The Winter Night. 343 



as I can see, the hummock is slowly rising. A lane 

 has opened right across the large floe on the port 

 side ; you can see the water, dark as it is. Now both 

 pressure and noise get worse and worse ; the ship 

 shakes, and I feel as if I myself were being gently 

 lifted with the stern-rail, where I stand o-azino- out at 



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the welter of ice-masses, that resemble giant snakes 

 writhing and twisting their great bodies out there 

 under the quiet, starry sky, whose peace is only broken 

 by one aurora serpent waving and flickering restlessly 

 in the north-east. I once more think what a comfort 

 it is to be safe on board the Fram, and look out with 

 a certain contempt at the horrible hurly-burly nature 

 is raising to no purpose whatever ; it will not crush 

 us in a hurry, nor even frighten us. Suddenly I 

 remember that my fine thermometer is in a hole on 

 a floe to port on the other side of the opening, and 

 must certainly be in danger. I jump on to the ice, 

 find a place where I can leap across the opening, and 

 grope about in the dark until I find the piece of ice 

 covering the hole ; I get hold of the string, and the 

 thermometer is saved. I hurry on board again well 

 pleased, and down into my comfortable cabin to smoke 

 a pipe of peace alas! this vice grows upon me more 

 and more and to listen with glee to the roar of the 

 pressure outside and feel its shakings, like so many 

 earthquakes, as I sit and write my diary. Safe and 

 comfortable, I cannot but think with deep pity of the 



