Through the first Antarctic night, 1898-1899

by Frederick Albert Cook

This is particularly surprising in view of the fact that, in Uruguay and Argentina, cattle farming is at once one of the principal industries and a source of the principal wealth of the countries. That good butter and excellent milk could be made under competent management is unquestionable. At Buenos Aires several successful efforts have been made, and the best results have followed the efforts of a missionary who has taken to the management of cows in preference to the more difficult task of reforming Spanish American sins.

In the absence of butter one is, however, not so seriously disappointed after he is accustomed to the Spanish substitute, “dulce de leche,” a sort of confection of milk. Mrs. Huysman, the wife of a prominent Belgian of Montevideo, had presented the expedition with a liberal supply of this, and after one or two introductions it proved quite a delicacy. Dulce de leche is a kind of sweet paste of the consistency of lard; at ordinary temperature it has a straw colour and no distinct odour. It is made of condensed milk, cane sugar and the marrow of the largest beef bones, the ingredients being worked together in a smooth homogeneous mixture, and then sealed in small tin cans. In this form it is much in use, and can be obtained throughout all of southern South America. The mixture is extremely nutritious, and aside from its position as a substitute for butter it has evidently special values of its own. I see no reason why it could not be introduced with advantage into the United States.

On the morning of the 16th, the sky was clear of the heavy clouds which descend with the stream of the Rio de la Plata. There was a little air, dry and pleasant, coming from the Patagonian pampas over our western horizon. The sea was a joy to behold. Its surface was like a sheet of silver, glassy and luminous, with long, easy and regular undulations. Through these the Belgica steamed with a grace and ease quite befitting a pleasure yacht. Under the inspiration of the morning, we were prepared to deny the evil reports so often made of these waters. That such an easy sea, and such a heavenly sky could in a short time be transformed into a howling mockery by the storm demons, did not seem, to our innocent trust in nature, a possibility; but the afternoon brought with it signs of uneasiness. The steady air from the west ceased, and little breezes followed from all parts of the compass. The exquisite bright blueness of the sky changed to a smoky blue; but at two o’clock there were no clouds and nothing on the horizon to indicate danger. The atmosphere became quickly humid and heavy, making respiration seem difficult, while the barometer was spasmodically rising and falling. That there was some unusual phenomenon which we were about to witness, we felt convinced, but we were long in getting hints as to its nature.

At about four o’clock a sharp dark line, like a perfectly straight bar of iron, was seen over the southern horizon. It rose with wondrous rapidity and as it ascended above this central bar there swelled out a perfectly smooth and even roll of weirdly luminous vapour. Across the rounded surface were small, ragged films of intense white and steel gray passing with lightning haste, and this gave the upper line an awe-inspiring appearance. Under the central bar the cloud was of a dark steel gray, but we could at no time see the sky, or even the horizon under the advancing commotion. We were intensely interested in the sight, but it did not seem to us particularly dangerous, nor did it strike the sailors with the terror which I have seen less imposing sky-effects produce. The strangeness of the sight, however, put the officers on guard, and every surface of sail that could be taken in was at once furled. The sea now began to rise and it was strange to watch it. It first boiled, apparently without wind, into short waves. This the following wind straightened out like the wrinkles of a cloth under a smoothing-iron. Then other waves rose too high and too solid for the wind to flatten. These increased in size, and multiplied in numbers, and rushed towards us in huge coils of spray. The Belgica pitched and tumbled in the resulting sea, but as yet no wind had struck her. The water and the air was lighted with a sort of vague pearly glow. At this time the strange line seemed just over our bowsprit, and extended entirely across the heavens from east to west, but only a little draught of air crossed the bridge.

I turned to watch the men who had suddenly left their work and were coming down from the rigging. All at once the bark was struck with terrific force, and stopped as suddenly as if she had struck a stone wall; this was followed by a howling, maddening noise as the wind passed through the ropes and spars such as I had never heard before or since. Everybody grasped a bar or a rope to keep from being swept overboard. The bark, after the first thud, raised her bow and drove her stern into the boiling sea, and then righted, seemingly prepared for the next assault. After a few other, but lesser, puffs, the wind came with a steady hiss—like steam from an exhaust pipe, and its force was expended with the same rapidity with which it fell upon us. From the commencement to the termination this strange onslaught occupied but fifteen minutes; but this was as much as I care to see of a hurricane of this sort, though they are sufficiently prevalent in this region to receive the special local name of pamperos. A pampero is apt to leave a lasting impression on one’s mind, and on the Belgica we date all of our events from the time of its occurrence.

For a few days following the pampero we were gliding along the coast of Patagonia, but out of sight of land, under the most beautiful skies and in the most delightful weather imaginable. Pleasant weather, however, makes the life of a sailor monotonous and far from enjoyable, because it affords time and opportunity to mend and dress and polish the ship. Such was the work of the crew here. The tropical sun had brought out some of the oil and not a little of the fishy odour with which years of blubber hunting had filled her. The paint, also, which had been piled on in different colours, year after year, came off in large sheets like the bark of a dead tree. To mend and dress the Belgica, then, in a suitable garb for the perpetual frost of the south pole was a matter of considerable work.

The skin of the bark was scraped, and painted, and varnished, and polished, new sails were fitted, old ones repaired, and all of the sailing gear was strengthened for the expected blasts south of Cape Horn. Waterproof covers were made for the various bits of machinery and the instruments openly exposed on deck. Between decks the provisions were being examined and restored. Supplies and equipments were put aside for a wintering party in the antarctic. The cabins and the forecastles were to be cleared and altered for more prolonged habitation, and the hammocks were put away, not to be used again for a long time. Henceforth we must take to our berths, which are like hermetically sealed cans. These bunks have been made to fit each man, in length and breadth, according to careful measurement. The result is that the fit is like that of a snug boot, but the comparison is hardly admissible, since a neat-fitting boot flatters vanity, and pleases the eye; but where are the joys of a boot for a bed? I must hasten to add that such an economy of room was necessary; but, unfortunately, either the beds had shortened, or the men had lengthened, for two men presently complained that their bunks were now six inches too short.

The pleasant dispositions and the regular daily occupations, which come with continued fair weather, were abruptly set aside on November 26th. Our eyes in the morning opened under a sky dark, gray, and gloomy. This was soon enlivened by wildly moving cloudy streamers, under which the sea tumbled in huge cliffs, and our stomachs raised in long reaches. Mal de mer was the openly acknowledged pastime of the hour, and it seemed to be in evidence in direct proportion to the mental development of the personnel. The Captain, for example, was the first victim, and he was followed by the most capable sympathisers of the état major. These were followed by the ordinary seamen, the man of lowest mental development being usually the last to loosen the gastric bonds. Let this be a comfort to victims of Neptune.

The wind poured upon us in hard, steady blasts from the south-west for nearly two days, which gave us, on our growing menu, a taste of the normal weather of the “roaring forties”—a relish which a heavy lumbering sealing craft is apt to impress upon the memory. We were hungry for the sight of land, which the Captain had been promising us as an appetiser from hour to hour; for we had been a fortnight without seeing anything but the blackness and blueness of the Patagonian sea, and anything in the form of land would have been a feast to our eyes.

Early in the morning of November 29th a low straight line, like a huge beam of wood, appeared to separate the grayness of the sky from the soft blue waters in the south-west. It proved to be the northern cape of the eastern entrance of the Strait of Magellan,—Cape Virgins. The name is fascinating when one feels he is at the world’s end, and land in any form in this locality is an encouragement, but there is nothing about the topography of Cape Virgins which would arouse much admiration. It is a long, sandy cliff one hundred and thirty-five feet high, its base descending perpendicularly into the sea with the interruption of an occasional shingle point, where it appears as if a boat might make a landing. Its colour varies much with the position of the sun, the character of the atmosphere, and the cloudiness of the sky. As we approached, it at first appeared nearly white, with occasional dark shadows when the surface was uneven, and the entire wall was crested by a thin but smooth line of green grass. At this time the direct beams fell upon the coast from the sun, still low on the eastern skies. A few hours later, when we were nearer and the sun was under a light cloud, the cliff appeared like a wall of terra cotta. The cape is the seaward termination of a long range of low hills extending across Patagonia.