Henri Lachambre

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I left Paris on the night of the 2nd of June, 1896, to accompany AndrÉe and his companions to Spitzbergen, as had been arranged. My mind was much taken up with speculations as to the ultimate fate of the expedition, and the responsibility I had undertaken weighed rather heavily upon me.

Without stopping at the various stages of my journey, Cologne, Hamburg, and Copenhagen, though all of them very interesting towns, I arrived at Gothenburg, where I was received by Captain AndrÉe, brother of the explorer; and although much fatigued by forty hours’ railway and boat travelling, my first visit was to the good ship Virgo, which was to be my home for several months, and convey me towards the northern regions.

AndrÉe, who left nothing to chance, had chosen his vessel well, and his brother superintended her loading and equipment.

When I arrived work was proceeding with feverish activity, and it is almost impossible to conceive the quantity of goods which were stowed away in this small vessel of 300 tons. I was present at the embarkation of the barrows of sulphuric acid which had been brought from England.

We have a select crew, composed almost entirely of engineering students from the technical school of Stockholm, and officers who have taken berths as ordinary sailors in order to follow the expedition; one can see that there will be no more lack of brave and generous hearts than of scientific heads.

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.

THE FIRST FLOATING ICEBERGS.

Then we, too, have our share in this grand and most impressive manifestation.

The flag of the Virgo dips by way of salute, and then rises again, and at this moment the cortÉge of vessels and boats forms up around our vessel, which has progressed a little towards the open sea.

Something like a hundred boats follow in our wake. On several of them bands are playing, and a regular procession commences. Those who have no boats follow along the quays; it is a veritable tide of human beings.

A few inevitable collisions occurred between some of the impetuous small craft, but most happily no serious accident is to be regretted.

The sun is shining gloriously; the sky, too, has put on its festive garb, and seems desirous of encouraging the bold explorers leaving for the conquest of the North Pole.

We are now out in the open sea.

At one o’clock we are assembled on the quarter-deck, and the introductions commence:—

Herr AndrÉe, former pupil of the higher technical school of Stockholm, Director of the Patent Office, and commander of the expedition;

Herr Ekholm, doctor of natural philosophy, chief of the Meteorological Office of Stockholm;

Herr Strindberg, former student of Upsala University, second master at the Free University of Stockholm;

Herr Svante ArrhÉnius, hydrographer, chief of the Stockholm University, professor of natural philosophy;

Herr Grumberg, naturalist, master at the Stockholm University, higher school;

Dr. Carl Ekelund, physician to the expedition;

Captain Hugo Zachau, commander of the Virgo, which ordinarily plies between Gothenburg and Hull.

Nor must we forget the stewardess Charlotte, a complaisant Swede, wearing a coquettish little white toque, of the comic-opera style, trimmed with a pretty ribbon bearing the badge of the expedition. This charming person made me three pretty curtsies, and an acquaintance was soon formed between us. It is she who will wait on us at table. She seems much at her ease on board the Virgo, and she has better sea-legs than I have. She has made a napkin ring with ribbons for each of us; mine bears the French colours. She is, moreover, very amusing. There is also the cook, who excels in the preparation of omelettes aux anchois—but I must not anticipate.

After the introductions we taste the brandy and whisky; we drink toasts for the success of the polar expedition; then several speeches are made. At three o’clock we assemble for dinner in the dining saloon. The captain does the honours at the table; he is a jolly amphitryon, and robust both physically and morally. The meal passed off very gaily.

I was seated near Strindberg and Professor ArrhÉnius, with whom I can speak in my own language, and also learn a few words of Swedish. This, in fact, is simply by way of retaliation, as I have been appointed “professor of the French language” by acclamation.

We take our coffee on deck, smoking delicious Havannahs presented to the expedition. Gently cradled by the waves, I abandon myself to revery. How many things I have seen since my departure, and how far away from home I am already! Nevertheless, I have only reached the first stage, and much excitement is still in store for me.

I have taken possession of my cabin, which adjoins the kitchen and dining saloon, and am settling down there as comfortably as possible, but not without difficulty, as the place allotted to me is very small.

At eight o’clock the dinner bell once more unites us round the table, and the evening is spent in frankest cordiality. The voyage commences very promisingly.

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II
Out at Sea

June 8th, 1896, 10.30.—We have been under way for twenty-four hours; we are in sight of Norway, off the Forsund, at a distance of nine miles from the coast, but the mist prevents us from seeing very far. The fir-clad mountains are vaguely outlined to our right, and the Virgo is heading due north-west. There is nothing for us to do but take life as it comes. I commence my diary in my cabin. The sea, though a little rough, has not yet troubled me. AndrÉe alone has already paid his tribute.

Tuesday, June 9th, Coasts of Norway.—Sea rough, general discomfort, moral prostration; I am unable to write. The Virgo rolls heavily. At the present moment, 6 p.m., it is as light as at midday.

Wednesday, June 10th, 6.30.—The temperature has gone down considerably; we have crossed the polar circle. A steamer has kept company with us this morning at a distance of 7½ miles on our port side. Sea rough.

Thursday, June 11th, 10 a.m.—In sight of the Loffoden Islands; sky overcast; some few rays of the sun; sea smoother; the vessel still rolls.

Friday, June 12th, 9.30.—At last we are in the straits which lead to TromsÖ. I was so ill to-night that I should have thrown myself into the sea had I forgotten, for one moment, my duty and my family.

DANES ISLAND AND THE PIKE HOUSE.

At 11 p.m. I sent for the doctor; it seemed to me that I was going to die all alone in my narrow cabin. He ordered me champagne and sleep. Charlotte, the stewardess, brought me some oranges, and took off my boots, which I had not had the courage to take off for four days. Oh, Charlotte, my fair Scandinavian maid, with your clear eyes, your engaging smile, your gay face, and your lithe but robust physique, how you must have pitied “the French gentleman,” as they called me, who but the other day was so nimble, so sure of himself to all appearance, and who has suddenly become more inert and helpless than an old cap that has been cast away by the skipper!

And in spite of the horrible tortures I suffered, I was vaguely conscious of the strange humour of the situation of having my boots removed by dainty female hands better adapted for millinery than for such a rough task.

Have you ever been sea-sick? If you have, you will understand me. How well I then understood what is narrated of Cicero, who, having taken refuge on board a vessel in order to escape the assassin sent out for him by Marc-Antony, preferred returning to Gaeta, to face the death which he feared, to enduring any longer the tortures of sea-sickness.

The bay bristles with high granite mountains with snow-capped summits. The Virgo makes signals for a pilot, who is a long time coming; she stops from five o’clock to nine awaiting him, and strange to say, when the noise of the engine ceases we have a feeling of sadness. It is as if something was wanting from our lives.

At last, at half-past nine the much-wished-for pilot arrives, and the Virgo resumes her route towards TromsÖ, the promised land.

We are now floating on a lake whose banks are clad with verdure. I behold with some amount of pleasure the objects surrounding me.

What a contrast! On the right a group of well-built, brick pilots’ houses, on the mountain slope, facing the sea. Heavy cumuli cover the summits of the rocks; above, the sky is of a pure blue, and the bright sun pours floods of golden light over the landscape.

On the left there is a church standing all alone, the rendezvous of the fishermen who inhabit the coast in summer.

The sailors are getting ready the boat which is to set us ashore, as there is no quay at TromsÖ, and the Virgo will remain at anchor in the roads.

The bay is getting narrower and villages succeed each other, with telegraph lines on both banks. Numerous Norwegian fishing boats are ploughing the sea. The air is pure and dry.

The Virgo glides majestically over the waves like a large bird. The landscape becomes animated and really fairy-like.

At eleven o’clock we sight TromsÖ with its steeple, its wooden houses and villas rising in tiers one above the other on the slope of a very fertile mountain. The pilot is still steering the Virgo. Objects appear larger and more distinct; there is the harbour, with its vessels at anchor.

At ten minutes past one we arrive opposite TromsÖ. We drop anchor at about five furlongs from the shore. As I have already mentioned, there is no landing stage. We are already surrounded by several boats. There is M. Aagaard, the consul, coming to welcome us. Then the telegraph messenger appears, to hand AndrÉe a package of telegrams. Lastly there are the friends of the explorers, and the members of the Geological Commission, who are going to travel with us as far as the Ice-Fjord.

We take a seat in a boat which puts us ashore in a few minutes.

June 14th.—We left TromsÖ at 1 a.m. in splendid weather. The farewells of the inhabitants, who came flocking in crowds to cheer us, were very touching, and the Virgo resumed her course towards the north.

The sun was shining so brilliantly, as I have said, that I could scarcely realize whether it was midday or midnight.

Although less solemn than at Gothenburg, our departure was very imposing. The whole town was assembled on the quays, and all the boats of the port were formed in line to do us homage. There were tourists in steam-launches and fishing boats. In short, the whole populace of TromsÖ had made a point of being there to wish us God-speed.

In the boats there were many well-dressed ladies; in one boat, in particular, there were five females frantically waving their handkerchiefs to the sailors.

Then TromsÖ receded into the background, and will soon be nothing to us but a memory, a vision looked back to with regret.

Sunday passed without any incident. On Monday night we fell in with the first icebergs, and progress became more difficult.

DANSK-GATT.

June 16th, noon.—Since the morning we have been running along the coast of Spitzbergen, my future home, the place of my temporary exile. The progress of the boat is slow and perilous, in the midst of floating ice-blocks, which threaten to crush us at every moment. It requires all the experience of the captain and all the vigilance of the man at the wheel to avoid a catastrophe.

The ice pilot is on the look-out in the rigging, and indicates by signal the open channels.

We have seen a large number of birds, whales throwing up an immense stream of water, seals, etc. Three of these animals were disporting themselves on an ice-floe within gunshot. They were at once saluted by a discharge of guns, which did not hit them.

A variety of birds, very common in these regions, among them the auk, or fulmar (a kind of wild duck), which dives immediately it is pursued. This is, moreover, the way in which these birds seek their food, like all birds of the polar regions, for they live on fish. The steward of the vessel has just killed two with one shot. These birds have a very clumsy flight, their tail is very short, and it is only with the aid of their web feet that they steer themselves.

Yesterday, while passing near the Isle of Beeren-Eiland, which was hidden from our view by the fog, we saw myriads of birds of all kinds, among others a large number of sea-gulls.

This morning the thermometer stood at 2° above zero (Centigrade), 35·6 Fahr.

There was hoar-frost all along the rigging, and the sailors on the watch above cannot be overwarm.

We met a Norwegian sailing boat which was hunting walrusses, and had been cruising for several days in sight of Spitzbergen; they gave us some useful hints as to the state of the ice. Every now and then a sailor took soundings; the depth was from 15 to 20 fathoms.

The Virgo has just stopped her engines; the officers are holding a council. We are at the 76th degree of latitude, and we have not much further to go in order to reach Ice-Fjord, where we shall put in first before proceeding to Norsk-Oarna.

To the right the mountains covered with eternal snow; in front of us an impassable ice-field. There is an open passage near the coast, but the captain does not know the depth of water there. He is examining his charts. We shall have to wait. However, I fear a delay which will not suit AndrÉe.

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III
The Installation

Wednesday, June 17th, in lat. 77° N.—After having vainly sought a passage during the whole of yesterday, the captain considered it wise to take refuge in the Horn-Sund Bay, a small natural port to the south-east of Spitzbergen, where he cast anchor this morning at four o’clock.

Here we are secure from all danger, and shall patiently wait till the sea is open, which will not be long.

Our little harbour is a marvel of creation; a ring of mountains covered with snow, the summits of which were this morning veiled in mist. Immense glaciers, from which portions detach themselves with a fearful crash, animate this white landscape, while at the same time they inspire us with a feeling of vague dread. Gigantic icebergs, resembling in their shape and bluish colour immense crystals of copperas, are drifting about in the middle of the bay—a veritable oasis, where the temperature is very mild, notwithstanding the snow which covers the ground almost entirely.

The sun is very hot, casting a golden reflection over the whole of this charming picture, which the birds enhance by their glad song, as if to testify to their joy and love of life.

At 9 a.m. we set foot on terra firma with undisguised satisfaction. AndrÉe, Ekholm, and Strindberg go ashore equipped with their instruments. They fix our bearings and determine the magnetic declination.

In fact, they have been working incessantly since we went to sea. They are true men of science, in love with their work, learned, yet making no show of their knowledge. The geologists have found a vast field for their researches, and the botanists have been able to collect at their ease. However, while the fauna is varied enough, the flora is very scanty, being confined to a few lichens, with mosses of a pretty green colour, cochlearias, and dwarf saxifrages, the tiny violet flowers of which are charming to behold.

Some climbed the mountains and descended the slopes on ski, the beloved snow-shoes of the Scandinavian. Others went hunting with the arms presented by Swedish armourers to the Polar Expedition. As for myself, I was content to admire this imposing nature, and tried to utilise my modest talents as an amateur photographer, in order to perpetuate on negatives the splendid picture in which the Virgo was set, now appearing reduced to Liliputian proportions.

Our general quarters were established on the ruins of an encampment which had belonged to a party of Siberian hunters who spent the whole of last year on this spot.

There are many fragments of driftwood cast ashore by the waves, and numerous bones; a sailor picked up an enormous vertebra of a whale, and the doctor extracted a molar from the jaw of a bear (the bear was no longer there to protest).

The pilot went to explore the sea from the top of the mountains. No change this morning in the state of the ice.

We reassembled on the Virgo for lunch at two o’clock. AndrÉe went in the ship’s boat to shoot seals, but without hitting any. After lunch we returned to the shore, and each of us occupied himself according to his taste. The sky cleared up, and a very cold and cutting east wind arose. The boat was tossed about a good deal as we returned, and the current drove before it all the pieces of ice floating in the bay. At 11.30 p.m., at the moment when I am writing these lines, a sun-ray is falling through my porthole, and the wind is whistling with some violence.

Saturday, June 20th, 4 a.m.—Pleasant awakening at the mouth of the Bay of Ice-Fjord, opposite the Raftsund, which has been at anchor since last night.

Weather dull, a fine cold rain. A boat comes towards us, bringing a correspondent of the paper Aftonbladet, of Stockholm, who is to accompany us to Norsk-Oarna.

ARRIVAL OF A GENERATOR.

A small boat brings my friend Vieillard, who is the bearer of despatches for me. We spend two hours together, and my joy is great at seeing him again, and at last hearing news from my family. Then the moment of parting comes. M. Vieillard rejoins his vessel in order to return to France; he takes with him my letters and despatches. I take several negatives of the Raftsund, a splendid boat; and the Virgo then continues her course towards the north, after having exchanged the customary salutes.

The sea is free from ice, and the Virgo is now going ahead full speed.

Sunday, 21st.—Towards 2 a.m. we arrive in sight of the Norsk-Oarna Islands, the place intended for the erection of the shed and the future centre of our operations.

During the morning we take a reconnoitring trip by boat round the islands in order to find a favourable place, accessible to our vessel, the unloading of which will be very difficult in the absence of a landing quay and all the plant usually available in any port.

The charts which we possess of this region are very inaccurate. AndrÉe takes a survey of several points of the coast. The huntsmen in the boat bagged about ten eider-geese. We gave up the idea of establishing ourselves here, and in the afternoon we reached the Isle of Amsterdam, 7½ miles to the south-west.

The sky is clear, the air is keen and cutting.

Monday morning.—The three explorers made a fresh survey, and AndrÉe finally decided on the little vale of Dansk-Gatt as the point where we are to establish ourselves.

The place is sheltered on all sides by high mountains, opening out to the north only upon the open sea. A wooden hut, formerly constructed by an Englishman, Mr. Pike, will serve us as a shelter, and we shall leave there the surplus of our reserve store of provisions. This hospitable little house already possesses a depÔt of preserved provisions, coal, and various articles. The ground is strewn with pieces of rock and covered with snow, into which one sinks up to one’s knees.

Tuesday, June 23rd.—At 6 a.m. the vessel began to unload; all the boats are out at sea. The Virgo cannot approach nearer than within 164 yards of the bank. The disembarkation of the balloon and the gas plant will present very serious difficulties, and will certainly take up much precious time.

Thermometer 2° (35·6 Fahr.) above freezing point. Barometer 29·92 inches. Wind south-west, fresh. Sky cloudy, clear patches at rare intervals. Sun very hot. Sea calm. The steam launch has got up steam. Mr. Pike’s yacht came to visit the house on the 16th inst. This little structure, built entirely of wood like the Norwegian houses, is comfortable enough; it contains a dining-room, bed-rooms, and a kitchen. There are stoves in all the rooms, and our sailors have lighted them in order to dry the walls; the lock shuts badly, and the door is kept to with a piece of ice. The garret serves excellently as a dove-cot, and we install our pigeons there, but they will not be so comfortable there as in their ordinary pigeon-house; nevertheless, it will be a convenient shelter for them. These pigeons have been trained at Hammerfest. We have already despatched several while at sea, but do not know yet whether they have returned to Norway.

Wednesday, June 24th.—The unloading of the vessel proceeds rapidly. The site for the shed is ready, and the carpenters are starting work.

This shed, intended to shelter the balloon, deserves special mention. Designed in a very ingenious manner, it was erected at Gothenburg, where the inhabitants of the town could inspect it before it was dismantled for shipment. It is of octagonal shape, and consists of four storeys, each measuring 196·8545 inches in height. The various storeys are joined to each other by means of bolts; the last storey is surmounted by a balcony all round.

In order to facilitate re-erection in Spitzbergen, the component parts of each storey are marked with marks of different colour. The floor of the shed is composed of timber work, all meeting in the centre, and made fast on the rocks with pieces of wood, for the ground is very irregular, and it is impossible to level it.

On the east and west sides, two staircases lead to the balcony, and at the same time serve to strengthen the structure.

The re-erection of this shed at Dane’s Island was very laborious. It was carried out with much skill by the two master carpenters, assisted by the crew.

It was necessary, first of all, to remove the snow which covered the ground, to lay foundations, and join together the beams, which were put up and shifted by means of a hand-winch placed in the centre of the structure, and slewing all round.

ARRIVAL OF A GAS GENERATOR.

The work was frequently interfered with by storms, which compelled the carpenters to interrupt their task.

The framework, when once put up, was closed in with large panels of wood prepared in Sweden.

The upper part of the shed is carried up on the south side, above the rest of the structure, by means of beams 16 feet 4 inches high, carrying a canvas cover, intended to protect the top of the balloon against a violent wind.

A movable roof or canvas awning, sliding on wire cables, was intended to protect the balloon against snow. Unfortunately time did not permit of putting it up in position.

June 26th.—In the morning the sun appeared; the sky is very clear, and the snow is slowly melting. The temperature is pleasant to-day; but now, in the afternoon, the cirri are approaching, and I believe that the fine weather will not last long.

The Virgo, relieved of part of its cargo, was able to get within 66 yards of the shore. The crew then proceeded to discharge the heavy packages, hydrogen generators, and the case containing the balloon. The three ship’s boats, coupled together, were made up into a kind of raft, hauled by the steam launch.

In order to bring ashore these packages, which weighed from two to three tons, it was found necessary to form a roadway (or a kind of inclined plane), with the aid of two large pine logs brought from Norway, and to haul them by means of a pulley tackle drawn by the whole of the crew.

One is struck with the calm and intense stillness which reigns in these regions remote from all civilization. The mountain birds alone break its monotony, and give us a joyous concert.

In roaming over the islands, one is surprised at the number of tumuli and human remains to be met with. This is because Spitzbergen, too, has its history, and that a rather troubled one; but we will not speak of it here.

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IV
The Victoria—Bear Hunting

On the 27th of June, in the afternoon, our attention is attracted by the arrival of a vessel coming from the north. It is always a pleasant event to come across other navigators in these distant regions; it makes one feel less lonely and isolated. It is Mr. Pick’s Victoria, commanded by Captain Nilson, who hunts bears and seals on these shores. She casts anchor near the Virgo. We enter a boat and go to welcome the travellers.

AndrÉe obtains some information from the captain as to the state of the ice in the north. I pay a visit to the boat, which, though otherwise plain and rough, is nevertheless fitted up to perfection for the peculiar nature of her expeditions. She contains various objects which are not without interest for me, who am a new-comer to these regions, such as skins of bears and various birds; also a live young bear, captured at the Norwegian islands, which utters ominous growls, and seems to protest energetically against this outrage upon its liberty.

Sunday, the 28th of June, was an eventful day, and full of emotions. The Victoria left at 9 a.m. for Ice-Fjord, taking with her an enormous parcel of letters, with our best wishes for our nearest and dearest.

After an early lunch we started for an excursion. Strindberg, Grumberg, ArrhÉnius, Dr. Ekelund, two engineers, two sailors, and myself, went off in the steam launch.

The weather was superb, the sea calm, the sky a little misty; some pretty cumuli touched the summits of the mountains. We steamed round Dane’s Island, and shaped our course towards Smeerenburg.

Our little boat goes ahead full speed, and gives herself up to a mad race among floating ice-blocks which cover the surface of the bay.

The spectacle is marvellous. We are surrounded by imposing rocks, whence the snow descends in capricious veins and furrows, and whose craggy summits, gilded by a glowing sun, are set off against an azure sky of exceeding purity. These granite rocks, of grotesque and erratic shape, throw the most fantastic shadows upon the white surface of the glaciers.

The atmosphere is so transparent that it is very difficult to estimate distances merely by the eye. The mountains are from 2,000 to 3,000 feet high, and yet at first sight one would think that they are very easy to climb. I have very often been misled by this optical illusion. Sounds can be heard very clearly at a great distance.

We cross the course of the little sailing boat of Stadling, the correspondent of the Stockholm Aftonbladet, and the colombophile of the polar expedition.

He is also starting on a journey of discovery, together with two companions.

We take our course towards the east, and land on a little islet covered with moss.

Our guns bring down several eider-geese, and on setting foot ashore we came across several nests of these birds, containing three or four eggs of the size of goose eggs and of a greyish-green colour.

But our survey is soon made, and we resume our course in a south-easterly direction, where we can already see the outline of the Isle of Moffen, which is the goal of our excursion.

This isle presents a singular contrast with the surrounding mountains, owing to the vigour of its colouring, which changes from a light-green to a dark-brown.

The mosses of different varieties, interspersed with yellowish lichens and saxifrages of a delicate violet tint, offer us a soft carpet, inviting to rest, and delighting to the eye.

Thousands of birds, making a deafening noise, inhabit this enchanted land.

But their tranquillity is disturbed by our prosaic and insatiable hunters, who give themselves up to a veritable hecatomb of game. They have scarcely got ashore, and about one hundred eider-geese are already lying on the ground. They are so numerous and so unsuspecting that they will scarcely move away more than a few yards from us; one can easily see that their solitude is rarely disturbed by visitors of our species, or at least of an equally bellicose character.

They much resemble our domestic ducks, and one might easily imagine one’s self in the midst of a park or a poultry yard. At one moment I had about ten around me, come to drink or bathe in a little brook of clear water, which babbled in a cascade over the moss and pebbles.

At every step one comes across a nest made of moss and feathers, sheltered by a fragment of rock. The female bird has plucked off her softest down to protect her eggs or her brood against the frost. The brooding bird is scarcely disturbed by our approach. She covers up her eggs and hides them under the down before taking her flight, if she is given time to do so. The reports of the gun repeated again and again by the echo reverberating from the mountains resemble the rolling of thunder and make a hideous din.

At four o’clock, a lunch, highly appreciated, is served out on a bank of moss. This meal, partaken with vigorous appetite, consists of ham, caviar, and slices of smoked reindeer-flesh; the whole being washed down with light beer, and seasoned by the most unrestrained gaiety. A pure Havannah cigar completes this most unconventional feast.

We fill our lungs with the pure air, and feel it a joy to live.

But time glides swiftly by, and we must think of returning. We are two hours’ journey from the Virgo.

Our sailors make an extensive raid upon the nests, and return loaded with baskets full of eggs and down. The game is put on board and we depart.

As we run along, the coast and glaciers are covered with seals, but the noise of our engine frightens them and they flee at our approach.

The sea has become rough, and the wind, which takes us port, sends up waves which threaten to swamp the boat. We are much tossed about, but I can now stand the rolling of the vessel like an old mariner. However, we must not boast: one cannot be too sure of anything. The temperature has gone down perceptibly, and the cumuli, which a short time ago were hovering on the sides of the mountains, are now lowering down upon the sea, and soon envelop us completely. We are now in the midst of a very dense and cold fog. We can scarcely see a few yards in front of us, and we must slacken speed in order to avoid collision with the icebergs detached from the glaciers. The sun, which, a moment ago, still showed very feebly, has completely disappeared. We are plunged into utter darkness, and in spite of compass and charts we have, for the moment, lost our bearings. What a change, after the aspect of the sky a short while ago! The engineer whistles by way of a call to the Virgo, but there is no response from that vessel.

Without being actually desperate, our situation is becoming critical, as we no longer know exactly what distance we have covered.

We run a risk of passing our island without perceiving it, and of getting lost at sea!

At last, after several detours, we recognise the lagoons of the Isle of Amsterdam on the right, and soon a sailor points out the Virgo, which looms in the semi-darkness at a distance of fifty yards or so in front of us.

At this moment it is 8 p.m. The captain, AndrÉe, and Ekholm are on the deck. Without being alarmed at our fate, they were glad enough to see us back again; but Stadling’s boat has not yet come back.

The mist becomes thicker and thicker, and one can scarcely see from one end of the vessel to the other. One of the crew is ringing the bell every few moments, in order to indicate the route to the three belated tourists. The supper passes off very gaily. Each recounts his adventures and describes his impressions; mine have been of a very lively nature. But the day had still a far more remarkable event in store for us.

We were beginning to be rather troubled about the fate of our friends, when at about 10 p.m., having gone up on to the gangway to see how the fog was, I heard, very faintly at first, a murmuring sound, then a song keeping time with the splash of oars. No doubt it is they; evidently they, too, have lost their way.

The outline of the gallant little craft appears a few yards away, and the boat comes on propelled by oars, as they had been compelled to take down their sail. But what is that shapeless mass, of a doubtful white, spotted with red, which fills the bottom of the boat?

Although worn out with fatigue, the excursionists are radiant; they have performed veritable prodigies: they have been bear-hunting, and bring back three dead bears in their frail boat.

They are at once the object of an enthusiastic ovation, while the animals—a large she-bear and two cubs—are hoisted on board, leaving a pool of blood in the bottom of the little boat.

You already know Stadling, permit me to introduce his two companions—Appelberg, engineering student of the Stockholm technical school, and Axel Stack, chemical engineer at the Stockholm University—and let the first-named gentleman recount in his own words the circumstances of this somewhat dramatic adventure:—

“You will remember the charming day we had on the 28th of June; the sun glistened on the waters of Smeerenburg as on a mirror, the surrounding mountains enhancing the wildness and grandeur of the scene. You will also remember the glacier at the bottom of Smeerenburg. I have told you about the adventure we had opposite this glacier, when in consequence of a sudden split a detached mass of enormous size produced in the sea an immense wave, which threatened to engulph our small boat and gave us an unexpected douche.

“Immediately after this adventure I hastened to take a photo of the glacier. While searching for a suitable point, I discovered in the snow on the shore the track of three bears going from east to west, in the direction of South-Gatt and the open sea. Having informed my companions of this lucky find, I returned to the boat, followed by my friends, one of whom was gravely engaged in drying his clothes in the sun, after the enforced bath caused by the splitting of the glacier.

“Thereupon a rather original chase commenced; my companions rowed, whilst I held the rudder lines, at the same time observing through my glasses the tracks on the bank and following their direction. The tracks of the bears led us continually from east to west. Here and there the animals evidently had rested in some natural trenches formed in the snow. In other places there were sloping grooves on the bank, where the bears had amused themselves by sliding on these natural sledges. Having passed two promontories and a very old glacier, we arrived at a third promontory, beyond which there was another glacier about 1¼ mile wide. In front of it there was an iceberg.

“When we arrived at the extreme point of the promontory, we stopped, as no further tracks were visible; from this we concluded that the bears must be somewhere in the neighbourhood.

“Having reconnoitred as far as the firm ice, protected by large icebergs, I perceived the bears below the glacier, jumping one after another from a block of ice. The mother, followed by her cubs, was giving herself up to this exercise either to amuse herself or to give her young ones a lesson in gymnastics,—I do not know which.

“At any rate I watched with curiosity for some moments this scene of ursine family life. It was an exceedingly curious sight, I assure you. But this patriarchal and rustic scene was destined soon to come to an end, thanks to the huntsman’s instinct which suddenly awoke within me. I felt bound, at all cost, to kill this interesting family, the mother and her cubs. Why? Who can reason with passion, who can reason with a hunter! Without further idle reflection, and as the chief of a gang who has resolved upon an immediate attack on a long-desired prey, I ordered my comrades to remain in the boat until I returned, and on my knees I crept over the ice, behind the fragments of rocks, towards the three animals. This ice was perforated like a sieve, and the water fell from it in small cascades with a continuous and monotonous noise; small fragments were detaching themselves from it every moment, without, however, retarding my progress.

“Regardless of all risk, I continued to drag myself along behind fragments of rocks and approached to within about 430 yards of my quarry. Now I had no longer any shelter; I was exposed to view. Then I took a long aim, fired and wounded one of the cubs. The mother rushed towards it, sometimes looking about her, and sometimes licking the poor beast.

“I could see her very closely with my glasses. I fired a second time, and the mother then turned furiously towards me. My cartridges had got damp and missed fire. I became nervous. I was obliged to go and fetch fresh ammunition from the boat. The she-bear gave up her first idea of attacking me and returned to her cubs.

“Then, having taken fresh ammunition, we commenced, all three of us, to drive the animals towards the open water, and at last, to our delight, saw the mother, followed by her cubs, start swimming. Mr. Stack remained on the ice armed with an oar, in order to cut off their retreat; Appelberg and myself gave chase from the boat. The she-bear, with one of the cubs on her back, swam at a fairly good pace towards us. We had scarcely had time to row three or four minutes before the mother had climbed upon a large block of ice floating in the midst of the open water. Having approached to within fifty or sixty yards I fired again, and my bullet striking the bear between the two shoulders, passed through her lungs. The animal uttered a terrible cry, which was re-echoed from the mountains. In a great fury she threw herself into the sea, swimming towards us with rage, but only for a few moments. The poor beast soon died, still carrying on her back the cub which I had first wounded. It was at once killed, and the other immediately afterwards.

“We thereupon dragged the animals towards the ice-bank, where I photographed my victims, stretched out lifeless; and it was not without much difficulty that we succeeded in putting them aboard our frail boat. At last we started on our return to the Virgo, still full of excitement, when suddenly we were caught in the fog in the midst of the Smeerenburg waters.”

The next day the ice pilot, an old sea-dog, assisted by Stadling, proceeded to cut up the three animals, the skins of which were salted, and enclosed in barrels; after this the most delicate morsels, seasoned with various sauces by the cook, who displayed all her talents, adorned the table at several meals. Without being absolutely exquisite, the dish is appetising, and besides, the chance of dining off polar bear does not occur very often.

V
The Midnight Sun

Friday, July 3rd.—I have not put foot on shore to-day. For three days past we have had terrible weather, and I wonder whether the shed will be able to resist the fury of such a wind. However, this is an east south-east wind, which would suit perfectly well for the voyage, though the start would be very difficult under these circumstances; this delays the work of the carpenters, and the shed does not rise up very quickly. I felt very dull to-day, and was happy enough to read again all the old journals which had served for packing purposes, as I am not very well stocked with works of a purely literary character, a few volumes only composing my whole library. I also read again the expedition of the Jeannette, which AndrÉe had lent me, and the dramatic episodes of that story were not calculated to raise my spirits. What an extraordinary climate!

In these regions fine days are very rare, though it is clear all night; but for a long time past the sun has scarcely been seen. The thermometer remains near freezing-point.

But the midnight sun! What a never-to-be-forgotten spectacle is presented by this polar sea in these radiant nights!

As soon as the fog lifts its veil, leaving the eye at full liberty to roam over the horizon, one sees an endless succession of palaces of ice, strong castles, cathedrals, and fantastical structures, some majestically indifferent to the waves which caress their mighty bases, the others slowly rocking to and fro, notwithstanding their ponderous masses, and at each oscillation of their sparkling faces emitting from their alabaster sides rocket-like flashes of emeralds, rubies, and sapphires.

Numerous cascades pour down from the vast sides of these icebergs into basins formed in the very bases of these enormous ice-mountains, subsequently losing themselves in the waters of the sea; and all these waterfalls, large and small, are lit up by the hot, red rays of a brilliant sun.

This polar nature, which one imagines to be so poor, so icy, so inert, in regions which we only know from dull and cold narratives of voyages,—this wonderful nature lavishly spreads out before my eyes the sight of an endless mass of sparkling and flashing diamonds, a veritable pyrotechnic display of another world, which the rays of the sun cause to burst forth, and change twenty times in a minute.

And all this, like a sublime jewel casket, rests on velvet of an unheard-of variety, delicate green, pale pink, orange red, crimson, bright red, purple, golden yellow, violet, sky-blue, a marvellous velvet of deep soft and delicately shaded tints, which the calm and irradiated water seems to spread out for the greater delight of the eye and the soul.

In the presence of all this grand and mighty nature, what becomes of man’s most ingenious artifices invented to charm by the excess of accumulated marvels?

How paltry are the most superb decorations of his theatres compared with what one sees here—here where the water alone and the sun undertake the mise en scÈne! What are all the marvels hatched by his brain, by his sovereign industry, in the presence of miracles of colouring and brilliancy engendered by a ray of light penetrating a fragment of ice?

Tuesday, July 7th.—We had very bad weather on Saturday; on Sunday the atmosphere calmed down a little, and yesterday (Monday) we had a splendid day. We took advantage of this to make an interesting excursion in the steam launch to Magdaleina Bay. The peninsula contains an immense necropolis, dating back several centuries; it is here that the whalers of Smeerenburg came to bury their dead.

We killed a very large seal, which nearly caused the boat to capsize when we got him on board. Strindberg killed a black fox at the foot of a glacier.

We returned at midnight in brilliant sunshine; in fact, at present we constantly see the sun when the sky is clear. He is describing a circle, of which the Virgo appears to be the centre, and the sunshine is sometimes very hot. This morning the temperature was 68° Fahr. in the sun, and 41° Fahr. in the shade.

The work of erecting the shed is being pushed on as quickly as possible, but it is a gigantic task. To-day they have reached the second storey; there are to be two more storeys above that, and these are the most difficult ones to erect.

In the midst of this feverish work the days pass anxiously by, for I have had no news from Europe. I am already much perturbed, when at last, on the night of July 12th, after a very dull day, the watch all at once signals the arrival of a small sloop, which is sure to bring our mail. In a few moments everybody is on deck, and the captain of the small boat, the Express, hands us an enormous bundle of letters, which AndrÉe distributes among us. I received fourteen, and it would be difficult for me to express the joy I felt at this moment.

The Express brings six English and German tourists, who have come, somewhat early, to be present at the departure of the balloon. They are received on board the Virgo, and evince a very lively interest in AndrÉe’s project.

VI
National FÊte

On board the “Virgo,” July 14th, at night.—The bad weather continues, and the squall is so violent that the little sloop Express has been unable to put to sea. We have a very gay lunch. AndrÉe made a little speech, which greatly moved me. He spoke of the national fÊte in France and of aerostation, which I represent. He praised the self-denial which I had exhibited, and finally expressed to me the pleasure he felt in seeing the bonds of friendship becoming closer day by day. He did not forget either family or friends.

The captain ordered the French tricolore to be hoisted on the mainmast and the ship to be dressed with bunting. Champagne sparkled in the glasses.

Strindberg played the national air, and those present overwhelmed me with kind attentions. The following letter will give an idea of the close friendship which reigned amongst us:—

And while Strindberg strummed on his violin the most poetical and impassioned Swedish tunes, the wind raged outside and the vessel rocked and creaked fearfully.

Dansk-Gatt, on board the “Virgo,” July 16th, noon.—The storm, after calming down for a short time, burst forth again last night with renewed violence, and the Express, which left at eight, was obliged to return in haste some hours afterwards to take shelter near the Virgo.

The Virgo is a strong vessel, capable of braving a storm, but it is otherwise with the small sloop, which already has barely escaped shipwreck in coming here.

VII
The Inflation

July 21st.—To-day for the first time we were able to commence devoting our attention to the balloon, which, since its disembarkation, has remained enclosed in its case at the foot of the shed.

It is now brought to the entrance and extended on the floor, covered with a thick layer of felt.

It is spread out after the manner of a cast-net, the valves are fitted to it, together with their rigging, the net is placed in position, as well as the protecting cover.

The inflating pipes, passing through an opening made in the middle of the floor, are joined to the gas apparatus situated 87 yards away below the shed, behind Pike House.

This very difficult work (the envelope alone of the balloon weighs nearly 3,086 lbs., and the net 992 lbs.) was finished in the evening of the 22nd, in a fine and penetrating rain. On the morning of the 23rd snow commenced to fall in large flakes. The balloon is covered by it with a thick layer, when about a hundred cubic feet of gas commence to raise with difficulty the heavy envelope of silk. This operation commences even before the shed is quite finished. Part of the upper enclosures is still wanting, and AndrÉe abandons the idea of having the canvas awning put up, which, however, would have been very useful; but time presses, and every delay may jeopardize the departure.

The car, installed in an annex to the shed, is marvellously devised. The lower part is completely surrounded with sailcloth. It receives its light through two lateral windows. The middle is occupied by a kind of mattress, covered with a sleeping sack of reindeer skins.

All around are compartments for holding books, charts, and instruments, toilet articles, and the kitchen utensils, arms, ammunition, etc. It is entered through a trap-door made in the ceiling. Above, at a height of one metre, a ring, mounted on jointed railings, which keep it in a horizontal position, forms a balcony, in the centre of which two of the explorers will remain while the third is resting. To this circle the instruments,—compasses, sextants, theodolites, barometers, thermometers, photographic appliances, etc., are attached.

The six ropes, by which the car is suspended, are joined at the upper part by a cable, which brings them nearer to the centre, while keeping them away from the balcony; they then extend from this hexagon towards the suspension ring, which is fastened to the net.

Six canvas pockets, with compartments, are fixed between the suspending ropes from the ceiling of the car up to the balcony, for the reception of any articles or instruments which the aeronauts may require to have at hand at any moment.

The load ring carries a table or board divided into compartments occupied by four baskets intended to hold a number of accessories, buoys, grapnels, ropes, etc.

In the centre of the platform a square opening leaves room for a rope ladder, attached to the appendage of the balloon, and facilitates the inspection of the interior through windows let into the safety valve. This platform may, if necessary, serve as a refuge for the aeronauts, should they be compelled to abandon the car.

The load ring supports a differential pulley for moving the guide-ropes, the action of which, combined with that of the sail, is to afford the possibility of a certain deviation from the direction of the wind.

The sails are fixed to the net by hemp straps.

The three guide-ropes are attached to this pulley by a very ingenious piece of mechanism. With the aid of a crank and a bevel gear, the guide-ropes, which are composed of several sections joined to each other by screw connections, can be turned. Should the end of a guide-rope get caught between the ice to such an extent as to arrest the flight of the balloon, the aeronauts can release themselves by exerting an effect of torsion on this guide-rope by means of the crank, and abandoning the length of rope caught; a fresh length of guide-rope will then be added at the top if necessary, making use of spare lengths of rope.

In order to prevent the guide-ropes becoming detached at an inopportune moment, AndrÉe has devised the plan of providing a spring consisting of a flat piece of steel which exerts a pressure upon the connecting screw nut; the pressure of these springs is graduated, increasing upwards, so that it will always be the lowest length of rope which will detach itself first. These guide-ropes are impregnated with vaseline, which renders them insubmersible and greatly facilitates their gliding over the ice.

Above the ring, victuals and provisions of all kinds are stored in canvas bags divided into compartments and strongly fastened between the suspending ropes; all the articles are fixed so that no shock can throw them out.

The number of suspending ropes is forty-eight, forming forty-eight equal intervals, of which thirty-six are occupied by bags of provisions, and twelve by sledges, boats, spars, etc.

The provisions comprise tins of preserved food of all kinds, chocolate, compressed bread, condensed milk, champagne, claret, alcohol, fresh water, not forgetting butter, an indispensable article of diet in the polar regions.

All these bags are weighed, classified, and labelled, and make up a weight of 2,204 lbs. What is not consumed will serve as ballast, AndrÉe having considered it more practical to carry provisions in place of ballast.

The apparatus for cooking the food consists of a cylinder suspended by a strap 32 feet 6 inches in length, along which a rubber tube runs; inside the cylinder a spirit lamp is lighted by being brought in contact with a match ignited with the aid of a small and very simple contrivance worked by a cord.

A small cooking pot filled with water, and enclosed in the cylinder, can be made to boil in a few moments. The lamp can be extinguished from the car by blowing down the rubber tube, and a mirror, arranged at an angle of 45 degrees, enables the occupants of the car to see whether the lamp is well extinguished before hoisting the apparatus up into the car.

VIII
The Erline Jarl

Dansk-Gatt, July 23rd.—The south wind, which has blown almost constantly since our arrival at Dansk-Gatt, ceased on the 19th of July, and north and north-easterly winds are now blowing, with their usual accompaniment of rain or snow.

The gas-working apparatus acts very regularly, yielding about 78 cubic yards per hour.

The work is divided into spells of six hours at a time, the first watch, from 8 a.m. to 2 p.m., being entrusted to me. I am assisted by two seamen only, one of whom speaks French fairly well,—viz., a Mr. Knos, engineer, who has signed for the voyage. My place is then taken by Strindberg, who, in his turn, is relieved by AndrÉe, whom I succeed again.

At 11 p.m. the sound of a siren breaks the stillness of the night, awakening the echoes of the mountains. I then see the Erline Jarl, a splendid boat, flying the Norwegian flag, coming on slowly and majestically, in order to cast anchor at some distance from the Virgo.

Around the place where the sulphates and residues of the hydrogen apparatus discharge into the sea, the sea-water has assumed a rusty colour for a distance of several miles. This peculiarity causes great astonishment among the new arrivals, who imagine that they can see the sea-bottom.

Captain Zachau, of the Virgo, goes to welcome the new-comers, and returns on board his vessel with a load of letters for our crew.

The snow falls thicker and thicker, and the shed does not afford the least protection. I have a kind of sentry-box rigged up for me in the packing-case for the net of the balloon.

We experienced much difficulty at the commencement of the inflation, and I am frequently compelled to obtain assistance from the gas works, the material of the balloon being so very heavy to shift about.

I may mention one incident in particular. The balloon had already absorbed 1,308 cubic yards of gas, when the apparatus suddenly stopped and absolutely refused to act, which caused great excitement among the members of the expedition. What does it mean? Here is the solution of the enigma.

The pump, which draws its supply from the sea, has taken up such a quantity of shrimps that all the cocks are choked up. We scarcely expected to see shrimps interfere in this matter.

AndrÉe, who had thought of everything else, had forgotten to reckon with these diminutive factors. The generators and valves are cleared out and cleaned, and the suction pipe is fitted with a rose, whereupon work goes on without any further hitch.

For the production of the hydrogen 55,115 lbs. of sulphuric acid and 33,069 lbs. of iron shavings have been used. All that chemistry and physical science has hitherto produced by way of purifying, weighing, and testing instruments is embodied in AndrÉe’s plant.

On the morning of the 24th of July the tourists brought over by the Erline Jarl begin to arrive on the island; there are about sixty of them, from all countries. Several of them bring me news from my friends, and an acquaintance is soon struck up. We are assailed with questions on all hands. AndrÉe does the honours of the establishment with much grace, and propounds his theories as to the means he proposes to adopt in his endeavours to reach the pole. He explains the instruments and apparatus, while I distribute among the tourists some samples of the material employed for the balloon.

We hear news from Europe, always acceptable to a degree which no one can conceive who has never been far away from his native country. Besides, in these wild regions everything tends to augment the unconscious longing for all that one has left behind, and those who come from a region more or less near to one’s native country at once assume something of the nature of long-expected personal friends.

The night of the 24th is spent very pleasantly. I dine on board the Erline Jarl, and hear a concert given by real artistes. My thoughts wander back to scenes of the past, and I say to myself that had some one sitting next to me at a concert in Paris told me at the time that in so many months, or at such and such a time, I should hear the same instruments and enjoy the same tunes at Spitzbergen, I should have been very much surprised at such a suggestion.

Saturday, 25th.—At noon the small sloop Express arrives, carrying mails. At 1 p.m. the Erline Jarl leaves on a trip towards the north. The programme consists in approaching close to the ice-field, and the amiable Captain Bade offers me a place on board his ship. But, however much inclined to accept, I cannot leave AndrÉe at this moment, as the balloon demands all our attention.

Sunday, 26th.—AndrÉe lectures to our crew. His spirited and expressive language, his technical explanations, given with perfect clearness, frequently elicit loud applause.

Monday, 27th.—The inflation is completed at the moment when the Erline Jarl returns from her trip.

The Victoria arrives at night, and the simultaneous presence of the four vessels gives Dansk-Gatt a festive air, which is greatly enhanced by the lovely sunshine. Our little international colony is very lively.

After waiting a week in order to witness the start of the balloon, the tourists lose patience. They want to be at Vadso on the 9th of August to see the eclipse of the sun.

On July 30th a sumptuous dinner is given us on board the Erline Jarl, and on the 31st the tourists come in a body to the foot of the shed.

To the right and to the left of the entrance the crews of the Virgo and the Erline Jarl are formed up in line; at the back the passengers are grouped round the explorers. Several speeches are made by the captain of the Erline Jarl and some of the tourists; thereupon a young lady, who is travelling with her fiancÉ and a relative, attaches to AndrÉe’s arm a blue ribbon, and then hands him for the journey a bottle of the best wine, a cake, and a rose-tree with four roses, one for each explorer.

Captain Bade, of the Erline Jarl, then addressed AndrÉe as follows:—

“If you reach the mysterious point for which you are bound, deposit there the fourth of the roses, as a token of peace with the old world.”

“My dear friend,” AndrÉe replied, in accents full of emotion, “you who have come so far to see me set out for the conquest of the unknown, my dear friends, I thank you!

“Mademoiselle, you have adorned me with a ribbon on the eve of my departure; this ribbon shall be my talisman. I have been called a great man, but it will be difficult for me to earn this title if the north winds still continue to blow for some weeks as they do now. Our greatness will fly with them—far, far away! What can we do to remedy this? If we cannot make a start, we shall, at least, be able to say that we have done all that is humanly possible, and you will be able to bear witness thereto.

“You are about to return to the south, and if you meet the winds we are so urgently in need of, send them on to us here, and we shall welcome them as messengers from our good friends on board the Erline Jarl.

“My friends of the Virgo, a fourfold cheer for our friends who will send us a South Wind!”

During this touching speech the Erline Jarl fires off a salvo of twenty-one guns in honour of the AndrÉe Expedition, the report of which shook the valleys to the echo.

Thereupon, the speeches being over, we leave the isle in order to spend the rest of the night on board the Erline Jarl, which is dressed, as is also the Virgo, with a multitude of flags, as on great gala days, and I never feel weary of contemplating the noble colours of the French flag proudly floating at the head of the splendid vessel,—a delicate compliment to me on the part of the captain, which moves me more than I can tell.

How full of meaning to me is this flag! How full of souvenirs and consolation! And how well one can understand, when far away from his native country, all the silent eloquence of this impersonal being, this glorious symbol! Amidst all these people, speaking languages which I do not understand, amidst all this group of men isolated at the world’s end, and I myself feeling lost in the midst of them, so to speak, owing to the difficulty of making myself understood by them, it contains a living embodiment of my native land, the very representative of the soil of France—her flag hoisted on a foreign vessel in token of the esteem in which the children of this noble country are held. And this flag seems to say to me: “You are not alone; I am here too! You are no longer isolated; we are some one; we are taken into account here!”

We go on board, and soon the peaceful reports of champagne corks—another reminder of French soil—accentuate the numerous toasts which follow each other in the large saloon. Then our spirits becoming more and more elated, there are songs, cheers, the loud hum of animated conversation, wishes of good luck, plans for future meetings, and we leave the hospitable vessel in order to return to the Virgo at a very advanced hour.

What a day! And how hearts are drawn to each other under circumstances like these, when at rare intervals, few and far between, the oppressive and monotonous loneliness of arduous travels in these frigid solitudes is suddenly broken by boisterous meetings of persons, hitherto strangers, who are so speedily transformed into old friends!

August 1st, 9 a.m.—Under a misty sky, heavy with snow, the Erline Jarl hoists her anchor, sweeps round majestically, sends us her last farewells and good wishes, and then slowly glides away over the waters, leaving behind her a foamy wake. The throbs of her engine become more and more regular; soon we no longer hear them; and it is with a choking sensation in our bosom, which will readily be understood, that we see this fine vessel outlined and gradually disappearing on the horizon, which, for a short moment, had come to bring life and joy into our midst.

Yet a long time after, leaning with my arms on the handrail of the gangway, I followed with my eyes the black cloud of smoke which the Erline Jarl trails over the waves; I still hear a last salute from the siren, and return in deep thought to my cabin, in a sadder frame of mind than I should care to admit.

Grumberg, the naturalist, is working unceasingly to enrich his collection; he dredges, fishes, hunts, and sets snares for foxes. He has succeeded in capturing two very young animals, which he has installed on the island, in a nice improvised cage, to which some anonymous wag has attached a card bearing one of the petitions of the Lord’s Prayer in Swedish: “Give us this day our daily bread.”

Grumberg watches his protÉgÉs with jealous care, and intends to offer them to a zoological garden in Stockholm; but on the night of the departure the foxes, who for a long time past had been working to effect their escape by gnawing through the boards of the cage, made good their escape and fled into the mountains, pursued by the sailors, who gave chase. They are not caught yet. I much doubt whether Grumberg will be able to catch them again next summer.

But who knows; Fate is so fitful! You ought, said some one, to have attached a “favour” to their tails, so as to recognise them again. I, on my part, remarked that these young foxes might, perhaps, have been acquainted with La Fontaine’s fable, entitled “The Little Fish and the Fisherman,” and that they would be sure to return to him as soon as they had grown to a reasonable size. And I amused myself by producing a revised copy of this fable, specially re-edited to meet the circumstances.

“All is fish that comes to the net,” said he, on beholding his prey.

One of these foxlets, regretting his captivity, said to him, in his own fashion,—

“What are you going to do with us? We should make a very poor present for a small museum.

“Let us grow up into foxes; you can catch us later on, some fine day, and a good museum will pay you a good price for us.

“Whereas, in order to make a gift worth giving, you would have to get about a hundred of our size, which gift, after all, would be little worth.”

Little worth? “Well then,” replied the hunter, “that may be.

“My good friend, Renard, you who preach so well, you must go into the cage; and you may say what you like, it will be made at once.

“‘One bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,’—one is sure and the other is not.”

But the two foxlets, deaf to these remarks,—possibly they did not understand the doctor’s language,—worked so hard and so well, that one day the learned man, in search of curiosities, found an empty cage.

The amiable Dr. Ekelund has rarely had any occasion to act in his professional character, as apart from a few jammed fingers and other minor injuries the state of health is excellent. Hence he employs his leisure time in pulling nails out of cases, or else he prepares for stuffing the birds of various species which he has killed when out hunting. During the inflation of the balloon, he superintends the action of the gas apparatus, and takes turns in this duty with Professor ArrhÉnius and Stake.

These gentlemen are also taking their share in the meteorological service which is carried on regularly by the staff of the expedition.

The observations are minutely recorded every hour in the ship’s log. On the Isle of Amsterdam the snow is tinged with red for a considerable distance, and the savants are collecting it to examine it microscopically. It presents, in fact, certain peculiarities; it is thought that it contains very small plants. Scoresby, the famous whaler, had already remarked this.

IX
The Snow

Dansk-Gatt, August 4th.—The Express left last night, carrying away our last letters; and as the season is advanced, we have now no hope of receiving at Dansk-Gatt any more news from Europe.

The north wind is still blowing, and has brought a regular snowstorm; the mountains have donned their winter mantle, and nature seems to prepare for sleep. Birds are becoming rare, and their joyful cries are no longer to be heard. A white hood covers the top of the balloon, which only awaits a current of wind from the south to take flight; but this wind, which was blowing during July, has now completely subsided. What an irony of fate! Who could foresee such a contretemps, and how admirably successful the expedition would have been were we in possession of the secrets of the gods.

At present the sky is overcast and dark in the north; it is a long time since the sun has shown itself. The sea is very rough.

The flag hoisted on top of the mountain, behind the balloon-shed, to indicate the direction of the wind, was blown down last night by the squall. It was the opinion of the ice-pilot that we were in no danger of being packed in the ice until the end of the month; but the captain, who was answerable for the safety of the men, declared that the Virgo should weigh anchor on the 20th at the latest, at any cost, to resume her voyage southwards, no matter what the fate of the polar expedition might be.

AndrÉe and his two companions were patiently waiting for the clouds to break up and for a fresh southern wind, in order to take their flight. They have the faith which gives courage. The balloon seems anxious to be freed from her fetters to show her strength and her power. Everything is ready, weighed and anticipated; everything is seen to and checked in the smallest details by AndrÉe; provisions, instruments, and outfits, all are in their places.

We have only to suspend the car and to pull down the northern part of the shed. This would not take many hours, but we want a favourable wind, and for this we are waiting in vain. The delay, unavoidable though it is, endangers the success of AndrÉe’s expedition, and is very regrettable, for the sun is very low, and the polar night is approaching.

August 5th, noon.—The snow keeps on falling, but the wind is turning to the south-west. It is almost what is required, and hope is quickly reviving. May Fate soon open the route to the north to AndrÉe, and return me to my country and my anxious family! At seven o’clock in the evening the state of the atmosphere remains unchanged; the snow is whirling about, and the sky is gloomy.

Dansk-Gatt, August 6th.—A small balloon, launched at 6 o’clock, having ascended to the height of 325 yards, took an easterly direction. The gas apparatus is working; the balloon which has been inflated for ten days, is full. It is covered with snow and there is not a single spot on the balloon shed that is not white. The car is, however, protected by an awning, but the whirling snow penetrates everywhere.

It is impossible to stop on deck, for the wind is raging, and the day goes by in monotony and gloom. Every one longs for the end of this campaign which seems interminable; so long as tourists and whaling boats were moored near us, and brought with them life and movement to this solitary spot, our stay was very agreeable—it was a lively and cheerful international colony. Now Dansk-Gatt has resumed its mournful and forsaken aspect. “And the snow was still falling,” as Xavier de MontÉpin would say.

Then, confined within the walls of my cabin, my dominion of two square metres, I begin to peruse the few books I have and which, alas! I know already by heart, but still hoping to find therein something very interesting, if not new, at least old. And I was not disappointed, for I read over with great interest La Mer, by my playfellow, the excellent poet Jean Richepin, whose verses on snow were very much to the point.

It is long, long since, when sitting on the benches in our little school at Belleville, we were looking together over the top of the map of Europe at this small archipelago, named Spitzbergen, which appeared to my childest imagination to be an inaccessible point.

X
A Long Wait

Smeerenburg, Friday, August 7th.—Noon. The sky is bright and the sun is sending us a few rays which are reviving our hopes a little. The snow is melting; but the wind, though slight, is still blowing from the west. The balloon which holds its gas well is dripping little by little.

I made a long excursion on the east side of Dane’s Island. The island of Fogll-Sund is glittering in the midday sun. The birds have awakened. I saw several flocks of eiders. At six o’clock four pilot balloons are launched, three were driven south-west at 547 yards and one towards the sea at 65 yards.

Saturday, 8th, 10 o’clock.—Sky overcast, wind slight and uncertain, with tendency to turn S.E. Thermometer 7° (44·6 Fahr.).

Afternoon, S.E. wind at 1,093 yards; on land wind still, or slightly to the north.

At nine o’clock in the evening the upper wind is still S. Let us hope that it will descend and that, at last, our plans may be realized.

Sunday, August 9th.—Morning, S. wind slight; afternoon, dead calm; hardly any need to say every one is weary. Ekholm declares that the balloon is losing about 66 lbs. per day; he thinks it able to stand a voyage of from forty to fifty days’ duration. But under the circumstances it is really very little; yet the envelope is solid and well finished.

Monday, August 10th.—Balloon very full although no gas was let in since last Friday (sixty-five yards). Temperature somewhat higher. S. wind, very slight, barometer at a standstill.

4 o’clock p.m.—Wind on land, nil.

A pilot balloon launched at 2 o’clock. Rose to 109 yards; direction N. Speed from thirteen to fourteen feet per second. Evening, 7 p.m., S. wind, pretty strong in the upper regions.

Then a complete change, the north wind prevailing.

What, then, are we going to fail at the last moment?

Must we pack up this balloon, ready to take her flight to a land around which so many vain efforts have been made for centuries past?

“My kingdom for a horse!” cried Richard III., in one of those struggles in which the human wretch thinks he acquires so much glory by massacring his fellow-man and by spreading death in his path. And what would not the three hardy explorers have given for a breath of favourable wind, which would have enabled them to carry on the struggle they had commenced against the unknown!

What bitter reflections came into my mind!

In a smiling country, where everything bespeaks work and prosperity, where each one trusts to the future, happy in the labours undertaken, happy in his daily tasks, suddenly there arises this very wind so much longed for here, and in a few minutes the tempest in its blind fury has sown death and ruin where life and wealth were working together!

Here science stood in need of a little of this destructive wind, of ever so little, but none came.

And possibly, further away, ships were being wrecked and lives destroyed by it.

Oh, for a balloon that could be steered! Why have we not one here?

Friday, August 14th (19th day of inflation), 7 a.m.—The lieutenant has just informed us that a south wind is blowing; in fact it is pretty strong. The gas apparatus is set to work to complete the inflation.

The snow is falling gently, but it melts quickly. At nine o’clock AndrÉe launches a small balloon which takes a northerly course at an elevation of forty to fifty yards, but it immediately turns off to the east as it rises, then the wind turns due west and we cease to hope.

Our joy was of short duration. Besides, the season is now too far advanced to attempt such a voyage. It is winter.

XI
The Fram

At half-past nine the ice-pilot signalled a three-master off the eastern cape of the Isle of Amsterdam.

Great excitement prevails on board the Virgo. What object has this vessel in coming to these regions visited only by whalers and tourists? She stops and hoists the Norwegian flag on her main mast. One cry went up from all hearts: “Nansen! Nansen coming back from the Pole.”

Those who had seen the photo of the ship Fram, recognise her perfectly well in the steamer which is lying at a distance of 2½ miles from us.

The snow is falling fine and thick. The captain and AndrÉe, Ekholm and Strindberg, are leaving in a steam launch to receive their valiant compatriots. When a few fathoms from the Fram, AndrÉe and his companions raise a vigorous cheer in honour of Nansen, but the faces of the sailors on board are saddened with a painful expression. Nansen is not with them. On the 14th of March, 1895, he left them at 84° lat., accompanied by the young lieutenant, Johannsen, taking with him sledges, twenty-eight dogs, and provisions for 120 days. He directed his steps towards the North Pole in the hope of returning by way of Franz-Josef land, where the Jackson Expedition was to winter.

After the exchange of greetings of welcome and when the emotion of the first moment had subsided, the members of the two expeditions indulged in a friendly conversation, happy and surprised at the same time to meet again in the glacial Arctic Ocean, free at last.

The Fram, which only a day before was packed in the ice at 81°, heard of our presence from a whaler; as soon as she was in open water she made for Dansk-Gatt in the hope of getting news of Nansen.

Captain Sverdrup, Lieutenant Hansen, the doctor and five other members of the crew, take their places in the launch. The remaining three men stay on board, while the small party are coming to visit our quarters and the balloon, which is waiting in the shed.

It is easy to imagine how greatly these brave men are astonished.

Then the expedition comes on board the Virgo where champagne soon foams in glasses. It is a pleasure to look at these brave sailors who, after three years and two months passed amidst the polar ice, are so happy to find themselves in the company of their “brothers in arms, and companions in peril.”

I am proud to be one of the first to greet the Fram on her return to these distant regions. I had the good fortune to converse at some length with Lieutenant Hansen, who speaks French fairly well. He is an amiable man, of about thirty years of age, a little over medium height, dark, with bright eyes and intelligent forehead, and pleasing manner.

He put numerous questions to me concerning the events which had taken place in Europe during the last three years. I informed him of the death of Alexander III., of the assassination of President Carnot, etc., and I spoke to him also of new discoveries and inventions: cinematographe, X-rays, etc., etc.

All this seemed to greatly interest him. Then in a few words he told me the extremely touching story of the Fram’s voyage.

AndrÉe made a speech and proposed a toast to Nansen and his gallant companions. The captain and the lieutenant replied in a few vigorous and moving words, and I felt myself struck with admiration for these brave men who have carried the European colours to the 86th degree of latitude.

They are happy to see their country and their homes again, but they are calm and patient as becomes true heroes. The lieutenant has a fiancÉe awaiting him, AndrÉe hands him a letter, only just arrived, from his mother. He also hands Captain Sverdrup a letter addressed to Nansen, and bearing the inscription, “The North Pole.”

The Fram’s library contains the Five Weeks in a Balloon, by Jules Verne, and the crew had often dreamt of the possibility of a balloon expedition coming to their relief. The dream was very near reality. In life everything is unforeseen, yet everything happens. If the polar balloon had started a few days ago it would have surely noticed the Fram on its way. “Man proposes and God disposes.”

It is painful to think that we shall have to take the aerostatic material back to Sweden and wait.

Disappointment for AndrÉe’s polar expedition: joy and triumph for the Nansen expedition if their commander returns soon.

AndrÉe places in the captain’s button-hole a sweet-scented rose, “La France,” a rare flower in Spitzbergen, and offers him a box of excellent cigars, a present which is greatly appreciated by our genial guests. Then the launch takes them back to their vessel amidst the hurrahs of the crew of the Virgo.

At five p.m., in a fine chilling snow, we pay our visit to the Fram and take photos of her.

When we are near the ship about twenty Siberian dogs, ranged in her bow, receive us with loud barks, but soon they recognise that we are friends and their bark is rather one of joy than any indication of hostility. They are all pleased at our caresses. Captain Sverdrup does the honours of his ship, which, if she has not the refined elegance of the Erline Jarl, yet inspires confidence by her sturdy appearance. She is the traditional Norwegian ship, with wooden hull well strengthened, her masts and her bulwarks roughly cut; in the bow the upturned boats, placed on frames, form a kind of shelter under which are suspended a couple of dozen bears’ hams, partly cured and dried; birds freshly killed for eating, casks and articles of every description, winch, anchors, cables, etc. In the stern the tiller is placed in a square hole made in the hull of the ship. On one side a spare tiller consisting of a massive piece of wood; compass, instruments, and the necessary rigging.

I stop at the observation post where the lieutenant tells us about his work and shows us the charts of the voyage; then we descend into the cabins, passing near the kitchen from which proceeds a very agreeable odour.

Traversing about ten steps of a very dark staircase, I find myself in the saloon, which has a hexagonal shape not devoid of originality. A lamp, with a reflector, fixed on the central pillar, emits a vague light to which my eyes accustom themselves with difficulty.

The wainscotting is of a primitive style of decoration, painted white, picked out with bright colours, in which red and green predominate. There is a very comfortable sofa in the background, placed opposite a table, at which the crew take their meals. The walls are adorned with several pictures, one of which is an illustration of a Norwegian legend: three princes, who have metamorphosed themselves into white bears in order to win the hearts of three coy princesses whose hair seems to be flying heavenwards. The bears, good princes as they are, are licking their feet. Another picture is the portrait in crayons of Mrs. Nansen and her child. The saloon is heated by a stove, which keeps it at an even temperature of 15 to 16 degrees. Air and light are admitted by a glazed skylight running across the stern deck.

On the left there is an automatic harmonium with a keyboard, to amuse the crew on dull days. One of our hosts, the engineer, improvised several tunes for us; it is wonderfully original, and if it were not for the respect due to Nansen, we would have invited the fair Charlotte, the stewardess with whom the reader is already acquainted, to have a dance, as the ladies were with us.

For more than three years woman had not entered Nansen’s ark, and the crew were demonstratively gallant. The cabins of the crew are situated around the saloon whence they receive their supply of air, having no other communication with the outside; they are lighted by lamps fixed on the walls. The cabins of the captain, lieutenant and doctor, with their maps, instruments, arms, and different other objects, are very interesting: photographs and hundreds of weird objects constitute a droll ensemble.

In every cabin there is a portrait of the loved one.

The captain showed us the chart of the Fram’s voyage as made out by the observations; and after that a collection of very curious photographs representing the life and the stirring wanderings of the crew since their departure in 1893. The vessel in the midst of the ice, their winter quarters, the encampment, the glaciers, the icebergs, the observations, the mirage, the aurora borealis, the Fram buried under the ice which almost annihilated her, the crew working fifteen days with pickaxes to clear away the ice, the sledges, the dogs, the windmill at the mizzen mast for driving the electric dynamo, the moonlight, Nansen’s departure, etc., are so many pictures which one cannot look at without heartfelt emotion, and which leave far behind everything written or pictured by Jules Verne in Captain Hatteras.

We leave the Fram at nine p.m. after hearty farewells.

During the night the Nansen expedition peacefully took its course to the south. They have still on board provisions and coal for three years.

Sunday, August 16th.—The snow ceased falling, and the sun who does not renounce his rights, comes for an instant to restore another glimmer of hope; the wind, although mild, vacillates and appears to tend northwards. Another disappointment.

At last, on Monday, August 17th, after twenty-one days of waiting in feverish anxiety, AndrÉe resigns himself to open the valves of the balloon, which is quite full; and it is with regret, easily understood, that I watch the escape of 17,658 cubic feet of gas, to produce which gave us so much labour.

The folding and packing are not easy work. And then, as the case of the balloon had been destroyed, it was necessary to improvise one and take the whole material back on board the Virgo. The planks of the shed, except those of the second storey, required for the stability of the edifice, have been removed. The gas apparatus is covered over, and all the delicate or fragile parts are shipped on board.

Thursday, August 20th.—The Virgo is loaded. The morning was spent in solidly tying up all objects which might be shifted by rolling. AndrÉe is working in the shed up to the last moment; he is tying down the boards, shrouding the frames; he has the half of the floor carried off so that the wind may sweep away the snow. Then he leaves, fixed to a post, a framed placard stating the ownership and the object of the shed, which he commends to the care of the few fishermen who are still in the islands of the North.

Finally, after lunch, at four o’clock, the Virgo weighs anchor. We take a last photograph, and a last look at Dane’s Island, which soon disappears in the fog. The expedition is at an end.

XII
The Storm

The barometer has undergone a rapid depression since last night. Hardly had we rounded Amsterdam Island, taking a south-west course, when the vessel began to roll, and a few moments later the storm struck us. The sky darkened and the Virgo lurched terribly. I was again a prey to terrible sea-sickness and retired to my cabin. All the kitchen utensils and earthenware vessels are dancing a jig round me. The Virgo which has lost some of her ballast is rolling frightfully. The captain has had a small jib placed at the bow which lessens the rolling.

The wind is raging and furious waves are sweeping the deck. Only a few of the crew have escaped sickness, and in the evening the dining-room is empty.

Every two hours the ship is stopped and Professor ArrhÉnius takes samples of water at various depths; when the engine stops the rolling is still worse. We are overtaken by a snowstorm and darkness is complete. After twenty-four hours on a south-westerly course, which is taking us away from TromsÖ, the Virgo returns south-east, and the storm begins to subside. We see ships at a distance, and the temperature rises as we draw nearer to Norway.

It was on the 22nd that we passed near Beren Island, which was hidden by the fog. A number of birds surrounded our ship which is again sailing fast.

XIII
My last Night on the Virgo

The storm has blown over. I recovered my appetite and my good humour, and the night of the 23rd-24th was a very pleasant one.

For some time past I had seen no darkness, and this night was not without poetic surroundings.

A few stars are already twinkling in the zenith, when at about ten o’clock the sun disappeared from the horizon leaving a long twilight which lasted until dawn.

The sky was tinted with purple hues forming an immense rainbow, stretching from west to east. Grey clouds of the weirdest forms travelled through space, and lent animation to a view which it would be difficult to paint. The full moon, which appeared as the sun set, shone brightly, casting her white light on the silvery waves. The disc was extremely large, and the outlines of the land were shown very distinctly.

Alone on the bridge, I gave myself up to my dreams. The temperature having perceptibly risen, I experienced the greatest comfort in sailing thus in the direction of the land. My companions were hardly able to rouse me from my contemplation and induce me to go down and play cards in the dining-room, where a lamp was lit for the first time. The sea was as calm as a lake, and navigation was a pleasure in this calm after the storms we have endured.

August 24th.—It is dawn, the moon is waning and the day-star resumes possession of the scene. Birds still accompany us and whirl round the Virgo, the black smoke of which unrolls itself like a plume of feathers.

We are approaching the Norwegian coast, and can see the cliffs. Vessels and craft of every description are moving to and fro. We are coming back to life; we feel that we are returning to civilization. The breakfast at nine o’clock is very animated. The weather is warm, and we are all preparing to make our entrance into TromsÖ.

At eleven o’clock we are at last in sight of the town, and by noon the Virgo is berthed in the port opposite the Fram, which we had met at Dansk-Gatt on the 14th of August.

XIV
The Return

We are at once surrounded by friends, and learn with pleasure that Nansen is a guest on board the small white yacht Otaria, anchored near the Fram, which she brought in tow from Hammerfest.

I much regret not being able to shake hands with him, but I am leaving my companions after sincere and heartfelt farewells to take my passage on the mail boat Haakon Jarl, which is leaving in a few minutes. Dr. Ekelund accompanies me to Trondhjem. One of the officers on board hands me letters and papers from France. Now, then, I am going to have a foretaste of the pleasure of again seeing those dear to me; I already feel that they are near me.

The Haakon Jarl is a superb steamer, conducting the mail service along the coasts of Norway, where railways are unknown.

Navigation through the fjords is full of charms and surprises. The landscape is of the most varied description: at one time tall rocks, snow-capped like the mountains of Spitzbergen; at another, green wooded hills, fertile prairies with large herds of cattle grazing, and arable land in all its luxuriance. Little hamlets on the mountain sides, villages, chÂlets nestling mid fir trees and beeches suggest the picturesque scenery of Switzerland.

The vessel threads her way through the islands, and touches at all the stations on her route.

The plaintive sound of the siren re-echoes from the mountains, announces her arrival, and small vessels surround the steamer to receive and deliver dispatches, to take off passengers and their luggage, and then to make for their various destinations.

The fore-deck is one mass of cases, heaps of bricks, casks, bales, bark, and articles of every description. With the exception of a few tardy tourists going from TromsÖ to Trondhjem, as it is already late in the season, passengers seem to change at every station. In some places the banks on either side are quite near, and it requires all the skill of the captain to make his way between the beacons, and avoid the numerous rocks scattered along the course. During the winter the passage is lighted by the lighthouse, but just now the nights are short, and there is very little darkness. We pass a great many vessels going through the Loffoden Islands.

Meals are served in a sumptuous saloon, and the traditional amateur concert takes place after dinner. The evening is spent in smoking cigars on deck, where Nature is the leading feature on the programme. The scene is as full of variety as of surprises.

First the sun, whose immense scarlet disc sinks slowly into the wave, leaving in its track a fiery horizon. The whole sky is coloured with tints running the gamut from violet to light grey. Clouds assume fantastic forms, merge into one another, transform their outlines, then disappear; then the pale moon appears, and its silvery glimmer is reflected on the waters.

I stand for hours together in an ecstasy of admiration before these changing pictures, so little known to Parisians. A few stars are shining in the firmament; the air is pure, the night calm, and the atmosphere pleasant.

I can breathe freely and enjoy life. The light breeze, which brings us the perfumes from the pine woods, is barely enough to stir the surface of the sea. In the wake of the ship is a long phosphorescent track. Every turn of the propeller brings me nearer to my country, the main object of my thoughts.

The Haakon Jarl stayed a few hours at Bodo, a small Scandinavian town, beginning to show traces of civilization. Doctor Ekelund and I landed. We were pleased to find some newspapers, in which a meeting of AndrÉe and Nansen at TromsÖ was referred to, also the Polar voyage chart of the celebrated Norwegian explorer. We afterwards attended an open-air concert given by a family of German artists.

During our passage to Torghatten, a small troupe of the Salvation Army came on board, and amused us a good deal with some of their musical performances, and their devout, though rather extravagant, practices.

The captain, a respectable lady, with her head concealed at the farther end of a huge poke-bonnet, which would not be out of place at Madame Tussaud’s, was gravely seated in a rocking-chair, and presided over the spiritual concert given by the members of the congregation. The devout musicians, leaning against a heap of dried cod-fish, sang in more or less plaintive tunes the praises of the Lord, who doubtless understands all languages. For my part, I did not understand a single word of these hymns, but I could judge by the faces of the audience that the music, which emollit mores, did not convince them. It was a wonder we did not throw them some small change; we expected that one of the pleasant company would go round, hat in hand, to make a collection for the expenses of the institution, or for any other more prosaic purpose.

A pretty young girl, of sixteen or seventeen years of age, with her hair arranged after the fashion of Miss Helyett (doubtless the captain’s niece), followed in a book, though with a distracted sort of devotion, the songs of the Salvation Army.

However, the amusements on board were not very numerous, and this was the chief item, as far as I was concerned, in the passage from TromsÖ to Trondhjem, where the main body of the army awaited their brethren, who were coming from the North to gain souls for Paradise.

Thursday, August 27th.—About four p.m. the town of Trondhjem appeared to be south-east. This is the haven so long wished for, although I have no right to complain of this latter portion of my voyage, during which no one suffered from the rolling of the vessel. The largest northern town in Norway, where the houses and buildings are made entirely of wood, has really an original appearance, and I sincerely regretted that I could not make a longer stay; but a few hours afterwards I left my amiable guide, Dr. Ekelund, and took a quick train on the single-line railway which was to carry me, within seventeen hours, over the 310 miles that divided me from Christiania.

The train started with some difficulty, and could only ascend the first incline with the aid of a locomotive coupled on behind. At last it proceeded at its normal rate of speed; the line was so bad that my carriage was shaken terribly. The pinewood structures seemed extremely fragile, and the bridges thrown over the lakes and streams made one giddy.

After our two months stay at Spitzbergen, where the vegetable kingdom is represented by moss and lichen, it was pleasant to come back to verdure, trees and flowers. Here Nature is displayed in all her splendour, and I should never tire of admiring the marvellous landscapes, the chÂlets, the torrents and the waterfalls which all contribute to the grandeur of Norwegian scenery.

The farmers gathering in the harvest, the wood-cutters cutting down trees which they send down from the top of the mountain by the river, which conveys them to a port where they will be received and either sent to a saw-mill or shipped on board a trading vessel—all here is life and movement. What a contrast to the frozen solitudes of Spitzbergen! Hamar is the terminus of the narrow railway. Here we entered the elegant carriages that cross to Elsinore; and lastly, a few hours later, we neared Christiania and descended at full speed such a steep incline that at each moment we asked ourselves with terror where we should go if the brakes failed to act.

On getting out at Christiania, we found ourselves in the midst of civilization. At the station I was assailed by an army of touts, from whom I only escaped by taking refuge in the fly from the Grand Hotel, where French is spoken, and where I found a degree of comfort to which I had become unaccustomed—the refined luxury of great cities. At breakfast I listened to a concert that would not have been out of place on our grands boulevards. I visited the town, which is very interesting, and made purchases of furs and articles of which Norway has the monopoly, various knick-knacks and little trifles that afterwards serve to remind us of our wanderings. I stayed two hours in Copenhagen, and at last on Sunday the 30th of August I embarked, at dawn, at the mouth of the canal at Kiel, on board the mail-boat Skiruer, on which I made my last passage. All the passengers on the boat were on deck to see the German fleet which was drawn up at this station. Twenty ironclads, a great many despatch-boats and torpedo-boats lying at the entrance of the canal excited great curiosity; moreover the spectacle was new to me as well as to most of the passengers, and it is not one that can be seen every day.

At last I arrived at Hamburg and came on to Paris, passing through Cologne and LiÈge.

The polar balloon was returned to me a little while after, to be kept until the time when M. AndrÉe should start on his expedition.

By my advice, AndrÉe agreed that I should increase the volume of his balloon as much as possible by adding to its equator two zones of silk of treble thickness, thus bringing the cubic measurement of the balloon to about 176,582 feet. The result of this addition was an increase in the ascending power of nearly 650 lbs., which is not to be despised.

The outer envelope was then re-varnished inside and out, and, the repairing being completed, the balloon was sent off towards the end of April, 1897, to Gothenburg to be shipped on board the Svensksund.

AndrÉe’s new companions, M. Fraenkel, acting member, and M. Svedenborg, assistant, came to Paris in the spring[1] to go through a course of balloon practice. They made a series of ascents for practice from the aerostatic park at Vaugirard in the “Nobel” and the “Fram,” under the direction of Messrs. Machuron, Lair and myself.

Notwithstanding my desire to revisit the polar regions, I gave up my place to my nephew and collaborator, who, more fortunate than myself, witnessed the departure of the balloon.

Awaiting the return of the courageous explorers, I conclude the account of this voyage which will constitute an epoch in my life and will leave behind it ineffaceable memories.

Henri Lachambre.

Paris, October 14th, 1897.