HELPLESS IN A HOPELESS SEA OF ICE
We are now doomed to remain, and become the football of an unpromising
fate. Henceforth we are to be kicked, pushed, squeezed, and ushered
helplessly at the mercy of the pack. Our first duty is to prepare
for the coming of the night, with its unknowable cold and its
soul-depressing effects. Aboard, the crew are re-storing coal and
re-arranging the store of provisions. The scientific men are making
plans for a year of observations, while the cook is racking his brain
to devise some new dishes to appease our fickle appetites. His soups
are full of “mystery,” and the “embalmed meats” are on every tongue
for condemnation. Outside there has been a rapid transformation. The
summer days of midnight suns are past, and the premonitory darkness
of the long night is falling upon us with marvellous rapidity, for in
this latitude the sun dips below the southern skies at midnight late in
January. This dip increases, and sweeps more and more of the horizon
every day until early in May, when the sun sets and remains below the
horizon for seventy-one days. When we first skirted the pack-ice in
February there were a few hours, at midnight, of bright twilight.
The darkness then was not sufficient to prevent navigation throughout
the night; but now it is really dark for eight hours. The temperature,
too, is falling rapidly. We have been led to believe by the experiences
of previous antarctic explorers that the temperature, compared with
arctic, would be more moderate; but in this we are disappointed. An
icy wind comes from the south, brushing the warm, moist air seaward
and replacing it by a sharp, frigid atmosphere. The temperature falls
to ten degrees below zero, then to twenty (and later it descends to
thirty, forty, and finally forty-five).
[Illustration: Racovitza at the Microscope.]
[Illustration: Arctowski in the Laboratory.]
Soon after we entered the main body of the pack a fortnight ago, it was
discovered that we drifted with the ice in a south-westerly direction.
We concluded, at that time, that we were in a current. The shallow sea
and the speed with which we moved were in favour of this theory; but
now we are drifting north-westerly, and we begin to doubt the existence
of a current. The ease with which the entire horizon, with its numerous
mountains and fields of ice, sails over the invisible sea makes us
anxious as to our destiny. If we remain here, on this blank space of
the globe, where will we find ourselves a year hence? Will it be north,
south, east or west? In this drift it is possible that the ship may be
dragged over a submerged reef, and it is also possible that we may be
carried onto a rocky shore, or against the formidable land-ice. In each
case destruction of our vessel and a miserable death for all must be
the inevitable result.
To forestall such a future we now ascend to the crow’s-nest daily and
with the telescope search the horizon. New bergs come over one part
of the circle, old ones disappear in other directions. Appearances of
land are often noted, but such appearances are no longer credited. New
crevasses form, old ones close, but on the whole it is, day after day,
the same heaving sea of frozen whiteness. Nevertheless the views are
encouraging, and they now and then revive the dying hope of release
from the icy prison. There is promise in the movement of the bergs,
the continued swell of the sea, and the slow mysterious turning of
the floes, together with the present northerly drift. The fact that
each floe persistently remains as a single individual, and refuses to
unite with its neighbours to form a conglomerate mass, which would
effectually and finally cut off all hope of a retreat this year, is a
pleasant thought. A brisk storm would easily separate these floes, and
the open water, but ninety miles north, would carry us on its stormy
bosom to a more congenial climate for the winter.
Last night was clear and blue. We knew from the stillness of the air
and crackle of the ice that it would be very cold, and so it proved.
At six o’clock it was -14.6° C. (5.72° F.), at midnight, -20° C. (-4°
F.). A number of royal and small penguins and some seals were led
by curiosity to visit us. They called, and cried, and talked, and
grunted, as they walked over the ice about the ship, and were finally
captured by the naturalist and the cook, who had an equal interest in
the entertainment of our animal friends and in their future destiny.
A few nights past a sea leopard interviewed the meteorologist,
Arctowski. The animal sprang suddenly from a new break in the ice onto
the floe, upon which Arctowski had a number of delicate meteorological
instruments, and without an introduction, or any signs of friendship,
the animal crept rapidly over the snow and examined Arctowski and
his paraphernalia with characteristic seal inquisitiveness. The
meteorologist had nothing with which to defend himself, and he didn’t
appear to relish the teeth of the leopard as it advanced and separated
its massive jaws with a bear-like snort. He walked around the floe, the
leopard after him. The seal examined the instruments, but they were not
to its liking, and as to Arctowski, it evidently did not regard him of
sufficient interest to follow long, for after it had made two rounds
the seal plunged into the waters, swam under the ice and around the
floe, and then raised its head far out to get another glimpse of the
meteorologist. Thinking that the creature contemplated another attack,
Arctowski made warlike gestures, and uttered a volley of sulphureous
Polish words, but the seal didn’t mind that. It raised its head higher
and higher out of the water, and displayed its teeth in the best
possible manner. Now and then its lips moved, and there was audible
a weird noise, with signs which we took to be the animal’s manner of
inviting its new acquaintance to a journey under the icy surface, where
they might talk over the matter out of the cold blast of the wind, in
the blue depths below.
March 15.--The weather is remarkably clear. There is no wind, no noise,
and no motion in the ice. During the night we saw the first aurora
australis. I saw it first at eight o’clock, but it was so faint then
that I could not be positively certain whether it was a cloud with an
unusual ice-blink upon it or an aurora; but at ten o’clock we all saw
it in a manner which was unmistakable. The first phenomenon was like
a series of wavy fragments of cirrus clouds, blown by strong, high
winds across the zenith. This entirely disappeared a few minutes after
eight o’clock. What we saw later was a trembling lacework, draped
like a curtain, on the southern sky. Various parts were now dark, and
now light, as if a stream of electric sparks illuminated the fabric.
The curtain seemed to move in response to these waves of light, as if
driven by the wind which shook out old folds and created new ones, all
of which made the scene one of new interest and rare glory.
That I might better see the new attraction and also experiment with my
sleeping-bag, I resolved to try a sleep outside upon one of the floes.
For several days I had promised myself the pleasure of this experience,
but for one reason or another I had deferred it. At midnight I took
my bag and, leaving the warmth and comfort of the cabin, I struggled
out over the icy walls of the bark’s embankment, and upon a floe three
hundred yards east I spread out the bag. The temperature of the cabin
was the ordinary temperature of a comfortable room; the temperature
of the outside air was -20° C. (-4° F.) After undressing quickly,
as one is apt to do in such temperatures, I slid into the fur bag
and rolled over the ice until I found a depression suitable to my
ideas of comfort. At first my teeth chattered and every muscle of my
body quivered, but in a few minutes this passed off and there came
a reaction similar to that after a cold bath. With this warm glow I
turned from side to side and peeped past the fringe of accumulating
frost, around my blow-hole through the bag, at the cold glitter of
the stars. As I lay there alone, away from the noise of the ship, the
silence and the solitude were curiously oppressive. There was not a
breath of air stirring the glassy atmosphere, and not a sound from the
ice-decked sea or its life to indicate movement or commotion. Only a
day ago this same ice was a mass of small detached floes, moving and
grinding off edges with a complaining squeak. How different it was now!
Every fragment was cemented together into one heterogeneous mass and
carpeted by a hard, ivory-like sheet of snow. Every move which I made
in my bag was followed by a crackling complaint from the snow crust.
At about three o’clock in the morning a little wind came from the east.
My blow-hole was turned in this direction, but the slow blast of air
which struck my face kept my moustache and my whiskers, and every bit
of fur near the opening, covered with ice. As I rolled over to face
the leeward there seemed to be a misfit somewhere. The hood portion
of the bag was as hard as if coated with sheet-iron, and my head was
firmly encased. My hair, my face, and the under garments about my neck
were frozen to the hood. With every turn I endured an agony of hair
pulling. If I remained still my head became more and more fixed by the
increasing condensation. In the morning my head was boxed like that of
a deep sea-diver. But aside from this little discomfort I was perfectly
at ease, and might have slept if the glory of the heavens and the charm
of the scene about had not been too fascinating to permit restful
repose.
The aurora, as the blue twilight announced the dawn, had settled into
an arc of steady brilliancy which hung low on the southern sky, while
directly under the zenith there quivered a few streamers; overhead was
the southern cross, and all around the blue dome there were sparkling
spots which stood out like huge gems. Along the horizon from south
to east there was the glow of the sun, probably reflected from the
unknown southern lands. This was a band of ochre tapering to gold and
ending in orange red. At four o’clock the aurora was still visible but
faint. The heavens were violet and the stars were now fading behind
the increasing twilight. A zone of yellow extended from west around
south to east, while the other half of the circle was a vivid purple.
The ice was a dark blue. An hour later the highest icebergs began to
glitter as if tipped with gold, and then the hummocks brightened.
Finally, as the sun rose from her snowy bed, the whole frigid sea was
coloured as if flooded with liquid gold. I turned over and had dropped
into another slumber when I felt a peculiar tapping on the encasement
of my face. I remained quiet, and presently I heard a loud chatter. It
was uttered by a group of penguins who had come to interview their new
companion. I hastened to respond to the call, and, after pounding my
head and pulling out some bunches of hair, I jumped into my furs, bid
the surprised penguins good morning, and went aboard. Here I learned
that Lecointe, not knowing of my presence on the ice, had taken me for
a seal, and was only waiting for better light to try his luck with the
rifle.