On October 25 we left 80deg. S. with a light north-westerly breeze,
clear and mild. I was now to take up my position in advance of
the sledges, and placed myself a few paces in front of Hanssen's,
with my ski pointing in the right direction. A last look behind me:
"All ready?" and away I went. I thought -- no; I didn't have time
to think. Before I knew anything about it, I was sent flying by the
dogs. In the confusion that ensued they stopped, luckily, so that
I escaped without damage, as far as that went. To tell the truth,
I was angry, but as I had sense enough to see that the situation,
already sufficiently comic, would be doubly ridiculous if I allowed
my annoyance to show itself, I wisely kept quiet. And, after all,
whose fault was it? I was really the only one to blame; why in the
world had I not got away faster? I now changed my plan entirely --
there is nothing to be ashamed of in that, I hope -- and fell in with
the awkward squad; there I was more successful. "All ready? Go!" And
go they did. First Hanssen went off like a meteor; close behind him
came Wisting, and then Bjaaland and Hassel. They all had ski on, and
were driving with a line. I had made up my mind to follow in the rear,
as I thought the dogs would not keep this up for long, but I soon had
enough of it. We did the first six and a quarter miles in an hour. I
thought that would do for me, so I went up to Wisting, made a rope
fast to his sledge, and there I stood till we reached 85deg. 5' S. --
three hundred and forty miles. Yes; that was a pleasant surprise. We
had never dreamed of anything of the sort -- driving on ski to the
Pole! Thanks to Hanssen's brilliant talents as a dog-driver, we could
easily do this. He had his dogs well in hand, and they knew their
master. They knew that the moment they failed to do their duty they
would be pulled up, and a hiding all round would follow. Of course,
as always happens, Nature occasionally got the better of discipline;