The weather was superb, the sea calm, the sky a little misty; some pretty cumuli touched the summits of the mountains. We steamed round Dane’s Island, and shaped our course towards Smeerenburg. Our little boat goes ahead full speed, and gives herself up to a mad race among floating ice-blocks which cover the surface of the bay. The spectacle is marvellous. We are surrounded by imposing rocks, whence the snow descends in capricious veins and furrows, and whose craggy summits, gilded by a glowing sun, are set off against an azure sky of exceeding purity. These granite rocks, of grotesque and erratic shape, throw the most fantastic shadows upon the white surface of the glaciers. The atmosphere is so transparent that it is very difficult to estimate distances merely by the eye. The mountains are from 2,000 to 3,000 feet high, and yet at first sight one would think that they are very easy to climb. I have very often been misled by this optical illusion. Sounds can be heard very clearly at a great distance. We cross the course of the little sailing boat of Stadling, the correspondent of the Stockholm _Aftonbladet_, and the colombophile of the polar expedition. He is also starting on a journey of discovery, together with two companions. We take our course towards the east, and land on a little islet covered with moss. Our guns bring down several eider-geese, and on setting foot ashore we came across several nests of these birds, containing three or four eggs of the size of goose eggs and of a greyish-green colour. But our survey is soon made, and we resume our course in a south-easterly direction, where we can already see the outline of the Isle of Moffen, which is the goal of our excursion. This isle presents a singular contrast with the surrounding mountains, owing to the vigour of its colouring, which changes from a light-green to a dark-brown. The mosses of different varieties, interspersed with yellowish lichens and saxifrages of a delicate violet tint, offer us a soft carpet, inviting to rest, and delighting to the eye. Thousands of birds, making a deafening noise, inhabit this enchanted land. But their tranquillity is disturbed by our prosaic and insatiable hunters, who give themselves up to a veritable hecatomb of game. They have scarcely got ashore, and about one hundred eider-geese are already lying on the ground. They are so numerous and so unsuspecting that they will scarcely move away more than a few yards from us; one can easily see that their solitude is rarely disturbed by visitors of our species, or at least of an equally bellicose character. [Illustration: THE _EXPRESS_, THE _ERLINE JARL_, THE _VIRGO_, DEPARTURE OF THE _VICTORIA_.] They much resemble our domestic ducks, and one might easily imagine one’s self in the midst of a park or a poultry yard. At one moment I had about ten around me, come to drink or bathe in a little brook of clear water, which babbled in a cascade over the moss and pebbles.