THE WHITE WORLD 



My first acquaintance with Bjoervig was when he be- 

 came a member of my first Arctic expedition, a summer 

 trip to the coast of the Northeast Land of Spitzbergen. 

 In that journey we had no great cold to contend with. In 

 fact, our troubles and dangers arose from too much heat. 

 Day after day and mile after mile we floundered about in 

 broken, drifting ice. Every half hour one of us was down 

 in the sea to his middle. We waded, we wallowed, we 

 sozzled in the icy water. We knew not what it was to be 

 dry, day or night. Amid all these trials and tribulations 

 Bjoervig was the most adventurous spirit. If there was a 

 bit of dangerous work to do, he was sure to be the first to 

 plunge in. If some one must dive into the sea to rescue a 

 sledge or a piece of luggage, he was the one to dive. 

 He appeared to enjoy it. If ever man loved the Arctic, 

 Bjoervig did. He sang and laughed at his work. If he 

 went down into a porridge, half ice and half salt water, 

 and was pulled out by the hair of his head, he came up with 

 a joke about the ice-cream freezer. When he was not at 

 work he was telling stories. He was the wit, the humorist, 

 the unfailing optimist, the dare-devil of the party. A true 

 Viking of the ice-country was Paul Bjoervig. 



One day three men were out bear-hunting on an island. 

 Two of them had rifles, one didn't. The last was Bjoervig. 

 They found a bear, wounded him, and chased him to the 

 top of a glacier. There Bruin stood at bay. One of the 

 hunters went to the left, another to the right. Bjoervig 

 laboriously mounted the ice-pile to scare the beast down 

 where the others might get a shot. But one of the hunters, 

 becoming impatient, started to climb up also. On the way 

 he lost his footing and fell, sliding forty or fifty feet into 

 a pocket of soft snow. At that moment, unfortunately, 

 Bjoervig frightened the bear. Leaving the summit of the 

 ice-heap, the beast slipped and slid straight toward the 

 helpless man who was floundering up to his arm-pits be- 

 low. Apparently the man's life was not worth a half- 

 kroner. In a few seconds the bear would be upon him; 

 would claw him to pieces; bite his head off; chew him into 

 bits. The brute was wounded, furious, desperate. 



Paul Bjoervig saw what he had to do. He did not hesi- 

 tate. He followed the bear. From his perch at the sum- 



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