all are working and none shirking.  Many other points about a team claim his attention, and he must always keep an eye on the sledge itself.  If he does not do this, some slight unevenness may throw the runners in the air before he knows where he is.  And to right a capsized sledge, weighing about eight hundredweight, is no fun.  So, instead of running this risk, he gives his whole attention to what is before him.

From the starting-place the Barrier rises very slightly, until at a cross-ridge it passes into the perfect level.  Here on the ridge we halt once more.  Our comrades have disappeared and gone to their work, but in the distance the Fram lies, framed in shining, blue-white ice.  We are but human; uncertainty always limits our prospect.  Shall we meet again?  And if so, under what conditions?  Much lay between that moment and the next time we should see her.  The mighty ocean on one side, and the unknown region of ice on the other; so many things might happen.  Her flag floats out, waves us a last adieu, and disappears.  We are on our way to the South.

This first inland trip on the Barrier was undeniably exciting.  The ground was absolutely unknown, and our outfit untried.  What kind of country should we have to deal with?  Would it continue in this boundless plain without hindrance of any kind?  Or would Nature present insurmountable difficulties?  Were we right in supposing that dogs were the best means of transport in these regions, or should we have done better to take reindeer, ponies, motor-cars, aeroplanes, or anything else?  We went forward at a rattling pace; the going was perfect.  The dogs’ feet trod on a thin layer of loose snow, just enough to give them a secure hold.

The weather conditions were not quite what we should have wished in an unknown country.  It is true that it was calm and mild, and altogether pleasant for travelling, but the light was not good.  A grey haze, the most unpleasant kind of light after fog, lay upon the landscape, making the Barrier and the sky merge into one.  There was no horizon to be seen.  This grey haze, presumably a younger sister of fog, is extremely disagreeable.  One can never be certain of one’s surroundings.  There are no shadows; everything looks the same.  In a light like this it is a bad thing to be the forerunner; he does not see the inequalities of the ground until too late —­ until he is right on them.  This often ends in a fall, or in desperate efforts to keep on his feet.  It is better for the drivers, they can steady themselves with a hand on the sledge.  But they also have to be on the lookout for inequalities, and see that the sledges do not capsize.  This light is also very trying to the eyes, and one often hears of snow-blindness after such a day.  The cause of this is not only that one strains one’s eyes continually; it is also brought about by carelessness.  One is very apt to push one’s snow-goggles up on to one’s forehead, especially if they are