The Open Polar Sea: A narrative of a voyage of discovery towards the North pole, in the schooner "United States"Hayes, I. I. (Isaac Israel)
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The Open Polar Sea: A narrative of a voyage of discovery towards the North pole, in the schooner "United States"
Hayes, I. I. (Isaac Israel)
Arctic regions; United States (Schooner)
_Saxifraga tricuspidata._
]
June 25th.
[Sidenote: SUMMER SHOWERS.]
A rainy day for a novelty. Nearly an inch of water has fallen already,
and it still continues to patter upon the deck. I was out completing
my geological collections when the shower began, and not only got
thoroughly soaked, but had like to have got killed into the bargain;
for, in attempting to cross a small glacier which lay on the side of
a hill, my feet flew up in consequence of the water making it more
slippery, and I slid down over the ice and the stones which stuck up
through it, and was finally landed among the rocks below with many
bruises and not much clothing.
The thermometer has stood at 48°, and the continuance of the warmth
since the 20th, together with this "gentle rain from heaven," is
telling upon the ice. It is getting very rotten, and the sea is eating
into it rapidly. The "hinge" of the ice-foot is tumbling to pieces, and
we have trouble in getting ashore.
June 26th.
[Sidenote: A SUMMER STORM.]
Our summer shower has changed its complexion, and the "gentle rain"
is converted into hail and snow, quite as unseasonable as it is
disagreeable. The white snow with which a fierce wind has bespattered
the cliffs gives a very un-June-like aspect to the prospect from the
deck. The wind is southerly, and the waves, coming into the bay with no
other resistance than that given by a few icebergs, begin to shake the
ice about the schooner, and we can see the pulsations of the seas in
the old fire-hole. I should not much relish seeing the ice crumbling to
pieces about us in the midst of such a storm.
June 27th.
The storm continues,--occasional rain, mixed up with a great deal of
hail. The scene from the deck, to seaward, was so wild that I was
tempted to the nearest island, (the only one of the three not in open
water,) to get a better view of it. I had much trouble facing the wind,
and was nearly blown into the sea, and the hail cut the face terribly.
The little flowers, which had been seduced by the warm sun of last week
into unveiling their modest faces, seemed shrinking and dejected.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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