CHAPTER IX. 



AN UNSUCCESSFUL SHOOTING-TRIP. 



THE darkness of the polar night was at an end : the profound 

 stillness gone. There, where distant stars had been the only light 

 in the depths of the darkness and the' monotonous cracking of the 

 ice in the cold the only sound, were now the sunshine on the snow, 

 and the barking of dogs and shouting of men in various directions. 



On February 22, 1899, Baumann, Bay, Isachsen, Hendriksen, 

 and I left for Fort Juliana, on our way shooting in Beitstadfjord, 

 and up on the sunken line of country leading across to Nord- 

 fjord where we had shot the first polar oxen. It was still 

 unusually cold, but we were all anxious to be off and did not 

 care much about the weather ; and, besides, we were all well 

 clothed. 



By degrees, however, as we entered on the long fjords, the 

 temperature sank to a disagreeable extent, but we could not 

 determine how low, as we had stupidly forgotten to take with us 

 any other than the quicksilver thermometer. We knew only 

 that the mercury was frozen the whole time, but that is not saying 

 very much. We all spent the night together at Fort Juliana, and 

 parted company the next day ; Baumann, Bay, and Isachsen going 

 to Stenkjaer ; Peder and I to the isthmus above referred to. Not- 

 withstanding that we all had on wolf-skin clothing, we could not 

 sit long at a time on the sledges, and had to run by the side to 

 keep ourselves warm. After pitching the tent on some level 

 ground up on the isthmus, Peder and I set off, and wandered 

 about all day in search of game, but without discovering a single 

 animal, or trace of an animal. 



It was not till the evening, when we lighted our ' Primus,' 

 that we became aware how cold it really was. 



VOL. i. 97 H 



