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At eight o’clock the dinner bell once more unites us round the table, and the evening is spent in frankest cordiality. The voyage commences very promisingly.

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June 8th, 1896, 10.30.—We have been under way for twenty-four hours; we are in sight of Norway, off the Forsund, at a distance of nine miles from the coast, but the mist prevents us from seeing very far. The fir-clad mountains are vaguely outlined to our right, and the Virgo is heading due north-west. There is nothing for us to do but take life as it comes. I commence my diary in my cabin. The sea, though a little rough, has not yet troubled me. Andrée alone has already paid his tribute.

Tuesday, June 9th, Coasts of Norway.—Sea rough, general discomfort, moral prostration; I am unable to write. The Virgo rolls heavily. At the present moment, 6 p.m., it is as light as at midday.

Wednesday, June 10th, 6.30.—The temperature has gone down considerably; we have crossed the polar circle. A steamer has kept company with us this morning at a distance of 7½ miles on our port side. Sea rough.