REJOICINGS 123 



had been an uncommonly useful and good-natured dog ; 

 without making any fuss he had pulled from morning 

 to night, and had been a shining example to the team. 

 But during the last week he had quite fallen away, and 

 on our arrival at the Pole there was only a shadow of 

 the old Helge left. He was only a drag on the others, 

 and did absolutely no work. One blow on the skull, 

 and Helge had ceased to live. " What is death to one 

 is food to another," is a saying that can scarcely find 

 a better apphcation than these dog meals. Helge was 

 portioned out on the spot, and within a couple of hours 

 there was nothing left of him but his teeth and the tuft 

 at the end of his tail. This was the second of our 

 eighteen dogs that we had lost. The Major, one of 

 Wisting's fine dogs, left us in 88° 25' S., and never re- 

 turned. He was fearfully worn out, and must have 

 gone away to die. We now had sixteen dogs left, 

 and these we intended to divide into two equal teams, 

 leaving Bjaaland's sledge behind. 



Of course, there was a festivity in the tent that 

 evening — not that champagne corks were popping and 

 wine flowing — no, we contented ourselves with a little 

 piece of seal meat each, and it tasted well and did us 

 good. There was no other sign of festival indoors. 

 Outside we heard the flag flapping in the breeze. 

 Conversation was lively in the tent that evening, and 

 we talked of many things. Perhaps, too, our thoughts 

 sent messages home of what we had done. 



