July 25.—For three days we have had a glimpse of the sun, but it has appeared a thing of unreality. To-day we have seen the normal face. The sun at noon sailed along the northern sky above the horizon, a distance nearly equal to its own diameter. We thus have the actual sunrise, since heretofore we have only been able to see it when aided by the high polar refraction by which the sun is apparently lifted above its actual position, a distance equal to about three quarters its diameter. What a peculiar effusion of sentiments the welcome face of the sun draws from our frozen fountains of life! How that great golden ball of cold fire incites the spirit to expressions of joy and gratitude! How it sets the tongue to pleasurable utterances, and the vocal chords to music! The sun is, indeed, the father of everything terrestrial. We have suddenly found a tonic in the air, an inspiration in the scenic splendours of the sea of ice, and a cheerfulness in each other’s companionship which make the death-dealing depression of the night a thing of the past.
July 28.—An officer came in to-day, smiling and as happy as a child with a new toy, saying, “I can feel the heat of the sun,” and at once everybody looked up as if doubting his word. We went out, and we stood in awe and amazement to drink in the first sensible sunbeams in nearly three months. To feel the gentle heat and to see the hopeful source which promised more, was a long wished-for pleasure and one whose intoxicating influence cannot be described. The men are journeying in pairs over winding paths on the pack; some drop here and there upon a convenient slope to sun themselves like snakes in spring; others sniff the air and run from place to place like bears.
July 31.—We have now so far improved in general health as to long for an extended outing,—a journey of several days’ duration. This desire originates from an infusion of new life which revives our thoughts in response to the returning sun. The point selected for our first expedition is the great tabular iceberg in the east-north-east. All is hustle and bustle to prepare for this expedition.
During the last days of July the sky and the snow were flooded by a rich carmine light, which imparted a delightful warmth and charm to the cold blues of the pack. Soon after sunrise, however, a smoky mist of frost gathered over the ice-fields and smothered the new glory of the sun, absorbing most of the colour, all of the heat, and leaving only a dull coppery-red misshapen ball. Many of us were now anxious to get away from the monotone about the ship as quickly as the weather would permit. We were tired of the “mad-house” promenade about the bark. The little mountains of tin cans, ashes, and other debris, which decorated our immediate surroundings, were wearisome. The great drifts of snow, over which we now marched from the deck, though picturesque, were painful to the eye because for many long weeks we had dug paths through, and tunnels under, the same snow. We felt that if we could get away for a few days and pitch our camp upon the bare bosom of the sea of ice near some iceberg, we might make some studies worthy of record, and we would certainly come back loving the Belgica and our companions better.
To this end we have devoted much of our time during the stormy days. It is found that for serious travelling over the pack almost all of our equipment needs re-modelling. I have begun with the clothing. In addition to my furs there are but four skin suits on the Belgica. Sufficient experimental work has been done to prove that in the cutting winds, and freezing temperatures of the coming months it will not be safe to venture far without furs. Woolens sufficiently heavy to be comfortable are too cumbersome. Three of the suits are made of Siberian wolf skins, after a pattern suggested by Nansen, but the model is such that we find them worthless, except for work in the observatories. Nansen has improved the Eskimo pattern in a manner which makes the suit much warmer, but having omitted the vital point in the construction of polar garments, that of ventilation, the costume becomes useless for active work. We have worn it in short ski runs of thirty minutes, in temperatures of -20° C. (-4.0° F.) and each time we have come back wet with perspiration. Finding Nansen’s improvement a failure, we have reduced the suits as nearly as possible to the aboriginal style. Arctowski has a Yakouts suit from Siberia, which has undergone a similar transformation. Both the Nansen and the Siberian outfits are excellent for riding or work which requires little exercise, but for travelling over the pack the furs must be less cumbersome and there must be a freer ventilation. The sailors have been provided with canvas cover garments cut similar to the Eskimo fur suits. These are excellent wind guards, but are of little service in confining the bodily heat. We have devised a similar covering made of blankets which is worn under the canvas, and this seems to keep the men comfortable for their ordinary outside work. But the combination is much more troublesome than an Eskimo fur suit and decidedly inferior for active work.
In view of our prospective work of endeavouring to explore the pack, and any new land to which the drift might bring us, we deemed it necessary to devise some kind of tent for shelter. We had but one tent, and, like many other things intended for polar work, this had been so improved that it was useless. This was also modelled on Nansen’s plans, but its improvement consisted of a coating of water-proof material suggested by a friend not familiar with polar work. This water-proofing so hardened in the cold that the cloth cracked, and was torn with the first storm of summer. The difficulties with all ordinary forms of tents are that they are too heavy, too complicated, and will not stand the strain of polar storms. We have tried to build one which would overcome as much as possible the faults of others, and our result has been gratifying. For several weeks we all studied the subject, and I dare say that we have among us more ideas bearing upon the construction of tents than ever before existed among a bunch of men. It is unfortunate that we have not the time to put all the plans into execution. The doctor’s tent design was accepted by Amundsen and at once the cloth was cut for its construction. We worked upon this for about two weeks, and then, proud of the result of our own skill, we placed it for exhibition and criticism on the pack. The tent was made large enough for three occupants. The main points kept in mind in devising the plans were lightness, durability, stability, and ease of erection. I will not here describe the faults of other tents nor the excellence of our own invention. The accompanying photographs illustrate our model. Suffice it to say, that this which we have styled the “Antarctic tent” weighs but twelve pounds, will withstand the worst storms, and can be set up in a strong wind by one man in five minutes.
No extensive sledge journeys had previously been made over the pack by us, nor, indeed, by any one else so far as history knows. Hence, everything about this prospective jaunt was experimental. Our specific destination was to visit a great tabular berg, which we estimated was about sixteen miles away. The project took its origin from various discussions as to the possibility of making long journeys over the pack. Commandant de Gerlache held that it was possible to travel safely over the pack two or three degrees southward, but nearly everybody else opposed this view, because of the absence of any station or land to which one might retreat in case the vessel was lost which, with the local movement in the pack, might easily happen. There were many volunteers for this venture, but there was room for only three in the tent, and altogether this is the most appropriate number for such a trip. The party was limited to Lecointe, Amundsen, and the writer. We arranged a sail for one of the American sledges, and loaded it down with fuel and provisions for ten days. The selection of the food stuffs had been left to our own judgment, and we were ungenerous and selfish enough to select only favourite relishes.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE SPRING (CONTINUED)—RETURN OF LIGHT—A SLEDGE JOURNEY
The morning of July thirty-first opened with a golden glow northward, and a fair but cold wind, driving the hard crystals of snow over the crust with a metallic ring. The weather for several days had not been promising, but on this morning the barometer was steady, the temperature -34° with a fresh breeze from the south. The meteorologist assured us that the signs promised excellent weather. We have learned to take the official weather forecasts with an air of disbelief. Still we started; the sledge was put on the ice, the bundles of food, fuel, furs, tent, etc., were tossed on the snow, and quickly our sledge was snugly loaded, and a sail set to a fair wind. The sail helped us much; its force was equal to that of one man. The surface of the ice was fairly good for sledge travelling, a thin crust on the top offering little friction to the sledge, and generally the runners did not break through. Such a condition was found on the larger pans upon which there were small snow-covered hummocks, from one to three metres high here and there, but around these we could always find a passage.
Physically we believed ourselves in fine trim. Every moment of sunlight had been used by us for exercise. We had been on a forced diet of penguin meat, and had undergone the baking treatment to bring our strength to the maximum. We were, however, far from normal, though our ambitions, like the spring flow of rivers, were no longer to be confined to ordinary bounds. Our real difficulty began when we left the large old fields to cross the young ice of leads. Here were huge ridges of pressure-lines all nearly impassable, and the little valley-like spaces between were covered by beds of dry snow in very small crystals, over which a sledge runs about as easily as over sand. Another disheartening series of regions, were the sites of recent leads and lakes over which it was necessary to pass. These were sheets of water thinly covered with ice from three to six inches in thickness, and coated by a most beautiful fur of hoar-frost. The nearness of this to the level of the water, and the great difference between the temperature of the water and that of the air kept it constantly humid. An evaporation rose from this new ice as if water were boiling under a screen. The mixture of water with cold snow offers a surface over which a sledge slides with the greatest difficulty. There are several methods of overcoming this resistance. One method is to shoe the sledge with ivory or whalebone, or what I like fully as well, penguin skin, but for this we were not prepared at the time.