The Midsummer Christmas Dinner.
August 2.—We did not awake until about nine o’clock to-day. Breakfast was prepared while we made a hasty examination of our situation. The horizon was obscured by a light fog; it had snowed a little during the night; the lead was separating, and zones of water-sky were noticed in nearly every direction. These prospects forbidding a continuation of our journey, we packed up for the return. Many seals appeared on the ice as we left, and some came over to our camp as if to say “good-bye.” We did not molest them. The ship was not in sight when we started, and we knew by its changed position yesterday that there was considerable motion in the ice, enough to make the actual direction of the Belgica somewhat doubtful. The light was dull and diffused, making it impossible to observe hummocks and drifts; a fact which caused constant stumbling, and the destruction of one pair of ski. We tried to take a compass course, but this was difficult because the light was too vague to make hummocks or landmarks discernible. Many ill-defined, smoky figures of clouds, generally oblong, were on the sky. These indicated the disruption of the ice and an exposure of bands of open water, which we were soon to locate definitely, with much disappointment and discomfort.
As we advanced we heard whales spouting on all sides, but could not yet see them or the open water in which they gambolled. A little farther on we saw many seals, and soon after a belt of ice fissured in every direction. Thinking that we could cross this we strode over one pan after another, expecting every moment that we would reach more solid ice where we might pitch our tent for the night. The darkness advanced, and the pans separated more and more. Soon it was perfectly dark. The ice was so black that we could not easily mark the difference between it and the waters. To proceed was now impossible, and to camp on a little pan, the centre of a great pressure angle, was not conducive to rest, but we had no other choice. In a few moments our tent was pitched, and light within offered a spark of cheerfulness, but everything outside was as dismal as it could possibly be. The wind blew with a despairing howl, driving snow into every opening or seam of our fur suits. The ice groaned and cracked, and complained of the pressure forced against it; our floe was little by little reduced in size until we could hear the seals in the water as plainly as if they were under the tent. I cannot imagine a position on the polar pack more hopeless. We were tired and knew well that we would sleep, and perhaps not awake until dropped into the cold water. To overcome this danger we kept watch.
Before. After.
Frederick A. Cook.
Before. After.
Roald Amundsen.
