The Bay of Biscay has a bad name among seamen, and it fully deserves it; that tempestuous corner of the sea conceals for ever in its depths so many a stout ship and her crew.  We for our part, however, had good hopes of escaping unharmed, considering the time of year, and our hopes were fulfilled.  We had better luck than we dared to anticipate.  Our stubborn opponent, the south-west wind, got tired at last of trying to stop our progress; it was no use.  We went slowly, it was true, but still we got along.  Of the meteorological lessons of our youth, we especially recalled at that moment the frequent northerly winds off the coast of Portugal, and as a pleasant surprise we already had them far up in the Bay.  This was an agreeable change after all our close-hauled tacking in the Channel.  The north wind held almost as bravely as the south-west had done before, and at what was to our ideas quite a respectable rate, we went southward day after day towards the fine-weather zone, where we could be sure of a fair wind, and where a sailor’s life is, as a rule, a pleasant one.

For that matter, as far as seamanship was concerned, our work had gone on smoothly enough, even during these first difficult weeks.  There were always willing and practised hands enough for what was wanted, even though the work to be done was frequently of a not very pleasant kind.  Take washing decks, for instance.  Every seaman will have something to say about what this is like on board ships that carry live animals, especially when these are carried on deck, in the way of all work that has to be done.  I have always held the opinion that a Polar ship ought not, any more than any other vessel, to be a wholesale establishment for dirt and filth, however many dogs there may be on board.  On the contrary, I should say that on voyages of this kind it is more than ever vitally necessary to keep one’s surroundings as clean and sweet as possible.  The important thing is to get rid of anything that may have a demoralizing and depressing effect.  The influence of uncleanliness in this way is so well known that it is needless to preach about it here.

My views were shared by everyone on board the Fram, and everything was done to act in accordance with them, in spite of what may be considered great difficulties.  Twice a day the whole deck was thoroughly washed down, besides all the extra turns at odd times with bucket and scrubber.  At least once a week the whole of the loose deck was taken up, and each separate part of it thoroughly washed, until it was as clean as when it was laid down at Christiansand.  This was a labour that required great patience and perseverance on the part of those who had to perform it, but I never saw any shortcomings.  “Let’s just see and get it clean,” they said.

At night, when it was not always easy to see what one was doing, it might often happen that one heard some more or less heated exclamations from those who had to handle coils of rope in working the ship.  I need not hint more explicitly at the cause of them, if it is remembered that there were dogs lying about everywhere, who had eaten and drunk well in the course of the day.  But after a time the oaths gave way to jokes.  There is nothing in the world that custom does not help us to get over.