The doctor remembered Thomas Young's ingenious theory about these meteors; he supposed that certain clouds composed of prisms of ice are hanging in the air; the sun's rays falling on these prisms are refracted at angles of sixty and ninety degrees. The halos can only be formed in a clear sky. The doctor thought this an ingenious explanation.
Sailors, who are familiar with northern seas, consider this phenomenon a forerunner of heavy snow. If this should be the case, the position of the Forward was very critical. Hence Hatteras resolved to push on; during the rest of that day and the next night he took no rest, but examined the horizon through his glass, entering every inlet, and losing no opportunity to get out of the strait.
But in the morning he was compelled to stop before the impenetrable ice. The doctor joined him on the quarter-deck. Hatteras led him clear aft where they could talk without fear of being overheard.
"We are caught," said Hatteras. "It's impossible to go on."
"Impossible?" said the doctor.
"Impossible! All the powder on board the Forward would not open a quarter of a mile to us."
"What are we to do?" asked the doctor.
"I don't know. Curse this unlucky year!"
"Well, Captain, if we must go into winter-quarters, we'll do it. As well here as anywhere else!"
"Of course," said Hatteras in a low voice, "but we ought not to be going into winter-quarters, especially in the month of June. It is demoralizing, and bad for the health. The spirits of the crew are soon cast down during this long rest among real sufferings. So I had made up my mind to winter at a latitude nearer the Pole."