“Monday, February 5th. Last time we shall have Ringnes beer at dinner. Day of mourning.
“Tuesday, February 6th. Calm, clear weather. A strong sun-glow above the horizon in the south; yellow, green, and light blue above that; all the rest of the sky deep ultramarine. I stood looking at it, trying to remember if the Italian sky was ever bluer; I do not think so. It is curious that this deep color should always occur along with cold. Is it perhaps that a current from more northerly, clear regions produces drier and more transparent air in the upper strata? The color was so remarkable to-day that one could not help noticing it. Striking contrasts to it were formed by the Fram’s red deck-house and the white snow on roof and rigging. Ice and hummocks were quite violet wherever they were turned from the daylight. This color was specially strong over the fields of snow upon the floes. The temperature has been 52° Fahr. and 54° Fahr. below zero (-47° and -48° C.). There is a sudden change of 125° Fahr. when one comes up from the saloon, where the thermometer is at 72° Fahr. (+22° C.); but, although thinly clad and bareheaded, one does not feel it cold, and can even with impunity take hold of the brass door-handle or the steel cable of the rigging. The cold is visible, however; one’s breath is like cannon smoke before it is out of one’s mouth; and when a man spits there is quite a little cloud of steam round the fallen moisture. The Fram always gives off a mist, which is carried along by the wind, and a man or a dog can be detected far off among the hummocks or pressure-ridges by the pillar of vapor that follows his progress.
“Wednesday, February 7th. It is extraordinary what a frail thing hope, or rather the mind of man, is. There was a little breeze this morning from the N.N.E., only 6 feet per second, thermometer at 57° Fahr. below zero (-49.6° C.), and immediately one’s brow is clouded over, and it becomes a matter of indifference how we get home, so long as we only get home soon. I immediately assume land to the northward, from which come these cold winds, with clear atmosphere and frost and bright blue skies, and conclude that this extensive tract of land must form a pole of cold with a constant maximum of air-pressure, which will force us south with northeast winds. About midday the air began to grow more hazy and my mood less gloomy. No doubt there is a south wind coming, but the temperature is still too low for it. Then the temperature, too, rises, and now we can rely on the wind. And this evening it came, sure enough, from S.S.W., and now, 12 P.M., its velocity is 11 feet, and the temperature has risen to 43° Fahr. below zero ( -42° C.). This promises well. We should soon reach 81°. The land to the northward has now vanished from my mind’s eye.
“We had lime-juice with sugar at dinner to-day instead of beer, and it seemed to be approved of. We call it wine, and we agreed that it was better than cider. Weighing has gone on this evening, and the increase in certain cases is still disquieting. Some have gained as much as 4 pounds in the last month—for instance, Sverdrup, Blessing, and Juell, who beats the record on board with 13 stone. ‘I never weighed so much as I do now,’ says Blessing, and it is much the same story with us all. Yes, this is a fatiguing expedition, but our menus are always in due proportion to our labors. To-day’s dinner: Knorr’s bean soup, toad-in-the-hole, potatoes, rice and milk, with cranberry jam. Yesterday’s dinner: Fish au gratin (hashed fish) with potatoes, curried rabbit with potatoes and French beans, stewed bilberries, and cranberries with milk. At breakfast yesterday we had freshly baked wheat-bread, at breakfast to-day freshly baked rye-bread. These are specimens of our ordinary bills of fare. It is as I expected: I hear the wind roaring in the rigging now; it is going to be a regular storm, according to our ideas of one here.
“Saturday, February 10th. Though that wind the other day did not come to much after all, we still hoped that we had made good way north, and it was consequently an unwelcome surprise when yesterday’s observation showed our latitude to be 79° 57′ N., 13′ farther south instead of farther north. It is extraordinary how little inured one gets to disappointments; the longing begins again; and again attainment seems so far off, so doubtful. And this though I dream at nights just now of getting out of the ice west of Iceland. Hope is a rickety craft to trust one’s self to. I had a long, successful drive with the dogs to-day.
“Sunday, February 11th. To-day we drove out with two teams of dogs. Things went well; the sledges got on much better over this ice than I thought they would. They do not sink much in the snow. On flat ice four dogs can draw two men.
“Tuesday, February 13th. A long drive southwest yesterday with white dogs. To-day still farther in the same direction on snow-shoes. It is good healthy exercise, with a temperature of 43° Fahr. to 47° Fahr. below zero (-42° and -44° C.) and a biting north wind. Nature is so fair and pure, the ice is so spotless, and the lights and shadows of the growing day so beautiful on the new-fallen snow. The Fram’s hoar-frost-covered rigging rises straight and white with rime towards the sparkling blue sky. One’s thoughts turn to the snow-shoeing days at home.
“Thursday, February 15th. I went yesterday on snow-shoes farther northeast than I have ever been before, but I could still see the ship’s rigging above the edge of the ice. I was able to go fast, because the ice was flat in that direction. To-day I went the same way with dogs. I am examining the ‘lie of the land’ all round, and thinking of plans for the future.
“What exaggerated reports of the Arctic cold are in circulation! It was cold in Greenland, and it is not milder here; the general day temperature just now is about 40° Fahr. and 43° Fahr. below zero. I was clothed yesterday as usual as regards the legs—drawers, knickerbockers, stockings, frieze leggings, snow-socks, and moccasins; my body covering consisted of an ordinary shirt, a wolf-skin cape, and a sealskin jacket, and I sweated like a horse. To-day I sat still, driving with only thin ducks above my ordinary leg wear, and on my body woollen shirt, vest, Iceland woollen jersey, a frieze coat, and a sealskin one. I found the temperature quite pleasant, and even perspired a little to-day, too. Both yesterday and to-day I had a red-flannel mask on my face, but it made me too warm, and I had to take it off, though there was a bitter breeze from the north. That north wind is still persistent, sometimes with a velocity of 9 or even 13 feet, but yet we do not seem to be drifting south; we lie in 80° north latitude, or even a few minutes farther north. What can be the reason of this? There is a little pressure every day just now. Curious that it should again occur at the moon’s change of quarter. The moon stands high in the sky, and there is daylight now, too. Soon the sun will be making his appearance, and when he does we shall hold high festival.
