MIDWINTER.—THE NIGHT OF MONTHS.—BRILLIANCY OF THE MOONLIGHT.—MILD TEMPERATURES.—REMARKABLE WEATHER.—A SHOWER.—DEPTH OF SNOW.—SNOW CRYSTALS.—AN EPIDEMIC AMONG THE DOGS.—SYMPTOMS OF THE DISORDER.—GREAT MORTALITY.—ONLY ONE TEAM LEFT.—NEW PLANS.—SCHEMES FOR REACHING THE ESQUIMAUX IN WHALE SOUND.
The reader who has followed my diary since we entered Port Foulke will have noticed how gradually the daylight vanished, and with what slow and measured step the darkness came upon us. As November approached its close, the last glimmer of twilight disappeared. The stars shone at all hours with equal brilliancy. From a summer which had no night we had passed into a winter which had no day, through an autumn twilight. In this strange ordering of Nature there is something awe-inspiring and unreal.
We all knew from our school-boy days that, at the poles of the earth there is but one day and one night in the year; but, when brought face to face with the reality, it is hard to realize. And it is harder still to get used to. If the constant sunshine of the summer disturbed our life-long habits, the continual darkness of the winter did more. In the one case the imagination was excited by the ever-present light, inspiring action; in the other, a night of months threw a cloud over the intellect and dwarfed the energies.
To this prolonged darkness the moon gives some relief. From its rising to its setting it shines continually, circling around the horizon, never setting until it has run its ten days' course of brightness. And it shines with a brilliancy which one will hardly observe elsewhere. The uniform whiteness of the landscape and the general clearness of the atmosphere add to the illumination of its rays, and one may see to read by its light with ease, and the natives often use it as they do the sun, to guide their nomadic life and to lead them to their hunting-grounds.
MIDWINTER.
The days and weeks of midwinter passed slowly away. Our experience up to this period was in many respects remarkable. Although sheltered by high lands, we were nevertheless exposed to severe and almost constant northeast winds; and although shut up in polar darkness, and hemmed in by polar ice, an open sea had thus far been within sight of us all the time, and the angry waves were often a threatening terror. Many times we had thought ourselves in danger of being cast adrift with the ice, and carried out to sea in a helpless condition.
The temperature had been strangely mild, a circumstance at least in part accounted for by the open water, and to this same cause was no doubt due the great disturbance of the air, and the frequency of the gales. I have mentioned in the last chapter a very remarkable rise in the thermometer which occurred early in November; but a still greater elevation of temperature followed a few weeks later, reaching as high as 32°, and sinking back to 15° below zero almost as suddenly as it had risen. In consequence of this extraordinary and unaccountable event, the thaw was renewed, and our former discomfort arising from the dampness on the deck and in our quarters was experienced in an aggravated degree. During two days (November 28th and 29th) we could use no other fire than what was necessary for the preparation of our meals, and for melting our necessary supply of water. To add to our astonishment, a heavy fall of snow was followed by a shower of rain, a circumstance which I had not previously witnessed in this latitude except in the months of July and August, and then scarcely more rain fell than on the present occasion. The depth of snow precipitated during this period was likewise remarkable,—the aggregate being 32 inches. In one single day 19 inches were deposited, greater by 5 inches than the entire accumulations of the winter of 1853-54 at Van Rensselaer Harbor. The total amount of snow which had fallen up to the first of December was 48 inches. Being so far north of the line of maximum snows, I was the more surprised, as my former experience appeared to have shown that the region of Smith's Sound was almost wholly free from nubilous deposits.
SNOW CRYSTALS.
I was much interested at this warm period in observing how singularly perfect and beautiful were the snow crystals; and it is a somewhat singular circumstance that the perfect crystals are only exhibited when the snow falls in a temperature comparatively mild. I have not observed them when the thermometer ranged below zero. The snow is then quite dry and hard, and does not exhibit those soft, thin, transparent flakes of the warmer air. With the aid of a magnifying glass, I was enabled to obtain very accurate sketches of a large number of them. Their form was always hexagonal, but the rays were very various in their development, although they all possessed the same radical foundation. The most perfect and full suggested a diminutive fern leaf.