At a distance of about a mile from the ship we stopped to take compass bearings of her and the surrounding icebergs or landmarks. The scene here was a picture for the gods. In the north the sun, a great yellow ball of fire, was gliding westward along the horizon, laying beams of gold on the endless sheets of white of the pack. The moon, nearly full, a bright globe of frosted silver, floated high in the eastern heavens. The sky was, here and there, thinly veiled by stratus clouds formed by the ever-present microscopic specks of snow which float about in the antarctic atmosphere. The colours above were not rich but restful, and on the frozen bosom of the sea there was a charm which cannot be made to flow under my pen. The surface was everywhere rough and ragged, the line of horizon in some places looking not unlike a profile of ruined, marble buildings. The many, rough edges of blue hummocks, the thin plains of green and yellow, young ice, the clear-cut edges of icebergs, with walls assuming various colours, according to the amount and kind of light absorbed, made a dreamy, fairy-like scene.
The Midnight Sun Over the Pack-ice.
Before us, apparently within gunshot, was our destination, the great tabular iceberg, its deceptive nearness urging us on to action, and offering us the hope to be able to camp in the lee of it before night. But in reality it was not less than sixteen miles away. Behind us was the little Belgica, the only speck of human life in this rolling sweep of the great south frigid zone. How little and insignificant she seems amid these huge sheets and mountains of ice! Yet upon her stability, upon her power to fight and resist the awful attacks of the storming rams of ice, depends not only our comfort and success, but our lives. We travelled in perfect comfort and with much ease, two on ski, and one on disc snowshoes to push and guide the sledge. The sun sank under the horizon at about two o’clock, the moon which had been visible all day now assumed a more hopeful face, and little by little the dark-blue twilight circle rose on the southern sky. In the twilight it was difficult to see the hummocks, the crevasses, and the weak sheets of ice. When we began to think of a site for a camp we were, apparently, no nearer our destination after the day’s march of seven miles than when we started. At this time we saw a small smoky discoloration on the sky ahead of us, from which we concluded that water was not far off. A little later, we came to a lead covered with new ice over which we crossed to a very rough peninsula of old ice. From here we saw first a line of greenish yellow ice, which we have learned, by experience, is usually not strong enough to bear the weight of a man; then we saw a black line of open water beyond. After a little careful observation we were able to distinguish many whales and seals in this lead.
Our course being directly across this break in the ice, we decided to pitch the tent on the nearest floe which offered a solid bed. This lead had a general direction from east to west; it was about one mile wide at its narrowest points, but in other places there were expansions of from two to four miles. A good floe was found to be south of this, and our site for camping resembled in many ways the margin of a large river. The old ice with the ridges of hummocks offered an elevated bank. In the centre were fragments of ice, floating about like the winter ice of a stream. It was a real joy to pitch the new tent, after our experience with the ill-adapted old ones. In less than three minutes it was set, and a fire was in progress for a needed meal. The temperature was -20° C., and a strong breeze came from the south, but even with these atmospheric conditions we were comfortable in our shelter.
It took us a long time to prepare our food—about six hours;—everything which contained water was frozen to the consistency of stone, and to heat this, or indeed any kind of food, the Jackson apparatus, which was the only stove we had taken from the ship, was inefficient, while its consumption of alcohol was, in our experience, so wasteful that its use as an item of polar equipment is injudicious. It took us about two hours to thaw out some penguin steak, and two more to make a soup which has the enchanting name of “bonne femme.” In this we managed to mix a liberal supply of reindeer hair, penguin grease, and other flavouring material. The soup was a failure,—but not quite so much so as the chocolate prepared shortly after. This was made in a can in which the penguin steak had been warmed. It contained, besides chocolate, milk and sugar, much butter, penguin oil, blood, and pieces of fishy meat, some “bonne femme” soup, and reindeer fur. Lecointe, who had the honour of having the first cup, received, besides the major quantity of oil, the lighter floating material. He pronounced it “scandalous!” But the other victims who tried it praised its nutritious qualities very highly. After our feed we stowed ourselves away in our bags, falling on each other’s stomachs, as our efforts to reach the bottom failed. Finally we went to sleep while the wind roared and the snow dropped on our tent, making a sound like bits of metal; a music which, when comfortably stowed in our bags, proved restful and conducive to sleep.
Ice-Flowers.
