The pack is again apparently at rest; the new leads and lakes are covered with young ice, which is frosted by a beautiful growth of flowery bunches of hoar-frost. These leads, in the present yellow light, have assumed a most intense green colour, and as they wind about the blue ice-walls and the cream-coloured floes the scene becomes entrancing. The temperature this morning was -21° C.; to-night, at nine, it is -27.5° C. There is a feeble arc aurora in the usual position. Its brightness is about like that of the milky-way, and this is the average strength of most antarctic auroras. Our position is daily getting to be of greater interest. This is shown by our attention to the work of the captain and others upon whom we depend to tell us where, in this aimless drift, we are pointing. When Captain Lecointe goes out to “shoot” the stars we await his return with some impatience, and, though he cannot at once give us the exact figures, we are inquisitive to learn quickly his guesses at the amount of the latest drift, but he must often stamp and kick, and we must punch and rub him, to start his circulation before he can talk.
An electric signal has been arranged so that Dobrowolski, who assists Lecointe, can remain in a comfortable stateroom with the chronometer to fix the time for the observations. The captain has exhausted every ingenuity to make the work as agreeable as possible, but there seems to be no way to lessen materially his own discomforts while sighting the stars. The observatory is sheltered from the wind, but the air in it is just as cold as that outside. To-night the temperature was almost -28° during the time of the observation. The difficulty of keeping the teeth from chattering, the eyes from quivering, or the instruments from shaking, can be more easily imagined than explained. Danco came in after making his sights with a frosted foot, and with a piece of skin, torn from his eye, frozen to the metal of the eye-piece of his instrument. Lecointe lost some of his eye-lashes, and a bit of his ear was white. Both Danco and Lecointe have resolved to cover the metal parts of all instruments with flannel in the future, and from them we have copied the idea and covered the metallic portions of everything we use for our work outside. It is, however, an almost daily occurrence to have men come to me with fingers “burnt,” as they express it, by contact with bits of cold metal. One sailor, who was at work between decks nailing up cases containing geological specimens, placed two nails in his mouth. He snatched them out quickly, bringing along bits of his tongue and lip, and leaving ugly wounds which in character were exactly like the injuries of a hot iron. The sailors who have metallic pegs in their boots claim that ice-caps form under their feet. This I have taken as a sailor’s yarn, but to-night I went on deck in slippers; on returning my stockings were thoroughly wet,—removing the slippers to discover the source of humidity I saw about a dozen, glistening caps of ice that had formed over nails which had been carelessly driven through the soles. These things seem incredible, but similar instances are repeated daily.
But I have started out to-night to write, not of the little nothings which really do make up the bulk of our work and pastime, but of the more serious drift of the Belgica. We are going westerly with a steady and rapid gait, and though we drift frequently northward, our general progress is also at times slowly southward. Where will we be when the thaw of next summer shall set us free? Since the first of March, when our position was latitude 71° 04′ 45″, longitude 85° 26′, we have gone a zigzag course westerly, now above the 71 parallel, now below it, but generally west, until at present our situation is latitude 70° 50′ 15″, longitude 92° 21′ 30″. We have thus, in less than two months drifted westward about seven degrees of longitude. We are curious to know whether this drift will continue, or whether the prevailing winds of the coming winter will send us adrift in another direction. Almost without knowing it, without setting sails, and without steam, we have made a snaky course of about five hundred miles over an unknown sea. This is peculiar navigation. We have seen nothing move, there has been no fixed point to indicate our drift, and we cannot see that we pass through the water because the entire horizon, the countless fields and mountains of ice, slide with us at the same rate of speed. We are carried along with the restless pack, slowly but steadily, with majestic ease, against our desires, without seasickness, always on and on in response to the ever furious winds. This is exploring under difficulties because we are absolutely helpless to direct our course, but we hope that the Hand of Nature will guide us to some interesting region.
Weddell Sea-Leopards on the Pack-ice.
(Leptonychotes Weddelli.)
Our drift has already proven geographical problems of considerable interest. We are now drifting two degrees south of the assigned position of Peter Island, and we have seen no definite signs of land. This proves that the island is not one of an archipelago, extending far south and guarding closely a continental mass of land as might have been supposed. The freedom with which we drift here, and the absence of unusual pressure, warrants the assertion that there is no land of sufficient extent to check the drift of the pack within a hundred miles. We have now sailed with the bergs and the floating crust of the earth over a sea about 500 metres deep, through a region where John Murray has placed a hypothetical continent. Murray’s “Antarctica,” if it exists, must be reduced in size, for we have sailed over it without finding a projecting rock. We have, in our helpless drift, been forced south of Bellingshausen’s farthest, and are now headed for Wilke’s “appearance of land” and Captain Cook’s historic farthest. Perhaps if we were able to direct the vessel we could not more effectually explore these regions. May the elements which have sent us thus far continue to guard and push us forward!
Arctowski and Amundsen ready for a stroll