A whole suit of sails was completely worn out on this voyage; but what can one expect when the ship is being worked every single day, with clewing up, making fast and setting of sails both in calms and winds?  This work every day reminded me of the corvette Ellida, when the order was “all hands aloft.”  As a rule, though, it was only clewing up the sails that had to be done, as we always had to take soundings on the weather side, so that the sounding-line should not foul the bottom of the vessel and smash the apparatus.  And we did not lose more than one thermometer in about nine hundred soundings.

On account of all this wear and tear of sails Ronne was occupied the whole time, both at sea and in Buenos Aires, in making and patching sails, as there was not much more than the leeches left of those that had been used, and on the approaching trip (to the Ice Barrier) we should have to have absolutely first-class things in the “Roaring Forties.”

June 30, 1911, is a red-letter day in the Fram’s history, as on that day we intersected our course from Norway to the Barrier, and the Franz thus completed her first circumnavigation of the globe.  Bravo, Fram!  It was well done, especially after the bad character you have been given as a sailer and a sea-boat.  In honour of the occasion we had a better dinner than usual, and the Franz was congratulated by all present on having done her work well.

On the evening of July 29 St. Helena was passed.  It was the first time I had seen this historic island.  It was very strange to think that “the greatest spirit of a hundred centuries,” as some author has called Napoleon, should have ending his restless life on this lonely island of the South Atlantic.

On August 12, when daylight came, we sighted the little Martin Vaz Islands ahead, and a little later South Trinidad (in 1910 this island was passed on October 16).  We checked our chronometers, which, however, proved to be correct.  From noon till 2 p.m., while we were lying still and taking our daily hydrographic observations, a sailing ship appeared to the north of us, lying close-hauled to the south.  She bore down on us and ran up her flag, and we exchanged the usual greetings; she was a Norwegian barque bound for Australia.  Otherwise we did not see more than four or five ships on the whole voyage, and those were pretty far off: 

Never since leaving Madeira (September, 1910) had we been troubled with animals or insects of any kind whatever; but when we were in Buenos Aires for the first time, at least half a million flies came aboard to look at the vessel.  I hoped they would go ashore when the Fram sailed; but no, they followed us, until by degrees they passed peacefully away on fly-paper.

Well, flies are one thing, but we had something else that was worse —­ namely, rats —­ our horror and dread, and for the future our deadly enemies.  The first signs of them I found in my bunk and on the table in the fore-saloon; they were certainly not particular.  What I said on that occasion had better not be printed, though no expression could be strong enough to give vent to one’s annoyance at such a discovery.  We set traps, but what was the use of that, when the cargo consisted exclusively of provisions?