September came and off we went —­ that trip was pretty tough;
Our compasses all went on strike, they thought it cold enough. 
The brandy in the Captain’s flask froze to a lump of ice;
We all agreed, both men and dogs, such weather wasn’t nice. 
So back we went to Framheim to thaw our heels and toes;
It could not be quite healthy when our feet and fingers froze. 
But all I say is this —­ that ’twas in our country’s cause,
And we did not mind a frost-bite when ’twas in our country’s cause.

The sun came up and warmed us then a little day by day;
Five men went out again and toiled along the southern way. 
This time they conquered snow and ice, and all the world may hear
That Norway’s flag flies at the Pole.  Now, boys, a ringing cheer
For him who led them forward through the mountains and the plain,
Up to the goal they aimed at, and safely back again. 
But all I’ll say is this —­ that ’twas in his country’s cause;
If he went through and won the Pole, ’twas in his country’s cause.

It could soon be noticed, in one way and another, that we had reached latitudes where existence took a very different aspect from what we had been accustomed to south of the 66th parallel.  One welcome change was the rise in temperature; the mercury now climbed well above freezing-point, and those individuals on board who were still more or less clad in skins, shed the last remnants of their Polar garb for a lighter and more convenient costume.  Those who waited longest before making the change were the ones who belonged to the shore party.  The numerous people who imagine that a long stay in the Polar regions makes a man less susceptible of cold than other mortals are completely mistaken.  The direct opposite is more likely to be the case.  A man who stays some time in a place where the everyday temperature is down in the fifties below zero, or more than that, will not trouble himself greatly about the cold, so long as he has good and serviceable skin clothing.  Let the same man, rigged out in civilized clothes, be suddenly put down in the streets of Christiania on a winter day, with thirty or thirty-five degrees of frost, and the poor fellow’s teeth will chatter till they fall out of his mouth.  The fact is, that on a Polar trip one defends oneself effectively against the cold; when one comes back, and has to go about with the protection afforded by an overcoat, a stiff collar, and a hard hat —­ well, then one feels it.

A less welcome consequence of the difference in latitude was the darkening of the nights.  It may be admitted that continual daylight would be unpleasant in the long run ashore, but aboard ship an everlasting day would certainly be preferred, if such a thing could be had.  Even if we might now consider that we had done with the principal mass of Antarctic ice, we still had to reckon with its disagreeable outposts —­ the icebergs.  It has already been remarked that a practised look-out man can see the