Who can describe my surprise when some one suddenly said, “Look, there they are!” Twenty minutes after leaving their resting place they had nearly reached us. Two hundred yards away we could see them working their way between the icebergs. We knew, however, that they could not come straight over, as there was a little fissure lying between us and them. Riiser-Larsen and I left our work, took the canvas boat, and went to meet them. We had scarcely set the boat on the water when Riiser-Larsen got into it to cross and fetch one of the advancing party. As he broke his way through the thin ice, I stood on the old ice and waited, when I was alarmed by a ringing shriek; a shriek which went to my marrow and made my hair stand up on end. It was followed by a number of cries, each one more alarming and terrifying than the last. I had not the slightest doubt but that a drama of the most horrible kind was being played on the other side of the iceberg. A man was in danger of drowning. There I must stand and listen to it without being able to raise a finger to help him. The situation seemed hopeless. The dying cries got less and I thought to myself, “Yes, now all is over. How many of them and who?” Just then came a head from the back of the iceberg. “Fortunately all three are not drowned.” One appeared and then another one joined him; then all three were there. To say I was glad is a mild expression. The two first shook themselves like dogs, but the third conducted himself normally. Riiser-Larsen carried them quickly over the fissure. Dietrichson and Omdal were wet to the skin, but Ellsworth was dry. We got them quickly on board the boat and their wet clothes were changed for dry ones.