Among the items of news that we had just received from the outer world was the message that the Australian Antarctic Expedition under Dr. Douglas Mawson would be glad to take over some of our dogs, if we had any to spare.  The base of this expedition was Hobart, and as far as that went, this suited us very well.  It chanced that we were able to do our esteemed colleague this small service.  On leaving the Barrier we could show a pack of thirty-nine dogs, many of which had grown up during our year’s stay there; about half had survived the whole trip from Norway, and eleven had been at the South Pole.  It had been our intention only to keep a suitable number as the progenitors of a new pack for the approaching voyage in the Arctic Ocean, but Dr. Mawson’s request caused us to take all the thirty-nine on board.  Of these dogs, if nothing unforeseen happened, we should be able to make over twenty-one to him.  When the last load was brought down, there was nothing to do but to pull the dogs over the side, and then we were ready.  It was quite curious to see how several of the old veterans seemed at home again on the Fram’s deck.  Wisting’s brave dog, the old Colonel, with his two adjutants, Suggen and Arne, at once took possession of the places where they had stood for so many a long day on the voyage south —­ on the starboard side of the mainmast; the two twins, Mylius and Ring, Helmer Hanssen’s special favourites, began their games away in the corner of the fore-deck to port, as though nothing had happened.  To look at those two merry rascals no one would have thought they had trotted at the head of the whole caravan both to and from the Pole.  One solitary dog could be seen stalking about, lonely and reserved, in a continual uneasy search.  This was the boss of Bjaaland’s team.  He was unaffected by any advances; no one could take the place of his fallen comrade and friend, Frithjof, who had long ago found a grave in the stomachs of his companions many hundreds of miles across the Barrier.

No sooner was the last dog helped on board, and the two ice-anchors released, than the engine-room telegraph rang, and the engine was at once set going to keep us from any closer contact with the ice-foot in the Bay of Whales.  Our farewell to this snug harbour took almost the form of a leap from one world to another; the fog hung over us as thick as gruel, concealing all the surrounding outlines behind its clammy curtain, as we stood out.  After a lapse of three or four hours, it lifted quite suddenly, but astern of us the bank of fog still stood like a wall; behind it the panorama, which we knew would have looked wonderful in clear weather, and which we should so gladly have let our eyes rest upon as long as we could, was entirely concealed.