Virgo-havn. Monday, May 25th
The fourth day passes like the rest. On board “Hobby” they have had their first false alarm. Amundsen’s old friend, sailmaker Rönne from Horten, insisted yesterday evening that he saw two flying machines appear from the north in full flight. He declared with certainty that he had followed them with his eyes the whole way as they came from behind Danskeöen through the fjord, until they were lost behind Amsterdamöen’s west point. The others on board thought this seemed unlikely and almost impossible.
Why in all the world should they fly in that direction? Had it been southwards one might have understood it, but Rönne stuck to his point: and so certain was he that the others on board heard of nothing else, and consequently came across to “Fram” to tell us about it, relating how they had shown Rönne a flock of gray geese flying in the same direction which he insisted the aeroplanes had taken, making him admit that he had been mistaken. We have had a similar occurrence on board the “Fram.” It was five o’clock. The watchman stood on the bridge, keeping a sharp lookout towards Vest Pynt, when suddenly he stood still as though nailed to the deck. He shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed over the sea directly into the stream of silver which the sun was casting over the water. He picked up his binoculars....
What is it?
Another took up his glasses. There, at the spot where sea and sky met, a gray-black object could be seen rocking on the water. Something seemed to extend from each side of it, which could easily have been the wings of a flying machine. None of us really believed that it was one of the gray seaplanes we were waiting for. But all the same we fetched Captain Hagerup and told him what we had seen. He shook his head, but in spite of his doubt he went up the steps of his bridge much quicker than usual, where, looking through his glasses, he discovered that the gray mass was nothing but an ice-floe, which, aided by a little phantasy, appeared like an approaching aeroplane. It is so easy to be mistaken. Afterwards when we see gray spots on the horizon we shall know that it is either a flock of geese on their way to their nests on the cliffs or that it is a curiously formed ice-floe. Such occurrences give us a little variation in the monotony of our waiting. We have now got used to the noises on the ship, the churning of the propeller, the noise of the pump and of the engines, and pay no attention to any of them. But once we hear a deep humming sound from the coast and think it is the throbbing note we are waiting for. It is only the waves beating against the land as they wash up the broken ice, shivering it again into a thousand pieces. But all the same we stand on the deck with half-opened mouths and hands behind our ears listening to the sound.