There is a history attached to this little island--sad as are so many of these fateful stories of the north. One winter before Wellman set off in his balloon he had his big balloon shed ready, and in another of his houses which stands there were stored provisions for a long period. He had engaged two watchmen to look after his belongings. They spent the time trapping foxes which at that time were to be found on Danskeöen in great numbers. The two watchmen (Björvik and Johnsen they were called) wished one day to go out to the little island. The sound between it and the land is ten to fifteen meters broad. It was in the month of May Johnsen went a little in advance of Björvik, who suddenly saw his comrade disappear through the ice. Johnsen called for help, but before Björvik could get to him the ice broke up entirely round the spot where he was, and the stream carried him away under the ice while Björvik could only stand helplessly by and look on. He lived there alone afterwards for a long time before a ship arrived from Norway. For the greater part of the time he sat by a signaling post and stared out over the sea. He kept a diary of his life there: “It is the second time I have had to see a good comrade die here in the north,” he writes, “but this is worse than it is in Franz Joseph Land; I must pull myself together and find something or other to do.” His remark applies to a time when he had lived ten years ago on the above mentioned island, when he and a man from the “Fram” named Bentzon spent the winter there. Bentzon got scurvy and died. So that his corpse should not be eaten by bears or foxes, Björvik kept it in the little hut beside him for several months before a vessel came and carried him and the dead man away to Norway.