“Now, Stubberud, what’s the temperature to-day ?” Stubberud had his own way of calculating, which I never succeeded in getting at.  One day, for instance, he looked about him and studied the various faces.

“It isn’t warm to-day,” he said at last, with a great deal of conviction.  I could immediately console him with the assurance that he had guessed right.  It was -69deg.F.  The monthly results were very interesting.  So far as I remember, the best performance the competition could show in any month was eight approximately correct guesses.  A man might keep remarkably close to the actual temperature for a long time, and then suddenly one day make an error of 25deg..  It proved that the winner’s mean temperature agreed within a few tenths of a degree with the actual mean temperature of the month, and if one took the mean of all the competitors’ mean temperatures, it gave a result which, practically speaking, agreed with the reality.  It was especially with this object in view that this guessing was instituted.  If later on we should be so unlucky as to lose all our thermometers, we should not be entirely at a loss.  It may be convenient to mention here that on the southern sledge journey we had four thermometers with us.  Observations were taken three times daily, and all four were brought home in undamaged condition.  Wisting had charge of this scientific branch, and I think the feat he achieved in not breaking any thermometers is unparalleled.

CHAPTER VIII

A Day at Framheim

In order to understand our daily life better, we will now make a tour of Framheim.  It is June 23, early in the morning.  Perfect stillness lies over the Barrier —­ such stillness as no one who has not been in these regions has any idea of.  We come up the old sledge road from the place where the Fram used to lie.  You will stop several times on the way and ask whether this can be real; anything so inconceivably beautiful has never yet been seen.  There lies the northern edge of the Fram Barrier, with Mounts Nelson and Ronniken nearest; behind them, ridge after ridge, peak after peak, the venerable pressure masses rise, one higher than another.  The light is so wonderful; what causes this strange glow?  It is clear as daylight, and yet the shortest day of the year is at hand.  There are no shadows, so it cannot be the moon.  No; it is one of the few really intense appearances of the aurora australis that receives us now.  It looks as though Nature wished to honour our guests, and to show herself in her best attire.  And it is a gorgeous dress she has chosen.  Perfectly calm, clear with a starry sparkle, and not a sound in any direction.  But wait:  what is that?  Like a stream of fire the light shoots across the sky, and a whistling sound follows the movement.  Hush! can’t you hear?  It shoots forward again, takes the form of a band, and glows in rays of red and green.  It stands