CHAPTER VII. 



OUR LIFE ON BOARD. 



ON Sunday, October 16, Schei,. Fosheim, and I toiled slowly up 

 across ' Nordfjordeidet ' (' Nordfjord Isthmus ') with our loads, the 

 dogs tugging and hauling till their tongues hung far out of their 

 mouths. When we reached the crest of the hill, and suddenly 

 came on the view over the mountains on the south side of the 

 fjord, we all three stopped involuntarily to gaze at it. 



We were looking at the sun for the last time that year. Its 

 pale light lay dying over the ' inland-ice ; ' its disc, light red, 

 was veiled on the horizon ; it was like a day in the land of the 

 dead. All light was so hopelessly cold : all life so far away. We 

 stood and watched it until it sank ; then everything became so 

 still that it made one shudder as if the Almighty had deserted 

 us, and shut the gates of Heaven. The light died away across the 

 mountains, and slowly vanished, while over us crept the great 

 shades of the polar night, the night that kills all life. 



I think that each of us, as we stood there, felt his heart swell 

 within him. Never before had we experienced home-sickness like 

 this, and little was said when we continued on our way. 



For yet a few days we were able to see a faint light on the 

 highest mountains at noon a suspicion of dawn in the south, 

 which told us that there was life still to be found somewhere in 

 the world. Then, even that was gone ; we had entered on the 

 great night. 



What might not these four months' darkness bring us ? Things 

 so terrible had occurred up here in the polar night that they might 

 well make any one pause and think. Here came Franklin, with 

 a hundred and thirty-eight men. The polar night stopped him ; 



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