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)
History
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)
Greenland had been for some time regarded by my companions as a sort
of myth; for, although frequently only a few miles from its coast, so
thick and constant had been the clouds and fogs, that, except for a few
brief minutes, it had been wholly hidden from our view. Here, however,
it was at last, shaking off its cloud mantle, and standing squarely
out before us in austere magnificence,--its broad valleys, its deep
ravines, its noble mountains, its black, beetling cliffs, its frowning
desolation.
[Sidenote: AMONG THE ICEBERGS.]
As the fog lifted and rolled itself up like a scroll over the sea to
the westward, iceberg after iceberg burst into view, like castles in a
fairy tale. It seemed, indeed, as if we had been drawn by some unseen
hand into a land of enchantment, rather than that we had come of our
own free will into a region of stern realities, in pursuit of stern
purposes;--as if the elves of the North had, in sportive playfulness,
thrown a veil about our eyes, and enticed us to the very "seat eternal
of the gods." Here was the Valhalla of the sturdy Vikings; here the
city of the sun-god Freyer,--Alfheim, with its elfin caves,--and
Glitner, with its walls of gold and roofs of silver, and Gimle, more
brilliant than the sun,--the home of the happy; and there, piercing the
clouds, was Himinborg, the Celestial Mount, where the bridge of the
gods touches Heaven.
It would be difficult to imagine a scene more solemnly impressive than
that which was disclosed to us by the sudden change in the clouded
atmosphere. From my diary I copy the following brief description of
it:--
"Midnight.--I have just come below, lost in the wondrous beauty of
the night. The sea is smooth as glass; not a ripple breaks its dead
surface, not a breath of air stirring. The sun hangs close upon
the northern horizon; the fog has broken up into light clouds; the
icebergs lie thick about us; the dark headlands stand boldly out
against the sky; and the clouds and sea and bergs and mountains
are bathed in an atmosphere of crimson and gold and purple most
singularly beautiful."
[Sidenote: BEAUTY OF THE ICEBERGS.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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