The inflation of the balloon was completed on the 22nd of June at midnight. The dome can be seen above the shed; our balloon is now only awaiting a suitable moment for launching forth into space.
Next morning two Swedish flags float triumphantly over the shed. But before a start can be made, many minor matters still remain to be attended to, small details which always take up a very long time, and to-day work was stopped at noon. In compliance with Swedish custom we have been celebrating the eve of the feast of St. John, one of the most important Scandinavian festivals.
Time hangs heavily during these days of rest. Amusements are rare, and but little varied at Spitzbergen. The sailors themselves are compelled to forego one of their favourite sports; the snow on the mountains having partly melted, has laid bare large sharp-edged stones, among which it would be dangerous to practise tobogganing. However, they have found another amusement. On the summit of a neighbouring mountain rising up almost in a peak, which they succeed in climbing, they displace enormous pieces of rock, and these roll down dragging with them an avalanche of stone, accompanied by prolonged and deafening sounds which are re-echoed, like the rolling of thunder; and thus do our sailors amuse themselves.
We are no less limited than the sailors in our choice of amusements in these deserted regions, far away from all that makes life seem worth living. We are longing for our nearest and dearest; it is now a month since we became exiles.
Absorbed by vague thoughts, my looks mechanically tend towards the open sea, hoping to descry a sail coming to call on us and bring us news from home. But the horizon is bare, except that here and there a few icebergs are floating on the waves.
All around us, mountains, barren rocks, snow, and glaciers; no vegetation to gladden our sight, nothing but a few varieties of moss bearing tiny white, violet, and yellow flowers; the yellow ones, larger than the rest, resemble very much the butter-cups, with which our meadows are dotted in spring. The flora is excessively poor in these icy regions. What a contrast to the luxuriant vegetation of Brazil, the rich and prolific nature of which country I was admiring three years ago, being then engaged on a mission on behalf of the Brazilian Military Authorities!
In order to overcome the melancholy which seems to come over me to-night, I am glad to start with Fraenkel on a boating excursion. We take some provisions with us, and at nine o’clock we set off hap-hazard, in glorious sunshine. We shoot some birds, chiefly eider-geese. Near the Albert Isle, in the Smeerenburg, a group of seals, disporting themselves on the ice, attracts our attention. It is impossible to get near them by water; we therefore alight and drag our boat up on to the ice. But the wary animals plunge under as soon as we approach. It is no use waiting for them over their holes, as the seal will travel a long way under water, in order to re-emerge some hundreds of yards away from the place where it dives. It then proceeds to make a fresh hole; with its breath alone, emitted and inhaled repeatedly, it can pierce masses of this ice, measuring at least a yard in thickness.
Not far from the place where the seals disappeared, there is an opening free from ice; we decide, at all events, to wait some minutes on the brink of this pond. Two of the seals appear, and are at once greeted by us with bullets; the water is dyed red with blood over a large expanse, but the two animals, though wounded in the head, have strength enough left to dive under the ice, there to die.
Baffled in this attempt, we return to our boat and continue our trip in the Smeerenburg in a south-easterly direction; we wish to reach the glaciers haunted by bears, but a thick fog surprises us on our way and stops our progress. We have no compass; in order to get back and avoid losing ourselves in the fog we are obliged to follow the coast-line, which considerably increases the distance to be covered. Objects are beginning to assume fantastic forms in the fog. At one part of the coast which I know perfectly well, having roamed over it several times, a rock of from sixteen to nineteen feet high appears to us a mountain of respectable dimensions; further on, the ice round the coast is about six feet above the water, and this looks to us like a colossal glacier; then we come across some eider-geese, which animals seem to assume awful dimensions, appearing to us about thirty-two feet high. Finally, becoming more and more subject to these curious effects of optical illusion, taking small blocks of ice for enormous icebergs, we imagine we can identify a walrus in a moving mass which appears to be the size of a small whale: we approach the animal, whose true nature we recognise when its size still appears to be thirteen or sixteen feet—it is a small bird of the size of a pigeon.
After several hours of a dispiriting journey made in the damp and penetrating cold, tossed to and fro by the waves, which have become very rough, while the water, lashed by a contrary wind, is constantly dashing in our faces, we arrive near Virgo Bay at the very moment when the fog commences to clear, and with it these phantasmagoric effects gradually disappear.
We feel as if we had awakened from a hideous nightmare, and are glad to see the sun once more, shedding its warm rays upon us.
We return on board the Svensksund at 6 a.m., after roaming about on the sea for nine hours, and just at the time when all on board are waking up.
We celebrate St. John’s day as far as we can under the circumstances; at night a copious dinner is served, and we are much astonished at seeing such a variety of dishes set before us, although more than a month has elapsed since we last renewed supplies; this is a surprise reserved for us by Lieut. Celsing, who acts as steward on board our craft.
June 25th.—A most pleasant awakening: a sailor puts into my hands a parcel of letters and journals—news from France. None but they who have had the experience of being separated from their nearest and dearest, far from their native land, in a dull and desolate region like Spitzbergen, can ever know the joy experienced when a chance mail unexpectedly brings news from those one holds most dear.
I eagerly scan the letters and journals before troubling myself about ascertaining the name of the vessel which brought them. I then learn that it is a little sloop, the Express, chartered at Tromsö by three German tourists, Messrs. Th. Lerner, Dr. Fr. Violet, and G. Meisenbach, who have come to Spitzbergen for a few weeks. The small steamer has been severely tried during her passage by a storm which swept away two of her boats; she leaves to-night for the north, for Mossel Bay, where there is a “refuge” containing a store of provisions and boats intended for the shipwrecked; our tourists will find boats there to replace those they have lost.
June 26th.—Stake, the engineer, spent yesterday in preparing wide strips of light material which, after being impregnated with acetate of lead, are blackened at those parts which come in contact with the sulphuretted hydrogen gas.
Placed on the seams of the balloon, these strips enabled us to perceive the slightest traces of an escape of gas. But the practical application of this method was difficult and required some care. For getting on to the balloon, the extremities of a horizontal cable crossing the shed transversely were fixed to the two highest poles at the top; a pulley supporting a double rope was passed over the cable; we placed one leg on the loop and slid through space to the balloon. When we wished to return, two men drew back the pulley by means of a pulley-tackle. Some sailors found it a quicker and more satisfactory plan to descend by the meshes of the net.
Eight and sometimes ten of us were at work on the dome of the inflated balloon, and we had to perform compulsory gymnastic feats in order to support ourselves amidst the cordage of the net.
The sailors, being accustomed to this kind of exercise, climbed about the balloon quite at their ease; but I must confess that at first I had a slight feeling of dizziness; this, however, soon passed off.
It was a curious sight to see so many men on this silken envelope, which is the only barrier to the gas. The fact is unprecedented in the history of balloons.
If the work that we were engaged upon was long and difficult, the result was no less satisfactory. We found in this manner some very slight escapes of gas, which were at once carefully stopped.
June 27th, Sunday.—We received a visit from a Norwegian vessel, the Lofoten, commanded by Captain Sverdrup, ex-captain of the Fram, who accompanied Dr. Nansen on his recent expedition to the Polar regions.
Among the passengers on board this vessel were Mr. Stadling, one of the members of the Andrée expedition last year, and already known to the reader. He will remain with us henceforth, but there being no room on board the Svensksund, Stadling will take up his residence at Pike House.
The little sloop Express was returning from its voyage northwards to Mossel Bay; three steamers had met in Virgo Bay, and gave the place an aspect of cheerfulness and animation rarely observed there.
The Lofoten, which had started from Hammerfest on the 23rd of June, brought us some letters and papers. Unhappily some of the Swedish journals contained the sad news of the death of Baron Dickson, the generous Mæcenas of M. Andrée, who, on the eve of our departure from Gothenburg, invited all the members of the expedition, and was most profuse in his words of encouragement to the bold explorers.
We take this opportunity of testifying our respect for the great man, the philanthropist, the savant, snatched away from his friends before he had seen the achievement of the grand work with which he had associated his name.
Let us offer to his memory the tribute of our respectful admiration and gratitude.