our bright and confident hopes there crept a shadow of melancholy.  The hillsides, the woods, the fjord —­ all were so bewitchingly fair and so dear to us.  They called to us with their allurement, but the Diesel motor knew no pity.  Its tuff-tuff went on brutally through the stillness.  A little boat, in which were some of my nearest relations, dropped gradually astern.  There was a glimpse of white handkerchiefs in the twilight, and then —­ farewell!

The next morning we were moored in the inner harbour at Horten.  An apparently innocent lighter came alongside at once, but the lighter’s cargo was not quite so innocent as its appearance.  It consisted of no less than half a ton of gun-cotton and rifle ammunition, a somewhat unpleasant, but none the less necessary, item of our equipment.  Besides taking on board the ammunition, we availed ourselves of the opportunity of completing our water-supply.  When this was done, we lost no time in getting away.  As we passed the warships lying in the harbour they manned ship, and the bands played the National Anthem.  Outside Vealos we had the pleasure of waving a last farewell to a man to whom the expedition will always owe a debt of gratitude, Captain Christian Blom, Superintendent of the dockyard, who had supervised the extensive repairs to the Fram with unrelaxing interest and obligingness.  He slipped past us in his sailing-boat; I do not remember if he got a cheer.  If he did not, it was a mistake.

Now we were on our way to the South, as the heading of this chapter announces, though not yet in earnest.  We had an additional task before us:  the oceanographical cruise in the Atlantic.  This necessitated a considerable detour on the way.  The scientific results of this cruise will be dealt with by specialists in due course; if it is briefly referred to here, this is chiefly for the sake of continuity.  After consultation with Professor Nansen, the plan was to begin investigations in the region to the south of Ireland, and thence to work our way westward as far as time and circumstances permitted.  The work was to be resumed on the homeward voyage in the direction of the North of Scotland.  For various reasons this programme afterwards had to be considerably reduced.

For the first few days after leaving Norway we were favoured with the most splendid summer weather.  The North Sea was as calm as a millpond; the Fram had little more motion than when she was lying in Bundefjord.  This was all the better for us, as we could hardly be said to be absolutely ready for sea when we passed Faerder, and came into the capricious Skagerak.  Hard pressed as we had been for time, it had not been possible to lash and stow the last of our cargo as securely as was desirable; a stiff breeze at the mouth of the fjord would therefore have been rather inconvenient.  As it was, everything was arranged admirably, but to do this we had to work night and day.  I have been told that on former occasions sea-sickness made fearful ravages on board the Fram, but from this trial we also had an easy escape.  Nearly all the members of the expedition were used to the sea, and the few who, perhaps, were not so entirely proof against it had a whole week of fine weather to get into training.  So far as I know, not a single case occurred of this unpleasant and justly dreaded complaint.