On the morning of the 5th of June, the three explorers arrived from Stockholm. At night a grand fête brought us together at Baron Dickson’s, one of the generous promoters of the enterprise.
Saturday evening, 6th of June.—Popular fête at Lorensburg Park; numerous speeches and enthusiastic toasts; reading of telegrams and kind wishes for the success of the expedition. The tables are adorned with magnificent bouquets of natural flowers enclosed in pyramids of ice. The effect is most picturesque, and this is certainly an idea which has never yet suggested itself, as far as I know, to the minds of the managers of our great culinary establishments; I now give them the benefit thereof. What can be more attractive than the picture of flowers and chandelier-lights reflected in these miniature icebergs?
Sunday, June 7th.—I arrived at the port at 8 a.m. The Virgo has been dressed in her gala bunting; her masts are resplendent with many-hued streamers. At the stern proudly floats the splendid silk flag presented by the ladies of Gothenburg. The deck is adorned with flowers and ribbons; I am touched at the sight of my national colours.
All the vessels in port are dressed with bunting, and crammed with spectators. An army of photographers, who all have their cameras pointed at the Virgo, are preparing to immortalize the vessel as she now appears.
The launches and all the boats, large and small, are making the Virgo their rendezvous. The rest of the population is on the quays and the neighbouring buildings.
M. Vieillard, a friend, who came to accompany me, left me at nine o’clock; we arranged to meet at Spitzbergen.
I saluted Baron Dickson, his daughter and his niece, who were on the quay. His son came to the Virgo to shake hands, and wish me a good voyage.
The three explorers also arrived with their friends crowding round them. The partings were very touching, and the emotion, in which all present shared, reached its height when precisely at ten o’clock the signal for starting was sounded.
The Virgo is slowly moving.
The enthusiasm becomes indescribable. An immense hurrah, four times repeated, is volleyed from every panting breast. Handkerchiefs and hats are waved frantically, the cheers burst forth with redoubled vigour. Andrée, Ekholm, and Strindberg, appear at the bulwarks with their bouquets and their ribbons: they signal their adieux and acknowledge ours.