The Start for the Pole

At last we got away, on October 19. The weather for the past few
days had not been altogether reliable; now windy, now calm -- now
snowing, now clear: regular spring weather, in other words. That
day it continued unsettled; it was misty and thick in the morning,
and did not promise well for the day, but by 9.30 there was a light
breeze from the east, and at the same time it cleared.

There was no need for a prolonged inquiry into the sentiments of the
party. -- What do you think? Shall we start?" -- Yes, of course. Let's
be jogging on." There was only one opinion about it. Our coursers were
harnessed in a jiffy, and with a little nod -- as much as to say,
"See you to-morrow" -- we were off. I don't believe Lindstrom even
came out of doors to see us start. "Such an everyday affair: what's
the use of making a fuss about it?"

There were five of us -- Hanssen, Wisting, Hassel, Bjaaland, and
myself. We had four sledges, with thirteen dogs to each. At the start
our sledges were very light, as we were only taking supplies for the
trip to 80deg. S., where all our cases were waiting for us; we could
therefore sit on the sledges and flourish our whips with a jaunty
air. I sat astride on Wisting's sledge, and anyone who had seen us
would no doubt have thought a Polar journey looked very inviting.

Down on the sea-ice stood Prestrud with the cinematograph, turning
the crank as fast as he could go as we went past. When we came up
on to the Barrier on the other side, he was there again, turning
incessantly. The last thing I saw, as we went over the top of the
ridge and everything familiar disappeared, was a cinematograph; it was