“Maundy Thursday, March 22d. A strong southeasterly wind still, and a good drift northward. Our spirits are rising. The wind whistles through the rigging overhead, and sounds like the sough of victory through the air. In the forenoon one of the puppies had a severe attack of convulsions; it foamed at the mouth and bit furiously at everything round it. It ended with tetanus, and we carried it out and laid it down on the ice. It hopped about like a toad, its legs stiff and extended, neck and head pointing upward, while its back was curved like a saddle. I was afraid it might be hydrophobia or some other infectious sickness, and shot it on the spot. Perhaps I was rather too hasty; we can scarcely have any infection among us now. But what could it have been? Was it an epileptic attack? The other day one of the other puppies alarmed me by running round and round in the chart-house as if it were mad, hiding itself after a time between a chest and the wall. Some of the others, too, had seen it do the same thing; but after a while it got all right again, and for the last few days there has been nothing amiss with it.
“Good Friday, March 23d. Noonday observation gives 80° north latitude. In four days and nights we have drifted as far north as we drifted southward in three weeks. It is a comfort, at all events, to know that!
“It is remarkable how quickly the nights have grown light. Even stars of the first magnitude can now barely manage to twinkle in the pale sky at midnight.
“Saturday, March 24th. Easter Eve. To-day a notable event has occurred. We have allowed the light of spring to enter the saloon. During the whole of the winter the skylight was covered with snow to keep the cold out, and the dogs’ kennels, moreover, had been placed round it. Now we have thrown out all the snow upon the ice, and the panes of glass in the skylight have been duly cleared and cleaned.
“Monday, March 26th. We are lying motionless—no drift. How long will this last? Last equinox how proud and triumphant I was! The whole world looked bright; but now I am proud no longer.
“The sun mounts up and bathes the ice-plain with its radiance. Spring is coming, but brings no joys with it. Here it is as lonely and cold as ever. One’s soul freezes. Seven more years of such life—or say only four—how will the soul appear then? And she...? If I dared to let my longings loose—to let my soul thaw. Ah! I long more than I dare confess.
“I have not courage to think of the future.... And how will it be at home, when year after year rolls by and no one comes?
“I know this is all a morbid mood; but still this inactive, lifeless monotony, without any change, wrings one’s very soul. No struggle, no possibility of struggle! All is so still and dead, so stiff and shrunken, under the mantle of ice. Ah! ... the very soul freezes. What would I not give for a single day of struggle—for even a moment of danger!
“Still I must wait, and watch the drift; but should it take a wrong direction, then I will break all the bridges behind me, and stake everything on a northward march over the ice. I know nothing better to do. It will be a hazardous journey—a matter, maybe, of life or death. But have I any other choice?
“It is unworthy of a man to set himself a task, and then give in when the brunt of the battle is upon him. There is but one way, and that is Fram—forward.