injustice
of my confinement. Finally, on the seventeenth of October, 1862, I
was released. My uncle was dead, and the friends of my youth were now
strangers. Indeed, a man over fifty years old, whose only known record
is that of a madman, has no friends.

I was at a loss to know what to do for a living, but instinctively
turned toward the harbor where fishing boats in great numbers were
anchored, and within a week I had shipped with a fisherman by the name
of Yan Hansen, who was starting on a long fishing cruise to the Lofoden
Islands.

Here my earlier years of training proved of the very greatest advantage,
especially in enabling me to make myself useful. This was but the
beginning of other trips, and by frugal economy I was, in a few years,
able to own a fishing-brig of my own. For twenty-seven years thereafter
I followed the sea as a fisherman, five years working for others, and
the last twenty-two for myself.

During all these years I was a most diligent student of books, as well
as a hard worker at my business, but I took great care not to mention
to anyone the story concerning the discoveries made by my father and
myself. Even at this late day I would be fearful of having any one see
or know the things I am writing, and the records and maps I have in
my keeping. When my days on earth are finished, I shall leave maps and
records that will enlighten and, I hope, benefit mankind.

The memory of my long confinement with maniacs, and all the horrible
anguish and sufferings are too vivid to warrant my taking further
chances.

In 1889 I sold out my fishing boats, and found I had accumulated a
fortune quite sufficient to keep me the remainder of my life. I then
came to America.

For a dozen years my home was in Illinois, near Batavia, where I
gathered most of the books in my present library, though I brought many
choice volumes from Stockholm. Later, I came to Los Angeles, arriving
here March 4, 1901. The date I well remember, as it was President
McKinley's second inauguration day. I bought this humble home and
determined, here in the privacy of my own abode, sheltered by my own
vine and fig-tree, and with my books about me, to make maps and drawings
of the new lands we had discovered, and also to write the story in
detail from the time my father and I left Stockholm until the tragic
event that parted us in the Antarctic Ocean.

I well remember that we left Stockholm in our fishing-sloop on the third
day of Apr