During the forenoon the thick, grey curtain of cloud began to grow thinner on the horizon, and for the first time for three days we could see a few miles about us.  The feeling was something like that one has on waking from a good nap, rubbing one’s eyes and looking around.  We had become so accustomed to the grey twilight that this positively dazzled us.  Meanwhile, the upper layer of air seemed obstinately to remain the same and to be doing its best to prevent the sun from showing itself.  We badly wanted to get a meridian altitude, so that we could determine our latitude.  Since 86deg. 47’ S. we had had no observation, and it was not easy to say when we should get one.  Hitherto, the weather conditions on the high ground had not been particularly favourable.  Although the prospects were not very promising, we halted at 11 a.m. and made ready to catch the sun if it should be kind enough to look out.  Hassel and Wisting used one sextant and artificial horizon, Hanssen and I the other set.

I don’t know that I have ever stood and absolutely pulled at the sun to get it out as I did that time.  If we got an observation here which agreed with our reckoning, then it would be possible, if the worst came to the worst, to go to the Pole on dead reckoning; but if we got none now, it was a question whether our claim to the Pole would be admitted on the dead reckoning we should be able to produce.  Whether my pulling helped or not, it is certain that the sun appeared.  It was not very brilliant to begin with, but, practised as we now were in availing ourselves of even the poorest chances, it was good enough.  Down it came, was checked by all, and the altitude written down.  The curtain of cloud was rent more and more, and before we had finished our work —­ that is to say, caught the sun at its highest, and convinced ourselves that it was descending again —­ it was shining in all its glory.  We had put away our instruments and were sitting on the sledges, engaged in the calculations.  I can safely say that we were excited.  What would the result be, after marching blindly for so long and over such impossible ground, as we had been doing?  We added and subtracted, and at last there was the result.  We looked at each other in sheer incredulity:  the result was as astonishing as the most consummate conjuring trick —­ 88deg. 16’ S., precisely to a minute the same as our reckoning, 88deg. 16’ S. If we were forced to go to the Pole on dead reckoning, then surely the most exacting would admit our right to do so.  We put away our observation books, ate one or two biscuits, and went at it again.