eaks through the mist. I
see before me sunlit landscapes--smiling fields and meadows, green,
leafy trees and woods, and blue mountain ridges. The singing of the
steam in the boiler-pipe turns to bell-ringing--church bells--ringing
in Sabbath peace over Vestre-Aker on this beautiful summer morning. I
am walking with father along the avenue of small birch-trees that
mother planted, up towards the church, which lies on the height before
us, pointing up into the blue sky and sending its call far over the
country-side. From up there you can see a long way. Naesodden looks
quite close in the clear air, especially on an autumn morning. And
we give a quiet Sunday greeting to the people that drive past us, all
going our way. What a look of Sunday happiness dwells on their faces!

"I did not think it all so delightful then, and would much rather
have run off to the woods with my bow and arrow after squirrels--but
now--how fair, how wonderfully beautiful that sunlit picture seems
to me! The feeling of peace and happiness that even then no doubt
made its impression, though only a passing one, comes back now with
redoubled strength, and all nature seems one mighty, thrilling song
of praise! Is it because of the contrast with this poor, barren,
sunless land of mists--without a tree, without a bush--nothing
but stones and clay? No peace in it either--nothing but an endless
struggle to get north, always north, without a moment's delay. Oh,
how one yearns for a little careless happiness!"

Next day we were again ready to sail, and I tried to force the Fram
on under steam against wind and current. But the current ran strong
as a river, and we had to be specially careful with the helm; if we
gave her the least thing too much she would take a sheer, and we
knew there were shallows and rocks on all sides. We kept the lead
going constantly. For a time all went well, and we made way slowly,
but suddenly she took a sheer and refused to obey her helm. She went
off to starboard. The lead indicated shallow water. The same moment
came the order, "Let go the anchor!" And to the bottom it went with
a rush and a clank. There we lay with 4 fathoms of water under the
stern and 9 fathoms in front at the anchor. We were not a moment too
soon. We got the Fram's head straight to the wind, and tried again,
time after time, but always with the same result. The attempt had to
be given up. There was still the possibility of making our way out of
the sound to