ey shoot in through
the eyeholes,' etc., etc.

"I asked Peter about 'Tobiesen's' coffin--if it had ever been dug up
to find out if it was true that his men had killed him and his son.

"'No, that one has never been dug up.'

"'I sailed past there last year,' begins Jacobsen again; 'I didn't
go ashore, but it seems to me that I heard that it had been dug up.'

"'That's just rubbish; it has never been dug up.'

"'Well,' said I, 'it seems to me that I've heard something about it
too; I believe it was here on board, and I am very much mistaken if
it was not yourself that said it, Peter.'

"'No, I never said that. All I said was that a man once struck a
walrus-spear through the coffin, and it's sticking there yet.'

"'What did he do that for?'

"'Oh, just because he wanted to know if there was anything in the
coffin; and yet he didn't want to open it, you know. But let him lie
in peace now.'"

"Friday January 26th. Peter and I went eastward along the opening this
morning for about seven miles, and we saw where it ends, in some old
pressure-ridges; its whole length is over seven miles. Movement in the
ice began on our way home; indeed, there was pretty strong pressure
all the time. As we were walking on the new ice in the opening it
rose in furrows or cracked under our feet. Then it raised itself up
into two high walls, between which we walked as if along a street,
amidst unceasing noises, sometimes howling and whining like a dog
complaining of the cold, sometimes a roar like the thunder of a great
waterfall. We were often obliged to take refuge on the old ice, either
because we came to open water with a confusion of floating blocks, or
because the line of the packing had gone straight across the opening,
and there was a wall in front of us like a high frozen wave. It seemed
as if the ice on the south side of the opening where the Fram is lying
were moving east, or else that on the north side was moving west;
for the floes on the two sides slanted in towards each other in these
directions. We saw tracks of a little bear which had trotted along
the opening the day before. Unfortunately it had gone off southwest,
and we had small hope, with this steady south wind, of its getting
scent of the ship and coming to fetch a little of the flesh on board.

"Saturday, January 27th. The days are turning distinctly lighter
now. We can just see to read Verdens Gang [45] about midday. At that
time to-day Sverdrup thought he saw