Virgo-havn Between Danskeöen and Amsterdamöen. Friday, May 22nd
For the rest of the night and the early morning hours “Fram” steers northwards, along the glacier coast. At 6:30 we enter South Gate Sound, between Danskeöen and Spitzbergen’s mainland, where we lie until midday. “Hobby” continues northwards, sailing round Amsterdamöen towards Norskeöene to study the ice conditions, returning to fetch “Fram” after the inspection. And now the two ships steer towards Virgo-havn, and we drop our anchor at three o’clock in the afternoon. The entire time on both ships we have kept a sharp lookout from the bridge, carefully searching the horizon westward and northward for any sign of life. It might have been possible that both boats, on account of motor trouble, had been forced to land, and they might be lying anywhere waiting for the ships. But on land we saw nothing but stones, snow and ice, and to westward only the long stretch of gray water broken here and there by white drift ice.
What a desert!... Local partisanship in Ny-Aalesund is right when it maintains that King’s Bay is the best spot in Spitzbergen. The sound is narrow and closed-in. The cliffs rise sheer from the sea, snow covers them, there is hardly the sight of a stone to break the whiteness. But there is an abundance of birds, auks, and little auks, black guillemots, sea-gulls, etc., filling the air with their screaming and chattering. They are a host in themselves. If we were only tourists, and if we had nothing else to do but to wait for the six to return, we could relieve the monotony by watching them. But we have got to keep a sharp lookout in the direction in which the two machines may return. What if we do see them?—It is the whole subject of our conversation. Bjerknes and Calwagen work out and discuss the meteorological conditions, studying their chart’s mystic signs and wondrous curves which we others cannot understand. Now it is evening and another day has passed since the start. They may return to-day. We prick our ears at every sound and if we are not on deck we rush out and scan the horizon towards Amsterdamöen’s west point. The ordinary sounds of life on board ship keep us in a state of nervous tension, for the churning of the propeller and the humming of the engines can easily be mistaken for a returning plane.
Is there no watchman on deck? Is there any need for us to fly out to see what is the matter simply because the steward drops a knife on his pantry floor?
No, no, but the watchman is only human and may be sleeping.
Perhaps to-morrow? Or Sunday? At the latest Monday—four days after the start—they must return!
We really cannot seriously expect them back to-day. We all know that when they land they must make observations: the place where they camp must be exactly noted: the sea depth must be measured; and they may even have to go on foot, or on skis, for the last little stretch. According to the reports of the meteorologists the weather would seem to afford them no reason to shorten their stay, so we must possess our souls in patience.