“What did I think? Why, I thought it was all up with me. I hadn’t any weapon, you see; so I took my lantern and hit the beast as hard as ever I could with it on the head, and the lantern broke, and the pieces went skimming over the ice. On receiving the blow I gave him he squatted down and had a good look at me; but no sooner did I set off again than up he got too, whether to have another go at me, or what for, I can’t say. Anyhow, he caught sight of a dog coming along, and set off after it, and so I got on board.”
“Did you call out, Peter?”
“I should think I did! I holloaed as loud as ever I could!”
And no doubt he did, for he was quite hoarse.
“But where was Mogstad all the while?” asked Nansen.
“Why, you see, he had got to the ship long before me. It never occurred to him, I suppose, to give the alarm; but he takes his gun off the cabin wall, thinking he could manage by himself. But his gun wouldn’t go off, and the bear might have had plenty of time to eat me up right under his very nose.”
On leaving Peter, the bear, it seems, had set off after the dogs; and it was in this way it came near the ship, where, after killing one of the dogs, it was shot.
In the course of the winter Sverdrup set up a bear-trap of his own invention, but it did not prove very successful. One evening, a bear was seen approaching the trap; it was a bright moonlight night, much to Sverdrup’s delight. On reaching the trap, the bear reared itself on its hind legs very cautiously, laid his right paw on the woodwork, stared for a little while at the tempting bait, but didn’t seem to approve altogether of the ugly rows of teeth around it. Shaking his head suspiciously, he lowered himself on all fours, and sniffed at the steel wire fastened to the trap, and once more shook his head as if to say, “Those cunning beggars have planned this very carefully for me, no doubt.” Then he got up again on his hind legs and had another sniff, and down again on all fours, after which he came toward the ship and was shot.
Autumn passed away and Christmas arrived while the Fram was drifting between seventy-nine and eighty-one degrees north latitude. This tedious drifting was a sore trial to Nansen. He often thought that there must be some error in his calculations, often very nearly lost heart. But then he thought of those at home who had made such sacrifices for him, and of those on board who placed such implicit faith in him; while overhead the star—his star—shone out brilliantly in the wintry night, and inspired him with renewed courage.
The time was now drawing near when their first Christmas on board should be kept. The polar night, with its prolonged darkness and biting cold, brooded over the ship, and ice-pressures thundered all around.