114 AT THE POLE 



of this unwonted occurrence, and stood speechless and 

 overcome. 



I find it impossible to express the feelings that 

 possessed me at this moment. All the sledges had 

 stopped, and from the foremost of them the Norwegian 

 flag was flying. It shook itself out, waved and flapped 

 so that the silk rustled; it looked wonderfully well 

 in the pure, clear air and the shining wliite surround- 

 ings. 88° 23' was past; we were farther south than 

 any human being had been. No other moment of the 

 whole trip affected me like this. The tears forced 

 their way to my eyes; by no effort of will could I keep 

 them back. It was the flag yonder that conquered me 

 and my will. Luckily I was some way in advance of 

 the others, so that I had time to pull myself together 

 and master my feelings before reaching my comrades. 

 We all shook hands, with mutual congratulations; we 

 had won our way far by holding together, and we would 

 go farther yet — to the end. 



We did not pass that spot without according our 

 highest tribute of admiration to the man, who — together 

 with Ills gallant companions — had planted his country's 

 flag so infinitely nearer to the goal than any of his 

 precursors. Sir Ernest Shackleton's name will always 

 be written in the annals of Antarctic exploration in 

 letters of fire. Pluck and grit can work wonders, and 

 I know of no better example of this than what that man 

 lias accomplished. 



