GREENLAND BY THE POLAR SEA 



WHITE WHITSUN 



May 27th.- — Slowly, slowly, we struggle ahead 2 kilometres 

 to the hour, the dogs, with hanging tails, ready to drop when- 

 ever a slight ridge hampers the sledge. 



For the first four hours we crawl along through a clammy 

 fog surrounded by greyish-white thickness on all sides ; nothing 

 to see, nothing to steer by, like blind men we struggle along in 

 the white gap, and the monotony makes our advance still more 

 miserable. 



Suddenly the sun appears as a huge white ball through the 

 fog ; in the zenith the sky bursts forth, breaking through the 

 clouds like blue unfolding flowers ; and now the sun follows up 

 its victory, whilst the edges of the clouds begin to glow, and 

 soon the close blanket of fog trembles under the beams of the 

 great heater. 



The white tops of the country round Cape May break 

 through ahead, first the cone-shaped Fusjijama (Mount 

 Hooker) and then the rest of Beaumont's Mountains, Mounts 

 Coppinger and Farragut, still paddling with their feet in the 

 fog ; soon the ice bursts into transparent silver ribbons, hovering 

 like narrow wisps of smoke over the lands, promising good 

 weather. 



And so the most glorious Whitsun weather drove in to 

 Sherard Osborne Fjord with clear sky and calm warmth. 



At five o'clock we had to stop, as the dogs could endure no 

 more ; we made camp, hoisted our flag, and commenced our 

 day of rest. A festive Whitsun, with a solemn mood which 

 the mountains and the white snow communicated to our 

 minds. . . . 



It is 10 degrees of frost (Cent.), but the feeling is that of a 

 hot August day in Denmark, and with the warmth in our hearts 

 which all this grand beauty generates we celebrate Whitsun 

 according to our poor means. 



We make tea, and drink it whilst we suck fruit-drops, and 

 with the taste of red currants and cherries on our lips our 

 thoughts involuntarily turn to home — the long, long way, 

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