THE FADING DAYS OF THE AUTUMN
March 20.--Although the wind which has swept the pack for the past
few days has entirely subsided, the temperature has not fallen as
low as we had expected. The thermometer has registered to -15° C.
(5° F.) during the night, and is about -9° C. (15.8° F.) to-day.
After these storms we usually have a few days of calm weather with
a low temperature, and after each successive blow we find that the
mercury settles closer and closer to the bulb. We are expecting every
morning to find the quicksilver frozen. This is a cloudless day with
a sharp sun and a blinding glitter. The topography about has changed
much under the influence of the drift-snow during the last storm.
About the ship there are huge drifts of snow which make it difficult
to disembark. The old hummocks are reduced to little rounded hills,
the small crevasses are filled with new ice and snow, and the entire
pack of restless floes near the bark seems more like one homogeneous
mass. Everything is restful and motionless, and covered with the white
silence of death. We, of the scientific staff, have taken advantage of
this promise of ice stability to make short excursions over the ice
to the neighbouring bergs, and to interesting spots in the surrounding
regions that we might better study the life and the upbuilding of the
sea of ice in which we are fated to be kicked about, until the thaw of
another year may set us free. The snow is sheeted with a hard crust,
as it usually is after a storm, but we find it unsafe to travel even
short distances without snowshoes. The depth of snow is such, and the
crevasses are so numerous, that the small bearing surface of the foot
is likely to permit us to sink down out of sight.
For these journeys, when a quick unencumbered march is intended, we all
prefer the Norwegian _ski_, but when it is necessary to ascend
slopes, to cross rough ice, or to pull sledges, the _ski_ is
decidedly inferior to Indian or to Alpine snowshoes. Our _skis_
are mostly nine feet long; with these on our feet we skate leisurely
over the rough uneven surface at the rate of about three miles per
hour. Over the snow-covered old ice the work is not difficult, but when
we come to new ice recently formed, we find the surface as difficult
for gliding purposes as rubber. To cross these it is generally
necessary to remove the _ski_ and walk. It was a matter of some
surprise to see the large number and the great width of these strips of
new ice which indicate the expansion of the pack. At a distance of five
miles we found ten leads with an average width of a thousand feet. This
gives an expansion of two miles as a result of the last storm. Ten days
ago we went over this same path to a favourite iceberg which has been
named “Sweetheart.” We then found the distance less than three miles;
to-day the journey was nearly twice as long. If the pack increases at
this rate what will be its limit at the end of the coming winter night?
We saw only one small and two royal penguins, one giant petrel, and a
few white petrels. There were no open spaces of water, hence seals and
whales and penguins have departed for more open regions in the pack
farther north. The penguins we saw were stragglers who failed to go
to more congenial regions before the new ice formed; they remain near
icebergs where they are sure to find new crevasses in the next few
days, and to be deprived of food and water for a few days does not seem
to seriously disturb a penguin. About the bergs we found some small
holes through the new ice, out of which there came a puff of vapour
with a hiss at regular intervals. These were the breathing holes of the
crab-eating seals who, like the stranded penguins, await a change in
the movement of the ice when new crevasses with open spaces of water
will again appear.
The icebergs seem to be the great disturbing element in the movement of
the sea-ice. We have several times thought that they were propelled by
some contrary under-current, but the extended observations we have made
to the present prove quite another fact. We know that the pack, as a
whole, is extremely sensitive to the force of the wind; it easily and
quickly takes the direction of winds of even mild force. When this wind
is long continued there is a line of pressure ridges at right angles
to the direction of the wind, and lanes of open water in line with the
wind, indicating a tendency of the ice to separate in the way of least
resistance, which is always north. The bergs always have an apparent
movement diametrically opposite to the movement of the pack. This is
indicated by a number of hummocks and pressure ridges to the windward,
and the usual open lakes to the leeward of each iceberg. While it is
thus proven that the berg passes through the sea-ice in a direction
opposite to the force of the wind, the nautical observations prove that
the entire mass, icebergs and sea-ice, move with the wind with a speed
depending upon the resistance, the force, and the direction of the
wind. Under ordinary conditions an iceberg sinks seven-eighths of its
mass under water. A berg two hundred feet above water therefore has a
base fourteen hundred feet under water. The force of the wind expended
upon the two hundred feet above is extremely small compared to the
enormous resistance offered by the fourteen hundred feet under water.
The conclusion must be that the berg seems to move against the wind
because of its greater resistance; but in reality it, like the sea-ice,
is also carried along by the wind and forced on by the greater speed
floe-ice.
March 21.--It is a dull, gray day. The sky is low, with a high fog,
but along the south and east there are breaks in the clouds permitting
a few rays to steal a passage to the cold, white world below. The
night was bright early in the evening with a few auroras, cloud-like
fissures, or luminous patches in the south-west, but they were of
short duration. After midnight the heavens assumed the dullness which
now makes the scene one of deep gloom. It is on such days that we
assume a disgusted and fault-finding mood. To-day we are dissatisfied
with the food. We have complained intermittently for a long time, but
now everybody seems bent on having his say as to the badness of our
provisions. We have tried penguins and cormorants, but the majority
have voted them unpalatable. The excitement, heretofore, of new
discoveries and new sights to infuse fresh life has been too frequent
and too long continued to permit us to think of dainty foods and
tempting relishes. Now it is different. We are held by the increasing
grip of the too affectionate pack. We are imprisoned in an endless sea
of ice, and find our horizon monotonous. We have told all the tales,
real and imaginative, to which we are equal. Time weighs heavily upon
us as the darkness slowly advances. The despairing storms and the
increasing cold call for some new fuel to keep the lowering fires of
our bodies ablaze.
I have taken the trouble to make a personal canvass of every man of
the _Belgica_ to-day to find out the greatest complaints and the
greatest longings of each. The result of this inquiry was certainly a
lesson in curious human fancies. In the cabin the foremost wants are
for home news and feminine society. We are hungry for letters from
mothers, sisters, and other men’s sisters, and what would we not give
for a peep at a pretty woman? Racovitza reminds us daily that he will
write a book describing life in the “Ladyless south,” and we have all
agreed to contribute articles to a forthcoming paper in which we shall
advertise our wants. This paper will take the generic name given us by
the naturalist, “The Pack Loafers’ World.” In the forecastle the men
are less sentimental and less inclined to poetry. They desire first
some substantiate for the stomach. Fresh food, such as beefsteaks,
vegetables, and fruits are their foremost wants. Two or three, in lone
dark corners and in tears, slyly admit that a few moments with the
girls of their hearts would be more to their liking. They would like
fresh foods, but they long for freedom from the lonely pack, and the
congeniality of a land of feminine charms. Our hatred is all heaped
upon one class of men. They are the inventors and manufacturers of
the various kinds of canned and preserved meats. Our general name for
“embalmed beef” is “Kydbolla.” If these meat-packers could be found
anywhere within reach they would become food for the giant petrels very
quickly. In this one sentiment we are all of one accord. Down with
“embalmed beef” and everybody associated with it!
[Illustration: _Belgica_ Mittens.]
[Illustration: Samples of Darnings.]
I must hasten to say that our food is not without variety, its quality
is good, and it is perhaps all that could be desired under the
circumstances; but men in the monotone of polar regions develop flighty
longings. We have for breakfast cereals, such as corn meal, crushed
oats, hominy, good, freshly-baked biscuits, oleomargarine, marmalade,
and coffee. Our supply of sugar is low and the provision of milk is
almost exhausted. It is the sugar and milk which are in greatest
demand. For dinner we have soups of various kinds, canned meats,
preserves, potatoes and macaroni, with a dessert of fruit pudding.
Our supper consists of fish, cheese, and an occasional conglomerate
mixture of macaroni, nulles, pemmican, and tinned meats. There is a
sufficient variety to prevent a dislike for any one article. There are,
however, a few things to which many have developed a sharp animosity.
These are usually the articles with a neutral flavour. The things
hated most violently are kydbolla and fiskabolla; both are Norwegian
concoctions of doubtful stuffs. The kydbolla is said to be a mixture of
ground beef and cream, and the fiskabolla is described as a compound of
fish and cream. We are, however, ungrateful enough to doubt the usual
truthfulness of our Norse friends. The colour and consistency of the
meats and fish balls are such that no suggestion as to the composition
is possible, and thus one idea after another is developed. Some prove
by a plausible argument that they are the refuse of the packing-house,
defibrinated, bleached, ground, and compressed. Others insist that
useless dogs, cats, and what not, have been utilised. All traces by
which one might discover the composition have been removed; even the
odour of the fish has been destroyed in the fish balls.
It is in this spirit that we have begun to eat penguin meat. The
doubtful recommendation which it has received from other explorers has
caused us to shun it; but now, for variety, we would gladly take to
anything; even horse meat would be a relish. For some time a few of us
have insisted upon collecting and saving all the penguins possible,
both for the skins and fresh meat. We have tried the meat several
times, and it seems to improve upon acquaintance. It was amusing to
watch the first trials: little pieces were taken and tasted, and
allowed to settle into the stomach slowly. With a few some time elapsed
before a second trial was attempted. Some never ventured farther, and
others passed their plates for a second and third helping. No one
seemed to eat the penguin steaks with any kind of relish, but somehow
we stored away quite a little stack of it. It is rather difficult to
describe its taste and appearance; we have absolutely no meat with
which to compare it. The penguin, as an animal, seems to be made up
of an equal proportion of mammal, fish, and fowl. If it is possible
to imagine a piece of beef, an odoriferous codfish, and a canvas-back
duck, roasted in a pot, with blood and cod-liver oil for sauce, the
illustration will be complete.
March 22.--The storm continued through the night and subsided this
morning at sunrise, but began again at 3 P.M., and now at 5
P.M. it is blowing a full gale with snow, and a temperature
-1.5° C. (29.3° F.). The effect of the wind and the drift has made
little change upon the pack in general, but the _Belgica_ is being
more and more buried in the accumulating banks. The last wind drove us
south nineteen miles, and west twenty-six miles, and this storm, being
from about the same direction, will undoubtedly drive us still farther
into the frigid unknown.
March 23.--The day dawned under a clear sky with a little wind coming
from the south-east. The temperature is -11.5° C. (11.3° F.). There
is no marked change in the ice except that the hard sharp edges and
projections have been reduced, and the entire pack has assumed a soft,
velvety-like mantle which is due to the enormous quantity of drift-snow
which comes with the strong easterly and north-easterly winds. At about
nine o’clock we saw a mirage, a cream-coloured ridge of ice apparently
raised thirty or forty feet above the general surface of the pack.
After dinner, accompanied by Lecointe, we took a journey on _ski_
for recreation. We chose a course due south and travelled about two
miles. The ice was rough, full of small hummocks and crevasses, and
altogether very difficult for travelling, but it gave us just the hard
physical task which we desired for exercise. At the end of our journey
we found a large lead partly covered with new ice. Its direction
was south-east and its width about fifty feet. It was a beautiful
river-like band of sparkling, blue water which would have afforded the
bark an easy passage homeward or poleward, but there were two miles
of hard unbroken ice between it and this promising highway. To each
side of the lead were a number of small penguins sunning themselves,
arranging and oiling their feathers for a plunge into the waters. In
the lead in several places we saw a few black spots which, upon closer
examination, proved to be groups of penguins coming up from the depths
of the ocean to breathe and to sport on the surface after having had
a full meal of shrimps. On the return some of these penguins followed
us to the ship and were captured by the hunters after considerable
difficulty.
March 24.--There were a few faint, luminous patches of aurora last
night, but the exhibit was so weak that, had it not been in the usual
position of auroras, it would have passed unrecognised. The day is
dull and gloomy. The morning was somewhat bright and cheerful, but the
wind has veered to the north-west, and at three o’clock it increased
to a howling gale with snow and a sky sheeted with lead. The barometer
is falling with a quiver which seems to indicate an increase and
prolongation of the storm. There is much movement in the ice; new
fractures are visible, and from the south to the east there is a
water-sky, probably indicating a large lake of open water. One giant
petrel was the only life seen to-day. A few minutes before six, while
the storm still raged, a strip of the sky in the west brightened, and
over it the sun, brushed by snow-charged winds, sank to her rest. It
is now so dark in the cabin at seven o’clock that we must use a light
during supper.
March 25.--The storm continued all night, but stopped suddenly soon
after sunrise. The morning gave no promise of better weather. The
sky remained low, the atmosphere wet and uncomfortable. After noon a
southerly wind cleared the sky and the air, and sent the thermometer
falling rapidly. The ice is separating, leaving large, open, endless
leads running north-west and south-east; any one of these leads offers
us an excellent passage out of this unearthly sea of ice. There is
one within two hundred yards of the bow, but this might as well be
ten miles off, for we cannot get the vessel to it. We have made some
journeys along these leads, but have seen only one giant and two
snow petrels. The captain’s observation at noon shows that we have
drifted eleven miles northward. We have made a sounding to-day, and are
beginning to prepare the _Belgica_ for her long sleep through the
coming winter darkness.
March 26.--A white day, with a blinding glitter from the ice. An
ice-edge southerly wind is keeping the temperature close to -20° C.
(-4° F.). In our excursions to-day, we found the leads of yesterday
converted into large lakes partly covered by quickly-forming new ice,
which was about an inch thick and covered by a decoration of hoar-frost
in large crystals. In the centre of these lakes there were small pools
of open water, and in these several families of small penguins were
darting like sunbeams through the water to keep from freezing to the
new ice. The shores of these lakes and the broad sheets of ice, which
spread out over the glassy blue water, were covered, decorated, and
bejewelled by a garden-like growth of ice-flowers. In the absence
of budding plants we take very kindly to these crystal shrubs. It
is remarkable how much real pleasure we find in our admiration for
apparently insignificant things. The forms of the hummocks, the figures
of the drift-snow, and the clusters of glittering ice crystals,
displayed everywhere, are a source of never-ceasing entertainment. The
most remarkable of these formations are what we have affectionately
styled ice-flowers. In reality, they are snow crystals, so assembled
as to form clusters, which are arranged in rows on the new ice. These
ice-flowers possess the charm of both jewels and blooming plants. In
form they are flowers, in texture they are gems. They bud, if I may
so express it, with the first sharp breath of winter, casting their
fragile tendrils into a hundred delicate forms wherever a suspicion of
humidity can be hardened with sufficient regularity and force. Upon
porous young ice, adjacent to open water, is the garden spot for these
curious growths. They give the finishing touch of harmony to the rough
outline of the frowning cliffs of ice. They gleam from the miniature
ice mountains. They appear as sparkling flowers upon the black sheets
of young ice, and convert the cold monotony of the pack into a
glistening field of beauty.
March 27.--During the night we had a striking auroral display. It
began shortly after eight as a luminous patch, seemingly a part of an
arc. This brightened and faded, and at nine it disappeared entirely.
A half-hour later a complete arc was visible with a ragged patch of
a second arc under it. At ten o’clock bunches of rays converging
towards a common centre alternately brightened and faded over the
steady luminosity of the arc. This gave the phenomenon an appearance
of movement. At eleven o’clock the aurora was very bright and the sky
under it seemed much darker. Later the fantastic displays settled into
a plain white arc, with a steadily fading glow.
The wind this morning is still light and southerly. The sky has a brisk
wintry look--a quivering high pale blue, lined by a few orange-tinged
and violet alto-stratus clouds near the horizon, which seem to be
placed there for the express purpose of striking a contrast and a
line of division between the azure of the heavens, and the blue of
the surface snows. The ice has separated much northward and westward.
The leads running south-west and north-east have a general breadth
of sixty feet and are mostly covered by a green sheet of new ice.
Nearly everybody is out on _ski_ for recreation to-day. Some are
on hunting excursions, others are visiting icebergs for toboggan and
_ski_ sports, but all are trying to have a royal good time, as
they generally do on Sundays when the weather will permit.
Gerlache, Danco, and I went on a long journey due north to examine the
ice and, if possible, visit a huge tabular iceberg which we estimated
was eight or nine miles away. We found the ice very much crevassed, but
there was everywhere a tendency for the floes to unite and assemble
into a larger conglomerate sheet, which we call a field because from
one edge we cannot see its termination. The snow was hard and fairly
even, making excellent _ski_ travelling except at the pressure
angles where the fields pommelled each other, raising rough uneven
ridges. Most of the leads were covered with new ice sufficiently strong
to bear our weights on _skis_. We saw little life. There were
many penguin tracks on the snow with a general northerly direction,
from which we concluded that the little creatures with good sense had
migrated northward. We saw also some blow-holes of seals, but no life
except a few snow petrels. The whole white world about us was deserted.
The berg was a much greater distance from the ship than we had
estimated, for after we had wandered over the ice six miles the great
wall seemed as far away as ever. We should have continued our journey,
but Danco found himself unable to follow because of “shortness of
breath.” At the limit of our journey, looking north-westerly, we saw a
series of low yellow clouds, and under these a vague, irregular outline
which had the appearance of land.
On our way back we were discussing the matter of raising flags
and the formality of taking possession of newly discovered lands.
The conclusion at which we arrived was, that the first chart of a
new country was quite as good a deed to the title of land, as the
empty formality of pinning a bit of bunting to a temporary post and
drinking to the health of the Royal Ruler, as is the custom of British
explorers. Thus far we have not unfurled a flag, nor have we made any
other effort to take formal possession of the many new lands which we
have discovered, except by our attempts at scientific exploration. This
is in sharp contrast to the British, German and Russian, and all the
ancient explorers whose first act always was to land and say, “This by
the help of God, the consent of the Pope, and the permission of the
King, belongs to us and to our countrymen.” The modesty of the Belgians
is shown by the fact that the staff of the _Belgica_ went ashore
to gather, not financial returns, or titles to unclaimed lands, but
links of truth to add to the disconnected chain which is to bind the
growing annals of terrestrial knowledge.
[Illustration: Whale Blow-hole.]
[Illustration: Seal Blow-hole.]