By about Christmas we had reached nearly the 150th meridian in lat. 56deg.  S. This left not much more than 900 miles before we might expect to meet with the pack-ice.  Our glorious west wind, which had driven us forward for weeks, and freed us from all anxiety about arriving too late, was now a thing of the past.  For a change we again had to contend for some days with calms and contrary wind.  The day before Christmas Eve brought rain and a gale from the south-west, which was not very cheerful.  If we were to keep Christmas with any festivity, fine weather was wanted, otherwise the everlasting rolling would spoil all our attempts.  No doubt we should all have got over it if it had fallen to our lot to experience a Christmas Eve with storm, shortened sail, and other delights; worse things had happened before.  On the other hand, there was not one of us who would not be the better for a little comfort and relaxation; our life had been monotonous and commonplace enough for a long time.  But, as I said, the day before Christmas Eve was not at all promising.  The only sign of the approaching holiday was the fact that Lindstrom, in spite of the rolling, was busy baking Christmas cakes.  We suggested that he might just as well give us each our share at once, as it is well known that the cakes are best when they come straight out of the oven, but Lindstrom would not hear of it.  His cakes vanished for the time being under lock and key, and we had to be content with the smell of them.

Christmas Eve arrived with finer weather and a smoother sea than we had seen for weeks.  The ship was perfectly steady, and there was nothing to prevent our making every preparation for the festivity.  As the day wore on Christmas was in full swing.  The fore-cabin was washed and cleaned up till the Ripolin paint and the brass shone with equal brilliance; Ronne decorated the workroom with signal flags, and the good old “Happy Christmas” greeted us in a transparency over the door of the saloon.  Inside Nilsen was busily engaged, showing great talents as a decorator.  The gramophone was rigged up in my cabin on a board hung from the ceiling.  A proposed concert of piano, violin, and mandolin had to be abandoned, as the piano was altogether out of tune.

The various members of our little community appeared one after another, dressed and tidied up so that many of them were scarcely recognizable.  The stubbly chins were all smooth, and that makes a great difference.  At five o’clock the engine was stopped, and all hands assembled in the fore-cabin, leaving only the man at the wheel on deck.  Our cosy cabins had a fairy-like appearance in the subdued light of the many-coloured lamps, and we were all in the Christmas humour at once.  The decorations did honour to him who had carried them out and to those who had given us the greater part of them —­ Mrs. Schroer, and the proprietor of the Oyster Cellar at Christiania, Mr. Ditlev-Hansen.

Then we took our seats round the table, which groaned beneath Lindstrom’s masterpieces in the culinary art.  I slipped behind the curtain of my cabin for an instant, and set the gramophone going.  Herold sang us “Glade Jul.”