“Monday, January 1st, 1894. The year began well. I was awakened by Juell’s cheerful voice wishing me a Happy New Year. He had come to give me a cup of coffee in bed—delicious Turkish coffee, his Christmas present from Miss Fougner. It is beautiful clear weather, with the thermometer at 36° below zero (-38° C.). It almost seems to me as if the twilight in the south were beginning to grow; the upper edge of it to-day was 14° above the horizon.
“An extra good dinner at 6 P.M.
- 1. Tomato soup.
- 2. Cod roe with melted butter and potatoes.
- 3. Roast reindeer, with green pease, potatoes, and cranberry jam.
- 4. Cloudberries with milk.
- Ringnes beer.
“I do not know if this begins to give any impression of great sufferings and privations. I am lying in my berth, writing, reading, and dreaming. It is always a curious feeling to write for the first time the number of a New Year. Not till then does one grasp the fact that the old year is a thing of the past; the new one is here, and one must prepare to wrestle with it. Who knows what it is bringing? Good and evil, no doubt, but most good. It cannot but be that we shall go forward towards our goal and towards home.
“‘Life is rich and wreathed in roses;
Gaze forth into a world of dreams.’
“Yes; lead us, if not to our goal—that would be too early—at least towards it; strengthen our hope; but perhaps—no, no perhaps. These brave boys of mine deserve to succeed. There is not a doubt in their minds. Each one’s whole heart is set on getting north. I can read it in their faces—it shines from every eye. There is one sigh of disappointment every time that we hear that we are drifting south, one sigh of relief when we begin to go north again, to the unknown. And it is in me and my theories that they trust. What if I have been mistaken, and am leading them astray? Oh, I could not help myself! We are the tools of powers beyond us. We are born under lucky or unlucky stars. Till now I have lived under a lucky one; is its light to be darkened? I am superstitious, no doubt, but I believe in my star. And Norway, our fatherland, what has the old year brought to thee, and what is the new year bringing? Vain to think of that; but I look at our pictures, the gifts of Werenskjöld, Munthe, Kitty Kielland, Skredsvig, Hansteen, Eilif Pettersen, and I am at home, at home!
“Wednesday, January 3d. The old lane about 1300 feet ahead of the Fram has opened again—a large rift, with a coating of ice and rime. As soon as ice is formed in this temperature the frost forces it to throw out its salinity on the surface, and this itself freezes into pretty salt flowers, resembling hoar-frost. The temperature is between 38° Fahr. and 40° Fahr. below zero (-39° C. to -40° C), but when there is added to this a biting wind, with a velocity of from 9 to 16 feet per second, it must be allowed that it is rather ‘cool in the shade.’
“Sverdrup and I agreed to-day that the Christmas holidays had better stop now and the usual life begin again; too much idleness is not good for us. It cannot be called a full nor a complicated one, this life of ours; but it has one advantage, that we are all satisfied with it, such as it is.