Week after week of cold and storm and darkness passed, and everyone felt quite certain that poor Sall had gone to the happy hunting-grounds. It is accordingly easy to imagine that her reappearance on 11th December caused a decided sensation. Even her old comrades could not believe their eyes, but growled and stared at the gaunt prodigal that sat wolf-like on a snow hillock, and howled dismally in the moonlight. Ever afterwards she was a changed dog. She grew large and strong, and her character became ambitious and overbearing. When she set her mind upon anything, she got it, whether it was an empty box to sleep in, or a neighbour’s pup for supper. She became the favourite of the “king dog” of the pack (dogs soon learn, and never forget which is master), and would feed between his paws. But after a while she learnt to beat her lord, and finally usurped his throne, and led the pack in work or play, though Salic law is generally observed amongst Eskimo dogs. When the Expedition returned, she was given to our trusty Eskimo Fred, who knew how to value her. Some of us would have liked to have shown her in England, but it would have gone hard with the first cab horse she caught sight of.
The “Alert” in her winter quarters at Floeberg Beach was 142 days without the sun—a week longer than the “Polaris,” and a month longer than any previous English expedition. Throughout the whole time the difference between noon and midnight was hardly appreciable, but a long period of slowly lessening twilight preceded actual night. Our darkest time occurred between moon-set on 18th December, 1875, and moon-rise on 4th January, 1876, though indeed the periods preceding and following it were scarcely lighter. Many a time, as we stumbled blindly along at daily exercise, we discussed the question whether our noon was really as dark as an English moonless night. The general impression was that it was not so dark. The universal snow husbanded what little light there was, and sometimes looked almost as if it was self-luminous. Although the sun was further off on the 23rd December, that was not the darkest day, for the moon was not far below the horizon. That day at noon it was just possible to count lines 3 millimetres wide when not more than 4 millimetres apart.
The 28th was perhaps our darkest day. In order to retain some idea of what the darkness was, we took a rough “Letts’s Diary” out on the floe at noon, and tried to read the advertisements printed in large type at the end. It was necessary to remain out some ten or fifteen minutes in order to get accustomed to the darkness; and of course, if one had any idea of what the advertisements were beforehand, the test did not apply. The words “Epps’s Cocoa,” in type nearly half-an-inch long, were easily read, but the “breakfast” in small type between them was utterly illegible. It was just possible to spell out “Oetzmann” in clear Roman type five-sixteenths of an inch long; and after much staring at the page, held close before the eyes, we managed to make out “great novelty” in type one-fourth of an inch long. Of course the test depended as much upon the eyes as upon the darkness; but it was at any rate a comparative one which would enable those who tried it to recall the darkness of their winter noon.
The line below will give an idea of the size of type
LEGIBLE AT MID-DAY.
We have since found that such type is legible on clear moonless nights in England.
CHAPTER VII.
Winter Climate—Preservative Effect of Cold—Falling Temperature—Unprecedented Cold—Extreme Low Temperature not Unendurable—A Visitor from the Shore—Cold v. Vitality—Sudden Changes—A Breeze from the South—Warm Wind Aloft—Danger from East Wind—Dawn—Brilliant Effect of Low Sunlight—Lemming—Sunrise—Preparations for Spring—Snow-shoes—Our Prospects—Motion of the Floes—A Tide Wave.