A few days ago Amundsen and I resolved to make a final attempt to reach the tabular iceberg in the east. It has long been our ambition to do this, as it has been the one venturesome aim of every man on board. We have tried it several times before, but always in vain. Wide open leads have prevented our going more than four or five miles, and have also cut off our retreat. But now we decided to take no food and no provision for sleep, but to push boldly to the berg and back in one day. We left after matte at 4 o’clock; the wind was light and easterly, the sky clear, with a temperature -7°. We had no difficulty in making the first seven miles, but the two miles about the berg were much torn and separated by lakes. Among this small ice there were several seals, mostly Weddells (Leptonychotes Weddelli), but we also killed the first true sea-leopard (Ogmorhynus Leptonyx) here, and also a crab-eater (Lobodon Carcinophaga), which we cached with a view to later use as a food supply as a last resort in case the ice separated so much as to prevent our easy retreat. We saw here, also, some giant petrels (Ossifraga gigantea), and some white petrels (Pagodroma nivea). The floes appeared smaller and smaller, as we approached the berg, and around it they were mere discs of about an average diameter of seven metres; these were separated by huge quantities of brash. After considerable difficulty we finally found a place on the iceberg where we could make a debarkment. The ascent was over a long platform which resembled an ice-fort of the arctic land-ice. It was the base of a cliff of ice which once covered it, but the berg was perfectly tabular. We estimated the iceberg to be 800 metres long, 500 metres wide, and 40 metres high. To its crest there was but one access in the valley made by the decay of a part of the cliff. We ascended this without difficulty, and reached the top in a few moments.
From here the view of the pack was superb. We counted seventy-five icebergs on the horizon, of which ten were tabular. They seemed to be evenly scattered over the pack. The sea-ice appeared blue under the midnight sun, for it was nearly midnight before we reached our destination. The floes seemed small, averaging about one mile in diameter, except those close to the berg. Here and there were seals, and white petrels flew about our heads. The Belgica appeared in the endless blue expanse westward, and to us, at our distance, she was not unlike a stick in the ice not far off. Nothing particularly new was in our increased horizon; possibly a few new bergs were in view eastward, but about these there was little remarkable. From the crow’s nest on the ship, we could count sixty-four icebergs, and the view in general was similar to that which now spread out before us. The top of the berg had a gentle inclination westward; its surface was generally flat, excepting here and there the line of a crevasse filled by re-congelation. We came back over the same path on ski, which we had used on the top, and for the first two miles we had no serious trouble. The ice had remained the same, but at this point there had been much commotion. The easterly wind had gone down, and the ice immediately began to separate, and thus in the few hours occupied by our ascent onto the iceberg the entire topography of this part of the pack had changed. Huge lakes had formed, and a dense fog shut off our way. With the compass we sought points of each floe where they touched others, and thus we worked until 4 A.M., when we reached the ship with photos of the berg, and the head of the leopard as a trophy. The work and the resulting fatigue had been so great that Tollefsen, who had joined us at the last moment of our departure, fainted twice after he reached the ship. Poor fellow! his brain has for a long time been unsteady as a result of the unbroken daylight and hopeless isolation. We thought this jaunt would do him good, but it has had a contrary effect, for his mind is now permanently deranged.
Removing the Upper Sheet Preparatory to Sawing the Hard Undersheets.
Cutting a Canal through the Ice to Release the Belgica from her Year’s Imprisonment.
December 25.—Christmas in midsummer is certainly an anomaly to residents of the northern hemisphere, but our midsummer is more sterile than the midwinter of any known spot on the globe. At home there may be snow and wind, but there is at hand the companionship of warm friends, the cheer of a bright fire, the charm of flowers and pretty things; but what have we in place of this accustomed holiday gayety? Each man has, among the Belgica’s company, his special corps of chums, and brotherly distress has strengthened these bonds, but there are no other human souls within reach to enter our narrow circle of life with new inspirations. We have long since worn out all social enthusiasm, and can unearth nothing new to infuse fresh life into the desired good cheer of our Christmas dinner. Inside then, there is nothing new, while outside all is cold and white and wearisome. There is no flowering-plant within thousands of miles, and no land, not even barren rocks, within hundreds of miles. At dinner we drank to the health of “King Leopold,” to the pleasure of “Queen Wilhelmina,” to the continued success of the expedition, and everybody expressed a hope of an early release from our ice-imprisonment. Altogether, I noticed that the enthusiasm was forced. At heart we were not in a feasting mood, and the doubt of our future was pictured on every face.
We have now been nearly a year in this hopeless desert of ice. Everything seems solid and immovable. We seem to be frozen to the earth, for there is nothing which indicates movement. But with all this appearance of solidity we are in reality continually afloat, adrift with the polar winds, on a perennial ice-sheeted sea. How we long to put our feet on solid ground! We do not desire so greatly to see trees, and plants, and flowers as we do to sit upon something immovable; something not covered with this eternal whiteness, and not glittering with a dazzling ice-blink—plain ground and bare rocks will satisfy us.
Floating-Mountains of Ice.