MARVELS OF THE NORTH 361 



their nature. His impression was that the aurora boreahs spread from the 

 sun over the whole vault of heaven like the stripes on the inner skin of 

 an orange. 



A RACE THAT FAILED. 



"Sunday, November 5th. A great race on the ice was advertised for 

 today. The course was measured, marked off, and decorated with flags. 

 The cook had prepared the prizes — cakes, numbered and properly graduated 

 in size. The expectation was great; but it turned out that, from excessive 

 training during the few last days, the whole crew were so stiff in the legs 

 that they were not able to move. We got our prizes all the same. One man 

 was blindfolded, and he decided who was to have each cake as it was pointed 

 at. This just arrangement met with general approbation, and we all thought 

 it a pleasanter way of getting the prizes than running half a mile for them. 



"So it is Sunday once more. How the days drag past ! I work, read, 

 think, and dream; strum a little on the organ; go for a walk on the ice in 

 the tdark. Low on the horizon in the southwest there is the flush of the 

 sun — a dark fierce red, as if of blood aglow with all life's smouldering long- 

 ings — low and far-off, like the dreamland of youth. Higher in the sky it 

 melts into orange, and that into green and pale blue; and then comes deep 

 blue, star-sown, and . then infinite space, where no dawn will ever break. 

 In the north are quivering arches of faint aurora, trembling now like awak- 

 ening longings, but presently, as if at the touch of a magic wand, to storm 

 as streams of light through the dark blue of heaven — never at peace, rest- 

 less as the very soul of man. I can sit and gaze and gaze, my eyes entranced 

 by the dream-glow yonder in the west, where the moon's thin, pale, silver 

 sickle is dipping its point into the blood; and my soul is borne beyond the' 

 glow, to the sun, so far off now — and to the home-coming! Our task ac- 

 complished, we are making our way up the fjord as fast as sail and steam 

 can carry us. On both sides of us the homeland lies smiling in the sun; 

 and then * * * the sufferings of a thousand days and hours melt into 

 a moment's inexpressible joy. Ugh! that was a bitter gust — I jump up and 

 walk on. What am I dreaming about? so far yet from the goal — hundreds 

 and hundreds of miles between us, ice and land and ice again. And we are 

 drifting round and round in a ring, bewildered, attaining nothing, only 

 waiting, aJways waiting, for what? 



