 17. Volume 1, Chapter 8, A Day at Framheim, Part 2. It was now eight o'clock. The door from the kitchen to the room was left wide open, and the warmth streamed in and mixed with the fresh air that Stuberwood had now forced to come down the right way. Now it was pleasanter inside—fresh, warm air everywhere. Then came a very interesting scene. As the tooth-brushing gentlemen returned, they had to guess the temperature one by one. This gave occasion for much joking and fun, and amid laughter and chat the first meal of the day was taken. In after-dinner speeches, amid toasts and enthusiasm, our polar explorers are often compared with our forefathers, the bold Vikings. This comparison never occurred to me for a moment when I saw this assemblage of ordinary, everyday men brushing their teeth. But now that they were busy with the dishes, I was bound to acknowledge its aptitude, for our forefathers the Vikings could not possibly have attacked their food with greater energy than these nine men did. One pile of hot chick after another disappeared as if they had been made of air, and I in my simplicity had imagined that one of them was a man's ration. Spread with butter and surmounted with jam, these cakes slipped down with fabulous rapidity. With a smile I thought of the conjurer, holding an egg in his hand one minute, and making it disappear the next. If it is a cook's best reward to see his food appreciated, then indeed Lindstrom had good wages. The cakes were washed down with big bowls of strong aromatic coffee. One could soon trace the effect, and conversation became general. The first great subject was a novel which was obviously very popular, and which was called The Rome Express. It appeared to me, from what was said, I have unfortunately never read this celebrated work, that a murder had been committed in this train, and a lively discussion arose as to who had committed it. I believe the general verdict was one of suicide. I have always supposed that subjects of conversation must be very difficult to find on expeditions like these, where the same people mix day after day for years, but there was certainly no sign of any such difficulty here. No sooner had the express vanished in the distance than insteemed the language question, and it came at full steam too. It was clear that there were adherents of both camps present. For fear of hurting the feelings of either party I shall abstain from setting down what I heard, but I may say as much as this, that the party of reform ended by declaring the mild to be the only proper speech of Norway, while the opponents maintained the same of their language. After a while pipes came out, and the scent of plug soon struggled with the fresh air for supremacy. Over the tobacco the work for the day was discussed. Well, I'll have enough to do supplying that wood-swollower over the holiday," said Hassell. I gave a chuckle. If Hassell had known of the way the paraffin was used that morning he would have added something about the oil-drinker, I expect. It was now half past eight, and Stibirid and Bjarland got up. From the number of different garments they took out and put on I guess they were going out, without saying anything they trudged out. Meanwhile the others continued their morning smoke, and some even began to read, but by about nine they were all on the move. They put on their skin clothing, and made ready to go out. By this time Bjarland and Stibirid had returned from a walk, as I understood from such remarks as, beastly cold, and sharp snow by the depot, and the like. Prestrude was the only one who did not get ready to go out. He went to an open space underneath the farthest bunk, where there was a box. He raised the lid of this, and three chronometers appeared. At the same moment three of the men produced their watches, and a comparison was made and entered in a book. After each watch had been compared its owner went outside taking his watch with him. I took the opportunity of slipping out with the last man. Prestrude and his chronometers were too serious for me. I wanted to see what the others were about. There was plenty of life outside. Dogs howls in every key came from the tents. Some of those who had left the house before us were out of sight, so they had probably gone to their respective tents, and presently one could see by the lights that they were in the act of letting their dogs loose. How well the lighted up tents looked against the dark, star-strewn sky. Though it could no longer be called dark, the little flush of dawn had spread and overpowered the glow of the aurora astralis, which had greatly decreased since I last saw it. Evidently it was near its end. Now the four-footed band began to swarm out, darting like rockets from the tents. Here were all colours, grey, black, red, brown, white, and a mixture of all of them. What surprised me was that they were also small, but otherwise they looked splendid, plump and round, well-kept and groomed, bursting with life. They instantly collected into little groups of from two to five, and it was easy to see that these groups consisted of intimate friends. They absolutely pettied each other. In each of these clusters there was one in particular who was made much of. All the others came round him, licked him, fawned upon him, and gave him every sign of deference. They all run about without a sign of unfriendliness. Their chief interest seems to be centred in two large black mounds that are visible in the foreground of the camp. What they are I am unable to make out. There is not enough light for that, but I am probably not far wrong in guessing that they are seals. They are rather hard-eating, anyhow, for I can hear them crunching under the dog's teeth. Here there is an occasional disturbance of the peace. They do not seem to agree so well over their food, but there is never a regular battle. A watchman is present, armed with a stick, and when he shows himself and makes his voice heard, they soon separate. They appear to be well disciplined. What appealed to me most was the youngsters, and the youngest of all. The young ones, to judge from their appearance, were about ten months old. They were perfect in every way. One could see that they had been well cared for from their birth. Their coats were surprisingly thick, much more so than those of the older dogs. They were remarkably plucky and would not give in to any one. And there are the smallest of all. Like little balls of wool, they roll themselves in the snow and have great fun. I am astonished that they can stand the cold as they do. I should never have thought that such young animals could live through the winter. Afterwards I was told that they not only bore the cold well, but were far more hardy than the older ones, while the grown-up dogs were glad to go into their tents in the evening. The little ones refused to do so. They preferred to sleep outside. And they did so for a great part of the winter. Now all the men have finished un-chaining their dogs, and with their lanterns in their hands they move in various directions and disappear, apparently into the barrier surface. There will be many interesting things to see here in the course of the day. I can understand that. What on earth became of all these people? There we have Amundsen. He is left alone and appears to be in charge of the dogs. I go up to him and make myself known. Ah, I'm glad you came, he says. Now I can introduce you to some of our celebrities. To begin with, here is the trio, Fix, Lassa and Snupperson. They always behave like this when I am out. Could not think of leaving me in peace for an instant. Fix, that big grey one that looks like a wolf, has many a snap on his conscience. His first exploit was on Fleckero, near Christiansund, where all the dogs were kept for a month after they arrived from Greenland. There he gave Lindström a nasty bite when his back was turned. What do you think of a bite of a mouth like that? Fix is now tame, and without a growl allows his master to take hold of his upper and under jaws and open his mouth. Ye gods, what teeth! I inwardly rejoice that I was not in Lindström's trousers that day. If you notice, he continues with a smile, you will see that Lindström still sits down cautiously. I myself have a mark on my left calf and a good many more of us have the same. There are several of us who still treat him with respect. And here we have Lasserson. That's his pet name. He was Crusen Lassa. Almost pure black, as you see. I believe he was the wildest of the lot when they came on board. I had him fastened up on the bridge with my other dogs, beside Fix, those two were friends from their Greenland days. But I can tell you that when I had to pass Lassa I always judged the distance first. As a rule he just stood looking down at the deck exactly like a mad bull. If I tried to make overtures he didn't move, stood quite still. But I could see how he drew back his upper lips and showed a row of teeth with which I had no desire to become acquainted. A fortnight passed in this way. Then at last the upper lip sank and the head was raised a little, as though he wanted to see who it was that brought him food and water every day. But the way from that to friendship was long and tortuous. In the time that followed I used to scratch him on the back with a stick. At first he jumped round, seized the stick, and crushed it between his teeth. I thought myself lucky that it was not my hand. I came a little nearer to him every day until one day I risked my hand. He gave me an ugly look but did nothing. And then came the beginning of our friendship. Day by day we became better friends and now you can see what footing we are on. The third is Snupperson, a dark red lady. She is their sworn friend and never leaves them. She is the quickest and most active of our dogs. You can see that she is fond of me. She is generally on our hind legs and makes every effort to get at my face. I have tried to get her out of the way of that but in vain. She will have her own way. I have no other animals for the moment that are worth showing unless you would care to hear a song. If so, there is Uranus who is a professional singer. We'll take the trio with us and you shall hear. We made for two black and white dogs that were lying by themselves on the snow a little way off, while the three jumped and danced about us. As we approached the other two and they caught sight of the trio, they both jumped up as though to word of command, and I guess that we had found the singer. Lord save us! What an awful voice! I could see that the concert was for Lassa's benefit, and Uranus kept it up as long as we stood in his vicinity. But then my attention was suddenly aroused by the appearance of another trio, which made an extraordinary favorable impression. I turned to my companion for information. Yes, he continued, those are three of Hanson's team, probably some of our best animals. The big black and white one is called Zanko. He appears to be rather old. The two others, which look like sausages with matches underneath, are Ring and Milius. As you see, they are not very big, rather on the small side, but they are undoubtedly among our best workers. From their looks we have concluded that their brothers there is a like as two drops of water. Now we will go straight through the mass and see whether we come across any more celebrities. There we have Uranus, Sauron, Schwarz, and Lucy. They belong to Stubberwood, and are a power in the camp. Jarland's tent is close by. His favourites are lying there, Kvain, Lap, Pan, Gorky, and Jarlor. They are small, all of them, but fine dogs. There, in the southeast corner, stands Hassel's tent, but we shall not see any of his dogs here now. They are all lying outside the entrance to the oil store, where he is generally to be found. The next tent is Vistings. We must take a turn round there and see if we can find his lot. There they are, those four playing there. The big reddish-brown one on the right is the Colonel, our handsomest animal. His three companions are Sugun, Arna, and Brun. I must tell you a little story about the Colonel when he was on Fleckero. He was perfectly wild then, and he broke loose and jumped into the sea. He wasn't discovered till he was halfway between Fleckero and the mainland, where he was probably going in search of a joint of mutton. Vistings and Lindstrom, who were then in charge of the dogs, put off in a boat, and finally succeeded in overtaking him, but they had a hard tussle before they managed to get him on board. Afterwards, Vistings had a swimming race with the Colonel, but I don't remember what was the result. We can expect a great deal of these dogs. There's Johansson's friend over in the corner. There's not much to be said about his dogs. The most remarkable of them is Camilla. She is an excellent mother and brings up her children very well. She usually has a whole army of them, too. Now, I expect you have seen dogs enough. So if you have no objection, I will show you underground Framheim and what goes on there. I may just as well add that we are proud of this work, and you will probably find that we have a right to be. We'll begin with Hassel as his department as nearest. We now went in the direction of the house, passed its western end, and soon arrived at an erection that looked like a derrick. Underneath it was a large trap door. Where the three legs of the derrick met, there was made fast a small block, and through the block ran a rope made fast at one end to the trap door. A weight hung at the other end some feet above the surface of the snow. Now we are at Hassel's, said my companion. It was a good thing he could not see me for I must have looked rather foolish. At Hassel's, I said to myself, what in the world does a man mean? We were standing on the bare barrier. Do you hear that noise? That Hassel sawing wood. Now he bent down and raised the heavy trap door easily with the help of the weight. Broad steps of snow led down, deep down, into the barrier. We left the trap door open so as to have the benefit of the little daylight there was. My host rent first, I followed. After descending four or five steps we came to a doorway which was covered with a woollen curtain. We pushed this aside. The sound that had first reached me as a low rumbling now became sharper, and I could plainly hear that it was caused by sawing. We went in. The room we entered was long and narrow cut out of the barrier. On a solid shelf of snow there lay barrel after barrel arranged in exemplary order. If they were all full of paraffin I began to understand Lindstrom's extravagance in lighting his fire in the morning. Here was paraffin enough for several years. In the middle of the room a lantern was hanging, an ordinary one with wire netting round the glass. In a dark room it certainly would not have given much light, but in these white surroundings it shone like the sun. A primus lamp was burning on the floor. The thermometer which hung a little away from the primus showed minus five degrees Fahrenheit, so Hassell could hardly complain of the heat, but he had to saw so it did not matter. We approached Hassell. He looked as if he had plenty to do and was sawing away so that the sawdust was flying. Morning. Morning. The sawdust flew faster and faster. You seem to be busy today. Oh yes. The saw was now working with dangerous rapidity. If I am to get finished for the holiday I must hurry up. How's the coal supply getting on? That took effect. The saw stopped instantly, was raised and put down by the wall. I waited for the next step in suppressed excitement, something hitherto undreamt of must be going to happen. Hassell looked round. One can never be careful enough. Approached my host, and whispered with every sign of caution, I did him out of twenty-five kilos last week. I breathed again. I had expected something much worse than that. With a smile of satisfaction, Hassell resumed his interrupted work and I believe nothing in the world would have stopped him again. The last I saw as we returned through the doorway was Hassell surrounded by a halo of sawdust. We were back on the barrier surface. A touch of the finger and the trap door swung over and fell noiselessly into its place. I could see that Hassell was capable of other things besides sawing birch wood. Outsidely his team guarding all his movements, Mikkel, Riven, Masmus, and Elsa. They all looked well. Now we were going to see the others. We went over to the entrance of the hut and raised the trap door. A dazzling light met my eyes. In the wall of the steps leading down from the surface a recess had been cut to hold a wooden case lined with bright tin. This contained a little lamp which produced this powerful light. But it was the surroundings that made it so bright, ice and snow everywhere. Now I could look about me for the first time. It had been dark when I came in the morning. There was the snow tunnel leading to the penthouse. I could see that by the threshold that grinned at me. But there, in the opposite direction, what was there? I could see that the passage was continued. But where did it lead? Standing in the bright light it looked quite dark in the tunnel. Now we will go and see Bjarland first. With these words my companion bent down and set off through the dark passage. Look there, in the snow wall, just under our feet, can you see the light? By degrees my eyes had accustomed themselves to the darkness of the tunnel, and I could see a greenish light shining through the snow wall where he pointed. And now another noise fell on my ears, a monotonous sound coming from below. Look out for the steps. Yes, he could be sure of that. I had come one cropper that day and it was enough. We once more descended into the barrier by broad solid snow steps covered with boards. Suddenly a door was opened, a sliding door in the snow wall, and I stood in Bjarland's and Stibbara's premises. The place might be about six feet high, fifteen feet long and seven feet wide. On the floor lay masses of shavings which made it warm and cosy. At one end stood a primer slump with a large tin case over it from which steam was issuing. How's it going? All right, we're just bending the runners. I've made a rough estimate of the weight and found I can bring it down to forty-eight pounds. This seemed to me almost incredible. Amundsen had told me on the way up this morning of the heavy sledges they had—a hundred and sixty-five pounds each. And now Bjarland was going to bring them down to forty-eight pounds less than a third of their original weight. In the snow walls of the room were fixed hooks and shelves where the tools were kept. Bjarland's carpenter's bench was massive enough, cut out in the snow and covered with boards. Along the opposite wall was another planing bench equally massive but somewhat shorter than the first. This was evidently Stuberidge's place. He was not here to-day, but I could see that he was engaged in planing down the sledge cases and making them lighter. One of them was finished. I leaned forward and looked at it. On the top, where a little round aluminium lid was let in, was written, Original weight, nine kilos. Reduced weight, six kilos. I could understand what this saving of weight meant to men who were going on such a journey as these had before them. One lamp provided all the illumination, but it gave an excellent light. We left Bjarland. I felt sure that the sledging outfit was in the best of hands. We then met our way into the penthouse, and here we met Stuberidge. He was engaged in cleaning up and putting things straight for the holiday. All the steam that came out of the kitchen, when the door was opened, had condensed on the roof and walls in the form of rhyme several inches thick, and Stuberidge was now clearing this off with a long broom. Everything was going to be ship-shape for mid-winter eve. I could see that. We went in. Dinner was on, humming and boiling. The kitchen floor was scrubbed clean, and the linoleum with which it was covered shone gaily. It was the same in the living-room. Everything was cleaned. The linoleum on the floor and the American cloth on the table were equally bright. The air was pure, absolutely pure. All the bunks were made tidy, and the stools put in their places. There was no one here. You have only seen a fraction of our underground palaces, but I thought we would take a turn in the loft first and see what it's like. Follow me. We went out into the kitchen, and then up some steps, fastened in the wall, and threw the trap-door to the loft. With the help of a little electric lamp we were able to look about us. The first thing that met my eyes was the library. There stood the Framheim library, and it made the same good impression as everything else. Books numbered from one to eighty in three shelves. The catalogue lay by the side of them, and I cast my eye over it. Here were books to suit all tastes. Librarian Adolf Henrik Lindstrom, I read at the end. So he was Librarian, too. Truly a many sided man. Long rows of cases stood here full of Wirtlebury jam, cranberries, syrup, cream, sugar and pickles. In one corner I saw every sign of a dark room. A curtain was hung up to keep the light off, and there was an array of developing dishes, measuring glasses, et cetera. This loft was made good use of. We had now seen everything, and descended again to continue our inspection. Just as we reached the penthouse, Lindstrom came in with a big bucket of ice. I understood that it was to be used in the manufacture of water. My companion had armed himself with a large and powerful lantern, and I saw that we were going to begin our underground travels. In the north wall of the penthouse there was a door, and through this we went, entering a passage built against the house, and dark as the grave. The lantern had lost its power of illumination. It burned with a dull, dead light which did not seem to penetrate beyond the glass. I stretched my hands in front of me. My host stopped, and gave me a lecture on the wonderful order and tidiness that succeeded in establishing among them. I was a willing listener, for I had already seen enough to be able to certify the truth of what he told me without hesitation. But in the place we were now in, I had to take his word for it, for it was all as black as bilge-water. We had just started to move on again, and I felt so secure, after all he had told me about the orderly way things were kept, that I let go of my guide's anorak which I had been holding. But that was foolish of me. Smack! I went down at full length. I had trodden on something round, something that brought me down. As I fell, I caught hold of something, also round, and I lay convulsively clutching it. I wanted to convince myself of what it was that lay about on the floor of such a tidy house. The glimmer of the lantern, and not particularly strong, was enough to show me what I held in my arms. A dutch cheese! I put it back in the same place, for the sake of tidiness, sat up, and looked down at my feet. What was it I had stumbled over? A dutch cheese, if it wasn't another of the same family. I began to form my own opinion of the tidiness now, but said nothing. But I should like to know why he didn't fall over the cheeses as he was walking in front. Oh! I answered myself. I guess he knew what sort of order the place was in. Volume 1. Chapter 8. A Day at Framheim. Part 3. At the eastern end of the house the passage was brilliantly lighted up by the window that looked out on this side. I could now see more clearly where I was. Opposite the window, in the part of the barrier that here formed the other wall of the passage, a great hole had been dug. Nothing was to be seen in it but black darkness. My companion knew his way so I could rely upon him, but I should have hesitated to go in there alone. The hole extended into the barrier and finally formed a fairly large room with a vaulted roof. A spade and an axe on the floor were all I saw. What in the world was this hall used for? You see, all the ice and snow from here has gone to our water supply. So this was Lindstrom's quarry from which he had hewn out ice and snow all these months for cooking, drinking, and washing. In one of the walls, close to the floor, there was a little hole just big enough for a man to crawl through. Now you must make yourself small and follow me. We're going to visit Hanson and Visting. And my companion disappeared like a snake into the hole. I threw myself down, quick as lightning, and followed. I would not have cared to be left alone there in pitch darkness. I managed to get hold of one of his calves and did not let go until I saw light on the other side. The passage we crept through was equally narrow all the way and forced one to crawl on Hanson's knees. Fortunately, it was not long. It ended in a fairly large, square room. A low table stood in the middle of the floor and on it, Helmer Hanson was engaged in lashing sledges. The room gave one the impression of being badly lighted, though it had a lamp and candles. On a closer examination, I found that this was due to the number of dark objects the place contained. Against one of the walls there was clothing, immense piles of skin clothing. Over this were spread blankets, to protect it from the rhyme that was formed on the roof and fell down. Against the opposite wall was a stack of sledges, and at the end opposite the door were piles of woollen under-clothing. Any outfitter in Christiania might have envied this stock. Here one saw Iceland jackets, sweaters, under-clothes of immense thickness and dimensions, stockings, mitts, et cetera. In the corner formed by this wall and the one where the sledges stood was the little hole by which we had entered. Beyond the sledges, in the same wall, there was a door with a curtain in front of it, and from within it came a strange humming. I was much interested to know what this might be, but had to hear first what these two had to say. What do you think of the lashings now, Hanson? Oh, they'll hold right enough. At any rate they'll be better than they were before. Look here how they've pointed the ends. I leaned forward to see what was wrong with the sledge-lashings, and I must say what I saw surprised me. It's such a thing possible. The pointing of a lashing is a thing a sailor is very careful about. He knows that if the end is badly pointed it does not matter how well the lashing is put on. Therefore it is an invariable rule that lashings must be pointed as carefully as possible. When I looked at this one, what do you think I saw? Why, the end of the lashing was nailed down with the little tack such as one would use to fasten labels. That would be a nice thing to take to the pole. This final observation of Hanson's was doubtless the mildest expression of what he thought of the work. I saw how the new lashings were being put on, and I was quite ready to agree with Hanson that they would do the work. It was, by the way, no easy job this lashing at minus fifteen degrees Fahrenheit, as the thermometer showed, but Hanson did not seem to mind it. I had heard that Visting also took part in this work, but he was not to be seen. Where could he be? My eyes involuntarily sought the curtain behind which the humming sound was audible. I was now ready to burst with curiosity. At last the lashing question appears to be thrashed out, and my companion shows signs of moving on. He leads his lantern and goes up to the curtain. Visting? Yes! The answer seems to come from a far distance. The humming ceases, and the curtain is thrust aside. Then I am confronted by the sight that has impressed me, most of all, on this eventful day. There sits Visting in the middle of the barrier, working a sewing machine. The temperature outside is now minus sixty degrees Fahrenheit. This seems to me to require some explanation. I slink through the opening to get a closer view. Then, ah! I am met by a regular tropical blast. I glance at the thermometer. It shows plus fifty degrees Fahrenheit. But how can this be? He is sewing in a nice cellar at plus fifty degrees. I was told in my school days that I smelt at about plus thirty-two degrees. If the same law is still in operation he ought to be sitting in a shower bath. I go right in. The sewing room is not large, about six feet each way. Besides the sewing machine, a modern treadle machine, the room contains a number of instruments, compasses, and so forth, besides the large tent he is now working on. But what interests me most is the way in which he circumvents the shower bath. I see it now. It is very cleverly contrived. He has covered the roof and walls with tin and canvas, so arranged that all the melting ice goes the same way and runs into a wash tub that stands below. In this manner he collects washing water, which is such a precious commodity in these regions. Wily man! I afterwards hear that nearly all the outfit for the polar journey is being made in this little ice-cabin. Well, with men like these I don't think Amundsen will deserve any credit for reaching the pole. He ought to be thrashed if he doesn't. Now we're finished here and must in all probability have seen everything. My guide goes over to the wall where the clothing is lying and begins to rummage in it. A clothing inspection, I say to myself. There's no great fun in that. I sit down on the pile of sledges by the opposite wall, and I'm going over in my mind all I have seen, when suddenly he thrusts his head forward, like a man who's going to make a dive, and disappears among the bundles of skins. I jump up and make for the piles of clothing. I'm beginning to feel quite lost in this mysterious world. In my hurry I collide with Hanson's sledge which falls off the table. He looks round furiously. It's the good thing he could not see me. He looked like murder. I squeeze in between the bundles of clothing. And what do I see? Another hole in the wall. Another low, dark passage. I pluck up courage and plunge in. This tunnel is rather higher than the other, and I can walk, bending double. Fortunately the light at the other end shows up at once, so that my journey in the dark is not a long one this time. I come out into another large room of about the same size as the last, and afterwards learn that it is known as the Crystal Palace. The name is appropriate as crystals sparkle on every side. Against one wall a number of pairs of ski are resting. Elsewhere there are cases, some yellow and some black. I guess the meaning of this at once, after my visit to Stuborod. The yellow cases are the original ones, and the black the improved ones. They think of everything here. Of course in snow black is a far better color than light yellow. The cases will be pleasant to look at and very much easier to see at a distance. And if they happen to run shores of marks, all they need do will be to break up a case and make as many black marks as they want. They will be easily seen in the snow. The lids of these cases surprise me. They're no bigger than ordinary large milk can lids, and of the same form. They're loose, as with a milk can, and are put on in the same way. Then it suddenly occurs to me. When I was sitting on the sledges in Hanson's workshop, I noticed little pieces of wire rope fixed to both ribs of the sledge. There were eight of them on each side, just the right number. They are lashings for four cases, and they will hardly take more than that on a sledge. On one rib all the wire ropes ended in eyes. On the other they ended in thin lashings. Obviously there were four of them to each case, two forward and two after the lid. If these were reaved and drawn taut, the cases would be held as in a vice, and the lids could be taken off freely at any time. It was an ingenious idea which would save a lot of work. But there sits Hanson in the middle of the palace, packing. He seems to have a difficult problem to solve. He looks so profoundly thoughtful. Before him is a case half-packed, marked sledge number five, case number four. Mole singular contents I have never seen. A mixture of pemecan and sausage. I have never heard of sausages on a sledge journey. It must be something quite new. The pieces of pemecan are cylindrical in shape, about two inches high, and four and three-quarter inches in diameter. When they're packed there will be large star-shaped openings between every four of them. Each of these openings is filled up with the sausage, which stands straight up and down, and is of exactly the height of the case. But sausage, let me see. Ah, there's a sausage with a tear in its skin. I run across and look. Oh, the cunning rascals. If it isn't milk powder they're smuggling in like this. So every bit of space is utilised. The gaps left by these round pieces of pemecan at the sides of the cases are of course only half as large as the rest, and so cannot take a milk sausage. But don't imagine that the space is wasted. No. Chocolate is broken up into small pieces and stowed in there. When all these cases are packed they will be as full as if they were of solid wood. There is one ready packed. I must see what it contains. Biscuits. Five thousand four hundred biscuits is marked on the lid. They say that angels are specially gifted with patience, but theirs must be a trifle compared with Johansson's. There was absolutely not a fraction of an inch left in that case. The crystal palace at present reminds one strongly of a grocers and chandlers store. Pemecan, biscuits, chocolate and milk sausage lie about everywhere. In the other wall opposite the ski there is an opening. I see my companion making for it, but this time I intend to keep an eye on him. He goes up two steps, pushes a trap door, and there he stands on the barrier. But I am there too. The trap door is replaced, and I see that we are close to another door in the barrier, but this is a modern sliding door. It leads into the clothing store. I turn to my host and give him my best thanks for the interesting circular trip through the barrier, expressing my admiration of all the fine engineering works I have seen and so on. He cuts me short with the remark that we are not nearly done yet. He has only brought me up this way to save my having to crawl back again. We are going in now, he adds, to continue our journey under the surface. I see that there is no getting out of it, although I am beginning to have enough of these underground passages. My host seems to guess my thoughts, as he adds, we must see them now when the men are working, afterwards they will not have the same interest. I see that he is right, pull myself together and follow him. But fate wills it otherwise. As we come out on the barrier, Hanson is standing there with his sledge and six fresh dogs harnessed. My companion has just time to whisper to me, jump on, I'll wait here, when the sledge starts off at a terrific pace with me as a passenger unsuspected by Hanson. We went along so that the snow dashed over us. He had his dogs well in hand, this fellow, I could see that, but there were a wild lot of rascals he had to deal with. I heard the names of Hawk and Togo in particular, they seemed inclined for mischief. All of a sudden they darted back on their companions under the traces and got the whole team in a tangle, but they were not able to do very much, as the whip which was wielded with great dexterity constantly sang about their ears. The two sausages I had noticed on the slope, Ring and Milius, were leaders. They too were full of pranks but kept their places. High and Rap were also in the team. Rap, whose ear was split, would have liked very much to get his friend High to join in a little fight with Hawk and Togo, but for the whip. It swished to and fro in and out among them without mercy, and made them behave like good boys. After us some yards behind came Zanko. He seemed to be put out because he had not been harnessed. Meanwhile we went at a gallop up the hill to the depot, and the last flag was passed. There was a marked difference in the daylight here now. It was eleven o'clock and the flush of dawn had risen a good way in the sky and was approaching the north. The numbers and marks on the cases were easily visible. Hanson drew up smartly by the rows of cases and halted. We stepped off the sledge. He stood still for a moment and looked round, then turned the sledge over with the runners in the air. I suppose he did this to prevent the dogs making off while his back was turned. Personally I thought it was a poor safeguard. I jumped up on a case and sat there to await what developments might come. And they came in the form of Zanko. Hanson had moved off a little way with a piece of paper in his hand and seemed to be examining the cases as he went along. Zanko had now reached his friends Ring and Milius, and the meeting was a very cordial one on both sides. This was too much for Hawk. He was onto them like a rocket, followed by his friend Togo. High and Rapp never let such an opportunity escape them, and they eagerly flung themselves into the thick of the fight. Stop that, you blaggers! It was Hanson who threw this admonition in advance as he came rushing back. Zanko, who was free, had kept his head sufficiently to observe the approaching danger. Without much hesitation he cut away and made for Framheim with all possible speed. Whether the others missed their sixth combatant, or whether they too became aware of Hanson's threatening approach, I'm unable to determine. Certain it is that they all got clear of each other as though at a given signal, and made off the same way. The cap-sized sledge made no difference to them. They went like the wind over the slope and disappeared by the flagstaff. Hanson did not take long to make up his mind, but what was the use? He went as fast as he could, no doubt, but had reached no farther than to the flagstaff, when the dogs, with the cap-sized sledge behind them, ran into Framheim and were stopped there. I went quietly back, well pleased with the additional experience. Down on the level I met Hanson on his way to the depot a second time. He looked extremely angry, and the way in which he used the whip did not promise well for the dog's backs. Zanko was now harnessed in the team. On my return to Framheim I saw no one, so I slipped into the penthouse and waited for an opportunity of getting into the kitchen. This was not long and coming. Puffing and gasping like a small locomotive, Lindstrom swung in from the passage that led round the house. In his arms he again carried the big bucket full of ice, and an electric lamp hung from his mouth. In order to open the kitchen door he had only to give it a push with his knee. I slipped in. The house was empty. Now I thought I shall have a good chance of seeing what Lindstrom does when he is left alone. He put down the bucket of ice and gradually filled up the water pot which was on the fire. Then he looked at the clock. A quarter past eleven. Good! Dinner will be ready in time. He drew a long, deep sigh, then went into the room, filled and lit his pipe. Thereupon he sat down and took up a doll that was sitting on a letter-weight. His whole face lighted up. One could see how pleased he was. He wound up the doll and put it on the table. As soon as he let it go it began to turn somersaults one after another endlessly. And Lindstrom? Well, he laughed till he must have been near convulsions, crying out all the while. That's right, all of, I'd go it again. I then looked at the doll carefully, and it was certainly something out of the common. The head was that of an old woman, evidently a disagreeable old maid, with yellow hair, a hanging underjaw, and a lovesick expression. She wore a dress of red and white check, and when she turned head over heels it caused, as might be expected, some disturbance of her costume. The figure one could see had originally been an acrobat, but these ingenious polar explorers had transformed it into this hideous shape. When the experiment was repeated, and I understood the situation, I could not help roaring too. But Lindstrom was so deeply occupied that he did not hear me. After amusing himself for about ten minutes with this, he got tired of Olafur, and put her up on the weight again. She sat there nodding and bowing until she was forgotten. Meanwhile, Lindstrom had gone to his bunk and was lying half in it. Now, I thought to myself, he's going to take a little nap before dinner. But no, he came out again at once, holding a tattered old pack of cards in his hand. He went back to his place and began a quiet and serious game of patience. It did not take long, and was probably not very complicated, but it served its purpose. One could see what a pleasure it was to him whenever a card came in its right place. Finally, all the cards were in order. He had finished the game. He sat a little while longer enjoying the sight of the finished packs. Then he picked them all up with a sigh, and rose, mumbling, yes, he'll get to the pole at shore, and what's more, he'll get there first. He put the cards back on the shelf in his bunk, and looked well pleased with himself. Then the process of laying the table began once more, but with far less noise than in the morning, there was nobody to be annoyed by it now. At five minutes to twelve, a big ship's bell was rung, and not long after the diners began to arrive. They did not make any elaborate toilet, but sat down to table at once. The dishes were not many. A thick black seal soup, with all manner of curious things in it. Seal meat cut into small dice is no doubt the expression, but it would be misleading here. Large dice, we had better call them, with potatoes, carrots, cabbage, turnips, peas, celery, prunes, and apples. I should like to know what our cooks at home would call that dish. Two large jugs of syrup and water stood on the table. Now I had another surprise. I was under the impression that a dinner like this passed off in silence, but that was by no means the case here. They talked the whole time, and the conversation chiefly turned on what they had been doing during the four-noon. For dessert they had some green plums. Pipes and books soon made their appearance. By about two o'clock the boys gave fresh signs of life. I knew they were not going to work that afternoon, sent Hans Eve, but habit is a strange thing. Bialand rose in a peremptory fashion and asked who was going to have the first turn. After a lot of questions and answers it was decided that Hassel should be the first. What it was I could not make out. I heard them talk about one or two primuses and say that half an hour was the most one could stand, but that did not mean anything to me. I should have to stick to Hassel, who was going first. If there should be no second man I should at any rate have seen what the first one did. Everything became quiet again. It was only in the kitchen that one could tell that the barrier was inhabited. At half-past two Bialand, who had been out, came in and announced that now it was all a mass of steam. I watched Hassel anxiously. Yes, this announcement seemed to put life into him. He got up and began to undress. Very strange, I thought, what can this be? I tried the Sherlock Holmes method. First, Bialand goes out. That is fact number one. Then he comes back that I could also make sure of. So far the method worked well, but then comes the third item. It is all a mass of steam. What in the world does that mean? The man has gone out, if not onto the barrier, then certainly into it, into snow ice, and then he comes back and says it is all a mass of steam. It seems ridiculous, absurd. I send Sherlock Holmes to the juice and watch Hassel with increasing excitement. If he takes any more off—I felt I was blushing and half turned my head—but there he stopped. Then he picked up a towel and away he went, out through the penthouse door. It was all I could do to follow him, along the snow tunnel, in nothing but. Here steam really began to meet us, getting thicker and thicker as we came into the barrier. The tunnel became so full of steam that I could see nothing. I thought with longing of the tale of Amundsen's Anorak that was so useful on such occasions, but here there was nothing to take hold of. Far away in the fog I could see a light, and made my way to it with caution. Before I knew where I was I stood at the other end of the passage, which led into a large room covered with rhyme, and closed overhead by a mighty dome of ice. The steam was troublesome and spoiled my view of the room. But what had become of Hassel? I could only see Bjarland. Then suddenly the fog seemed to clear for an instant, and I caught sight of a bare leg disappearing into a big black box, and a moment later I saw Hassel's smiling face on the top of the box. A shadow passed through my frame, he looked as if he had been decapitated. On further consideration his features were too smiling. The head could not be severed from the body yet. Now the steam began to clear away little by little, and at last one could see clearly what was going on. I had to laugh. It was all very easy to understand now. But I think Sherlock Holmes would have found it a hard nut to crack if he had been set down blindfold on the Antarctic barrier, as I was, so to speak, and asked to explain the situation. It was one of those folding American vapor baths that Hassel sat in. The bathroom, which had looked so spacious and elegant in the fog, reduced itself to a little snow hut of insignificant appearance. The steam was now collected in the bath, and one could see by the face above it that it was beginning to be warm there. The last thing I saw Bjarne do was to pump two primus lamps that were placed just under the bath, up to high pressure, and then disappear. What a lesson an actor might have had in watching the face before me. It began with such a pleasant expression, well-being was written upon it in the brightest characters, then by degrees the smile wore off and gave place to seriousness. But this did not last long. There was a trembling of the nostrils, and very soon it could be clearly seen that the bath was no longer of a pleasant nature. The complexion from being normal had changed to an ultraviolet tint. The eyes opened wider and wider, and I was anxiously awaiting a catastrophe. It came, but in a very different form from that I had expected. Suddenly and noiselessly the bath was raised, and the steam poured out, laying a soft white curtain over what followed. I could see nothing, only heard that the two primuses were turned down. I think it took about five minutes for the steam to disappear, and what did I see then? Hassel, bright as a new shilling, dressed in his best for St. Hans's Eve. I availed myself of the opportunity to examine the first and probably the only vapor bath on the Antarctic barrier. It was, like everything else I had seen, very ingeniously contrived. The bath was a high box without bottom and with a hole large enough for the head in the top. All the walls were double and made of windproof material, with about an inch between for the air to circulate. This box stood on a platform which was raised a couple of feet above the snow surface. The box fitted into a groove and was thus absolutely tight. In the platform immediately under the bath, a rectangular opening was cut, lined around with rubber packing, and into this opening a tin box fitted accurately. Under the tin box stood two primer slamps, and now everyone will be able to understand why Hassel felt warm. A block hung from the top of the heart with a rope weaved in it, one end was made fast to the upper edge of the bath, and the other went down into the bath. In this way the bather himself could raise the bath without assistance and free himself when the heat became too great. The temperature outside the snow wall was minus 65 degrees Fahrenheit. Cunning lads! I afterwards heard that Bjarland and Hassel had constructed this ingenious bath. I now went back to the house and saw how they all, almost, made use of the vapor bath. By a quarter past five all the bathing was concluded and everyone put on his furs. It was evident that they were going out. I followed the first man who left the hut. He was provided with the lantern and indeed it was wanted. The weather had changed, a south west wind had sprung up suddenly, and now the air was thick with snow. It was not a fall of snow for one could see the stars in the zenith, but snow caught up by the wind and whirled along. A man had to know the surroundings well to find his way now. One had to feel it was impossible to keep one's eyes open. I took up a position in Lee of a snowdrift and waited to see what would happen. The dogs did not seem to be inconvenienced by the change of weather. Some of them lay curled up in a ring with their nose under their tail on the snow while others were running about. One by one the men came out. Each had a lantern in his hand. As they arrived at the place where the dogs were, each was surrounded by his team who followed him to the tents with joyous howls. But everything did not pass off peacefully. I heard, I think it was in Bjarne's tent, a deafening noise going on and looked in at the door. Down there, deep below the surface, they were having a warm time. All the dogs were mixed up together in one mass. Some were biting, some shrieking, some howling. In the midst of this mass of raging dogs I saw a human figure swinging around with a bunch of dog collars in one hand while he dealt blows right and left with the other and blessed to the dogs all the time. I thought of my calves and withdrew. But the human figure that I had seen evidently won the mastery as the noise gradually subsided and all became quiet. As each man got his dogs tied up he went over to the meat tent and took a box of cut-up seal meat which stood on the wall out of the dog's reach. This meat had been cut up earlier in the day by two men. They took it in turns I heard. Two men had this daily duty. The dogs were then fed, and half an hour after this was done the camp again lay as I had found it in the morning, quiet and peaceful. With a temperature of minus sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit and a velocity of twenty-two miles an hour the southwesters swept over the barrier and whirled the snow high into the air above Framheim. But in their tents the dogs lay full-fed and contented and felt nothing of the storm. In the hut preparations for a feast were going on and now one could really appreciate a good house. The change from the howling wind, the driving snow, the intense cold and the absolute darkness was great indeed when one came in. Everything was newly washed and the table was gaily decorated. Small Norwegian flags were everywhere on the table and walls. The festival began at six and all the Vikings came merrily in. Lindstrom had done his best and that is not saying a little. I specially admired his powers and his liberality, and I think even in the short time I have observed him he has shown no signs of being stingy when he appeared with the Napoleon cakes. Now I must tell you that these cakes were served after every man had put away a quarter of a plum pudding. The cakes were delightful to look at, the finest puff pastry with layers of vanilla custard and cream. They made my mouth water. But the size of them! There could not be one of these mountains of cake to every man, one among them all perhaps, if they could be expected to eat Napoleon cakes at all after plum pudding. But why had he brought in eight, two enormous dishes with four on each? Good heavens! One of the Vikings had just started and was making short work of his mountain, and one after another they all walked into them until the whole eight had disappeared. I should have nothing to say about hunger, misery and cold when I came home. My head was going round. The temperature must have been as many degrees above zero in here as it was below zero outside. I looked up at Vistings Bunk where a thermometer was hanging, plus 95 degrees Fahrenheit. The Vikings did not seem to take the slightest notice of this trifle. Their work with the Napoleons continued undisturbed. Soon the gorgeous cake was the thing of the past, and cigars came out. Everyone, without exception, allowed himself this luxury. Up to now they had not shown much sign of abstinence. I wanted to know what was their attitude with regard to strong drinks. I had heard, of course, that indulgence and alcohol on polar expeditions was very harmful, not to say dangerous. Poor boys, I thought to myself, that must be the reason of your fondness for cake. A man must have one vice at least. Deprived of the pleasure of drinking, they make up for his inglutiny. Yes, now I could see it quite plainly, and I was heartily sorry for them. I wondered how the Napoleons felt now. They looked rather depressed. No doubt the cake took some time to settle down. Lindström, who seemed unquestionably the most wide awake of them all, came in and began to clear the table. I expected to see every man roll into his bunk to digest. But no, that side of the question did not appear to trouble them much. They remained seated as though expecting more. Oh, yes, of course there was coffee to come. Lindström was already in the doorway with cups and jugs. A cup of coffee would be just the thing after such a meal. Stiberd! This was Lindström's voice calling from someplace in the far distance. Hurry up before they get warm! I rushed after Stiberd to see what the things were that were not to get warm. I thought it might possibly be something that was to be taken outside. Great heaven! There was Lindström lying on his stomach up in the loft and handing down through the trapdoor. What do you think? A bottle of benedictine and a bottle of punch, both white with frost. Now I could see that the fish were to swim what's more they were to be drowned. A happier smile than that with which Stiberd received the bottles, or more careful and affectionate handling than they received on their way through the kitchen I have never seen. I was touched. Ah, these boys knew how a liqueur should be served. Must be served cold was on the label of the punch bottle. I can assure P. A. Larsson that his prescription was followed to the letter that evening. Then the gramophone made its appearance and it did me good to see the delight with which it was received. They seemed to like this best after all and every man had music to suit his taste. All agreed to honour the cook for all his pains and the concert therefore began with Tarara Bumdier followed by the Apache waltz. His part of the programme was concluded with a humorous recitation. Meanwhile he stood at the doorway with a bitific smile. This did him good. In this way the music went the round and all had their favourite tunes. Certain numbers were kept to the last. I could see that they were to the taste of all. First came an air from the Huguenots sung by Mikhalova. This showed the Vikings to be musical. It was beautifully sung. But look here cried an impatient voice. Aren't we going to have Borghild Breen tonight? Yes, with the answer here she comes. And Solveig's song followed. It was a pity Borghild Breen was not there. I believe the most rapturous applause would not have moved her so much as the way her song was received here that evening. As the notes rang clear and pure through the room one could see the faces grow serious. No doubt the words of the poem affected them all as they sat there in the dark winter night on the vast wilderness of ice, thousands and thousands of miles from all that was dear to them. I think that was so, but it was the lovely melody given with perfect finish and rich natural powers that opened their hearts. One could see how it did them good. It was as though they were afraid of the sound of their own voices afterwards. At last one of them could keep silence no longer. My word how beautifully she sings he exclaimed. Especially the ending. I was a little bit afraid that she would give the last note too sharp in spite of the masterly way in which she controls her voice. And it's outrageously high too. But instead of that the note came so pure and soft and full that it alone was enough to make a better man of one. And then this enthusiastic listener tells them how he once heard the same song but with a very different result. It went quite well he says until it came to the final note. Then you could see the singer fill her mighty bosom for the effort and out came a note so shrill that well you remember the walls of Jericho. After this the gramophone is put away. No one seems to want any more. Now it is already half past eight it must be nearly bedtime. The feast has lasted long enough with food, drink and music. Then they all get on their feet and there is a cry of bows and arrows. Now I say to myself as I withdraw into the corner where the clothes are hanging now the alcohol is beginning to take effect. It is evident that something extraordinarily interesting is going to take place as they're all so active. One of them goes behind the door and fetches out a little cork target and another brings out of his bunk a box of darts. So it is dart throwing. The children must be amused. The target is hung up on the door of the kitchen leading to the penthouse and the man who is to throw first takes up his position at the end of the table at a distance of three yards. And now the shooting competition begins amid laughter and noise. There are marksmen of all kinds good, bad and indifferent. Here comes the champion. One can see that by the determined way in which he raises the dart and sends it flying. His will no doubt be the top score. That is stubborn. Of the five darts he throws two are in the bullseye and three close to it. The next is Johansson. He is not bad either but he does not equal the other's score. Then comes Bjarland. I wonder whether he is as smart at this game as he is on ski. He places himself at the end of the table like the others but takes a giant stride forward. He is a leery one this. Now he is not more than a yard and a half from the target. He throws well. The darts describe a great round arch. This is what is known as throwing with a high trajectory and it is received with great applause. The trajectory turns out to be too high and all his darts land in the wall above the door. Hassel throws with calculation. What he calculates it is not easy to understand not on hitting the target apparently but if his calculations have to do with the kitchen door then they are more successful. Whether Amundson calculates or not makes very little difference. His are all misses in any case. Visting's form is the same. Prestude is about half way between the good shots and the bad. Hanson throws like a professional slinging his dart with great force. He evidently thinks he is hunting walrus. All the scores are carefully entered in a book and prizes will be given later on. Meanwhile Lindstrom is playing patience. His day's work is now done. But besides his cards he is much interested in what is going on around the target and puts in a good word here and there. Then he gets up with a determined look. He has one more duty to perform. This consists of changing the light from the big lamp under the ceiling to two small lamps and the reason for the change is that the heat of the big lamp would be too strongly felt in the upper bunks. This operation is a gentle hint that the time has come for certain people to turn in. The room looks dark now that the great sun under the ceiling is extinguished. The two lamps that are now alive are good enough but one seems nevertheless to have made a retrograde step towards the days of pinewood torches. By degrees then the Vikings began to retire to rest. My description of the day's life at Framheim would be incomplete if I did not include this scene in it. Lindstrom's chief pride, I've been told, was that he was always the first man in bed. He would willingly sacrifice a great deal to hold this record. As a rule he had no difficulty in fulfilling his desire as nobody tried to be before him, but this evening it was otherwise. Stuberwood was far advanced with his undressing when Lindstrom came in and seeing a chance at last of being first in bed at once challenged the cook. Lindstrom, who did not quite grasp the situation, accepted the challenge and then the race began and was followed by the others with great excitement. Now Stuberwood is ready and is just going to jump into his bunk which is over Lindstrom's when he suddenly feels himself clutched by the leg and held back. Lindstrom hangs on to the leg with all his force, crying out in the most pitiable voice, wait a bit old man till I'm undressed too. It reminded me rather of the man who was going to fight and called out, wait till I get a hold of you. But the other was not to be persuaded. He was determined to win. Then Lindstrom, let go, tore off his braces he had time for no more and dived headfirst into his bunk. Stuberwood tried to protest. This was not fair, he was not undressed and so on. That doesn't matter, replied the fat man, I was first all the same. The scene was followed with great amusement and shouts of encouragement and ended in a storm of applause when Lindstrom disappeared into his bunk with his clothes on. But that was not the end of the business for his leap into the bunk was followed by a fearful crash to which no one paid any attention in the excitement of the moment, himself least of all. But now the consequences appeared. The shelf, along the side of his bunk, on which he kept a large assortment of things, had fallen down and filled the bunk with rifles, ammunition, gramophone discs, tool boxes, sweetmeat boxes, pipes, tins of tobacco, astrays, box of matches, etc. And there was no room left for the man himself. He had to get out again, and his defeat was doubly hard. With shame he acknowledged Stuberid as the victor, but, he added, you shan't be first another time. One by one the others turned in. Books were produced, here and there a pipe as well, and in this way the last hour was passed. At eleven o'clock precisely the lamps were put out and the day was at an end. Soon after my host goes to the door and I follow him out. I had told him I had to leave again this evening, and he is going to see me off. I'll take you as far as the depot, he says, the rest of the way you can manage by yourself. The weather has improved considerably, but it is dark, horribly dark. So that we may find the way more easily, he says, I'll take my trio. If they don't see the way they'll smell it out. Having let loose the three dogs, who evidently wonder what the meaning of it may be, he puts a lantern on a stack of timber to show him the way back I suppose, and we go off. The dogs are evidently accustomed to go this way, for they set off at once in the direction of the depot. Yes, says my companion, it's not to be wondered at that they know the way, they have gone it every day, once at least, often two or three times, since we came here. There are three of us who will always take our daily walk in this direction, Yarl and Stubber and I. As you saw this morning, those two went out at half-past eight. They did that so as to be back to work at nine. We have so much to do that we can't afford to lose any time, so they take their walk to the depot and back. At nine I generally do the same. The others began the winter with the same good resolution, they were all so enthusiastic for a morning walk. But the enthusiasm didn't last long, and now we three are the only enthusiasts left. But, short as the way is, about six hundred and fifty yards, we should not venture to go without those marks that you saw, and without our dogs. I have often hung out at lantern too, but when it is as cold as this evening, the paraffin freezes and the light goes out. Losing one's way here might be a very serious matter, and I don't want to run the risk of it. Here we have the first mark post. We were lucky to come straight upon it. The dogs are on ahead making for the depot. Another reason for being very careful on the way to the depot is that there is a big hole, twenty feet deep, just by a hummock on that slope, where you remember the last flag stands. If one missed one's way and fell into it, one might get hurt. We passed close to the second mark. The next two marks are more difficult to hit off. They are so low, and I often wait and call the dogs to me to find the way. As I am going to do now, for instance. It is impossible to see anything unless you come right on it, so we must wait and let the dogs help us. I know exactly the number of paces between each mark, and when I have gone that number I stop and first examine the ground close by. If that is no good, I whistle for the dogs, who come at once. Now you'll see. A long whistle. It won't be long before they're here. I can hear them all ready. He was right. The dogs came running out of the darkness straight towards us. To let them see that we want to find the way to the depot, we must begin to walk on. We did so. As soon as the dogs saw this, they went forward again, but this time at a pace that allowed us to keep up with them at a trot, and soon after we were at the last mark. As you see, my lantern over at the camp is just going out, so I hope you'll excuse my accompanying you, Father. You know your way, anyhow. With these words we parted, and my host went back, followed by the faithful trio, whilst I. End of Section 18. End of Volume 1, Chapter 8, A Day at Framheim. After mid-winter day, the time began to pass even more quickly than before. The darkest period was over, and the sun was daily drawing nearer. In the middle of the darkest time, Hustle came in one morning, and announced that Elsa had eight puppies. Six of these were ladies, so their fate was sealed at once. They were killed, and given to their elder relations, who appreciated them highly. It could hardly be seen that they chewed them at all. They went down practically whole. There could be no doubt of their approval, as the next day the other two had also disappeared. The weather conditions we encountered down here surprised us greatly. In every quarter of the Antarctic regions of which we had any information, the conditions had always proved very unsettled. On the Belgica, in the drift ice to the west of Grahamland, we always had rough, unpleasant weather. Nordenskjöld's stay in the regions to the east of the same land gave the same report, storm after storm the whole time. And from the various English expeditions that had visited McMurdo's sound, we hear of continual violent winds. Indeed, we know now that while we were living on the barrier in the most splendid weather, calms or light breezes, Scott at his station, some four hundred miles to the west of us, was troubled by frequent storms, which greatly hindered his work. I had expected the temperature to remain high, as throughout the winter we could very clearly see the dark sky over the sea. Whenever the state of the air was favorable, the dark, heavy, water sky was visible in a marked degree, leaving no doubt that a large extent of Ross Sea was open the whole year round. Nevertheless, the temperature went very low, and without doubt the mean temperature shown by our observations for the year is the lowest that has ever been recorded. Our lowest temperature, on August 13, 1911, was minus 74.2 degrees Fahrenheit. For five months of the year, we were able to record temperatures below minus 58 degrees Fahrenheit. The temperature rose with every wind, except the southwest, with that it more usually went down. We observed the aurora astralis many times, but only a few of its appearances were specially powerful. They were of all possible forms, though the form of ribbon-like bands seemed to be commonest. Most of the aurorae were multicolored, red and green. My hypothesis of the solidity of the barrier, that is, of its resting upon underlying land, seems to be confirmed at all points by our observations during our 12 months stay on it. In the course of the winter and spring, the pack eyes is forced up against the barrier into pressure ridges of as much as 40 feet in height. This took place only about a mile and a quarter from our hut, without our noticing its effect in the slightest degree. In my opinion, if this barrier had been afloat, the effect of the violent shock which took place at its edge would not merely have been noticeable, but would have shaken our house. While building the house, Stubbrot and Bjarland heard a loud noise a long way off, but could feel nothing. During our whole stay, we never heard a sound or felt a movement on this spot. Another very good proof seems to be afforded by the large theodolite that Preistrut used. It would take next to nothing to disturb its level. A slight change of temperature might be enough. So delicate an instrument would have soon shown an inclination if the barrier had been afloat. The day we entered the bay for the first time, a small piece of its western cape broke away. During the spring, the drift eyes pressed in an insignificant part of one of the many points on the outer edge of the barrier. With these exceptions, we left the barrier as we found it entirely unaltered. The soundings which showed a rapid rise in the bottom as the from changed her position southward along the barrier are also a clear sign that land is closed at hand. Finally, the formations of the barrier appear to be the best proof. It could not rise to 1,100 feet, which we measured as the rise from Framheim to a point about 31 miles to the south without subjacent land. Work now proceeded on the sledging outfit with feverish haste. We had for a long time been aware that we should have to do our utmost and make the best use of our time if we were to have the general outfit for our common use ready by the middle of August. For preparing our personal outfit, we had to use our leisure time. By the first half of August, we could begin to see the end of our labour. The island had now finished the full sledges. It was a masterly piece of work that it carried out in the course of the winter. They were extremely lightly constructed, but very strong. They were of the same length as the original sledges, about 12 feet, and were not shot. We should have a couple of the old Fram sledges with us, and these were shot with strong steel plates so that they could be used to the service and going rendered it necessary. The average weight of the new sledges was 53 pounds. We had this saved as much as 110 pounds per sledge. When Bialand had finished them, they were taken into the clothing store. The way in which Hansen and Wisting lashed the various parts together was a guarantee of their soundness. In fact, the only way in which one can expect work to be properly and carefully carried out is to have it done by the very man who are to use the things. They know what is at stake. They do it so that they may reach their destination. More than that, they do it so that they may come back again. Every piece of binding is first carefully examined and tested. Then it is put on cautiously and accurately. Every turn is whole-taught, taking care that it is in its right place. And finally, the lashing is pointed in such a way that one would do best to use a knife or an axe if it has to be undone again. There is no danger of jerking it out with the fingers. A sledge journey of the kind we had before us is a serious undertaking, and the work has to be done seriously. It was no warm and comfortable workshop that they had for doing this. The clothing store was always the coolest place, probably because there was always a draft through it. There was a door out onto the barrier and an open passage leading to the house. Fresh air was constantly passing through, though not in any very great quantity, but it does not take much to make itself felt when the air is at a temperature of about minus 75 degrees Fahrenheit and when one is working with bare fingers. There were always some degrees of frost here. In order to keep the lashings pliable while they were being put on, they used a primus lamp on a stone close to where they were working. I often admired their patience when I stood watching them. I've seen them more than once working bare-handed by the hour together in a temperature of about minus 22 degrees Fahrenheit. This may pass for a short time, but through the coldest and darkest part of the winter, working day after day as they did, it is pretty severe and a great trial of patience. Nor were their feet very well off either. It makes hardly any difference what one puts on them if one has to stay still. Here, as elsewhere in the cold, it was found that boots with wooden soles were the best for sedentary work. But for some reason other, the occupants of the clothing store would not give their adherent to the wooden sole principle and continue to work all through the winter in their reindeer skin and seal skin boots. They preferred stamping their feet to acknowledging the incontestable superiority of wooden soles in such conditions. As the sledges were finished, they were numbered from one to seven and stored in the clothing department. The three old sledges we should have to use were made of the Frump's second expedition. They were extremely strong, and of course heavier than the new ones. They were all carefully overhauled. All the bindings and lashings were examined and replaced wherever necessary. The steel shoes were taken off one, but retained on the other two, in case we should meet with conditions where they would be required. In addition to this work of lashing, these two had plenty of other occupation. Whenever whisting was not taken up by the work on the sledges, one could hear the hum of a sewing machine. He had a thousand different things to do in his sewing room, and was in there nearly every day till late in the evening. It was only when the target and darts came out at half past eight that he showed himself, and if it had not been that he had undertaken the position of marker at these competitions, we should hardly have seen him even then. His first important piece of work was making four three-man tents into two. It was not easy to manage these rather large tents in a little hole that went by the name of the sewing room. Of course, he used a table in the clothing room for cutting out, but all the same, it is a mystery how he contrived to get hold of the right seams when he sat in his hole. I was prepared to see the most curious-looking tents when once they were brought out and set up in daylight. One might imagine that the floor of one would be sewed on to the side of another, but nothing of the sort happened. When the tents were brought out for the first time and set up, they proved to be perfect. One would have thought they'd been made in a big sail-oft instead of in a snow-drift. Need-fingered fellows like this are priceless on such an expedition as ours. On the second-from expedition, they used double tents, and as, of course, nothing is so good and serviceable as the thing one has not got, the praises of double tents were now sung in every key. Well, I naturally had to admit that a house with double walls is warmer than one with single walls, but at the same time, one must not lose sight of the fact that the double-walled house is also twice as heavy, and when one has to consider the weight of a pocket-handkerchief, it will be understood that the question of the real advantages of the double-walled house had to be thoroughly considered before taking the step of committing oneself to it. I had thought that with double walls, one would possibly avoid some of the rhyme that is generally so troublesome in the tents, and often becomes a serious matter. If then, the double walls would in any way prevent or improve this condition of things, I could see the advantage of having them, for the increased weight caused by the daily deposit of rhyme would in a short time be equal to, if not greater than, the additional weight of the double tent. These double tents are made so that the outer tent is fast and the inner lose. In the course of our discussion, it appeared that the deposit of rhyme occurred just as quickly on a double tent as on a single one, and thus the utility of the double tent appeared to me to be rather doubtful. If the object was made to have it a few degrees warmer in the tent, I thought it best to sacrifice this comfort to the weight we should thereby save. Moreover, we were so plentifully supplied with warm sleeping things that we should not have to suffer any hardship. But another question cropped up as a result of this discussion, the question of what was the most useful colour for a tent. We were soon agreed that a dark coloured tent was best for several reasons, in the first place as a relief to the eyes. We knew well enough what a comfort it would be to come into a dark tent after travelling all day on the glistening barrier surface. In the next place, the dark colour would make the tent a good deal warmer when the sun was up. Another important consideration. One may easily prove this by walking in dark clothes in a hot sun, and afterwards changing to white ones. And finally, a dark tent would be far easier to see on the white surface than a light one. When all these questions have been discussed and the superiority of a dark tent admitted, we were doubly keen-eyed since all our tents happened to be light, not to say white, and the possibility of getting dark ones was not very apparent. It is true we had a few yards of darkish gabardine, or light, wind-proof material, which would have been extremely suitable for this purpose, but every yard of it had long ago been destined for some other use, so that did not get us out of the difficulty. But, said somebody, and he had a very cunning air as he uttered that, but, haven't we got ink and ink powder that we can dye our tents dark with? Yes, of course. We all smiled indulgently. The thing was so plain that it was almost silly to mention it, but all the same. The man was forgiven his silliness, and dye works were established. Whisting accepted the position of dyer in addition to his other duties, and succeeded so well that before very long we had two dark blue tents instead of the white ones. These looked very well, no doubt, freshly dyed as they were, but the question was, what would they look like after a couple of months' use? The general opinion was that it would probably, to a great extent, have reverted to their original color, or lack of color. Some better patent had to be invented. As we were sitting over our coffee after dinner one day, someone suddenly suggested, but look here, suppose we took our bunk curtains and made an outer tent of them. This time the smile that passed over the company as they put down their cups was almost compassionate. Nothing was said, but the silence meant something like, poor chap, as if we hadn't all thought of that long ago. The proposal was adopted without discussion, and Whisting had another long job in addition to all the rest. Our bunk curtains were dark red and made of very light material. They were sewed together, curtain to curtain, and finally the hole was made into an outer tent. The curtains only sufficed for one tent, but remembering that half a loaf is better than no bread, we had to be satisfied with this. The red tent, which was set up a few days after, met with unqualified approval. It would be visible some miles away in the snow. Another important advantage was that it would protect and preserve the main tent. Inside, the effect of the combination of red and blue was to give an agreeably dark shade. Another question was how to protect the tent from a hundred loose dogs who were no better behaved than others of that kind. If the tent became stiff and brittle, it might be spoiled in a very short time, and the demands we made on our tents were considerable. We expected them to last at least 120 days. I therefore got wisting to make two tent protectors, or guards. These guards consisted simply of a piece of gabardine long enough to stretch all round the tent, and to act as a fence in preventing the dogs from coming in direct contact with the tents. The guards were made with loops so that they could be stretched upon ski poles. They looked very fine when they were finished, but they never came to be used. For, as soon as we began the journey, we found a material that was even more suitable and always to be had. Snow. Idiots. Of course, we all knew that, only we wouldn't say so. Well, that was one against us. However, the guards came in well as reserve material on the trip, and many were the uses they were put to. In the next place, wisting had to make wind-clothing for every man. That we had brought out proved to be too small, but the things he made were big enough. There was easily room for two more in my trousers, but they have to be so. In these regions one soon finds out that everything that is roomy is warm and comfortable, while everything that is tight—footgear, of course, accepted— is warm and uncomfortable. One quickly gets into a perspiration and spoils the clothes. Besides the breeches and light wind-cloth, he made stockings of the same material. I assumed that these stockings, worn among the other stockings we had on, would have an insulating effect. Opinions were greatly divided on this point, but I must confess, in common with my four companions on the polar journey, that I would never make a serious trip without them. They fulfilled all our expectations. The rye was deposited on them freely and was easily brushed off. If they got wet, it was easy to dry them in almost all weathers. I know of no material that dries so quickly as this wind-proof stuff. Another thing was that they protected the other stockings against tears and made them last much longer than would otherwise have been the case. As evidence of how pleased we who took part in a long sled journey were with these stockings, I may mention that when we reached the depot in 80 degrees south on the homeward trip we had noted, that is, when we looked upon the journey as over, we found there some bags with various articles of clothing. In one of these were two pairs of wind-proof stockings. The bag presumably belonged to an opponent of the idea, and it may be imagined that there was some fun. We all wanted them, all without exception. The two lucky ones each seized this pair and hid it, as if it was the most costly treasure. What they wanted with them I cannot guess as we were at home, but this example shows how we had learned to appreciate them. I recommend them most warmly to men who are undertaking similar expeditions, but I must add they must give themselves the trouble of taking off their foot gear every evening and brushing the rhyme off their stockings. If one does not do this, of course, the rhyme will thaw on the course of the night, and everything will be soaking wet in the morning. In that case, you must not blame the stockings, but yourself. After this it was a turn of the underclothing. There was nothing in the tailoring and outfitting department that Wisting could not manage. Among our medical stalls we had two large rolls of the most beautiful fine light flannel, and of this he made underclothing for all of us. What we had brought out from home was made of extremely thick woolen material, and we were afraid that this would be too warm. Personally, I wore Wistings make the whole trip and have never known anything so perfect. Then he had covers for the sleeping bags to sew and patch, and one thing and another. Some people give one the impression of being able to make anything, and to get it done in no time. Others not. Hansen had his days well occupied, industries and handy as he was. He was an expert at anything relating to sledges, and knew exactly what had to be done. Whatever he had a hand in, I could feel sure of. He never left anything to chance. Besides lashing the sledges, he had a number of other things to do. Amongst them he was to prepare all the whips we required, two for each driver, or fourteen altogether. Stubberwood was to supply the handles. In consultation with the Carpenters Union, I had chosen a handle made of three narrow strips of hickory. I assumed that if these were securely lashed together and the lashings covered with leather, they would make a stronger handle as one could expect to get. The idea of the composite handle of three pieces of wood was that it would give and bend instead of breaking. We knew by experience that a solid whip handle did not last very long. It was arranged then that the handles were to be made by Stubberwood, and passed on to Hansen. The whip lashes were made by Hussle in the course of the winter on the Eskimo model. They were round and heavy, as they should be, and dangerous to come near when they were wielded by an experienced hand. Hansen received these different parts to join them together and make the whip. As usual, this was done with all possible care. Three strong lashings were put on each handle, and these again were covered with leather. Personally, Hansen was not in favour of the triple hickory handle, but he did the work without raising any objection. We all remarked it is true that at this time, contrary to his habit, he spent the hours after supper with wisting. I wondered a little at this, as I knew Hansen was very fond of a game of wist after supper, and never missed it unless he had work to do. I happened one evening to express my surprise at this, and Stubberwood answered at once, He's making handles. What sort of handles? Whip handles, but Stubberwood added, I'll guarantee those hickory handles I'm making. You can't have anything tougher and stronger than those. He was rather sore about it, that was easy to see. The idea was his own, too. Then, talk with the devil, in walked Hansen with a fine big whip in his hand. I, of course, appeared extremely surprised. What, I said, more whips? Yes, said he. I don't believe in those I'm making in the day time, but here's a whip that I can trust. I must admit that it looked well. The whole handle was covered so that one could not see what it was made of. But, I ventured to object. Are you sure it is as strong as the others? Oh, as to that, he answered, I'm quite ready to beg it against any of those. He did not say the word, nor was there any need. His meaning was unmistakable, and rotten whips sounded in our ears as plainly as if it shouted it. I had no time to observe the effect of this terrible utterance, for a determined voice called out, We'll see about that. I turned round, and there was Stubberwood leaning against the end of the table, evidently heard by Hanson's words, which he took as a personal front. If you dare risk your whip, come on. He had taken down one of the insulted, triple-handled whips from the shelf in his bunk, and stood in a fighting attitude. This proposed well. We all looked at Hanson. He had gone too far to be able to draw back. He had to fight. He took his weapon in his hand, and entered the ring. The conditions were arranged, and accepted by both parties. They were defied until one of the handles was broken. And then the whipped duel began. The opponents were very serious over it. One, two, three. The first blow fell, handle against handle. The combatants had shut their eyes and awaited the result. When they opened them again, they shone with happy surprise. Both handles were as whole as before. Now each of them was really delighted with his own handle, and the blows fell faster. Stubberwood, who was standing with his back to the table, got so excited over the unexpected result that, every time he raised his weapon, he gave the edge of the table a resounding smack without knowing it. How many rounds had been fought I do not know when I heard a crack, followed by the words, There you can see, old man. As Stubberwood left the ring, I was able to see Hanson. He stood in the battlefield, eyeing his whip. It looked like a broken lily. The spectators had not been silent. They had followed the fight with excitement, admit laughter and shouts. That's right, Stubberwood, don't give in. Bravo, Hanson, that's a good one. The whips afterwards turned out remarkably well. Not that they lasted out the trip, but they held together for a long while. Whip handles are a very perishable commodity. If one used nothing but the lash, they would be everlasting. But, as a rule, one is not long satisfied with that. It is when one gives a confirmation, as we call it, that the handle breaks. A confirmation is generally held when some sinner or other has gone wrong and refuses to obey. It consists in taking the first opportunity when the sledge stops of going in among the dogs, taking out the defined one, and laying in term with the handle. These confirmations, if they occur frequently, may use up a lot of handles. It was also arranged that Hanson should prepare goggles in the Eskimo fashion, and he began this work. But it soon appeared that everyone had some patent of his own which was much better. Therefore it was given up, and every man made his own goggles. Stuporut's chief work was making the sledge cases lighter, and he succeeded in doing this, but not without hard work. It took far longer than one would have thought. The wood had a good many knots, and he often had to work against the grain. The planing was therefore rather difficult and slow. He planned a good deal of them, but could guarantee them, as he said. Their sides were not many millimeters thick. To strengthen them in the joints, corners of aluminium were put on. In addition to remaking the sledge cases, Bialand had to get the ski ready. To fit the big broad boots we should wear, the heartfelt fittings had to be much broader than usual, and we had such with us, so that Bialand had only to change them. The ski bindings were like the snow goggles, everyone had its own patent. I found the bindings that Bialand had put on for himself so efficient that I had no hesitation in ordering similar ones for myself, and it may be said to their honour, and to the honour of him who made them, that they were first-rate and served me well during the whole trip. They were, after all, only a retention of the old system, but with the help of hooks and eyes they could be put on and taken off in an instant, and those were the conditions we demanded of our bindings, that they should hold the food as firmly as a vice and should be easy to hook on and take off. For we always had to take them off on the journey. If one left one's bindings out for a night, they were gone in the morning. The dogs looked upon them as a delicacy. The tow strap also had to be removed in the evening. In other words, the ski had to be left absolutely bare. Johansen, besides his packing, was occupied in making weights and tent pegs. The weights were very ingeniously made. The steel yard system was adopted. If they were never used, it was not the fault of the weights. They were good enough. But the reason was that we had all our provisions so arranged that they could be taken without being weighed. We were all weighed on August 6th, and it then appeared that Lindström was the heaviest, with thirteen stones, eight pounds. On that occasion he was officially chrysand fatty. The tent pegs Johansen made were the opposite of what such pegs usually are. In other words, they were flat instead of being high. We saw the advantage at once. Besides being so much lighter, they were many times stronger. I do not know that we ever broke a peg on the trip. Possibly we lost one or two. Most of them were brought home undamaged. Hassel worked at his whip-lashes down in the petroleum store. It was an uncomfortable place for him, always cold, but he had the lashes ready by the time he had promised them. Preistrut made charts and copied out tables. Six of us were to have these copies. In each sledge there was a combined provision and observation book, bearing the same number as the sledge. It contained first an exact list of the provisions contained in each case on that sledge, and in addition the necessary tables for our astronomical observations. In these books each man kept a daily account of every scrap of provisions he took out. In this way we could always check the contents of the cases and know what quantity of provisions we had. Farther on in the book the observations were entered, and the distance covered for the day, course, and so on. That is a rough outline of what we were doing in the course of the winter in working hours. Besides this there were, of course, a hundred things that every man had to do for his personal equipment. During the winter each man had his outfit served out to him so that he might have time to make whatever alterations he found necessary. Every man received a heavy and a lighter suit of reindeer skin as well as reindeer skin mitts and stockings. He also had dog skin stockings and seal skin comics. In addition there was a complete outfit of underclothing and wind clothes. All were served alike, there was no priority at all. The skin clothing was the first to be tackled, and here there was a good deal to be done as nothing had been made to measure. One man found that the hood of his anorok came too far down over his eyes, another that it did not come down far enough, so both had to set to work at alterations, one cutting off, the other adding a piece. One found his trousers too long, another too short, and they had to alter those. However they managed it. The needle was always at work, either for sewing a piece on or for hemming the shortened piece. Although we began this work in good time it looked as if we should never have finished. The room orderly had to sweep out huge piles of strips and reindeer hair every morning, but the next morning there were just as many. If we had stayed there I am sure we should still be sitting and sewing away at our outfit. A number of patterns were invented, of course the everlasting mask for the face was to the fore, and took the form of nose protectors. I too allowed myself to be beguiled into experimenting with good reason as I thought, but with extremely poor results. I had hit upon something which, of course, I thought much better than anything that had been previously tried. The day I put on my invention I not only got my nose frozen but my forehead and cheek as well. I never tried it again. Hustle was great at new inventions. He wore nose protectors all over him. These patterns are very good things for passing the time. When one actually takes the field they all vanish. They are useless for serious work. The sleeping bags were also great source of interest. Johansson was at work on the double one he was so keen on. Heaven knows how many skins he put into it. I don't, nor did I ever try to find out. Bialand was also in full swing with alterations to his. He found the opening at the top inconvenient and preferred to have it in the middle. His arrangement of a flap with buttons and loops made it easy to mistake him for a colonel of dragoons when he was in bed. He was tremendously pleased with it, but so he was with his snow goggles, in spite of the fact that he could not see with them and that they allowed him to become snow-blind. The rest of us kept our sleeping bags as they were, only lengthening or shortening them as required. We were all greatly pleased with the device for closing them on the plan of a sack. Outside our bags we had a cover of very thin canvas. This was extremely useful and I would not be without it for anything. In the daytime the sleeping bag was always well protected by this cover. No snow could get in. At night it was perhaps even more useful as it protected the bag from the moisture of the breath. Instead of condensing on the skin and making it wet, this settled on the cover forming in the course of the night a film of ice which disappeared again during the day, breaking off while the bag lay stretched on the sledge. This cover ought to be of ample size. It is important that it should be rather longer than the sleeping bag so that one may have plenty of it round the neck and thus prevent the breath from penetrating into the bag. We all had double bags, an inner and an outer one. The inner one was of calf skin or thin female reindeer skin and quite light. The outer one was of heavy buck reindeer skin and weighed about 13 pounds. Both were open at the end like a sack and were laced together round the neck. I've always found this pattern the easiest, simplest, most comfortable and best. We recommend it to all. Novities in the way of snow goggles were many. This was of course a matter of the greatest importance and required study. It was study too. The particular problem was to find good goggles without glass. It is true that I'd worn nothing but a pair of ordinary spectacles with light yellow glasses all the autumn and that they had proved excellent. But for the long journey I was afraid these would give insufficient protection. I therefore threw myself into the competition for the best patent. The end of it was that we all went in for leather goggles with a little slit for the eyes. The Bialand patent won the prize and was most adopted. Hussle had his own invention, combined with a nose protector. When spread out it reminded me of the American Eagle. I never saw him use it, nor did any of us use these new goggles except Bialand. He used his own goggles the whole way, but then he was the only one who became snow blind. The spectacles I wore, Hansen at the same, they were the only two pairs we had, gave perfect protection, not once did I have a sign of snow blindness. They were exactly like other spectacles, without any goggles at all around the glasses. The light could penetrate everywhere. Dr. Schanz, of Dresden, who sent me these glasses, has every right to be satisfied with this invention. It beats anything I've ever tried or seen. The next great question was our boots. I had expressly pointed out that boots must be taken, whether the person concerned intended to wear them or not. For boots were indispensable, in case of having to cross any glacier, which was a contingency we had to reckon with, from the descriptions we had read of the country. With this proviso, everyone might do as he pleased, and all began by improving their boots in accordance with our previous experience. The improvement consisted in making them larger. Whisting took mine in hand again, and began once more to pull them to pieces. It is only by tearing a thing to pieces that one can see what the work is like. We gained a good insight into the way our boots had been made, stronger or more conscientious work it would be impossible to find. It was hard work pulling them to pieces. This time mine lost a couple more soles. How many that made altogether I do not remember, but now I got what I always called full, room enough. Besides being able to wear all the food coverings I had, I could also find room for a wooden sole. That made me happy. My great object was achieved. Now the temperature could be as low as it liked. It would not get through the wooden soles and my various stockings, seven pairs I think in all. I was pleased that evening, as the struggle had been a long one. It had taken me nearly two years to arrive at this result. And then there was the dog harness, which we must all have in order. The experience of the last depot journey, when two dogs fell into a crevasse through faulty harness, must not be allowed to repeat itself. We therefore devoted great care and attention to this gear, and used all the best materials we had. The result rewarded our pains. We had good, strong harness for every team. This description will perhaps open the eyes of some people and show them that the equipment of an expedition such we were about to enter upon is not the affair of a day. It is not money alone that makes for the success of such an expedition, though heaven knows it is a good thing to have. But it is in a great measure, indeed I may say that this is the greatest factor, the way in which the expedition is equipped, the way in which every difficulty is foreseen and precautions taken for meeting or avoiding it. Victory awaits him who has everything in order. Luck, people call it. Defeat is certain for him who has neglected to take the necessary precautions in time. This is called bad luck. But pray do not think this is an epitaph I wish to have inscribed on my own tomb. No, honour where honour is due, honour to my faithful comrades who, by their patience, perseverance and experience, brought our equipment to the limit of perfection and thereby rendered our victory possible. End of section 19