We did so in the afternoon. Numberless penguins, sea-leopards and other species of Antarctic life had gathered curiously about the Billowcrest during the day, and some of these waddled and floundered after us when we set out. We could not make very rapid progress with our new foot-gear, and for a little distance made an interesting spectacle, with our procession of followers trailing out behind. “All hands and the cook” gathered on the deck to enjoy it.
“From our high vantage we could command a vast circle of sunless, melancholy cold.”—Page [117].
We carried one of Ferratoni’s telephones—a neat, compact little affair, with handles for convenience, and from nearly a mile distant communicated with the inventor, who had ascended to the crow’s-nest for the experiment. It was a successful trial, and we believed it would have been equally so had the distance been much greater.
Then we pushed in among the silent bergs, and ascending by a circuitous path to the battlements of a great ice fortress, tried it again.
“Hello,” I called, “can you hear a message from the South Pole?”
The answer that came back was as prompt as it was unexpected.
“There is a message in the air,” said the voice of Ferratoni. “It is very close—around and about us. Some day—perhaps soon—I shall hear it.”
I repeated this to Edith Gale, wonderingly.
“What do you suppose he means?” I whispered.