The _Virgo_ glides majestically over the waves like a large bird. The landscape becomes animated and really fairy-like. At eleven o’clock we sight Tromsö with its steeple, its wooden houses and villas rising in tiers one above the other on the slope of a very fertile mountain. The pilot is still steering the _Virgo_. Objects appear larger and more distinct; there is the harbour, with its vessels at anchor. At ten minutes past one we arrive opposite Tromsö. We drop anchor at about five furlongs from the shore. As I have already mentioned, there is no landing stage. We are already surrounded by several boats. There is M. Aagaard, the consul, coming to welcome us. Then the telegraph messenger appears, to hand Andrée a package of telegrams. Lastly there are the friends of the explorers, and the members of the Geological Commission, who are going to travel with us as far as the Ice-Fjord. We take a seat in a boat which puts us ashore in a few minutes. _June 14th._—We left Tromsö at 1 a.m. in splendid weather. The farewells of the inhabitants, who came flocking in crowds to cheer us, were very touching, and the _Virgo_ resumed her course towards the north. The sun was shining so brilliantly, as I have said, that I could scarcely realize whether it was midday or midnight. Although less solemn than at Gothenburg, our departure was very imposing. The whole town was assembled on the quays, and all the boats of the port were formed in line to do us homage. There were tourists in steam-launches and fishing boats. In short, the whole populace of Tromsö had made a point of being there to wish us God-speed. In the boats there were many well-dressed ladies; in one boat, in particular, there were five females frantically waving their handkerchiefs to the sailors. Then Tromsö receded into the background, and will soon be nothing to us but a memory, a vision looked back to with regret. Sunday passed without any incident. On Monday night we fell in with the first icebergs, and progress became more difficult. [Illustration: DANSK-GATT.] _June 16th, noon._—Since the morning we have been running along the coast of Spitzbergen, my future home, the place of my temporary exile. The progress of the boat is slow and perilous, in the midst of floating ice-blocks, which threaten to crush us at every moment. It requires all the experience of the captain and all the vigilance of the man at the wheel to avoid a catastrophe. The ice pilot is on the look-out in the rigging, and indicates by signal the open channels. We have seen a large number of birds, whales throwing up an immense stream of water, seals, etc. Three of these animals were disporting themselves on an ice-floe within gunshot. They were at once saluted by a discharge of guns, which did not hit them.