On the 27th of June, in the afternoon, our attention is attracted by the arrival of a vessel coming from the north. It is always a pleasant event to come across other navigators in these distant regions; it makes one feel less lonely and isolated. It is Mr. Pick’s Victoria, commanded by Captain Nilson, who hunts bears and seals on these shores. She casts anchor near the Virgo. We enter a boat and go to welcome the travellers.

Andrée obtains some information from the captain as to the state of the ice in the north. I pay a visit to the boat, which, though otherwise plain and rough, is nevertheless fitted up to perfection for the peculiar nature of her expeditions. She contains various objects which are not without interest for me, who am a new-comer to these regions, such as skins of bears and various birds; also a live young bear, captured at the Norwegian islands, which utters ominous growls, and seems to protest energetically against this outrage upon its liberty.

Sunday, the 28th of June, was an eventful day, and full of emotions. The Victoria left at 9 a.m. for Ice-Fjord, taking with her an enormous parcel of letters, with our best wishes for our nearest and dearest.

After an early lunch we started for an excursion. Strindberg, Grumberg, Arrhénius, Dr. Ekelund, two engineers, two sailors, and myself, went off in the steam launch.

The weather was superb, the sea calm, the sky a little misty; some pretty cumuli touched the summits of the mountains. We steamed round Dane’s Island, and shaped our course towards Smeerenburg.

Our little boat goes ahead full speed, and gives herself up to a mad race among floating ice-blocks which cover the surface of the bay.

The spectacle is marvellous. We are surrounded by imposing rocks, whence the snow descends in capricious veins and furrows, and whose craggy summits, gilded by a glowing sun, are set off against an azure sky of exceeding purity. These granite rocks, of grotesque and erratic shape, throw the most fantastic shadows upon the white surface of the glaciers.

The atmosphere is so transparent that it is very difficult to estimate distances merely by the eye. The mountains are from 2,000 to 3,000 feet high, and yet at first sight one would think that they are very easy to climb. I have very often been misled by this optical illusion. Sounds can be heard very clearly at a great distance.

We cross the course of the little sailing boat of Stadling, the correspondent of the Stockholm Aftonbladet, and the colombophile of the polar expedition.

He is also starting on a journey of discovery, together with two companions.

We take our course towards the east, and land on a little islet covered with moss.

Our guns bring down several eider-geese, and on setting foot ashore we came across several nests of these birds, containing three or four eggs of the size of goose eggs and of a greyish-green colour.

But our survey is soon made, and we resume our course in a south-easterly direction, where we can already see the outline of the Isle of Moffen, which is the goal of our excursion.

This isle presents a singular contrast with the surrounding mountains, owing to the vigour of its colouring, which changes from a light-green to a dark-brown.

The mosses of different varieties, interspersed with yellowish lichens and saxifrages of a delicate violet tint, offer us a soft carpet, inviting to rest, and delighting to the eye.

Thousands of birds, making a deafening noise, inhabit this enchanted land.

But their tranquillity is disturbed by our prosaic and insatiable hunters, who give themselves up to a veritable hecatomb of game. They have scarcely got ashore, and about one hundred eider-geese are already lying on the ground. They are so numerous and so unsuspecting that they will scarcely move away more than a few yards from us; one can easily see that their solitude is rarely disturbed by visitors of our species, or at least of an equally bellicose character.

They much resemble our domestic ducks, and one might easily imagine one’s self in the midst of a park or a poultry yard. At one moment I had about ten around me, come to drink or bathe in a little brook of clear water, which babbled in a cascade over the moss and pebbles.

At every step one comes across a nest made of moss and feathers, sheltered by a fragment of rock. The female bird has plucked off her softest down to protect her eggs or her brood against the frost. The brooding bird is scarcely disturbed by our approach. She covers up her eggs and hides them under the down before taking her flight, if she is given time to do so. The reports of the gun repeated again and again by the echo reverberating from the mountains resemble the rolling of thunder and make a hideous din.

At four o’clock, a lunch, highly appreciated, is served out on a bank of moss. This meal, partaken with vigorous appetite, consists of ham, caviar, and slices of smoked reindeer-flesh; the whole being washed down with light beer, and seasoned by the most unrestrained gaiety. A pure Havannah cigar completes this most unconventional feast.

We fill our lungs with the pure air, and feel it a joy to live.

But time glides swiftly by, and we must think of returning. We are two hours’ journey from the Virgo.

Our sailors make an extensive raid upon the nests, and return loaded with baskets full of eggs and down. The game is put on board and we depart.

As we run along, the coast and glaciers are covered with seals, but the noise of our engine frightens them and they flee at our approach.

The sea has become rough, and the wind, which takes us port, sends up waves which threaten to swamp the boat. We are much tossed about, but I can now stand the rolling of the vessel like an old mariner. However, we must not boast: one cannot be too sure of anything. The temperature has gone down perceptibly, and the cumuli, which a short time ago were hovering on the sides of the mountains, are now lowering down upon the sea, and soon envelop us completely. We are now in the midst of a very dense and cold fog. We can scarcely see a few yards in front of us, and we must slacken speed in order to avoid collision with the icebergs detached from the glaciers. The sun, which, a moment ago, still showed very feebly, has completely disappeared. We are plunged into utter darkness, and in spite of compass and charts we have, for the moment, lost our bearings. What a change, after the aspect of the sky a short while ago! The engineer whistles by way of a call to the Virgo, but there is no response from that vessel.

Without being actually desperate, our situation is becoming critical, as we no longer know exactly what distance we have covered.

We run a risk of passing our island without perceiving it, and of getting lost at sea!

At last, after several detours, we recognise the lagoons of the Isle of Amsterdam on the right, and soon a sailor points out the Virgo, which looms in the semi-darkness at a distance of fifty yards or so in front of us.

At this moment it is 8 p.m. The captain, Andrée, and Ekholm are on the deck. Without being alarmed at our fate, they were glad enough to see us back again; but Stadling’s boat has not yet come back.

The mist becomes thicker and thicker, and one can scarcely see from one end of the vessel to the other. One of the crew is ringing the bell every few moments, in order to indicate the route to the three belated tourists. The supper passes off very gaily. Each recounts his adventures and describes his impressions; mine have been of a very lively nature. But the day had still a far more remarkable event in store for us.

We were beginning to be rather troubled about the fate of our friends, when at about 10 p.m., having gone up on to the gangway to see how the fog was, I heard, very faintly at first, a murmuring sound, then a song keeping time with the splash of oars. No doubt it is they; evidently they, too, have lost their way.

The outline of the gallant little craft appears a few yards away, and the boat comes on propelled by oars, as they had been compelled to take down their sail. But what is that shapeless mass, of a doubtful white, spotted with red, which fills the bottom of the boat?

Although worn out with fatigue, the excursionists are radiant; they have performed veritable prodigies: they have been bear-hunting, and bring back three dead bears in their frail boat.

They are at once the object of an enthusiastic ovation, while the animals—a large she-bear and two cubs—are hoisted on board, leaving a pool of blood in the bottom of the little boat.

You already know Stadling, permit me to introduce his two companions—Appelberg, engineering student of the Stockholm technical school, and Axel Stack, chemical engineer at the Stockholm University—and let the first-named gentleman recount in his own words the circumstances of this somewhat dramatic adventure:—

“You will remember the charming day we had on the 28th of June; the sun glistened on the waters of Smeerenburg as on a mirror, the surrounding mountains enhancing the wildness and grandeur of the scene. You will also remember the glacier at the bottom of Smeerenburg. I have told you about the adventure we had opposite this glacier, when in consequence of a sudden split a detached mass of enormous size produced in the sea an immense wave, which threatened to engulph our small boat and gave us an unexpected douche.

“Immediately after this adventure I hastened to take a photo of the glacier. While searching for a suitable point, I discovered in the snow on the shore the track of three bears going from east to west, in the direction of South-Gatt and the open sea. Having informed my companions of this lucky find, I returned to the boat, followed by my friends, one of whom was gravely engaged in drying his clothes in the sun, after the enforced bath caused by the splitting of the glacier.

“Thereupon a rather original chase commenced; my companions rowed, whilst I held the rudder lines, at the same time observing through my glasses the tracks on the bank and following their direction. The tracks of the bears led us continually from east to west. Here and there the animals evidently had rested in some natural trenches formed in the snow. In other places there were sloping grooves on the bank, where the bears had amused themselves by sliding on these natural sledges. Having passed two promontories and a very old glacier, we arrived at a third promontory, beyond which there was another glacier about 1¼ mile wide. In front of it there was an iceberg.

“When we arrived at the extreme point of the promontory, we stopped, as no further tracks were visible; from this we concluded that the bears must be somewhere in the neighbourhood.

“Having reconnoitred as far as the firm ice, protected by large icebergs, I perceived the bears below the glacier, jumping one after another from a block of ice. The mother, followed by her cubs, was giving herself up to this exercise either to amuse herself or to give her young ones a lesson in gymnastics,—I do not know which.

“At any rate I watched with curiosity for some moments this scene of ursine family life. It was an exceedingly curious sight, I assure you. But this patriarchal and rustic scene was destined soon to come to an end, thanks to the huntsman’s instinct which suddenly awoke within me. I felt bound, at all cost, to kill this interesting family, the mother and her cubs. Why? Who can reason with passion, who can reason with a hunter! Without further idle reflection, and as the chief of a gang who has resolved upon an immediate attack on a long-desired prey, I ordered my comrades to remain in the boat until I returned, and on my knees I crept over the ice, behind the fragments of rocks, towards the three animals. This ice was perforated like a sieve, and the water fell from it in small cascades with a continuous and monotonous noise; small fragments were detaching themselves from it every moment, without, however, retarding my progress.

“Regardless of all risk, I continued to drag myself along behind fragments of rocks and approached to within about 430 yards of my quarry. Now I had no longer any shelter; I was exposed to view. Then I took a long aim, fired and wounded one of the cubs. The mother rushed towards it, sometimes looking about her, and sometimes licking the poor beast.

“I could see her very closely with my glasses. I fired a second time, and the mother then turned furiously towards me. My cartridges had got damp and missed fire. I became nervous. I was obliged to go and fetch fresh ammunition from the boat. The she-bear gave up her first idea of attacking me and returned to her cubs.

“Then, having taken fresh ammunition, we commenced, all three of us, to drive the animals towards the open water, and at last, to our delight, saw the mother, followed by her cubs, start swimming. Mr. Stack remained on the ice armed with an oar, in order to cut off their retreat; Appelberg and myself gave chase from the boat. The she-bear, with one of the cubs on her back, swam at a fairly good pace towards us. We had scarcely had time to row three or four minutes before the mother had climbed upon a large block of ice floating in the midst of the open water. Having approached to within fifty or sixty yards I fired again, and my bullet striking the bear between the two shoulders, passed through her lungs. The animal uttered a terrible cry, which was re-echoed from the mountains. In a great fury she threw herself into the sea, swimming towards us with rage, but only for a few moments. The poor beast soon died, still carrying on her back the cub which I had first wounded. It was at once killed, and the other immediately afterwards.

“We thereupon dragged the animals towards the ice-bank, where I photographed my victims, stretched out lifeless; and it was not without much difficulty that we succeeded in putting them aboard our frail boat. At last we started on our return to the Virgo, still full of excitement, when suddenly we were caught in the fog in the midst of the Smeerenburg waters.”

The next day the ice pilot, an old sea-dog, assisted by Stadling, proceeded to cut up the three animals, the skins of which were salted, and enclosed in barrels; after this the most delicate morsels, seasoned with various sauces by the cook, who displayed all her talents, adorned the table at several meals. Without being absolutely exquisite, the dish is appetising, and besides, the chance of dining off polar bear does not occur very often.