CHAPTER XV

The Eastern Sledge Journey

By Lieutenant K. Prestrud

On October 20, 1911, the southern party started on their long journey.  The departure took place without much ceremony, and with the smallest possible expenditure of words.  A hearty grasp of the hand serves the purpose quite as well on such occasions.  I accompanied them to the place we called the starting-point, on the south side of the bay.  After a final “Good luck” to our Chief and comrades —­ as sincere a wish as I have ever bestowed upon anyone —­ I cinematographed the caravan, and very soon after it was out of sight.  Those fellows went southward at a great pace, Helmer Hanssen’s quick-footed team leading as usual.

There I stood, utterly alone, and I cannot deny that I was a prey to somewhat mixed feelings.  When should we see those five again, who had just disappeared from view on the boundless plain, and in what conditions?  What sort of a report would they bring of the result?  There was plenty of room for guesses here, and abundant opportunity for weighing every possibility, good and bad; but there was very little to be gained by indulging in speculations of that sort.  The immediate facts first claimed attention.  One fact, amongst others, was that Framheim was a good three miles away; another was that the cinematograph apparatus weighed a good many pounds; and a third that Lindstrom would be mightily put out if I arrived too late for dinner.  Our chef insisted on a high standard of punctuality in the matter of meal-times.  Homeward, then, at the best speed possible.  The speed, however, was not particularly good, and I began to prepare for the consequences of a long delay.  On the other side of the bay I could just make out a little black speck, that seemed to be in motion towards me.  I thought at first it was a seal, but, fortunately, it turned out to be Jorgen Stubberud with six dogs and a sledge.  This was quite encouraging:  in the first place, I should get rid of my unmanageable burden, and in the second I might expect to get on faster.  Stubberud’s team consisted, however, of four intractable puppies, besides Puss and another courser of similar breed; the result was that our pace was a modest one and our course anything but straight, so that we arrived at Framheim two hours after the time appointed for dinner.  Those who know anything of Master Lindstrom and his disposition will easily be able from this explanation to form an idea of his state of mind at the moment when we entered the door.  Yes, he was undoubtedly angry, but we were at least equally hungry; and if anything can soften the heart of a Norwegian caterer, it is a ravenous appetite in those he has to feed, provided, of course, that he have enough to offer them, and Lindstrom’s supplies were practically unlimited.