BIRD’S-EYE VIEW OF THE PACK--AUTUMNAL TEMPESTS
On the morning of the 16th several of us went to the crow’s-nest to
get a bird’s-eye view of the pack. Only two could rest in the nest
at one time, and at best it is a shivery roost, but Arctowski and I
resolved to enter it this morning and there spend an hour in study and
philosophy. We climbed up over a series of rope ladders which were
coated with an inch of hoar-frost in large crystals. The metallic
jingle of these crystals made a music full of curious interest, and
the gem-like glitter of the masts fired by the silvery beams, as the
sun rose over the white splendour of the pack, was a sight which made
us hesitate to tread on the bejewelled ropes. Arctowski entered the
bottom of the barrel first and quickly kicked and pushed out the frost,
sending down a cloud of ice which covered my face and sent streams
of sharp crystals down my back. We had been in the crow’s-nest some
minutes surveying the splendour of the widened horizon before we began
to talk and discuss the situation. On deck there had been no wind, but
here there is a little air coming from all directions; now from the
south, now from the north, and again from the east or the west. This
we regard as a certain sign of an immediate change in the weather.
There is also a restlessness in the pack which is an equally certain
indication of a change. The water-sky, which we saw yesterday, has
extended considerably. The ice is spreading out in some directions,
leaving large open lanes of bright blue sea with a metallic lustre.
The width of these lanes is from ten to fifty feet, and they extend
northerly as far as the eye can reach. Many of these expanses of water
offer us a free highway out of our present dilemma. Over the beam,
within three hundred yards, there is a river-like stream, but we
cannot get to it. In a direction at right angles to these lanes there
is considerable pressure. This is shown by the many lines of hummocks
raised on the edges of the floes.
[Illustration: Eight Successive Phases of an Exhibit of Aurora
Australis, March 19, 1898.]
We have taken a few pictures of this bird’s-eye view of the site (which
later proved to be our winter home), but these in black and white are
poor illustrations of the pack which is always flooded with curious
colours, in unique blends, and soft shades. At this time the sun burst
through a torn space in a gathering blackness northward, and sent her
beams lightly to the ice, making each pan as luminous as if frosted
with a covering of diamonds. The edges of these pans are raised by
contact with neighbouring pans. Suspended from these elevations are
icicles, and over and under these the ice is charged with yellow sea
algæ, making a ring of gold around the gem-strewn floes. In a few
places the water is covered with a green lacework of new ice, and
everywhere there is a delicate suggestion of lilac, raising the high
lights, colouring the shadows, and saturating the air with a mysterious
luminosity.
Our position at the top of the mast is like that of a bird far up
under the heavens. The great ugly-looking, but vigorous, giant petrels
are dashing past our heads with an air of inquisitiveness. The little
dove-like white petrels come to us almost within reach of our arms,
and the graceful brown sea-gulls rush over us and around us with a
startling buzz. We are inclined to drift into poetry and philosophy
this morning, and everything about encourages this mood. The day, with
a temperature -9° C. (15.8° F.), is a delight, and as we look down upon
the endless expanse of restless frigid ocean, with its primitive life
and death-like silence, we dream of primeval nature. For here is the
world nearest to its youthful character. The moving crust of the earth
with which we drift, the hardy, simple life, and even the sky, all
suggest a period of the earth in its infancy, long before the advent of
man. It is this strange simplicity, this other-world air of terrestrial
youth, which makes the polar regions so fascinating to nature-loving
man. Everything about is new, yet old; every sight is simple, yet
clothed in mystery; every phenomenon, like a shy maiden, is attractive
but difficult of access. The haste and the bustle of the living world
are far from the mental horizon, and the mind is ready to examine the
new problems. It is fortunate that one can, after a little experience,
here open the book of Nature and record the causes and effects of
nearly all phenomena, for then the mysterious halo which surrounds
everything polar disappears. Each point of attraction which at first
bewilders us by its strangeness becomes a written page to be added to
the future annals of science. There are a hundred things which, in this
way, present new aspects daily and urge the mind out of its lethargy of
monotony into a state of fascination. Now we see some peculiar strip
on the sky, a striking series of clouds, a rare fog effect, an unusual
sunburst, or an aurora; then it is something connected with the sea or
its burden, the ice. Perhaps the surface will seem motionless, while
at a little distance a small blue-ridged berg will bound and dance as
if animated by some strange submarine spirit; or perhaps one of the
bergs, with whose face we are familiar, will suddenly turn, offering a
new face and a curious colour. Again a berg is seen with black spots
and discoloured stratifications. What is the origin of this? Is it
the output of a volcano, or is it natural glacial debris? We see the
effects, but what are the causes? And so the questions run. Hardly
have we learned one lesson when another is brought to our notice.
This time, perhaps, it is some speck of life, curiously embedded in a
wilderness of ice. What story has it to give? To what family does it
belong? We want to know its manner of life, its food, something of its
migration, and so on. There is always a stimulus for an endless series
of interesting observations. It is these tempting studies which lift
the spirits above the even plane of white monotony. It is this fresh
interest in the unknown which makes life tolerable. We all like to
ponder over the days of our youth; those of an inquiring turn of mind
love to reflect upon the youthful days of the earth; and looking at the
polar world, as a whole, it bears a close relation to what it must have
been when man first came to it.
Shortly after noon the thermometer rose, the barometer fell, and the
sky assumed a dirty gray. Out of the north came a brisk wind with
a steadily increasing force. We have now learned that this is the
condition for a storm. The wind increased to a half gale with snow,
and continued to blow fiercely all day. At four o’clock we noticed by
the squeaking of the ice that a swell was rolling under us. We did
not feel its effects about the ship until seven o’clock. Then the
ice cracked about us, and was forced together with a pressure which
aroused considerable fear regarding the safety of the _Belgica_.
Huge hummocks rose on every side, floes were forced over each other,
and against the sides of the vessel. The paint was scraped from her,
fragments of wood were gouged out of her, and she was thrown over on a
floe where she lay taking the thumps and steady pressure with cracks
and groans; but the good old ship fought her battle bravely. At about
eight o’clock the pressure ceased and the ice separated, leaving small
open leads. The _Belgica_ settled down again into the water and
sought her equilibrium, and, though there was considerable scraping and
grinding against our berths later, there was no more pressure. Early
in the evening there appeared a strip of blue sky in the north and in
it appeared the moon, now a small crescent, a mere shadow of the huge
ball of red seen a fortnight ago. The sky continued to clear during the
night, but the storm increased in force.
March 17.--The storm is still raging; the sky, and even the snow seems
black under the inky gloom. The temperature has risen nearly twenty
degrees in twenty-four hours, which is a very remarkable phenomenon for
the antarctic. The sky in the north-north-east is almost constantly
black, indicating what we believe to be open water in that direction.
From the ease with which the swell comes in under the pack, and the
frequent zones of water-sky, we estimate that we are within fifty miles
of the open ice-free ocean; but to reach it is at present impossible.
The Commandant and the captain still entertain hopes of getting out,
and if our engines were stronger and our efforts to gain freedom were
more prolonged we might. The majority, however, are now resigned to the
fate of a year on a field of drifting ice, though Gerlache still talks
of going to Buenos Aires, and Lecointe discusses a long list of needful
things which he wishes to purchase for the next campaign. The days are
growing rapidly shorter and the nights, only too noticeably longer. The
nights have not now that white glow which they had a few weeks ago.
It is this discouraging veil of blackness, falling over the sparkling
whiteness of earlier nights, which sends a vein of despair running
through our souls.
March 18.--The storm persists with its hellish howl, but the wind is
veering easterly. The temperature remains near zero and this, with
the saturation of the atmosphere and almost continuous fall of snow,
makes everything about wet and slushy. The decks are covered with a
mixture of wet snow and soot and heterogeneous masses of wood. The
surface of the pack is wet and the snow on it is soaked with water.
We cannot travel on it without snowshoes, and we cannot use snowshoes
because the snow adheres to the wood. We must in consequence remain on
board in our cabins and listen to the maddening howl of the tempest,
as it plays on the ropes and masts and deck over us. Nothing could be
more uncomfortable than this thaw coming, as it does, while the winter
is well advanced. We are now prepared for cold weather. Steady low
temperatures would be our delight, but these wet, warm days bring out
a grunt and a complaint from everybody, and when a wet snow-charged
tempest drives the slush into our faces and through every break in our
clothing, as we make the necessary observations, the situation becomes
befitting to the sulphureous epithets which one hears from stem to
stern.
About a week ago we killed a seal. The skin and blubber were removed,
but the balance of the carcass was left on the floe, about one hundred
yards westward. This carcass has attracted great numbers of giant
petrels. All the birds about except the penguins are scavengers,
but the giant petrel is the king of all. We have had an excellent
opportunity for the past few days to study these ugly creatures. In
size they are about as large as a goose, but the spread of wing is
greater and the body smaller. Their usual colour is sooty-brown with
a grayish head. There is, however, considerable difference in colour;
for they range from fawn to chocolate, and from black to a silvery
gray; occasionally one sees an albino, and also some white, spotted
with black feathers. In habits they are gluttons. Many of these about
us now have eaten so much that they are unable to rise into the air,
but sit on the ice with head and feet tucked into their rough, bushy
feathers. If we approach them they run along a few hundred feet and
then, if we persist in the chase, the birds vomit great quantities,
after which they rise into the air and hover above us in a threatening
manner. When we first entered the pack we thought, as did Captain Cook
and other early navigators, that these huge, coarse, and ugly petrels
were indicative of a nearness to land, but we have now abandoned this
idea. The giant petrel is a pack animal, and seemingly prefers the
pack-edge, where it can fish in the open leads and light upon the
carcass of an occasional seal or penguin. We learned to like this bird
for its noticeable, uncouth ugliness. It was, indeed, our most constant
companion during the twelve long months following, while we were frozen
to a piece of drifting ice.
March 19.--The tempest still continues, but it is coming from the north
in doleful wails, like the moans of a dying soul, which indicate that
its force is nearly spent. The low, gray sky, the dead white of the
ice, and the general monotone of neutral colours is still our cheerless
outlook. We are indescribably tired of these seemingly ceaseless
storms. It is not possible to work outside, and interior occupations
fatigue us so much that we soon weary of regular work.
5 P. M.--The storm has at last abated. It has left us so
suddenly that the calm is as unexpected as it is appreciated. The
barometer is steady and the temperature is falling fast. It is already
-9°C., and is still falling. The scene now before us is full of new
delights. The ice is spread out again, bright, soft and tinted with
delicate colours. Every time the thick air and the gloomy clouds of
storm are brushed away, the pack, white and sparkling, has a new story
to tell. It brings to us moods like a cheerful page in a sad story.
Under the influence of this spell everybody is singing, whistling,
and humming familiar tunes; all are planning new work and nursing big
ambitions. In the cabin the music-boxes are grinding out favourite
music, which rings over the pack with a new joy. In the forecastle the
men are dancing and playing the accordion with telling effect. From
some invisible point of the pack there comes a weird response to every
discord of the music. It is the _gha-a-ah_, _gha-a-ah_ of
the penguins. We have had a peep at the sun and this has brought about
an intoxication akin to alcoholic stimulation, and well it might, for
the brief period of its visibility has been a dream of charms. The
great twilight zone of purple fringed with violet and orange and rose
is rising over the east. The zenith is pale blue studded with a few
scarlet and lavender clouds, and the sun, a great ball of old gold, is
sinking under the pearly rose-tinged line of the endless expanse of
ice.
[Illustration: 1. The American Lumberman’s Boot.
2. The Norwegian Farmer’s Snow-shoe.
3. A Norwegian “Truge,” a Snow-shoe made of Reeds, and the
“Komager,” a Boot made of Soft Leather.
4. Boot and Sock made of Penguin Skins.
5. The “Lauparsko” with _Ski_ Attachment.
6. The “Finesco,” a Finnish Reindeer Skin Boot, and the Alpine
Disc Snow-shoes.
7. The Eskimo “Kamik.”
8. The Belgian Wooden Shoe.
A Page of _Belgica_ Boots.]
8 P. M.--The ice shows signs of strong pressure from the
north. Along the crevasses, running easterly and westerly there are
great lines of hummocks from four to eight feet in height. The colours
of the pack are now far from the despairing monotone of yesterday.
The yellow sea algæ have already fixed themselves in the new ice and
make it appear ocherous. The twilight on clear nights is extended by
the latent luminosity of the snow. The blueness of the pack in this
twilight, separated by the ebony lanes of open water and decorated by
the algæ-strewn yellow and green lines in the hummocks, make the scenes
curiously attractive. Added to this we have the bergs, tall, sharp, and
imposing, standing out against the soft blue of the sky and the hard
blue of the pack as if cut from huge masses of alabaster. The whole
scene is one of lively contrasts, pleasing to the eye and stimulating
to the mind, having quite the reverse of the effect of the days of
darkness and depressing storms which have preceded.
At about ten o’clock we saw a second aurora. It began as a ragged arc,
spread easterly and westerly across the southern sky with a straight
line running under it close to the horizon. The space under the arc
was noticeably darker than the surrounding sky, and in this space,
also in a straight line, were four luminous spots. The colour of the
aurora was a bright cream with an occasional suggestion of pink. There
was no noticeable reflection of light on the snow. There was a quick
and constant transformation in the form of the phenomenon. A wave of
light ran through the luminous bands and spots from east to west. Some
parts brightened and enlarged, others darkened and faded away. The arcs
were generally of a steady rayless brightness; the apparent movement
and wavy effect of light was in a series of sharp rays on a film-like
display before the arc. I found it difficult in the low temperature to
remain outside for periods sufficiently prolonged to catch the minute
changes in force and character, but I made a series of eight sketches
at intervals of about twenty minutes apart, which illustrate the most
striking changes. The second form was a homogeneous arc with a fragment
of a second arc under it. This hung for some time with a steady
nebulous glow between it and the one previous, as well as between the
intervening periods of all. The following typical forms then were
rapid and almost imperceptible gradations. The third sketch represents
the same primary arc always of the same size and in the same position
on the heavens: but under it are portions of two other arcs and a
suggestion of a luminous horizontal line. At times a wave of rays,
converging to the pole of the circle described, ran over the main arc.
In the fourth sketch there are two arcs and a portion of a third which
were seen persistently in all the exhibits to the present. In the fifth
there is a second arc crossing the first. This was suggested in the
third and it reappeared in the seventh. The sixth form was an arc with
three ribbons of luminous beams waving from side to side. The exhibit
ended with a plain arc aglow with a steady light.