the presence of crevasses, but otherwise the surface looked safe enough.  The small guns kept up a lively crackle all through the night, and combined with a good deal of uproar among the dogs to shorten our sleep.  But the first night of a sledge journey is almost always a bad one.  Stubberud declared that he could not close his eyes on account of “that filthy row.”  He probably expected the ice to open and swallow him up every time he heard it.  The surface, however, held securely, and we turned out to the finest day one could wish to see.  It did not require any very great strength of mind to get out of one’s sleeping-bag now.  The stockings that had been hung up in the evening could be put on again as dry as a bone; the sun had seen to that.  Our ski boots were as soft as ever; there was not a sign of frost on them.  It is quite curious to see the behaviour of the dogs when the first head appears through the tent-door in the morning.  They greet their lord and master with the most unmistakable signs of joy, although, of course, they must know that his arrival will be followed by many hours of toil, with, perhaps, a few doses of the whip thrown in; but from the moment he begins to handle the sledge, the dogs look as if they had no desire in the world but to get into the harness as soon as possible and start away.  On days like this their troubles would be few; with the light load and good going we had no difficulty in covering nineteen geographical miles in eight hours.  Johansen’s team was on my heels the whole time, and Stubberud’s animals followed faithfully behind.  From time to time we saw sledge-tracks quite plainly; we also kept the mark-flags in sight all day.  In the temperatures we now had to deal with our costume was comparatively light —­ certainly much lighter than most people imagine; for there is a kind of summer even in Antarctica, although the daily readings of the thermometer at this season would perhaps rather remind our friends at home of what they are accustomed to regard as winter.

In undertaking a sledge journey down there in autumn or spring, the most extraordinary precautions have to be taken to protect oneself against the cold.  Skin clothing is then the only thing that is of any use; but at this time of year, when the sun is above the horizon for the whole twenty-four hours, one can go for a long time without being more heavily clad than a lumberman working in the woods.  During the march our clothing was usually the following:  two sets of woollen underclothes, of which that nearest the skin was quite thin.  Outside the shirt we wore either an ordinary waistcoat or a comparatively light knitted woollen jersey.  Outside all came our excellent Burberry clothes —­ trousers and jacket.  When it was calm, with full sunshine, the Burberry jacket was too warm; we could then go all day in our shirt-sleeves.  To be provided for emergencies, we all had our thinnest reindeer-skin clothes with us; but, so far as I know, these were never used, except as pillows or mattresses.