“Friday, November 30th. I found a bear’s track on the ice in front of our bow. The bear had come from the east, trotting very gently along the lane, on the newly frozen ice, but he must have been scared by something or other ahead of the vessel, as he had gone off again with long strides in the same direction in which he had come. Strange that living creatures should be roaming about in this desert. What can they have to do here? If only one had such a stomach one could at least stand a journey to the Pole and back without a meal. We shall probably have him back again soon—that is, if I understand his nature aright—and then perhaps he will come a little closer, so that we may have a good look at him.[1]
“I paced the lane in front of the port bow. It was 348 paces across, and maintained the same width for a considerable distance eastward; nor can it be much narrower for a great distance to the west. Now, when one bears in mind that the lane behind us is also of considerable width, it is rather consoling, after all, to think that the ice does permit of such large openings. There must be room enough to drift, if we only get wind—wind which will never come. On the whole, November has been an uncommonly wretched month. Driven back instead of forward—and yet this month was so good last year. But one can never rely on the seasons in this dreadful sea; taking all in all, perhaps, the winter will not be a bit better than the summer. Yet, it surely must improve—I cannot believe otherwise.
“The skies are clouded with a thick veil, through which the stars barely glisten. It is darker than usual, and in this eternal night we drift about, lonely and forsaken, ‘for the whole world was filled with a shining light and undisturbed activity. Above those men alone brooded nought but depressing night—an image of that gloom which was soon to swallow them up.’
“This dark, deep, silent void is like the mysterious, unfathomable well into which you look for that something which you think must be there, only to meet the reflection of your own eyes. Ugh! the worn-out thoughts you can never get rid of become in the end very wearisome company. Is there no means of fleeing from one’s self, to grasp one single thought—only a single one, which lies outside one’s self—is there no way except death? But death is certain; one day it will come, silent and majestic; it will open Nirvana’s mighty portal, and we shall be swept away into the sea of eternity.
“Sunday, December 2d. Sverdrup has now been ill for some days; during the last day or two he has been laid up in his berth, and is still there. I trust it is nothing serious; he himself thinks nothing of it, nevertheless it is very disquieting. Poor fellow, he lives entirely on oatmeal gruel. It is an intestinal catarrh, which he probably contracted through catching cold on the ice. I am afraid he has been rather careless in this respect. However, he is now improving, so that probably it will soon pass off; but it is a warning not to be over-confident. I went for a long walk this morning along the lane; it is quite a large one, extending a good way to the east, and being of considerable breadth at some points. It is only after walking for a while on the newly frozen ice, where walking is as easy and comfortable as on a well-trodden path, and then coming up to the snow-covered surface of the old ice again, that one thoroughly appreciates for the first time what it means to go without snow-shoes; the difference is something marvellous. Even if I have not felt warm before, I break out into a perspiration after going a short distance over the rough ice. But what can one do? One cannot use snow-shoes; it is so dark that it is difficult enough to grope one’s way about with ordinary boots, and even then one stumbles about or slips down between great blocks of ice.
“I am now reading the various English stories of the polar expeditions during the Franklin period, and the search for him, and I must admit I am filled with admiration for these men and the amount of labor they expended. The English nation, truly, has cause to be proud of them. I remember reading these stories as a lad, and all my boyish fancies were strangely thrilled with longing for the scenery and the scenes which were displayed before me. I am reading them now as a man, after having had a little experience myself; and now, when my mind is uninfluenced by romance, I bow in admiration. There was grit in men like Parry, Franklin, James Ross, Richardson, and last, but not least, in M’Clintock, and, indeed, in all the rest. How well was their equipment thought out and arranged, with the means they had at their disposal! Truly, there is nothing new under the sun. Most of what I prided myself upon, and what I thought to be new, I find they had anticipated. M’Clintock used the same thing forty years ago. It was not their fault that they were born in a country where the use of snow-shoes is unknown, and where snow is scarcely to be found throughout the whole winter. Nevertheless, despite the fact that they had to gain their experience of snow and snow travel during their sojourn up here; despite the fact that they were without snow-shoes and had to toil on as best they could with sledges with narrow runners over uneven snow-covered drift-ice—what distances did they not cover, what fatigues and trials did they not endure! No one has surpassed and scarcely any one approached them, unless, perhaps, the Russians on the Siberian coast; but then they have the great advantage of being natives of a country where snow is not uncommon.
“Friday, December 14th. Yesterday we held a great festivity in honor of the Fram as being the vessel which has attained the highest latitude (the day before yesterday we reached 82° 30′ north latitude).
“The bill of fare at dinner was boiled mackerel, with parsely-butter sauce; pork cutlets and French pease; Norwegian wild strawberries, with rice and milk; Crown malt extract; afterwards coffee. For supper: new bread and currant cake, etc., etc. Later in the evening, a grand concert. Sweets and preserved pears were handed round. The culminating point of the entertainment was reached when a steaming hot and fragrant bowl of cherry-punch was carried in and served round amidst general hilarity. Our spirits were already very high, but this gave color to the whole proceedings. The greatest puzzle to most of them was where the ingredients for the punch, and more particularly the alcohol, had come from.[2]
“Then followed the toasts. First, a long and festive one to ‘The Fram,’ which had now shown what she was capable of. It ran somewhat to this effect: ‘There were many wise men who shook their heads when we started, and sent us ominous farewell greetings. But their head-shakings would have been less vigorous and their evil forebodings milder if they could have seen us at this moment, drifting quietly and at our ease across the most northerly latitudes ever attained by any vessel, and still farther northward. And the Fram is now not only the most northerly vessel on the globe, but has already passed over a large expanse of hitherto unknown regions, many degrees farther north than have ever been reached in this ocean on this side of the Pole. But we hope she will not stop here; concealed behind the mist of the future there are many triumphs in store for us—triumphs which will dawn upon us one by one when their time has come. But we will not speak of this now; we will be content with what has hitherto been achieved, and I believe that the promise implied in Björnson’s greeting to us and to the Fram, when she was launched, has already been fulfilled, and with him we can exclaim:
“‘“Hurrah for the ship and her voyage dread!