be sitting on the sofa below it.

Severe pressure has been going on this evening. It began at 7.30 astern in the opening, and went on steadily for two hours. It sounded as if a roaring waterfall were rushing down upon us with a force that nothing could resist. One heard the big floes crashing and breaking against each other. They were flung and pressed up into high walls, which must now stretch along the whole opening east and west, for one hears the roar the whole way.

As we were walking on the new ice in the opening it rose in furrows or cracked under our feet. Then it raised itself up into two high walls, between which we walked as if along a street, amidst unceasing noises, sometimes howling and whining like a dog complaining of the cold, sometimes a roar like the thunder of a great waterfall.

At supper this evening Peter told some of his remarkable Spitzbergen stories—about his comrade Andreas Bek. "Well, you see, it was up about Dutchman’s Island, or Amsterdam Island, that Andreas Bek and I were on shore and got in among all the graves. We thought we’d like to see what was in them, so we broke up some of the coffins, and there they lay. Some of them had still flesh on their jaws and noses, and some of them still had their caps on their heads. Andreas, he was a devil of a fellow, you see, and he broke up the coffins and got hold of the skulls, and rolled them about here and there. Some of them he set up for targets and shot at. Then he wanted to see if there was marrow left in their bones, so he took and broke a thigh-bone—and, sure enough, there was marrow; he took and picked it out with a wooden pin.“ "How could he do a thing like that?“ “‘Oh, it was only a Dutchman, you know.“

I saw now, too, that it was a large animal, and that it had only been its head that I had taken for a dog. It was not unlike a bear in its movements, but it seemed to me remarkably dark in color. I pulled the revolver out of the holster and rushed forward to empty all its barrels into the creature’s head. When I was just a few paces from it, and preparing to shoot, it raised its head and I saw that it was a walrus, and that same moment it threw itself sideways into the water. There we stood. To shoot at such a fellow with a revolver would be of as much use as squirting water at a goose.

An altitude of the moon taken this evening showed us to be in 79° 35′ north latitude—exactly what I had thought. We are so accustomed now to calculating our drift by the wind that we are able to tell pretty nearly where we are. This is a good step northward, if we could take many more such. In honor of the King’s birthday we have a treat of figs, raisins, and almonds.

I had about 600 pounds of pemmican and 200 pounds of bread brought up from the hold today and stowed on the forecastle. It is wrong not to have some provisions on deck against any sudden emergency, such as fire.

When I look at the picture of our beautiful home in the evening light, with my wife standing in the garden, I feel as if it were impossible that this could go on much longer. But only the merciless fates know when we shall stand there together again, feeling all life’s sweetness as we look out over the smiling fjord, and ... Taking everything into calculation, if I am to be perfectly honest, I think this is a wretched state of matters.

Day 180Is it the restlessness of spring that is beginning to come over one?—the desire for action, for something different from this indolent, enervating life? Is the soul of man nothing but a succession of moods and feelings, shifting as incalculably as the changing winds? Perhaps my brain is over-tired; day and night my thoughts have turned on the one point, the possibility of reaching the Pole and getting home. Perhaps it is rest I need—to sleep, sleep!

The longer I wander about and see this sort of ice in all directions, the more strongly does a plan take hold of me that I have long had in my mind. It would be possible to get with dogs and sledges over this ice to the Pole, if one left the ship for good and made one’s way back in the direction of Franz Josef Land, Spitzbergen, or the west coast of Greenland. It might almost be called an easy expedition for two men.

I took a long walk to the southwest, and got right in among it. Packing began where I stood, with roars and thunders below me and on every side. I jumped, and ran like a hare, as if I had never heard such a thing before; it came so unexpectedly. The ice was curiously flat there to the south; the farther I went the flatter it grew, with excellent sledging surface. Over such ice one could drive many miles a day.

When the drift is northward new life seems to come into me, and hope, the ever-young, springs fresh and green from under the winter snow. I see the way open before me, and I see the home-coming in the distance—too great happiness to believe in.

I got quite a start when I came on deck and saw a strong red light just above the edge of the ice in the south. It twinkled and changed color; it looked just as if some one were coming carrying a lantern over the ice; I actually believe that for a moment I so far forgot our surroundings as to think that it really was some person approaching from the south. It was Venus, which we see today for the first time, as it has till now been beneath the horizon. It is beautiful with its red light.

Blessing is at present engaged in counting blood corpuscles again, and estimating amounts of hæmoglobin. For this purpose he draws blood every month from every mother’s son of us, the bloodthirsty dog, with supreme contempt for all the outcry against vivisection.

I am lying in my berth, writing, reading, and dreaming. It is always a curious feeling to write for the first time the number of a New Year. Not till then does one grasp the fact that the old year is a thing of the past; the new one is here, and one must prepare to wrestle with it. Who knows what it is bringing? Good and evil, no doubt, but mostly good. It cannot but be that we shall go forward towards our goal and towards home.

One could not have a more beautiful New-year’s-eve. The aurora borealis is burning in wonderful colors and bands of light over the whole sky, but particularly in the north. Thousands of stars sparkle in the blue firmament among the northern lights. On every side the ice stretches endless and silent into the night. The rime-covered rigging of the Fram stands out sharp and dark against the shining sky.

For my own part, I can say that the Arctic night has had no aging, no weakening, influence of any kind upon me; I seem, on the contrary, to grow younger. This quiet, regular life suits me remarkably well, and I cannot remember a time when I was in better bodily health balance than I am at present. I differ from these other authorities to the extent of feeling inclined to recommend this region as an excellent sanatorium in cases of nervousness and general breakdown. This is in all sincerity.

Johansen gave notice of ‘a shooting-match by electric light, with free concert,’ for the evening. It was a pity for himself that he did, for he and several others were shot into bankruptcy and beggary, and had to retire one after the other, leaving their cigarettes behind them.

The same luxurious living as yesterday; a dinner of four courses. Shooting with darts at a target for cigarettes has been the great excitement of the day. Darts and target are Johansen’s Christmas present from Miss Fougner.

They will be thinking much of us just now at home and giving many a pitying sigh over all the hardships we are enduring in this cold, cheerless, icy region. But I am afraid their compassion would cool if they could look in upon us, hear the merriment that goes on, and see all our comforts and good cheer. They can hardly be better off at home. … Just listen to to-day’s dinner menu: 1. Ox-tail soup; 2. Fish-pudding, with potatoes and melted butter; 3. Roast of reindeer, with peas, French beans, potatoes, and cranberry jam; 4. Cloudberries with cream; 5. Cake and marchpane (a welcome present from the baker to the expedition; we blessed that man). And along with all this that Ringnes bock-beer which is so famous in our part of the world. Was this the sort of dinner for men who are to be hardened against the horrors of the Arctic night?

The bill of fare for the day, of course, surpassed any previous one—food was the chief thing we had to hold festival with. The dinner was a very fine one indeed; so was the supper, and after it piles of Christmas cakes came on the table; Juell had been busy making them for several weeks. After that we enjoyed a glass of toddy and a cigar, smoking in the saloon being, of course, allowed. The culminating point of the festival came when two boxes with Christmas presents were produced. The one was from Hansen’s mother, the other from his fiancée—Miss Fougner. It was touching to see the childlike pleasure with which each man received his gift—it might be a pipe or a knife or some little knickknack—he felt that it was like a message from home.

In the afternoon, as a first Christmas entertainment, we tried an ice-blasting with four prisms of gun-cotton. A hole was made with one of the large iron drills we had brought with us for this purpose, and the charge, with the end of the electric connecting wire, was sunk about a foot below the surface of the ice. Then all retired, the knob was touched, there was a dull crash, and water and pieces of ice were shot up into the air.

It is extraordinary, after all, how the time passes. Here we are at the shortest day, though we have no day. But now we are moving on to light and summer again. We tried to sound to-day; had out 2100 metres (over 1100 fathoms) of line without reaching the bottom. We have no more line; what is to be done? Who could have guessed that we should find such deep water?

Sverdrup and ‘Smith Lars’ in partnership have made a great bear-trap, which was put out on the ice to-day. As I was afraid of more dogs than bears being caught in it, it was hung from a gallows, too high for the dogs to jump up to the piece of blubber which hangs as bait right in the mouth of the trap. All the dogs spend the evening now sitting on the rail barking at this new man they see out there on the ice in the moonlight.

In the afternoon Peter came quietly into the saloon, and said that he heard all sorts of noises on the ice. There was a sound to the north exactly like that of ice packing against land, and then suddenly there was such a roar through the air that the dogs started up and barked. Poor Peter! They laugh at him when he comes down to give an account of his many observations; but there is not one among us as sharp as he is.

Why will it not snow? Christmas is near, and what is Christmas without snow, thickly falling snow? We have not had one snowfall all the time we have been drifting. The hard grains that come down now and again are nothing. Oh the beautiful white snow, falling so gently and silently, softening every hard outline with its sheltering purity! There is nothing more deliciously restful, soft, and white. This snowless ice-plain is like a life without love—nothing to soften it.

It was pitch-dark, but the dogs would find the tracks if there was anything there. Hansen thought he had seen something moving about the hummock near the ship, but we found and heard nothing, and, as several of the others had by this time come out on the ice and could also discover nothing, we scrambled on board again. It is extraordinary all the sounds that one can fancy one hears out on that great, still space, mysteriously lighted by the twinkling stars.

That was a wily demon of a bear, to be such a little one. He had crawled on board by the gangway, shoved away a box that was standing in front of it, taken the dog that stood nearest, and gone off with it. When he had satisfied the first pangs of his hunger, he had come back and fetched No. 2, and, if he had been allowed, he would have continued the performance until the deck was cleared of dogs. Then he would probably have come bumping down-stairs ‘and beckoned with cold hand’ in at the galley door to Juell.

This evening the dogs suddenly began to make a great commotion on deck. We were all deep in cards, … I had no shoes on, so said that someone else must go up and see what was the matter. Mogstad went. The noise grew worse and worse. Presently Mogstad came down and said that all the dogs that could get at the rail were up on it, barking out into the dark towards the north. He was sure there must be an animal of some sort there, but perhaps it was only a fox, … Well,—it must be a devil of a fox to excite the dogs like that.

This morning I took a long excursion to westward. It is hard work struggling over the packed ice in the dark, something like scrambling about a moraine of big boulders at night. Once I took a step in the air, fell forward, and bruised my right knee.

The arc lamp has shone like a sun to-day over a happy company. We have no difficulty now in distinguishing hearts from diamonds on our dirty cards. It is wonderful what an effect light has. I believe I am becoming a fireworshipper. It is strange enough that fire-worship should not exist in the Arctic countries.

As I was sitting drawing in the afternoon I was startled by a sudden report or crash. It seemed to be straight overhead, as if great masses of ice had fallen from the rigging on to the deck above my cabin. Every one starts up and throws on some extra garment; those that are taking an afternoon nap jump out of their berths right into the middle of the saloon, calling out to know what has happened. Pettersen rushes up the companion-ladder in such wild haste that he bursts open the door in the face of the mate.

The ice pressed at the stern at 5 o’clock this morning for about an hour. I lay in my berth and listened to it creaking and grinding and roaring. There was slight pressure again in the afternoon; nothing to speak of. No slackening in the forenoon.

This afternoon the ice cracked abaft the starboard quarter; this evening I see that the crack has opened. We may expect pressure now, as it is new moon either today or tomorrow

In the afternoon we had magnificent aurora borealis—glittering arches across the whole vault of the sky from the east towards west; but when I was on deck this evening the sky was overcast: only one star shone through the cloudy veil—the home star. How I love it! It is the first thing my eye seeks, and it is always there, shining on our path. I feel as if no ill could befall us as long as I see it there....

Sunday again, with its feeling of peace, and its permission to indulge in the narcotic of happy day-dreams, and let the hours go idly by without any prickings of conscience.

When I think of the many that trust us, think of Norway, think of all the friends that gave us their time, their faith, and their money, the wish comes that they may not be disappointed, and I grow sombre when our progress is not what we expected it would be. And she that gave most—does she deserve that her sacrifice should have been made in vain? Ah, yes, we must and will succeed!

Another dog has been bitten to death to-day—‘Fox’, a handsome, powerful animal. He was found lying dead and stiff on the ice at our stern this evening when they went to bring the dogs in, ‘Suggen’ performing her usual duty of watching the body. They are wretches, these dogs. But now I have given orders that someone must always watch them when they are out on the ice.

The disappointment lost no time in coming. There had been a mistake either in the observation or in Hansen’s calculations. An altitude of Jupiter taken yesterday evening shows us to be in 76° 36′ north latitude. The soundings today showed 74 fathoms (142 m.) of water, or about the same as yesterday, and the soundingline indicated a southwesterly drift. However anxious one is to take things philosophically, one can’t help feeling a little depressed.

This evening Hansen has worked out the observations of the day before yesterday, and finds that we are in 79° 11′ north latitude. That is good, and the way we ought to get on. It is the most northern point we have reached yet, and to-day we are in all likelihood still farther north. We have made good way these last days, and the increasing depth seems to indicate a happy change in the direction of our drift. Have we, perhaps, really found the right road at last?

The Fram is a warm, cozy abode. Whether the thermometer stands at 22° above zero or at 22° below it we have no fire in the stove. The ventilation is excellent, especially since we rigged up the air sail, which sends a whole winter’s cold in through the ventilator; yet in spite of this we sit here warm and comfortable, with only a lamp burning.

The newly formed ice is about 15 inches thick. It is hard on the top, but looser and porous below. This particular piece of ice began to form upon a large opening in the night between the 27th and 28th October, so it has frozen 15 inches in 15 days. I observed that it froze 3 inches the first night, and 5 inches altogether during the three first nights; so that it has taken 12 days to the last 10 inches.

This morning made despairing examinations of yesterday’s water samples with Thornöe’s electric apparatus. There must be absolute stillness on board when this is going on. The men are all terrified, slip about on tiptoe, and talk in the lowest possible whispers. But presently one begins to hammer at something on deck, and another to file in the engine-room, when the chief’s commanding voice is at once heard ordering silence.

I took temperatures and sea-water samples to-day every 10 yards from the surface to the bottom, The depth was 9½ fathoms. An extraordinarily even temperature of 30° Fahr. (-1.5 C.) through all the layers. I have noticed the same thing before as far south as this. So it is only polar water here?

Here I sit in the still winter night on the drifting ice-floe, and see only stars above me. Far off I see the threads of life twisting themselves into the intricate web which stretches unbroken from life’s sweet morning dawn to the eternal death-stillness of the ice. Thought follows thought—you pick the whole to pieces, and it seems so small—but high above all towers one form.... Why did you take this voyage?

I can sit and gaze and gaze, my eyes entranced by the dream-glow yonder in the west, where the moon’s thin, pale, silver sickle is dipping its point into the blood; and my soul is borne beyond the glow, to the sun, so far off now—and to the home-coming! Our task accomplished, we are making our way up the fjord as fast as sail and steam can carry us. On both sides of us the homeland lies smiling in the sun; and then ... the sufferings of a thousand days and hours melt into a moment’s inexpressible joy.

A great race on the ice was advertised for today. The course was measured, marked off, and decorated with flags. The cook had prepared the prizes—cakes, numbered, and properly graduated in size. The expectation was great; but it turned out that, from excessive training during the few last days, the whole crew were so stiff in the legs that they were not able to move. We got our prizes all the same. One man was blindfolded, and he decided who was to have each cake as it was pointed at.

We can see the aurora borealis in the daytime too. I saw a very remarkable display of it about 3 this afternoon. On the southwestern horizon lay the glow of the sun; in front of it light clouds were swept together—like a cloud of dust rising above a distant troop of riders. Then dark streamers of gauze seemed to stretch from the dust-cloud up over the sky, as if it came from the sun, or perhaps rather as if the sun were sucking it into itself from the whole sky.

We have good wind for the mill now, and the electric lamps burn all day. The arc lamp under the skylight makes us quite forget the want of sun. Oh! light is a glorious thing, and life is fair in spite of all privations! This is Sverdrup’s birthday, and we had revolver practice in the morning. Of course a magnificent dinner of five courses —chicken soup, boiled mackerel, reindeer ribs with baked cauliflower and potatoes, macaroni pudding, and stewed pears with milk—Ringnes ale to wash it down.

I took up the dredge I had put out yesterday. It brought up two pails of mud from the bottom, and I have been busy all day washing this out in the saloon in a large bath, to get the many animals contained in it. They were chiefly starfish, waving starfish, medusae (Astrophyton), sea-slugs, coral insects (Alcyonaria), worms, sponges, shell-fish, and crustaceans; and were, of course, all carefully preserved in spirits.

Peter shot a white fox this morning close in to the ship. For some time lately we have been seeing fox-tracks in the mornings, and one Sunday Mogstad saw the fox itself. It has, no doubt, been coming regularly to feed on the offal of the bears. Shortly after the first one was shot another was seen; it came and smelt its dead comrade, but soon set off again and disappeared.

Nothing of any importance. Moonshine night and day. A glow in the south from the sun.

It is disgusting the way we are muddling about here. We must have got into a hole where the ice grinds round and round, and can’t get farther. And the time is passing all to no purpose; and goodness only knows how long this sort of thing may go on. If only a good south wind would come and drive us north out of this hobble!

(First anniversary of the Fram’s launching) Great celebration of the day, beginning with target-shooting. Then we had a splendid dinner of four courses, which put our digestive apparatus to a severe test. The Fram’s health was drunk amidst great and stormy applause. The proposer’s words were echoed by all hearts when he said that she was such an excellent ship for our purpose that we could not imagine a better (great applause), and we therefore wished her, and ourselves with her, long life (hear, hear!).

The windmill, which has been ready for several days, has been tried at last and works splendidly. We have beautiful electric light today, though the wind has not been especially strong (…). Electric lamps are a grand institution. What a strong influence light has on one’s spirits! There was a noticeable brightening-up at the dinner-table today; the light acted on our spirits like a draught of good wine.

Peter gave it as his opinion that the pressure was coming from the northeast, for he had heard the noise approaching from that direction. Johansen let down the silk net for me about 11 fathoms. It was all he could do to get it up again in time, but it brought up a good catch. Am still keeping in.

Still in the den. Today, 5 fathoms shallower than yesterday. The line points southwest, which means that we are drifting northeast-ward. Hansen has reckoned out the observation for the 19th, and finds that we must have got 10 minutes farther north, and must be in 78° 15′ Northern latitude. So at last, now that the wind has gone down, the north-going current is making itself felt.

Henriksen took soundings this morning, and found 70 fathoms (129 m.) of water. “If we are drifting at all,” said he, “it is to the east; but there seems to be almost no movement.” No wind today. I am keeping in my den.

I have stayed in today because of an affection of the muscles, or rheumatism, which I have had for some days on the right side of my body, and for which the doctor is ‘massaging’ me, thereby greatly adding to my sufferings. Have I really grown so old and palsied, or is the whole thing imagination? … A nice Arctic hero of 32, lying here in my berth!

In the morning I attempted a drive with six of the dogs. When I had managed to harness them to the Samoyede sledge, had seated myself on it, and called ‘Pr-r-r-r, pr-r-r-r!’ they went off in quite good style over the ice. But it was not long before we came to some high pack-ice and had to turn. This was hardly done before they were off back to the ship at lightning speed, and they were not to be got away from it again. … I tugged, swore, and tried everything I could think of, but all to no purpose. I got out and tried to hold the sledge back, but was pulled off my feet, and dragged merrily over the ice in my smooth sealskin breeches, on back, stomach, side - just as it happened.

When the meteorologist, Johansen, was on deck this morning reading the thermometers, he noticed that the dogs, which are now tied up on board, were barking loudly down at something on the ice. He bent over the rail astern, near the rudder, and saw the back of a bear below him, close in at the ship’s side. Off he went for a gun, and the animal fell with a couple of shots. We saw afterwards by its tracks that it had inspected all the heaps of sweepings round the ship.

Continuous movement in the ice. It slackened a little again during the night; some way off to starboard there was a large opening. Shortly after midnight there was strong pressure, and between 11 and 12 A.M. came a tremendous squeeze; since then it has slackened again a little.

Ice quiet and close. Observations on the 12th placed us in 78° 5′ north latitude. Steadily southward. This is almost depressing.

To our surprise, the ice did not slacken away much during last night after the violent pressure; and, what was worse, there was no indication of slackening in the morning, now that we were quite ready to go. Slight signs of it showed themselves a little later, upon which I gave orders to get up steam.

This evening the pressure has been pretty violent. The floes were packed up against the Fram on the port side, and were once or twice on the point of toppling over the rail. The ice, however, broke below; they tumbled back again, and had to go under us after all.

Now we are in the very midst of what the prophets would have had us dread so much. The ice is pressing and packing round us with a noise like thunder. It is piling itself up into long walls, and heaps high enough to reach a good way up the Fram’s rigging; in fact, it is trying its very utmost to grind the Fram into powder. But here we sit quite tranquil, not even going up to look at all the hurly-burly, but just chatting and laughing as usual.

It is horribly difficult to manage a little fishing here. No sooner have you found an opening to slip your tackle through than it begins to close again, and you have to haul up as hard as you can, so as not to get the line nipped and lose everything. It is a pity, for there are interesting hauls to be made. One sees phosphorescence in the water here whenever there is the smallest opening in the ice. There is by no means such a scarcity of animal life as one might expect.

The ice is restless, and has pressed a good deal today again. It begins with a gentle crack and moan along the side of the ship, which gradually sounds louder in every key. Now it is a high plaintive tone, now it is a grumble, now it is a snarl, and the ship gives a start up. The noise steadily grows till it is like all the pipes of an organ; the ship trembles and shakes, and rises by fits and starts, or is sometimes gently lifted.

The ice continues disturbed.

All at once in the afternoon, as we were sitting idly chattering, a deafening noise began, and the whole ship shook. This was the first ice-pressure. Every one rushed on deck to look. The Fram behaved beautifully, as I had expected she would. On pushed the ice with steady pressure, but down under us it had to go, and we were slowly lifted up.

Beautiful weather. Made a snow-shoe expedition westward, all the dogs following. The running was a little spoiled by the brine, which soaks up through the snow from the surface of the ice … breaking through it. I seated myself on a snow hummock far away out; the dogs crowded round to be patted. My eye wandered over the great snow plain, endless and solitary—nothing but snow, snow everywhere.

What depth of beauty, with an undercurrent of endless sadness, there is in these dreamily glowing evenings! The vanished sun has left its track of melancholy flame. Nature’s music, which fills all space, is instinct with sorrow that all this beauty should be spread out day after day, week after week, year after year, over a dead world. Why? Sunsets are always sad at home too. This thought makes the sight seem doubly precious here and doubly sad.

As the dogs will freeze if they are kept tied up and get no exercise, we let them loose this afternoon, and are going to try if we can leave them so. Of course they at once began to fight, and some poor creatures limped away from the battle-field scratched and torn. But otherwise great joy prevailed; they leaped, and ran, and rolled themselves in the snow.

The result of the medical inspection today was the discovery that we still have bugs on board; … All the old clothes, fur rugs, and such things, were carefully carried up on to the deck, and kept there the whole winter. This was more than even these animals could stand; 53° C. of cold proved to be too much for them, and we saw no more of them. As the bug is made to say in the popular rhyme: “Put me in the boiling pot, and shut me down tight; But don’t leave me out on a cold winter night!”

While we were hauling up the line in the afternoon the ice cracked a little astern of the Fram, and the crack increased in breadth so quickly that three of us, who had to go out to save the ice-anchors, were obliged to make a bridge over it with a long board to get back to the ship again.

“A bear! a bear!” I snatched up my rifle and tore out. “Where is it?” “There, near the tent, on the starboard side; it came right up to it, and had almost got hold of them!” And there it was, big and yellow, snuffing away at the tent gear. Hansen, Blessing, and Johansen were running at the top of their speed towards the ship. … The bear in the meantime had done sniffing, and had probably determined that an iron spade, an ice-staff, an axe, some tent-pegs, and a canvas tent were too indigestible food even for a bear’s stomach.

We are taking a day of rest, which means eating, sleeping, smoking, and reading.

I am not satisfied that the Fram’s present position is a good one for the winter. The great floe on the port side to which we are moored sends out an ugly projection about amidships, which might give her a bad squeeze in case of the ice packing. We therefore began to-day to warp her backward into better ice. It is by no means quick work.

Dr. Blessing’s birthday, in honor of which we of course had a fête, our first great one on board. There was a double occasion for it. Our midday observation showed us to be in latitude 79° 5′ north; so we had passed one more degree. We had no fewer than five courses at dinner, and a more than usually elaborate concert during the meal.

Today the dogs’ hour of release has come. Until now their life on board has been really a melancholy one. They have been tied up ever since we left Khabarova. The stormy seas have broken over them, and they have been rolled here and there in the water on the deck; they have half hanged themselves in their leashes, howling miserably; they have had the hose played over them every time the deck was washed; they have been sea-sick … When they were let loose there was a perfect storm of jubilation. They rolled in the snow, washed and rubbed themselves, and rushed about the ice in wild joy, barking loudly.

Nordahl, who is cook today, had to haul up some salt meat which, rolled in a sack, had been steeping for two days in the sea. As soon as he got hold of it he called out, horrified, that it was crawling with animals. He let go the sack and jumped away from it, the animals scattering round in every direction. They proved to be sandhoppers, or Amphipoda, which had eaten their way into the meat.

Not infrequently in the evening, when I have been sitting absorbed in work, I have jumped up to listen when the dogs barked, thinking to myself, who can be coming? Then I remember that I am not at home, but drifting out in the middle of the frozen Polar Sea, at the commencement of the second long Arctic night. The temperature has been down to 1.4° Fahr. below zero (-17° C.) today; winter is coming on fast.

This evening we have seen the moon again for the first time—beautiful full moon—and a few stars were also visible in the night sky, which is still quite light.

The midnight sun disappeared some days ago, and already the sun sets in the northwest; it is gone by 10 o’clock in the evening, and there is once more a glow over the eternal white. Winter is coming fast. Another peaceful Sunday, with rest from work, and a little reading.

Have I been married five years to-day? Last year this was a day of victory—when the ice-fetters burst at Taymyr Island—but there is no thought of victory now; we are not so far north as I had expected; the northwest wind has come again, and we are drifting south. And yet the future does not seem to me so long and so dark as it sometimes has done.

The day before yesterday, when I was sitting with some of the others in the saloon in the afternoon, I heard a dull report out in the galley, and said at once that it sounded like an explosion. Presently Pettersen stuck a head in at the door as black as a sweep’s, great lumps of soot all over it, and said that the stove had exploded right into his face; he was only going to look if it was burning rightly, and the whole fiendish thing flew out at him. A stream of words not unmingled with oaths flowed like peas out of a sack, while the rest of us yelled with laughter.

Have tried my newly invented coal-oil apparatus for heating the range, and it is beyond expectation successful. It is splendid that we shall be able to burn coal-oil in the galley. Now there is no fear of our having to cry ourselves blind for lack of light by-and-by. This adds more than 4000 gallons to our stock of oil; and we can keep all our fine petroleum now for lighting purposes, and have lamps for many a year, even if we are a little extravagant. The 20 tons of coal-oil ought to keep the range going for 4 years, I think.

Then we talked about what we should do when we did get home. ‘Oh, for your part, no doubt you’ll be off to the South Pole,’ he (Pettersen) said. ‘And you?’ I replied. ‘Will you tuck up your sleeves and begin again at the old work?’ ‘Oh, very likely! But on my word I ought to have a week’s holiday first. After such a trip I should want it, before buckling to at the sledge-hammer again.’

Just as Blessing was going below after his watch to-night, and was standing by the rail looking out, he saw a white form that lay rolling in the snow a little way off to the southeast. Afterwards it remained for a while lying quite still. Johansen, who was to relieve Blessing, now joined him, and they both stood watching the animal intently. Presently it got up, so there was no longer any doubt as to what it was. Each got hold of a rifle and crept stealthily towards the forecastle, where they waited quietly while the bear cautiously approached the ship, making long tacks against the wind.

If it keeps on as it is now, there will be excellent snow-shoeing in the winter; for it is fresh water that now freezes on the surface, so that there is no salt that the wind can carry from the new ice to spoil the snow all around, as was the case last winter. Such snow with salt in it makes as heavy a surface as sand.

Strange how little alteration there is: we drift a little to the north, then a little to the south, and keep almost to the same spot. But I believe, as I have believed all along, since before we even set out, that we should be away three years, or rather three winters and four summers, neither more nor less, and that in about two years’ time from this present autumn we shall reach home. The approaching winter will drift us farther, however slowly, and it begins already to announce itself, for there were four degrees of cold last night.

Yesterday evening, as I was lying in my berth reading, and all except the watch had turned in, I heard the report of a gun on deck over my head. Thinking it was a bear, I hurriedly put on my sea-boots and sprang on deck. There I saw Johansen bareheaded, rifle in hand. ‘Was it you that fired the shot?’ ‘Yes. I shot at the big hummock yonder—I thought something was stirring there, and I wanted to see what it was, but it seems to have been nothing.’ I went to the railings and looked out. ‘I fancied it was a bear that was after our meat—but it was nothing.’ As we stood there one of the dogs came jogging along from the big hummock. ‘There, you see what you have shot at,’ I said, laughing. ‘I’m bothered if it wasn’t a dog!’ he replied. ‘Ice-bear’ it was, true enough, for so we called this dog. It had seemed so large in the fog, scratching at the meat hummock.

A glorious evening. I took a stroll over the ice among the lanes and hummocks. It was so wonderfully calm and still. Not a sound to be heard but the drip, drip of water from a block of ice, and the dull sound of a snow-slip from some hummock in the distance. The sun is low down in the north, and overhead is the pale blue dome of heaven, with gold-edged clouds. The profound peace of the Arctic solitudes.

I do not think we shall talk any more about the shallow Polar Sea, where land may be expected anywhere. We may very possibly drift out into the Atlantic Ocean without having seen a single mountain-top. An eventful series of years to look forward to!”

Hansen practiced kayak-paddling this afternoon on the pool around the ship, from which several channels diverge over the ice; but he was not content with paddling round in them, but must, of course, make an experiment in capsizing and recovering himself as the Eskimos do. It ended by his not coming up again, losing his paddle, remaining head downward in the water, and beating about with his hands till the kayak filled, and he got a cold bath from top to toe.

Our sailmakers, Sverdrup and Amundsen, have today finished covering the first double kayak with sail-cloth. Fully equipped, it weighs 30.5 kilos. (60 lbs.). I think it will prove a first-rate contrivance. Sverdrup and I tried it on a pool. It carried us splendidly, and was so stiff that even sitting on the deck we could handle it quite comfortably. It will easily carry two men with full equipment for 100 days. A handier or more practical craft for regions like this I cannot well imagine.

Today my longing has at last been satisfied. I have shot Ross’s gull,”1 three specimens in one day. This rare and mysterious inhabitant of the unknown north, which is only occasionally seen, and of which no one knows whence it cometh or whither it goeth, which belongs exclusively to the world to which the imagination aspires, is what, from the first moment I saw these tracts, I had always hoped to discover, as my eyes roamed over the lonely plains of ice. And now it came when I was least thinking of it.

On July 31st ‘Kvik’ again increased our population by bringing eleven puppies into the world, one of which was deformed, and was at once killed; two others died later, but most of them grew up and became fine, handsome animals.

From morning till evening and till late in the night I am absorbed with the microscope, and see nothing around me. I live with these tiny beings in their separate universe, where they are born and die, generation after generation; where they pursue each other in the struggle for life, and carry on their love affairs with the same feelings, the same sufferings, and the same joys that permeate every living being from these microscopic animalcules up to man—self-preservation and propagation—that is the whole story.

I pass the day at the microscope. I am now busied with the diatoms and algae of all kinds that grow on the ice in the uppermost fresh stratum of the sea. These are undeniably most interesting things, a whole new world of organisms that are carried off by the ice from known shores across the unknown Polar Sea, there to awaken every summer and develop into life and bloom.

Yesterday evening the last cigar out of the old box! And now I have smoked the first out of the last box I have got. We were to have got so far by the time that box was finished; but are scarcely any farther advanced than when I began it, and goodness knows if we shall be that when this, too, has disappeared. But enough of that. Smoke away.

Went on excursion with Blessing in the forenoon to collect specimens of the brown snow and ice, and gather seaweed and diatoms in the water. The upper surface of the floes is nearly everywhere of a dirty brown color, or, at least, this sort of ice preponderates, while pure white floes, without any traces of a dirty brown on their surface, are rare. I imagined this brown color must be due to the organisms I found in the newly-frozen, brownish-red ice last autumn (October); but the specimens I took to-day consist, for the most part, of mineral dust mingled with diatoms and other ingredients of organic origin.

Now I am almost longing for the polar night, for the everlasting wonderland of the stars with the spectral northern lights, and the moon sailing through the profound silence. It is like a dream, like a glimpse into the realms of fantasy. There are no forms, no cumbrous reality—only a vision woven of silver and violet ether, rising up from earth and floating out into infinity...

It was in this same pool that we tried one day if one of our boats could carry all thirteen of us at once. When the dogs saw us all leave the ship to go to the pool, they followed us in utter bewilderment as to what this unusual movement could mean; but when we got into the boat they, all of them, set to work and howled in wild despair; thinking, probably, that they would never see us again. Some of them swam after us, while two cunning ones, “Pan” and “Kvik,” conceived the brilliant idea of galloping round the pool to the opposite side to meet us.

The anniversary of our departure from home. Northerly wind; still drifting south. Observations today gave 81° 41′ 7″ north latitude, so we are not going at a breakneck speed. It has been a long year—a great deal has been gone through in it—though we are not quite as far advanced as I had anticipated. I am sitting, and looking out of the window at the snow whirling round in eddies as it is swept along by the north wind. A strange Midsummer-day!

I have seen many Midsummer-eves under different skies, but never such a one as this. So far, far from all that one associates with this evening. I think of the merriment round the bonfires at home, hear the scraping of the fiddle, the peals of laughter, and the salvoes of the guns, with the echoes answering from the purple-tinted heights. And then I look out over this boundless, white expanse into the fog and sleet and the driving wind. Here is truly no trace of midsummer merriment. It is a gloomy lookout altogether!

Everything in this life depends on what one has made up one’s mind to. One person sets forth to sail in open water, perhaps to the very Pole, but gets stuck in the ice and laments; another is prepared to get stuck in the ice, but will not grumble even should he find open water. It is ever the safest plan to expect the least of life, for then one often gets the most.

The ice gets softer and softer every day, and large pools of water are formed on the floes all around us. In short, the surface is abominable. The snow-shoes break through into the water everywhere. Truly one would not be able to get far in a day now should one be obliged to set off towards the south or west. It is as if every outlet were blocked, and here we stick—we stick.

Today I made a joyful discovery. I thought I had begun my last bundle of cigars, and calculated that by smoking one a day they would last a month, but found quite unexpectedly a whole box in my locker. Great rejoicing! it will help to while away a few more months, and where shall we be then?

Oddly enough we have had no cases of snow-blindness on board, with the exception of the doctor, who, a couple of days ago, after we had been playing at ball, got a touch of it in the evening. The tears poured from his eyes for some time, but he soon recovered. Rather a humiliating trick of fate that he should be the first to suffer from this ailment.

Today I have moved with my work up into the deck-house again, where I can sit and look out of the window in the daytime, and feel that I am living in the world and not in a cavern, where one must have lamplight night and day. I intend remaining here as long as possible out into the winter: it is so cozy and quiet, and the monotonous surroundings are not constantly forcing themselves in upon me.

Have just been out on a snow-shoe excursion with Sverdrup in a southerly direction, the first for a long while. The condition of the ice has altered, but not for the better; the surface, indeed, is hard and good, but the pressure-ridges are very awkward, and there are crevasses and hummocks in all directions. A sledge expedition would make poor enough progress on such ice as this.

Another of the puppies died in the forenoon from one of those mysterious attacks, and I cannot conceal from myself that I take it greatly to heart, and feel low-spirited about it, I have been so used to these small polar creatures living their sorrowless life on deck, romping and playing around us from morning to evening, and a little of the night as well. I can watch them with pleasure by the hour together, or play with them as with little children—have a game at hide-and-seek with them round the skylight, the while they are beside themselves with glee.

I have no doubt now about the success of the expedition, and my miscalculation was not so great, after all; but I scarcely think we shall drift higher than 85°, even if we do that. It will depend on how far Franz Josef Land extends to the north. In that case it will be hard to give up reaching the Pole; it is in reality a mere matter of vanity, merely child’s play, in comparison with what we are doing and hoping to do; and yet I must confess that I am foolish enough to want to take in the Pole while I am about it, and shall probably have a try at it if we get into its neighborhood within any reasonable time.

Ulenka, too, the handsomest dog in the whole pack, our consolation and our hope, suddenly became ill the other day. It was the morning of May 24th that we found it paralyzed and quite helpless, lying in its cask on deck. It kept trying to get up, but couldn’t, and immediately fell down again—just like a man who has had a stroke and has lost all power over his limbs. It was at once put to bed in a box and nursed most carefully; except for being unable to walk, it is apparently quite well.

Went out on snow-shoes in the forenoon. The ice has been very much broken up in various directions, owing to the continual winds during the last week. The lanes are difficult to cross over, as they are full of small pieces of ice, that lie dispersed about, and are partly covered with drift-snow. This is very deceptive, for one may seem to have firm ice under one at places where, on sticking one’s staff in, it goes right down without any sign of ice.

May 17th (The anniversary of the Norwegian Constitution) was celebrated yesterday with all possible festivity. In the morning we were awakened with organ music—the enlivening strains of the ‘College Hornpipe.’ After this a splendid breakfast off smoked salmon, ox tongues, etc., etc. The whole ship’s company wore bows of ribbon in honor of the day—even old ‘Suggen’ (one of the dogs) had one round his tail.

She (the Fram) went backward towards her goal in the north, with her nose ever turned to the south. It is as though she shrank from increasing her distance from the world; as though she were longing for southern shores, while some invisible power is drawing her on towards the unknown. Can it be an ill omen, this backward advance towards the interior of the Polar Sea? I cannot think it; even the crab ultimately reaches its goal.

We had not expected to meet with much bird life in these desolate regions. Our surprise, therefore, was not small when on Whitsunday, May 13th, a gull paid us a visit.

In the afternoon we let the puppies loose on the ice, and ‘Kvik’ at once took long expeditions with them to familiarize them with their surroundings. First she introduced them to our meteorological apparatus, then to the bear-trap, and after that to different pressure-mounds. They were very cautious at first, staring timidly all around, and venturing out very slowly, a step at a time, from the ship’s side; but soon they began to run riot in their newly discovered world.

We go and bathe ourselves in the broiling sun along her warm sides, where the thermometer is actually above freezing-point, smoke a peaceful pipe, gazing at the white spring clouds that lightly fleet across the blue expanse. Some of us perhaps think of spring-time yonder at home, when the birch-trees are bursting into leaf.

Juell and Peter had often disputed together during the winter as to the thickness of ice the Fram had under her. Peter, who had seen a good deal of the ice before, maintained that it must at least be 20 feet thick, while Juell would not believe it, and betted 20 kroner that it was not as thick as that. Juell has undertaken to make a bore, but unfortunately our borer reaches no farther than 16 feet down. Peter, however, has undertaken to cut away the 4 feet that are lacking.

But beneath this crust, hundreds of fathoms down, there teems a world of checkered life in all its changing forms, a world of the same composition as ours, with the same instincts, the same sorrows, and also, no doubt, the same joys; everywhere the same struggle for existence. So it ever is. If we penetrate within even the hardest shell we come upon the pulsations of life, however thick the crust may be.

I was lying awake yesterday morning thinking about getting up, when all at once I heard the hurried footsteps of someone running over the half-deck above me, and then another followed. There was something in those footsteps that involuntarily made me think of bears, and I had a hazy sort of an idea that I ought to jump up out of bed, but I lay still, listening for the report of a gun. I heard nothing, however, and soon fell a-dreaming again.

A remarkable event was to take place to-day which, naturally, we all looked forward to with lively interest. It was an eclipse of the sun. (…) The watch was then at 12 hrs. 56 min. 7.5 sec. A dark body advanced over the border of the sun 7½ seconds later than we had calculated on. It was an immense satisfaction for us all, especially for Hansen, for it proved our chronometers to be in excellent order.

Our workshops can be highly recommended; they turn out good solid work. We have lately had a notable addition to our industries, the firm ‘Nansen & Amundsen’ having established a music-factory. The cardboard plates of the organ had suffered greatly from wear and damp, so that we had been deplorably short of music during the winter. But yesterday I set to work in earnest to manufacture a plate of zinc. It answers admirably, and now we shall go ahead with music sacred and profane, especially waltzes,

We are again drifting southward, and the wind is northerly. The midday observation showed 80° 4′ north latitude. But why so dispirited? I am staring myself blind at one single point—am thinking solely of reaching the Pole and forcing our way through to the Atlantic Ocean. And all the time our real task is to explore the unknown polar regions. Are we doing nothing in the service of science? It will be a goodly collection of observations that we shall take home with us from this region, with which we are now rather too well acquainted. The rest is, and remains, a mere matter of vanity. ‘Love truth more, and victory less.’

Still I must wait, and watch the drift; but should it take a wrong direction, then I will break all the bridges behind me, and stake everything on a northward march over the ice. I know nothing better to do. It will be a hazardous journey—a matter, maybe, of life or death. But have I any other choice? “It is unworthy of a man to set himself a task, and then give in when the brunt of the battle is upon him. There is but one way, and that is Fram—forward.

Easter Eve. Today a notable event has occurred. We have allowed the light of spring to enter the saloon. During the whole of the winter the skylight was covered with snow to keep the cold out, and the dogs’ kennels, moreover, had been placed round it. Now we have thrown out all the snow upon the ice, and the panes of glass in the skylight have been duly cleared and cleaned.

It is remarkable how quickly the nights have grown light. Even stars of the first magnitude can now barely manage to twinkle in the pale sky at midnight.

A strong southeasterly wind still, and a good drift northward. Our spirits are rising. The wind whistles through the rigging overhead, and sounds like the sough of victory through the air.

The equinox is past, and we are not one degree farther north since the last equinox. I wonder where the next will find us. Should it be more to the south, then victory is uncertain; if more to the north, the battle is won, though it may last long. I am looking forward to the summer; it must bring a change with it.

Sverdrup has of late been occupied in making sails for the ship’s boats. Today there was a light southwesterly breeze, so we tried one of the sails on two hand-sledges lashed together. It is first-rate sailing, and does not require much wind to make them glide along. This would be a great assistance if we had to go home over the ice.

The dogs are strange creatures. This evening they are probably sweltering in their kennels again, for four or five of them are lying outside or on the roof. When there are 50 degrees of cold most of them huddle together inside, and lie as close to one another as possible. Then, too, they are very loath to go out for a walk; they prefer to lie in the sun under the lee of the ship. But now they find it so mild and such pleasant walking that today it was not difficult to get them to follow.

As I was jumping over a lane I thrust one leg through the ice up to the knee. Oddly enough, I did not get wet through to the skin, though I only had Finn shoes and frieze gaiters on; but in this temperature, 38° Fahr. Below zero (-39° C.), the water freezes on the cold cloth before it can penetrate it. I felt nothing of it afterwards; it became, as it were, a plate of ice armor that almost helped to keep me warm.

Ugh! this north wind is freshening; the barometer has risen again, and I had thought the wind would have changed, but it is and remains the same. “This is what March brings us—the month on which my hopes relied. Now I must wait for the summer. Soon the half-year will be past, it will leave us about in the same place as when-it began. Ugh! I am weary—so weary! Let me sleep, sleep!

It is strange how one’s sensations alter. When at home, I find it unpleasant if I only go out-of-doors when there are some 20 degrees of cold, even in calm weather. But here I don’t find it any colder when I turn out in 50 degrees of cold, with a wind into the bargain. Sitting in a warm room at home one gets exaggerated ideas about the terribleness of the cold.

As usual, it has done me good to put my despondency on paper and get rid of it. Today I am in good spirits again, and can indulge in happy dreams of a large and high land in the north with mountains and valleys, where we can sit under the mountain wall, roast ourselves in the sun, and see the spring come. And over its inland ice we can make our way to the very Pole.

We have been having northerly winds for more than a fortnight. I cannot conceal from myself any longer that I am beginning to despond. Quietly and slowly, but mercilessly, one hope after the other is being crushed and ... have I not a right to be a little despondent?

Can there be land north of us? We are drifting badly south. It is hard to keep one’s faith alive. There is nothing for it but to wait and see what time will do.

There has been a general weighing this evening again. These weighings are considered very interesting performances, and we stand watching in suspense to see whether each man has gained or lost. Most of them have lost a little this time. Can it be because we have stopped drinking beer and begun lime-juice?

Sverdrup and I have been a long way northeast on snow-shoes. The ice was in good condition for it; the wind has tossed about the snow finely, covering over the pressure-ridge as far as the scanty supply of material has permitted.

The preparations for the expedition cost me several years of precious life; but now I do not grudge them: my object is attained. On the drifting ice we live a winter life, not only in every respect better than that of previous expeditions, but actually as if we had brought a bit of Norway, of Europe, with us. We are as well off as if we were at home. All together in one saloon, with everything in common, we are a little part of the fatherland, and daily we draw closer and closer together.

The pups have lived until now in the chart-room, and have done all the mischief there that they could, gnawing the cases of Hansen’s instruments, the log-books, etc. They were taken out on deck yesterday for the first time, and today they have been there all the morning. They are of an inquiring turn of mind, and examine everything, being specially interested in the interiors of all the kennels in this new, large town.

We put on a new lead and the whole line ran out, about 2000 fathoms, without touching bottom, so far as we could make out. In process of hauling in, the steel line broke again. So the results are: no bottom, and two sounding-leads, each of 100 pounds’ weight, making their way down. Goodness knows if they have reached the bottom yet. I declare I feel inclined to believe that Bentzen is right, and that it is the hole at the earth’s axis we are trying to sound.

I had a bath this evening in a tin tub in the galley; trimmed and clean, one feels more of a human being.

Drifting E.S.E. My pessimism is justified. A strong west wind has blown almost all day; the barometer is low, but has begun to rise unsteadily. The temperature is the highest we have had all winter; today’s maximum is 15° Fahr. above zero (-9.7° C.).

This is the strongest wind we have had the whole winter. If anything can shake up the ice and drive us north, this must do it. But the barometer is falling too fast; there will be north wind again presently. Hope has been disappointed too often; it is no longer elastic; and the gale makes no great impression on me. I look forward to spring and summer, in suspense as to what change they will bring.

Observations today show us to be in 79° 54′ north latitude, 132° 57′ east longitude. Strange that we should have come so far south when the north or northwest wind only blew for twenty-four hours.

An observation of Capella taken in the afternoon would seem to show that we are in any case not farther north than 80° 11′ and this after almost four days’ south wind. Whatever can be the meaning of this? Is there dead-water under the ice, keeping it from going either forward or backward?

Took up the bag-nets today which were put out the day before yesterday. In the upper one, which hung near the surface, there were chiefly amphipoda; in Murray’s net, which hung at about 50 fathoms’ depth, there was a variety of small crustacea and other small animals shining with such a strong phosphorescence that the contents of the net looked like glowing embers as I emptied them out in the cook’s galley by lamplight.

It looks as if the ice were drifting eastward now. Oh! I see pictures of summer and green trees and rippling streams. I am reading of valley and mountain life, and I grow sick at heart and enervated. Why dwell on such things just now? It will be many a long day before we can see all that again. We are going at the miserable pace of a snail, but not so surely as it goes. We carry our house with us; but what we do one day is undone the next.

Both today and yesterday we have seen the mirage of the sun again; today it was high above the horizon, and almost seemed to assume a round, disk-like form. Some of the others maintain that they have seen the upper edge of the sun itself; Peter and Bentzen, that they have seen at least half of the disk, and Juell and Hansen declare that the whole of it was above the horizon. I am afraid it is so long since they saw it that they have forgotten what it is like.

“To-day another noteworthy thing happened, which was that about midday we saw the sun, or, to be more correct, an image of the sun, for it was only a mirage. A peculiar impression was produced by the sight of that glowing fire lit just above the outermost edge of the ice. According to the enthusiastic descriptions given by many Arctic travellers of the first appearance of this god of life after the long winter night, the impression ought to be one of jubilant excitement; but it was not so in my case.

I was clothed yesterday as usual as regards the legs—drawers, knickerbockers, stockings, frieze leggings, snowsocks, and moccasins; my body covering consisted of an ordinary shirt, a wolf-skin cape, and a sealskin jacket, and I sweated like a horse.

Nature is so fair and pure, the ice is so spotless, and the lights and shadows of the growing day so beautiful on the new-fallen snow. The Fram’s hoar-frost-covered rigging rises straight and white with rime towards the sparkling blue sky. One’s thoughts turn to the snow-shoeing days at home.

Today we drove out with two teams of dogs. Things went well; the sledges got on much better over this ice than I thought they would. They do not sink much in the snow. On flat ice four dogs can draw two men.

It was … an unwelcome surprise when yesterday’s observation showed our latitude to be 79° 57′ N., 13′ farther south instead of farther north. It is extraordinary how little inured one gets to disappointments; the longing begins again; and again attainment seems so far off, so doubtful. And this though I dream at nights just now of getting out of the ice west of Iceland. Hope is a rickety craft to trust one’s self to.

We had lime-juice with sugar at dinner today instead of beer, and it seemed to be approved of. We call it wine, and we agreed that it was better than cider. Weighing has gone on this evening, and the increase in certain cases is still disquieting. Some have gained as much as 4 pounds in the last month—for instance, Sverdrup, Blessing, and Juell, who beats the record on board with 13 stone. ‘I never weighed so much as I do now,’ says Blessing, and it is much the same story with us all.

A strong sun-glow above the horizon in the south; yellow, green, and light blue above that; all the rest of the sky deep ultramarine. I stood looking at it, trying to remember if the Italian sky was ever bluer; I do not think so.

Last time we shall have Ringnes beer at dinner. Day of mourning.

High festival today in honor of the 80th degree, beginning with fresh rye-bread and cake for breakfast. Took a long walk to get up an appetite for dinner. According to this morning’s observation, we are in 80° 10′ north latitude and 132° 10′ east longitude. Hurrah! Well sailed! I had offered to bet heavily that we had passed 80°, but no one would take the bet.

It may be taken for granted that we have passed the 80th degree, and we had a small preliminary fête this evening—figs, raisins, and almonds—and dart-shooting, which last resulted for me in a timely replenishment of my cigarette-case.”