To the waving of banners and strains of music the procession wended its way past the corner of the University (viz., the Fram), down “Karl Johan’s Street” and “Church Street” (a road laid out by Scott-Hansen for the occasion across the rift in front and the pressure-ridge), past Engebret’s (the depot on the ice), and then wheeled round to the “Fortification Parade”[4] (viz., the top of the great hummock), where it stopped and faced round with flags erect.
There I called for cheers in honor of the festive occasion, in response to which there rose a ninefold hurrah from the densely packed multitude.
At exactly 12 o’clock the official salute of the Seventeenth May was fired from our big bow guns. Then came a splendid banquet; the doctor had contributed a bottle of aqua vitæ, and every man had a bottle of genuine Crown Malt Extract, from the “Royal Brewery” in Copenhagen.
When the roast was served Scott-Hansen proposed the health of our dear ones at home and of our two absent comrades, who he hoped might achieve the task they had set themselves and return home safely. This toast was accompanied by a salute of two guns.
At 4 P.M. a great popular festival was held on the ice. The place was prettily decorated with flags and other emblems, and the programme offered a rich variety of entertainments. There was rope-dancing, gymnastics, shooting at running hares, and many other items. The public were in a highly festive mood throughout, and vigorously applauded the artists in all their performances. After a supper which was not far behind the dinner in excellence we gathered at night in the saloon around a steaming bowl of punch. The doctor, amid loud applause, proposed the health of the organizing committee, and I proposed the Fram. After this we kept it up in the merriest and most cordial spirit until far into the night.
[1] Vide pp. 91–98, Vol. II.
[2] Little “Barnet,” who weighed only 38 pounds, and was one of the smallest of the dogs, was a regular fighter, and, as a rule, the aggressor.
[3] On April 18th, when the doctor and I were out looking for a suitable piece of ice for determining the specific gravity of the ice, we observed a remarkable drop of water hanging under a projecting corner of a large block of ice, reared up high by pressure. There it hung, in the shade, quivering in the fresh breeze, although the thermometer registered about -23° of frost. “That must be very salt,” I said, and tasted it—“Phew!” It was salt in very truth—rank salt, like the strongest brine.