 CHAPTER VI Monday, January 1, 1894. The year began well. I was awakened by Yule's cheerful voice, wishing me a happy New Year. He had come to give me a cup of coffee in bed, delicious Turkish coffee, his Christmas present from Miss Fogner. It is beautiful clear weather with a thermometer at 36 degrees below zero minus 38 degrees Celsius. It almost seems to me as if the twilight in the south were beginning to grow. The upper edge of it today was 14 degrees above the horizon. An extra good dinner at 6 p.m., one tomato soup, two cod roe with melted butter and potatoes, three roast reindeer with green peas, potatoes, and cranberry jam, four cloudberries with milk. Bring this beer. I do not know if this begins to give any impression of great sufferings and privations. I am lying in my birth, 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 the 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 most good. It cannot but be that we shall go forward towards our goal and towards home. Life is rich and wreathed in roses gaze forth into a world of dreams. Yes, lead us. If not to our goal, that would be too early. At least towards it, strengthen our hope, but perhaps, no, no perhaps. These brave boys of mine deserve to succeed. There is not a doubt in their minds. Each one's whole heart is set on getting north. I can read it in their faces. It shines from every eye. There is one sigh of disappointment every time that we hear that we are drifting south. One sigh of relief when we begin to go north again to the unknown. And it is in me and my theories that they trust. What if I have been mistaken and am leading them astray? Oh, I could not help myself. We are the tools of powers beyond us. We are born under lucky or unlucky stars. Till now I have lived under a lucky one. Is its light to be darkened? I am superstitious, no doubt, but I believe in my star. And Norway, our fatherland, what has the old year brought to thee? And what is the new year bringing? Vain to think of that, but I look at our pictures, the gifts of wear and should, Kitty Kelland, Shredsvig, Honstein, Isle of Petersen, and I am at home, at home. Wednesday, January 3rd. The old lane, about 1300 feet ahead of the Fram, has opened again, a large rift with a coating of ice and rime. As soon as ice is formed in this temperature, the frost forces it to throw out its salinity on the surface, and this itself freezes into pretty salt flowers resembling whore frost. The temperature is between 38 degrees Fahrenheit, minus 39 degrees Celsius, and 40 degrees Fahrenheit, minus 40 degrees Celsius, below zero. But when there is added to this abiding wind, with a velocity of from 9 to 16 feet per second, it must be allowed that it is rather cool in the shade. Sferdrup and I agreed today that the Christmas holidays had better stop now, and the usual life begin again. Too much idleness is not good for us. It cannot be called a full nor complicated one this life of ours, but it has one advantage, that we are all satisfied with it, such as it is. They are still working in the engine room, but expect to finish what they are doing to the boiler in a few days, and then all is done there. Then the turning lathe is to be set up in the hole, and tools for it have to be forged. There is often a job for Smith Lars, and then the forge flames forward by the forecastle, and sends its red glow onto the rhyme-covered ringing, and farther up into the starry night, and out over the waste of ice. From far off you can hear the strokes on the anvil ringing through the silent night. When one is wandering alone out there, and the well-known sound reaches one's ear, and one sees the red glow, memory recalls less solitary scenes. While one stands gazing, perhaps a light moves along the deck, and slowly up the rigging. It is Johansson on his way up to the crow's nest to read the temperature. Blessing is at present engaged in counting blood-core puzzles again, and estimating amounts of hemoglobin. 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. Hansson and his assistant take observations. The meteorological ones, which are taken every four hours, are Johansson's special department. First he reads the thermometer, hygrometer, and the thermograph on deck. They were afterwards kept on the ice. Next the barometer, barograph, and thermometer in the saloon. And then the minimum and maximum thermometers in the crow's nest, this to take the record of the temperature of a higher airstratum. Then he goes to read the thermometers that are kept on the ice to measure the radiations from its surface, and perhaps down to the hole, too, to see what the temperature is there. Every second day as a rule, astronomical observations are taken to decide our whereabouts and keep us up to date in the crabs progress we are making. Taking these observations with the thermometer between 22 degrees Fahrenheit and 40 degrees Fahrenheit below zero, minus 30 degrees Celsius to minus 40 degrees Celsius, is a very mixed pleasure. Standing still on deck, working with these fine instruments and screwing in metal screws with one's bare fingers, is not altogether agreeable. It often happens that they must slap their arms about and tramp hard up and down the deck. They are received with shouts of laughter when they reappear in the saloon after the performance of one of these thundering, nigger breakdowns above our heads that has shaken the whole ship. We ask innocently if it was cold on deck. Not the very least, says Hansen, just a pleasant temperature. And your feet are not cold now? No, I can't say that they are, but one's fingers get a little cold sometimes. Two of his had just been frostbitten, but he refused to wear one of the wolfskin suits which I had given out for the meteorologists. It is too mild for that yet, and it does not do to pamper oneself, he says. I believe it was when the thermometer stood at 40 degrees below zero that Hansen rushed up on deck one morning in shirt and drawers to take an observation. He said he had not time to get on his clothes. At certain intervals they also take magnetic observations on the ice these two. I watch them standing there with lanterns bending over their instruments, and presently I see them tearing away over the flow, their arms swinging like the sails of a windmill when there is a wind pressure of 32 to 39 feet, but it is not at all cold. I cannot help thinking of what I have read in the accounts of some of the earlier expeditions, namely that at such temperatures it was impossible to take observations. It would take worse than this to make these fellows give in. In the intervals between their observations and calculations I hear a murmuring in Hansen's cabin, which means that the principle is at present occupied in inflicting a dose of astronomy or navigation upon his assistant. It is something dreadful the amount of card-playing that goes on in the saloon in the evenings now. The gaming demon is abroad far into the night. Even our model Sverdrup is possessed by him. They have not yet played the shirts off their backs, but some of them have literally played the bread out of their mouths. Two poor riches have had to go without fresh bread for a whole month because they had forfeited their rations of it to their opponents. But all the same this card-playing is a healthy, harmless recreation, giving occasion for much laughter, fun, and pleasure. An Irish proverb says, be happy, and if you cannot be happy, be careless, and if you cannot be careless, be as careless as you can. This is good philosophy which, know what need of proverbs here, where life is happy. It was in all sincerity that Amundsen burst out yesterday with, yes, isn't it just as I say, that we are the luckiest men on earth that can live up here where we have no cares, get everything given us without needing to trouble about it, and are well off in every possible way. Hanson agreed that it certainly was a life without care. You all said much the same a little ago. What seems to please him most is that there are no summonses here, no creditors, no bills, and I, yes, I am happy too. It is an easy life, nothing that weighs heavy on one, no letters, no newspapers, nothing disturbing, just that monastic out of the world existence that was my dream when I was younger and yearned for quietness in which to give myself up to my studies. Longing, even when it is strong and sad, is not unhappiness. A man has truly no right to be anything but happy when fate permits him to follow up his ideals, exempting him from the wearing strain of everyday cares that he may with clearer vision strive towards a lofty goal. Where there is work, successful follow, said a poet of the land of work. I am working as hard as I can, so I suppose success will pay me a visit by and by. I'm lying on the sofa, reading about canes, misfortunes, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes. Truth obliges me to confess that I have become addicted to the vice I condemn so strongly, but flesh is grass, so I blow the smoke clouds into the air and dream sweet dreams. It is hard work, but I must do the best I can. Thursday, January 4th. It seems as if the twilight were increasing quite perceptibly now, but this is very possibly only imagination. I am in good spirits in spite of the fact that we are drifting south again. After all, what does it matter? Perhaps the gain to science will be as great, and after all, I suppose this desire to reach the North Pole is only a piece of vanity. I have now a very good idea of what it must be like up there. I like that, say you. Our deep water here is connected with is a part of the deep water of the Atlantic Ocean. Of this there can be no doubt. And have not I found that things go exactly as I calculated they would whenever we get a favorable wind? Have not many before us had to wait for wind? And as to vanity, that is a child's disease got over long ago. All calculations, with but one exception, have proved correct. We made our way along the coast of Asia, which many prophesied we should have great difficulty in doing. We were able to sail farther north than I had dared to hope for in my boldest moments and in just the longitude I wished. We are closed in by the ice also as I wished. The Fromm has borne the ice pressure splendidly and allows herself to be lifted by it without so much as creaking in spite of being more heavily loaded with coal and drawing more water than we reckoned on when we made our calculations. And this, after her certain destruction and ours, was prophesied by those most experienced in such matters. I have not found the ice higher nor heavier than I expected it to be, and the comfort, warmth, and good ventilation on board are far beyond my expectations. Nothing is wanting in our equipment and the food is quite exceptionally good. As Blessing and I agreed a few days ago, it is as good as at home. There is not a thing we long for, not even the thought of a beef steak a la Chateaubriand or a pork cutlet with mushrooms and a bottle of burgundy can make our mouths water. We simply don't care about such things. 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. In one point only have my calculations proved incorrect, but unfortunately in one of the most important. I presupposed a shallow polar sea, the greatest depth known in these regions up till now being 80 fathoms found by the Genet. I reasoned that all currents would have a strong influence in the shallow polar sea, and that on the Asiatic side, the current of the Siberian rivers would be strong enough to drive the ice a good way north. But here I already find a depth which we cannot measure, with all our line, a depth of certainly 1,000 fathoms, and possibly double that. This at once upsets all faith in the operation of a current. We find either none or an extremely slight one. My only trust now is in the winds. Columbus discovered America by means of a mistaken calculation, and even that not his own, heaven only knows where my mistake will lead us. Only I repeat once more, the Siberian driftwood on the coast of Greenland cannot lie, and the way it went, we must go. Monday, January 8th. Little Leave is a year old today. It will be a feth day at home. As I was lying on the sofa reading after dinner, Peter put his head in at the door and asked me to come up and look at a strange star which had just shown itself above the horizon, shining like a beacon flame. 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 someone 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. Curious that it should happen to come today. It must be Leave Star as Jupiter is the home star and Leave's birthday is a lucky day. We are on our way north again. According to observations, we are certainly north of 79 degrees north latitude. On the home day, September 6th, the favorable wind began to blow that carried us along the coast of Asia. Perhaps Leave's day has brought us into a good current and we are making the real start for the north under her star. Friday, January 12th. There was pressure about 10 o'clock this morning in the opening forward but I could see no movement when I was there a little later. I followed the opening some way to the north. It is pretty cold work walking with the thermometer at 40 degrees Fahrenheit below zero and the wind blowing with a velocity of 16 feet per second straight in your face. But now we are certainly drifting fast to the north under Leave's star. After all, it is not quite indifferent to me whether we are going north or south. When the drift is northwards, new life seems to come into me and hope that every 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. Sunday, January 14th. Sunday again. The time is passing almost quickly and there is more light every day. There was great excitement today when yesterday evening's observations were being calculated. All guests that we had come a long way north again. Several thought to 79 degrees 18 minutes or 20 minutes. Others, I believe, insisted on 80 degrees. The calculation places us in 79 degrees, 19 minutes north latitude, 137 degrees, 31 minutes east longitude. A good step onwards. Yesterday the ice was quiet but this morning there was considerable pressure in several places. Goodness knows what is causing it just now. It is a whole week after new moon. 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. Monday, January 15th. There was pressure forward both this morning and towards noon but we heard the loudest sounds from the north. Sverdrup, Moxted and Peter went in that direction and were stopped by a large open channel. Peter and I afterwards walked a long distance north northeast past a large opening that I had skirted before Christmas. It was shining flat ice, splendid for sledging on, always better the farther north we went. 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 Josefland, Spitzbergen or the west coast of Greenland. It might almost be called an easy expedition for two men. But it would be too hasty to go off in spring. We must first see what kind of drift the summer brings. And as I think over it, I feel doubtful if it would be right to go off and leave the others. Imagine if I came home and they did not. Yet it was to explore the unknown polar regions that I came. It was for that the Norwegian people gave their money and surely my first duty is to do that if I can. I must give the drift plan a longer trial yet, but if it takes us in a wrong direction then there is nothing for it but to try the other. Come what may. Thursday, January 16th. The ice is quiet today. Does longing stupify one or does it wear itself out and turn it last into stolidity? Oh that burning longing night and day was happiness, but now its fire has turned to ice. Why does home seem so far away? It is one's all life. Without, it is so empty, so empty. Nothing but dead emptiness. Is it the restlessness of spring that is beginning to come over one, the desire for action, for something different from this indolent, innervating 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 overtired. 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. Am I afraid of venturing my life? No, it cannot be that. But what else then can be keeping me back? Perhaps a secret doubt of the practicability of the plan? My mind is confused. The whole thing has got into a tangle. I am a riddle to myself. I am worn out, and yet I do not feel any special tiredness. Is it perhaps because I sat up reading last night? Everything around is emptiness, and my brain is a blank. I look at the home pictures and am moved by them in a curious, dull way. I look into the future and feel as if it does not much matter to me whether I get home in the autumn of this year or next. So long as I get home in the end, a year or two seem almost nothing. I have never thought this before. I have no inclination to read, nor to draw, nor to do anything else, whatever. Folly, shall I try a few pages of Schopenhauer? No, I will go to bed, though I am not sleepy. Perhaps if the truth were known, I am longing now more than ever. The only thing that helps me is writing, trying to express myself on these pages and then look again at myself as if it were from the outside. Yes, man's life is nothing but a succession of moods, half memory, and half hope. Thursday, January 18th. The wind that began yesterday has gone on blowing all today with a velocity of 16 to 19 feet per second from south, southeast, southeast, and east, southeast. It has no doubt helped us on a good way north, but it seems to be going down. Now, about midnight, it has sunk to 13 feet, and the barometer which has been rising all the time has suddenly begun to fall. Let us hope that it is not a cyclone passing over us bringing northerly wind. It is curious that there is almost always a rise of the thermometer with these stronger winds. Today it rose to 13 degrees Fahrenheit below zero, minus 25 degrees Celsius. A south wind of less velocity generally lowers the temperature, and the moderate north wind raises it. Payer's explanation of this raising of the temperature by strong winds is that the wind is warmed by passing over large openings in the ice. This can hardly be correct at any rate in our case, for we have few or no openings. I am rather inclined to believe that the rise is produced by air from higher strata being brought down to the surface of the earth. It is certain that the higher air is warmer than the lower, which comes into contact with snow and ice surfaces cooled by radiation. Our observations go to prove that such is the case. Add to this that the air in its fall is heated by the rising pressure. The strong wind, even if it does not come from the higher strata of the atmosphere, must necessarily make some confusion in the mutual position of the various strata, mixing the higher with those below them, and vice versa. I had a strange dream last night. I had got home. I can still feel something of the trembling joy mixed with fear with which I neared land and the first telegraph station. I had carried out my plan. We had reached the North Pole on sledges and then got down to Franz Josefland. I had seen nothing but drift ice and when people asked what it was like up there and how we knew we had been to the pole, I had no answer to give. I had forgotten to take accurate observations and now began to feel that this had been stupid of me. It is very curious that I had an exactly similar dream when we were drifting on the ice flows along the East Coast of Greenland and thought that we were being carried farther and farther from our destination. Then I dreamed that I had reached home after crossing Greenland on the ice but that I was ashamed because I could give no account of what I had seen on the way. I had forgotten everything. Is there not a lucky omen in the resemblance between these two dreams? I attained my aim the first time, bad as things looked. Shall I not do so this time too? If I were superstitious, I should feel sure of it but even though I am not at all superstitious, I have a firm conviction that our enterprise must be successful. This belief is not merely the result of the last two days south wind. Something within me says that we shall succeed. I laugh now at myself for having been weak enough to doubt it. I can spend hours staring into the light, dreaming of how, when we land, I shall grope my way to the first telegraph station trembling with emotion and suspense. I write out telegram after telegram. I ask the clerk if he can give me any news from home. Friday, January 19th, splendid wind with velocity of 13 to 29 feet per second. We are going north at a grand rate. The red glowing twilight is now so bright about midday that if we were in more southern latitudes we should expect to see the sunrise bright and glorious above the horizon in a few minutes. But we shall have to wait a month yet for that. Saturday, January 20th. I had about 600 pounds of pemicin 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. Sunday, January 21st. We took a long excursion to the northwest. The ice in that direction, too, was tolerably flat. Sferdrup and I got on the top of a high pressure mound at some distance from here. It was in the center of what had been very violent packing, but all the same the wall at its highest was not over 17 feet, and this was one of the highest and biggest altogether that I have seen yet. An altitude of the moon taken this evening showed us to be in 79 degrees, 35 minutes 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 northwards if we could take many such more. In honor of the king's birthday we have a treat of figs, raisins, and almonds. Tuesday, January 23rd. When I came on deck this morning, Caiaphas was sitting out on the ice on the port quarter, barking incessantly to the east. I knew there must be something there and went off with a revolver, Sferdrup following with one also. When I got near the dog he came to meet me, always wriggling his head round to the east and barking. Then he ran on before us in that direction. It was plain that there was some animal there and, of course, it could only be a bear. The full moon stood low and red in the north and sent its feeble light obliquely across the broken ice surface. I looked out sharply in all directions over the hummocks, which cast long, many-shaped shadows, but I could distinguish nothing in this confusion. We went on, Caiaphas first, growling and barking and pricking his ears and I after him, expecting every moment to see a bear loom up in front of us. Our course was eastwards along the opening. The dog presently began to go more cautiously and straighter forward. Then he stopped making any noise except a low growl we were evidently drawing near. I mounted a hummock to look about and cut sight among the blocks of ice of something dark which seemed to be coming towards us. There comes a black dog, I called. No, it is a bear, said Sverdrup, who is more to the side of it and could see better. 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. The great black head showed again immediately in a strip of moonlight on the dark water. The animal took a long look at us, disappeared for a little, appeared again nearer, bobbed up and down, blue, lay with its head underwater, shoved itself over towards us, raised its head again. It was enough to drive one mad. If we had only had a harpoon, I could easily have stuck it into its back. Yes, if we had had. And back to the from we ran as fast as our legs would carry us to get harpoon and rifle. But the harpoon and line were stored away and were not to be had at once. Who could have guessed that they would be needed here? The harpoon point had to be sharpened and all this took time. And for all our searching afterwards east and west along the opening, no walrus was to be found. Goodness knows where it had gone as there are hardly any openings in the ice for a long distance round. Sphere drip an eye vainly fret over not having known at once what kind of animal it was for if we had only guessed we should have him now. But who expects to meet a walrus on close ice in the middle of a wild sea of a thousand fathoms depth and that in the heart of winter? None of us ever heard of such a thing before. It is a perfect mystery. As I thought we might have come upon shoals or into the neighborhood of land, I had soundings taken in the afternoon with 130 fathoms, 240 meters of line, but no bottom was found. By yesterday's observations we are in 79 degrees, 41 minutes north latitude and 135 degrees, 29 minutes east longitude. That is good progress north and it does not much matter that we have been taken a little west. The clouds are driving this evening before a strong south wind so we shall likely be going before it soon too. In the meantime there is a breeze from the south so slight that you hardly feel it. The opening on our stern lies almost east and west. We could see no end to it westwards when we went after the walrus and Mogstead and Peter had gone three miles east and it was as broad as ever there. Wednesday, January 24th. At supper this evening Peter told some of his remarkable Spitzbergen stories about his comrade Andreas Beck. Well, you see, it was up about Dutchman's Island or Amsterdam Island that Andreas Beck 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 such a thing like that? Oh, it was only a Dutchman, you know, but he had a bad dream that night had Andreas. All the dead men came to fetch him and he ran from them and got right out on the bowsprit and there he sat and yelled while the dead men stood on the forecastle and the one with his broken thigh bone and his hand was foremost and he came crawling out and wanted Andreas to put it together again. But just then he wakened. We were lying in the same birth, you see, Andreas and me and I sat up in the birth and laughed listening to him yelling, I wouldn't awaken him, not I, I thought it was fun to hear him getting paid out a little. It was bad of you, Peter, to have any part in that horrid plundering of dead bodies. Oh, I never did anything to them, you know, just once I broke up a coffin to get wood to make a fire for our coffee, but when we opened it the body just fell to pieces but it was juicy wood that better to burn than the best fur roots, such a fire as it made. One of the others now remarked, wasn't it the devil that used a skull for his coffee cup? Well, he hadn't anything else, you see, and he just happened to find one. There was no harm in that, was there? Then Jakobson began to hold forth. It's not at all such an uncommon thing to use skulls for shooting at either because people fancy them for targets or because of some other reason. They shoot in through the eye holes, et cetera, et cetera. I asked Peter about Tobiason's coffin if it had ever been dug up to find out if it was true that his men had killed him and his son. No, that one has never been dug up. I sailed past there last year, begins Jakobson again. I didn't go ashore, but it seems to me that I heard that it had been dug up. That's just rubbish, it has never been dug up. Well, said I, it seems to me that I've heard something about it too. I believe it was here on board, and I am very much mistaken if it was not yourself that said it, Peter. No, I never said that. All I said was that a man once struck a walrus spear through the coffin and it's sticking there yet. What did he do that for? Oh, just because he wanted to know if there was anything in the coffin, and yet he didn't want to open it, you know, but let him lie in peace now. Friday, January 26th. Peter and I went eastwards along the opening this morning for about seven miles, and we saw where it ends in some old pressure ridges. Its whole length is over seven miles. Movement in the ice began on our way home. Indeed, there was pretty strong pressure all the time. 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. We were often obliged to take refuge on the old ice, either because we came to open water with a confusion of floating blocks, or because the line of the packing had gone straight across the opening and there was a wall in front of us like a high frozen wave. It seemed as if the ice on the south side of the opening where the from is lying were moving east or else that on the north side was moving west, for the flows on the two sides slanted in towards each other in these directions. We saw tracks of a little bear which had trotted along the opening the day before. Unfortunately, it had gone off southwest and we had small hope with this steady south wind of its getting sent of the ship and coming to fetch a little of the flesh on board. Saturday, January 27th. The days are turning distinctly lighter now. We can just see to read Verden's gong about midday. At that time today Sverdrup thought he saw land far astern. It was dark and irregular in some places high. He fancied that it might be only in appearance of clouds. When I returned from a walk about one o'clock, I went up to look but saw only piled up ice. Perhaps this was the same as he saw or possibly I was too late. It turned out next day to be only an optical illusion. Severe pressure has been going on this evening. It began about 7.30 a stern 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 flows 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. It is coming nearer just now. The ship is getting violent shocks. It is like waves in the ice. They come on us from behind and move forward. We stare out into the night but can see nothing for it is pitch dark. Now I hear cracking and shifting in the hammock on the starboard quarter. It gets louder and stronger and extends steadily. At last the waterfall roar abates a little. It becomes more unequal. There is a longer interval between each shock. I am so cold that I creep below. But no sooner have I seated myself to right than the ship begins to heave and tremble again and I hear through her sides the roar of the packing. As the bear trap may be in danger three men go off to see to it but they find that there is a distance of 50 paces between the new pressure ridge and the wire by which the trap is secured so they leave it as it is. The pressure ridge was an ugly sight they say but they could distinguish nothing well in the dark. Most violent pressure is beginning again. I must go on deck and look at it. The loud roar meets one as one opens the door. It is coming from the bow now as well as from the stern. It is clear that pressure ridges are being thrown up in both openings so if they reach us we shall be taken by both ends and lifted lightly and gently out of the water. There is pressure near us on all sides. Creaking has begun in the old hammock on the port quarter. It is getting louder and so far as I can see the hammock is slowly rising. A lane has opened right across the large flow on the port side you can see the water dark as it is. Now both pressure and noise get worse and worse. The ship shakes and I feel as if I myself were being gently lifted with the stern rail where I stand gazing out at the welter of ice masses that resemble giant snakes writhing and twisting their great bodies out there under the quiet starry sky whose peace is only broken by one aurora serpent waving and flickering restlessly in the northeast. I once more think what a comfort it is to be safe on board the Fram and look out with a certain contempt at the horrible, hurly burly nature is raising to no purpose whatever. It will not crush us in a hurry nor even frighten us. Suddenly I remember that my fine thermometer is in a hole on a flow to the port on the other side of the opening and must certainly be in danger. I jump onto the ice, find a place where I can leap across the opening and grope about in the dark until I find the piece of ice covering the hole. I get hold of the string and the thermometer is saved. I hurry on board again well pleased and down into the comfortable cabin to smoke a pipe of peace. Alas, this vice grows upon me more and more and to listen with glee to the roar of the pressure outside and feel its shakings like so many earthquakes as I sit and write my diary. Safe and comfortable I cannot but think with deep pity of the many who have had to stand by on deck in readiness to leave their frail vessels on the occurrence of any such pressure. The poor Tegithoff fellows, they had a bad time of it and yet theirs was a good ship in comparison with many of the others. It is now 11.30 and the noise outside seems to be subsiding. It is remarkable that we should have this strong pressure just now with the moon in its last quarter and neeptide. This does not agree with our previous experiences. No more does the fact that the pressure the day before yesterday was from 12 a.m. to about 2 p.m. and then again at 2 a.m. and now we have had it from 7.30 to 10.30 p.m. Can land have something to do with it here after all? The temperature today is 42 degrees Fahrenheit below zero, minus 41.4 degrees Celsius. But there is no wind and we have not had such pleasant weather for walking for a long time. It feels almost mild here when the air is still. No, that was not the end of the pressure. When I was on deck at a quarter to 12, roaring and trembling began again in the ice forward on the port quarter, then suddenly came one loud boom after another, sounding out in the distance and the ship gave a start. There was again a little pressure and after that quietness, faint aurora borealis. Sunday, January 28th. Strange to say there has been no pressure since 12 o'clock last night. The ice seems perfectly quiet. The pressure ridge astern showed what violent packing yesterday's was. In one place its height was 18 or 19 feet above the surface of the water. Flow ice eight feet thick was broken, pressed up in square blocks and crushed to pieces. At one point a huge monolith of such flow ice rose high into the air. Beyond this pressure wall there was no great disturbance to be detected. There had been a little packing here and there and the flow to port had four or five large cracks across it, which no doubt accounted for the explosions I heard last night. The ice to starbird was also cracked in several places. The pressure had evidently come from the north or northeast. The ridge behind us is one of the highest I have seen yet. I believe that if the Fram had been lying there she would have been lifted right out of the water. I walked for some distance in a northeasterly direction but saw no signs of pressure there. Another Sunday it is wonderful that the time can pass so quickly as it does. For one thing we are in better spirits knowing that we are drifting subtly north. A rough estimate of today's observation gives 79 degrees 50 minutes north latitude. That is not much since Monday but then yesterday and today there has been almost no wind at all. And the other days it has been very light only once or twice with as much as nine feet velocity the rest of the time three and six. A remarkable event happened yesterday afternoon. I got Munti's picture of the three princesses fast and 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. Tuesday January 30th 79 degrees 49 minutes north latitude 134 degrees 57 minutes east longitude is the tale told by this afternoon's observations. While by Sunday afternoons we were in 79 degrees 50 minutes north latitude and 133 degrees 23 minutes east longitude. This fall off to the southeast again was not more than I had expected as it has been almost calm since Sunday. I explained the thing to myself thus. When the ice has been set adrift in a certain direction by the wind blowing that way for some time it gradually in process of drifting becomes more compressed and when that wind dies away a reaction in the opposite direction takes place. Such a reaction must I believe have been the cause of Saturday's pressure which stopped entirely as suddenly as it began. Since then there has not been the slightest appearance of movement in the ice. Probably the pressure indicates the time when the drift turned. A light breeze has sprung up this afternoon from southeast and east southeast increasing gradually to almost mill wind. We are going north again. Surely we shall get the better of the 80th degree this time. Wednesday January 31st. 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. End of file 12. File 13 of Farthest North, volume one. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Sharon Riscadal. Farthest North by Fritjaf Nansen, volume one. Chapter six, the winter night, part five. Thursday, February 1st. The same sort of weather is yesterday except that it has turned quite mild. Minus seven and a half degrees Fahrenheit below zero. Minus 22 degrees Celsius. The snow is falling exactly as it does in winter weather at home. The wind is more southerly, south southeast now and rather lighter. It may be taken for granted that we have passed the 80th degree and we had a small preliminary fit this evening. Figs, raisins and almonds and dart shooting which last resulted for me in a timely replenishment of my cigarette case. Friday, February 2nd. 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 and appetite for dinner. According to this morning's observation we are in 80 degrees, 10 minutes north latitude and 132 degrees, 10 minutes east longitude. Huvra well sailed. I had offered to bet heavily that we had passed 80 degrees but no one would take the bet. Dinner menu, oxtail soup, fish pudding, potatoes, risoles, green peas, haricot beans, cloudberries with milk and a whole bottle of beer to each man. Coffee and a cigarette after dinner. Could one wish for more? In the evening we had tinned pears and peaches, gingerbread, dried bananas, figs, raisins and almonds, complete holiday all day. We read aloud the discussions of this expedition published before we left and had some good laughs at the many objections raised but our people at home perhaps do not laugh if they read them now. Monday, February 5th. Last time we shall have ring the spirit dinner. Tuesday, February 6th. Calm clear weather, 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. It is curious that this deep color should always occur along with cold. Is it perhaps that a current from more northerly clear regions produces drier and more transparent air in the upper strata? The color was so remarkable today that one could not help noticing it. Striking contrasts to it were formed by the from's red deckhouse and the white snow on roof and rigging. Ice and hummocks were quite violet wherever they were turned from the daylight. This color was specially strong over the fields of snow upon the flows. The temperature has been 52 degrees Fahrenheit and 54 degrees Fahrenheit below zero, minus 47 degrees and minus 48 degrees Celsius. There is a sudden change of 125 degrees Fahrenheit when one comes up from the saloon, where the thermometer is at 72 degrees Fahrenheit, plus 22 degrees Celsius. But although thinly clad and bareheaded, one does not feel it cold and can even with impunity take hold of the brass door handle or the steel cable of the rigging. The cold is visible, however. One's breath is like cannon smoke before it is out of one's mouth. And when a man spits, there is quite a little cloud of steam round the fallen moisture. The from's red deckhouse the from always gives off a mist, which is carried along by the wind. And a man or a dog can be detected far off among the hummocks or pressure ridges by the pillar of vapor that follows his progress. Wednesday, February 7th. It is extraordinary what a frail thing hope or rather the mind of man is. There was a little breeze this morning from the north northeast, only six feet per second, thermometer at 57 degrees Fahrenheit below zero, minus 49.6 degrees Celsius. And immediately one's brow is clouded over and it becomes a matter of indifference how we get home so long as we only get home soon. I immediately assume land to the northward from which come these cold winds with clear atmosphere and frost and bright blue skies and conclude that this extensive tract of land must form a pole of cold with a constant maximum of air pressure which will force us south with northeast winds. About midday the air began to grow more hazy and my mood less gloomy. No doubt there is a south wind coming but the temperature is still too low for it. Then the temperature too rises and now we can rely on the wind. And this evening it came, sure enough, from south southwest and now 12 p.m. its velocity is 11 feet and the temperature has risen to 43 degrees Fahrenheit below zero minus 42 degrees Celsius. This promises well we should soon reach 81 degrees. The land to the northward has now vanished from my mind's eye. 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 four pounds in the last month. For instance, Sphere Drop, Blessing, and Ewell who beats the record on board with 13 stone. I never weighed as much as I do now says Blessing and it is much the same story with us all. Yes, this is a fatiguing expedition but our menus are always in due proportion to our labors. Today's dinner, Knorr's Bean Soup, Toad in the Hole, Potatoes, Rice and Milk with Cranberry Jam. Yesterday's dinner, Fish O Gratin, Hashed Fish with Potatoes, Curried Rabbit with Potatoes and French Beans, Stood Billberries and Cranberries with Milk. At breakfast yesterday we had freshly baked wheat bread at breakfast today, freshly baked rye bread. These are specimens of our ordinary Bill's affair. It is, as I expected. I hear the wind roaring and the rigging now. It is going to be a regular storm according to our ideas of one here. Saturday, February 10th. Though that wind the other day did not come too much after all, we still hoped that we had made Goodway North and it was consequently an unwelcome surprise when yesterday's observation showed our latitude to be 79 degrees 57 minutes North, 13 minutes 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 night's just now of getting out of the ice west of Iceland. Hope is a rickety craft to trust oneself to. I had a long successful drive with the dogs today. Sunday, February 11th. 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. Tuesday, February 13th. A long drive southwest yesterday with white dogs. Today still farther in the same direction on snowshoes. It is good healthy exercise with a temperature of 43 degrees Fahrenheit to 47 degrees Fahrenheit below zero, minus 42 degrees and minus 44 degrees Celsius and a biting North wind. 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 from's horfrost covered rigging rises straight and white with rhyme towards the sparkling blue sky. One's thoughts turn to the snowshoeing days at home. Thursday, February 15th. I went yesterday on snowshoes farther northeast than I have ever been before, but I could still see the ships rigging above the edge of the ice. I was able to go fast because the ice was flat in that direction. Today I went the same way with dogs. I am examining the lie of the land all round and thinking of plans for the future. What exaggerated reports of the Arctic cold are in circulation. It was cold in Greenland and it is not milder here. The general day temperature just now was about 40 degrees Fahrenheit and 43 degrees Fahrenheit below zero. I was clothed yesterday as usual as regards the legs, drawers, knickerbockers, stockings, freeze leggings, snow socks, and moccasins. My body covering consisted of an ordinary shirt, a wolf skin cape, and a seal skin jacket and I sweated like a horse. Today I sat still driving with only thin ducks above my ordinary legwear and on my body woolen shirt, vest, Iceland woolen jersey, a freeze coat, and a seal skin one. I found the temperature quite pleasant and even perspired a little today too. Both yesterday and today I had a red flannel mask on my face but it made me too warm and I had to take it off though there was a bitter breeze from the north. That north wind is still persistent, sometimes with a velocity of nine or even 13 feet but yet we do not seem to be drifting south. We lie in 80 degrees north latitude or even a few minutes farther north. What can be the reason of this? There is a little pressure every day just now. Curious that it should again occur at the moon's change of quarter. The moon stands high in the sky and there is daylight now too. Soon the sun will be making his appearance and when he does we shall hold high festival. Friday, February 16th. Hurrah, a meridian observation today shows 80 degrees one minute north latitude so that we have come a few minutes north since last Friday and that in spite of constant northerly winds since Monday. There's something very singular about this. Is it as I have thought all along from the appearance of the clouds and the haziness of the air that there has been south wind in the south preventing the drift of ice that way or have we at last come under the influence of a current? That shove we got to the south lately in the face of southerly winds was a remarkable thing and so is our remaining where we are now in spite of the northerly ones. It would seem that new powers of some kind must be at work. Today 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 travelers 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. We had not expected to see it for some days yet so that my feeling was rather one of pain of disappointment that we must have drifted farther south than we thought. So it was with pleasure I soon discovered that it could not be the sun itself the mirage was at first like a flattened out glowing red streak of fire on the horizon. Later there were two streaks the one above the other with a dark space between and from the main top I could see four or even five such horizontal lines directly over one another and all of equal length as if one could only imagine a square dull red sun with horizontal dark streaks across it. An astronomical observation we took in the afternoon showed that the sun must in reality have been two degrees 22 minutes below the horizon at noon. We cannot expect to see its disk above the ice before Tuesday at the earliest. It depends on the refraction which is very strong in this cold air. All the same we had a small sun festival this evening on the occasion of the appearance of its image a treat of figs, bananas, raisins, almonds and gingerbread. Sunday, February 18th. I went eastwards yesterday on snowshoes and found a good snowshoeing and driving road out to the flats that lie in that direction. There is a pretty bad bit first with hummocks and pressure ridges and then you come out on these great wide plains which seem to extend for miles and miles to the northeast and southeast. Today I drove out there with eight dogs. The driving goes capital now some of the others followed on snowshoes. Still northerly wind. This is slow work but anyhow we are having clear bright weather. Yes it is all very well. We snowshoe, sledge, read both for instruction and amusement, write, take observations, play cards, chat, smoke, play chess, eat and drink. But all the same it is an exegrable life in the long run this. At least, so it seems to me at times. 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. We are now in about 80 degrees north latitude. In September we were in 79 degrees. That is let us say one degree for five months. If we go on at this rate we shall be at the pole in 45 or say 50 months and in 90 or 100 months at 80 degrees north latitude on the other side of it with probably some prospect of getting out of the ice and home in a month or two more. At best if things go on as they are doing now we shall be home in eight years. I remember Braga writing before I left when I was planting small bushes and trees in the garden for future generations that no one knew what length of shadow these trees would cast by the time I came back. Well they are lying under the winter snow now but in spring they will shoot and grow again. How often? Oh at times this inactivity crushes one's very soul. One's life seems as dark as the winter night outside. There is sunlight upon no part of it except the past and the far far distant future. I feel as if I must break through this deadness this inertia and find some outlet for my energies. Can't something happen? Could not a hurricane come and tear up this ice and set it rolling in high waves like the open sea? Welcome danger if it only brings us the chance of fighting for our lives only lets us move onwards. The miserable thing is to be inactive onlookers not to be able to lift a hand to help ourselves forwards. It wants 10 times more strength of mind to sit still and trust in your theories and let nature work them out without your being able so much as to lay one stick across another to help then it does to trust in working them out by your own energy that is nothing when you have a pair of strong arms. Here I sit whining like an old woman did I not know all this before I started? Things have not gone worse than I expected but on the contrary rather better. Where is now the serene hopefulness that spread itself in the daylight and the sun? Where are these proud imaginings now that mounted like young eagles towards the brightness of the future? Like broken winged wet crows they leave the sunlit sea and hide themselves in the misty marshes of despondency. Perhaps it will all come back again with the south wind but no I must go and rummage up one of the old philosophers again. There is a little pressure this evening and an observation just taken seems to indicate a drift of three minutes south. 11 p.m. pressure in the opening astern the ice is cracking and squeezing against the ship making it shake. Monday, February 19th. Once more it may be said that the night is darkest just before the dawn. Wind began to blow from the south today and has reached the velocity of 13 feet per second. We did some ice mooring this morning and found that the ice to port is five feet 11 5 8 inches 1.875 meters thick with a layer of about one and a half inches of snow over it. The ice forward was six feet seven and a half inches 2.08 meters thick but a couple of inches of this was snow. This cannot be called much growth for quite a month when one thinks that the temperature has been down to 58 degrees Fahrenheit below zero. 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 disc-like form. Some of the others maintain that they have seen the upper edge of the sun itself. Peter and Benson that they have seen at least half of the disc and Ewell and Hanson declared that the whole of it was above the horizon. I'm afraid it is so long since they saw it that they have forgotten what it is like. Tuesday, February 20th. Great Sun Festival today without any sun. We felt certain we should see it but there were clouds on the horizon. However, we were not going to be cheated out of our festival. We can hold another on the occasion of really seeing it for the first time. We began with a grand rifle practice in the morning. Then there was a dinner of three or four courses and from wine, otherwise lime juice, coffee afterwards with from cake. In the evening, pineapple, cake, figs, bananas and sweets. We go off to bed feeling that we have overeaten ourselves while half a gale from the Southeast is blowing us northwards. The mill has been going today and though the real sun did not come to the festival our saloon sun lighted up our table both at dinner and supper. Great face washing in honor of the day. The way we are laying on flesh is getting serious. Several of us are like prized pigs and the bulge of cooked gul's cheeks not to mention another part of his body is quite alarming. I saw him in profile today and wondered how he would ever manage to carry such a corporation over the ice if we should have to turn out one of these fine days. Must begin to think of a course of short rations now. Wednesday, February 21st. The south wind continues. 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 amphipodi. 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. To my astonishment, the net line pointed northwest though from the wind there ought to be a good northerly drift. To clear this matter up, I let the net down in the afternoon and as soon as it got a little way under the ice, the line pointed northwest again and continued to do so the whole afternoon. How is this phenomenon to be explained? Can we, after all, be in a current moving northwest? Let us hope that the future will prove such to be the case. We can reckon on two points of variation on the compass and in that case, the current would make do north northwest. There seems to be strong movement in the ice. It has opened informed channels in several places. Thursday, February 22nd. The net line has pointed west all day till now, afternoon, when it is pointing straight up and down and we are presumably lying still. The wind slackened today till it was quite calm in the afternoon. Then there came a faint breeze from the southwest and from the west and this evening the long-dreaded northwester has come at last. At 9 p.m. it is blowing pretty hard from northwest. An observation of Capella taken in the afternoon would seem to show that we are in any case not farther north than 80 degrees, 11 minutes, 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 forwards or backwards? The ice to starboard cracked yesterday, away beyond the bear trap. The thickness of the solid flow was 11.5 feet, 3.45 meters, but beside this other ice was packed onto it below. Where it was broken across, the flow showed a marked stratified formation recalling the stratification of a glacier. Even the darker and dirtier strata were there, the color in this case produced by the brownish red organisms that inhabit the water, specimens of which I found at an earlier date. In several places the strata were bent and broken exactly in the same manner as the geological strata forming the earth's crust. This was evidently the result of the horizontal pressure in the ice at the time of packing. It was especially noticeable at one place near a huge mound formed during the last pressure. Here the strata looked very much as they are represented in annexed drawing. It was extraordinary too to see how this flow of over three yards in thickness was bent into great waves without breaking. This was clearly done by pressure and was especially noticeable more particularly near the pressure ridges, which had forced the flow down so that its upper surface lay even with the waterline, whilst at other places it was a good half yard above it in these last cases thrust up by ice pressed in below. It all shows how extremely plastic these flows are in spite of the cold. The temperature of the ice near the surface must have been from four degrees Fahrenheit to 22 degrees Fahrenheit below zero minus 20 degrees to minus 30 degrees Celsius at the time of these pressures. In many places the bending had been too violent and the flow had cracked. The cracks were often covered with loose ice so that one could easily enough fall into them just as in crossing a dangerous glacier. Saturday, February 24th, observations today show us to be in 79 degrees, 54 minutes north latitude, 132 degrees, 57 minutes east longitude. Strange that we should have come so far south when the north or northwest wind only blew for 24 hours. Sunday, February 25th, it looks as if the ice were drifting eastwards now. Oh, I see pictures of summer and green trees and rippling streams. I am reading a valley and mountain life and I grow sick at heart and innervated. 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. Monday, February 26th, we are drifting northeast. A tremendous snowstorm is going on. The wind has at times a velocity of over 35 feet per second. It is howling in the rigging, whistling over the ice and the snow is drifting so badly that a man might be lost in it quite near at hand. We are sitting here listening to the howling in the chimney and in the ventilators just as if we were sitting in a house at home in Norway. The wings of the windmill have been going round at such a rate that you could hardly distinguish them but we have had to stop the mill this evening because the accumulators are full and we fastened up the wings so that the wind might not destroy them. We have had electric light for almost a week now. 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 but the arctic night, the dreaded arctic night is over and we have daylight once again. I must say that I see no appearance of the sunken wasted faces which this night ought to have produced. In the clearest daylight and the brightest sunshine I can only discover plump, comfortable looking ones. It is curious enough though about the light we used to think it was like real day down here when the incandescent lamps were burning but now coming down from the daylight though they may be all lit it is like coming into a cellar. When the arc lamp has been burning all day as it has today and is then put out and it's place supplied by the incandescent ones the effect is much the same. Tuesday, February 27th, drifting east southeast 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 degrees Fahrenheit above zero minus 9.7 degrees centigrade. At 8 p.m. the thermometer stood at 7 degrees Fahrenheit below zero minus 22 degrees Celsius. The temperature rises and falls almost exactly conversely with the barometer. This afternoon's observation places us in about 80 degrees 10 minutes north latitude. Wednesday, February 28th. Beautiful weather today, almost still and temperature only about 15 degrees Fahrenheit to 22 degrees Fahrenheit below zero minus 26 degrees to minus 30.5 degrees Celsius. There were clouds in the south so that not much was to be seen of the sun but it is light wonderfully long already. Sphere drop and I went snowshoeing after dinner the first time this year that we have been able to do anything of the kind in the afternoon. We made attempts to pump yesterday and today. There ought to be a little water but the pump would not suck though we tried both warm water and salt. Possibly there's water frozen around it and possibly there is no water at all. In the engine room there has been no appearance of water for more than a month and none comes into the forehold especially now that the bow is raised up by the pack eyes. So if there is any it can only be a little in the hold. This tightening may be attributed chiefly to the frost. The wind has begun to blow again from the south southwest this evening and the barometer is falling which ought to mean good wind coming but the barometer of hope does not rise above its normal height. I had a bath this evening in a tin tub in the galley trimmed and clean one feels more of a human being. Thursday, March 1st. We are lying almost still. Beautiful mild weather only two and a half degrees Fahrenheit below zero minus 19 degrees Celsius sky overcast light fall of snow and light wind. We made attempts to sound today having lengthened our hemp line with a single strand of steel. This broke off with the lead. 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 Benson is right and that it is the hole at the earth's axis we are trying to sound. Friday, March 2nd. 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, et cetera. 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. Sunday, March 4th. The drift is still strong south. There is northwesterly wind today again but not quite so much of it. I expected we had come a long way south but yesterday's observation still shows 79 degrees 54 minutes north latitude. We must have drifted a good way north during the last days before this wind came. The weather yesterday and today has been bitter. 35 degrees Fahrenheit and 36.5 degrees Fahrenheit below zero minus 37 degrees and minus 38 degrees Celsius with sometimes as much as 35 feet of wind per second must be called cool. It is curious that now the northerly winds bring cold and the southerly warms. Early in the winter it was just the opposite. Monday, March 5th. Sphere drip and I have been a long way northeast on snowshoes. 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. Tuesday, March 6th. No drift at all. It has been a bitter day today. 47 degrees Fahrenheit to 50 degrees Fahrenheit below zero minus 44 degrees to minus 46 degrees Celsius and wind up to 19 feet. This has been a good occasion for getting hands and face frostbitten and one or two have taken advantage of it. Steady northwest wind. I'm beginning to get indifferent and stolid as far as the wind is concerned. I photographed Johansson today at the anemometer and during the process his nose was frostbitten. 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? But you all goes on indefatigably. He has gained nearly a pound this time. Our doctor generally does very well in this line too but today it is only 10 ounces. In other ways he is badly off on board poor fellow. Not a soul will turn ill. In despair he set up a headache yesterday himself but he could not make it last over the night. Of late he has taken to studying the diseases of dogs. Perhaps he may find a more profitable practice in this department. Thursday, March 8th, drifting south. Svairdrup and I had a good snowshoeing trip today to the north and west. The snow was in splendid condition after the winds. You fly along like thistle down before a breeze and can get about everywhere even over the worst pressure mounds. The weather was beautiful. Temperature only 38 degrees Fahrenheit below zero minus 39 degrees Celsius but this evening it is quite bitter again. 55 degrees Fahrenheit minus 48.5 degrees Celsius and from 16 to 26 feet of wind. It is by no means pleasant work standing up on the windmill reefing or taking in the sails. It means aching nails and sometimes frostbitten cheeks but it has to be done and it is done. There is plenty of mill wind in the daytime now. This is the third week we have had electric light but it is wretched that it should be always the north and northwest wind. Goodness only knows when it is going to stop. 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 we'll do. After a long rest the ship got a shake this afternoon. I went on deck. Pressure was going on in an opening just in front of the bow. We might almost have expected it just now as it is new moon. Only we have got out of the way of thinking at all about the spring tides as they have had so little effect lately. They should of course be specially strong just now as the equinox is approaching. Friday, March 9th. The net line pointed slightly southwest this morning but the line attached to a cheese which was only hanging a few fathoms below the ice to thaw faster seemed to point in the opposite direction. Had we got a southerly current together with the wind now? Hmm, in that case something must come of it or was it perhaps only the tide setting that way? Still the same northerly wind. We are steadily bearing south. This then is the change I hope the March equinox would bring. 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? I long unutterably after home. Perhaps I am drifting away farther from it, perhaps nearer but anyhow it is not cheering to see the realization of one's plans again and again delayed if not annihilated altogether in this tedious and monotonously killing way. Nature goes her age old round impassively. Summer changes into winter, spring vanishes away, autumn comes and finds us still a mere chaotic whirl of daring projects and shattered hopes. As the wheel revolves now the one and now the other comes to the top but memory between wiles lightly touches her ringing silver cords now loud like a roaring waterfall now low and soft like far off sweet music. I stand and look out over this desolate expanse of ice with its plains and heights and valleys formed by the pressure arising from the shifting tidal currents of winter. The sun is now shining over them with his cheering beams. In the middle lies the from hemmed in immovably. When my proud ship will you float free in the open water again? Ich schau dich an und we muth. Schlecht mir ins hears he nein. Over these masses of ice drifting by paths unknown a human being pondered and brooded so long that he put a whole people in motion to enable him to force his way in among them a people who had plenty of other claims upon their energies. For what purpose all this to do? If only the calculations were correct these ice flows would be glorious nay irresistible auxiliaries but if there has been an error in the calculation well in that case they are not so pleasant to deal with and how often does a calculation come out correct? But were I now free? Why I should do it all over again from the same starting point one must persevere till one learns to calculate correctly. I laugh at the scurvy no sanatorium better than ours. I laugh at the ice we are living as it were in an impregnable castle. I laugh at the cold it is nothing but I do not laugh at the winds they are everything they bend to no man's will. But why always worry about the future? Why distress yourself as to whether you are drifting forwards or backwards? Why not carelessly let the days glide by like a peacefully flowing river? Every now and then there will come a rapid that will quicken the lazy flow. Ah what a wonderful contrivance is life one eternal hurrying forwards ever forwards to what end? And then comes death and cuts all short before the goal is reached. I went along snowshoe tour today a little way to the north there were a good many newly formed lanes and pressure ridges which were hard to cross but patience overcomes everything and I soon reached a level plain where it was delightful going. It was however rather cold about fifty four degrees Fahrenheit below zero minus forty eight degrees Celsius and sixteen feet of wind from north northeast but I did not feel it much. It is wholesome and enjoyable to be out in such weather I wore only ordinary clothes such as I might wear at home with a seal skin jacket and linen outside breeches and a half mask to protect the forehead nose and cheeks. There has been a good deal of ice pressure in different directions today. Oddly enough a meridian altitude of the sun gave seventy nine degrees forty five minutes. We have therefore drifted only eight minutes southwards during the four days since March 4th. This slow drift is remarkable in spite of the high winds if there should be land to the north. I begin more and more to speculate on this possibility. Land to the north would explain at once our not progressing northwards and the slowness of our southward drift. But it may also possibly arise from the fact of the ice being so closely packed together and frozen so thick and massive. It seems strange to me that there is so much northwest wind and hardly any from the northeast though the latter is what the rotation of the earth would lead one to expect. As a matter of fact the wind merely shifts between northwest and southeast instead of between southwest and northeast as it ought to do. Unless there is land I am at a loss to find a satisfactory explanation at all events of this northwest direction. Does France-Joseph land jut out eastwards or northwards or does a continuous line of islands extend from France-Joseph land in one or the other of those directions? It is by no means impossible. Directly the Austrians got far enough to the north they met with prevailing winds from the northeast while we get northwesterly winds. Does the central point of these masses of land lie to the north midway between our meridian and theirs? I can hardly believe that these remarkably cold winds from the north are engendered by merely passing over an ice-covered sea. If indeed there is land and we get hold of it then all our troubles would be over. But no one can tell what the future may bring forth and it is better perhaps not to know. Saturday, March 10th. The line shows adrift northwards. Now too in the afternoon a slightly southerly breeze has sprung up. 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. End of file 13.