Oslo. July 1st
This morning I arrived home. I now read through my diary of the trip and understand little of the whole. All that happened during the first hours on the deck of that little polar seal-boat is like a fog in my mind. The whole seems so far away. If I shut my eyes and try to charm those fourteen days back I feel bewildered in mind and in spirit.
For now we all stood there beside them—beside the six.
We looked into their faces, which bore signs of all they had suffered and gone through, and then we asked them to tell us about the four weeks of hope and doubt.
All power of thought seemed to leave us and our souls were filled with feelings both boundless and indescribable. Could this be on account of the pleasure of seeing our comrades again?
Or have our souls been touched by the Unknown Being to whom all turn in moments of trouble when things have to be settled which are beyond human power?