February 20, 8 a.m.--We have steamed south by east, since midnight, through a sea free of drift-ice, but icebergs are in great numbers on all sides. Over the port gunwale, about two miles off, there is still the white line indicating the edge of the main body of the pack. There is a little swell, but the sea has a gray and cold aspect. There is almost no wind stirring the glassy air. The temperature has fallen to -2° C. (28.4° F.). The sky above us is smoky, with leaden streaks here and there. To the south a narrow strip of horizon is clear, and above this there are a few divisions with ragged silvery edges, beyond which is the gladdening blue of the unscreened heavens, which is so rare here. Nearly everywhere on the horizon to the south there is reflected the glitter of the ice-blink. The narrow sooty bands, however, which interrupt this blink, indicate that the ice is separated by open lanes of water. We shall try these lanes, so nicely mapped on the sky, for our benefit, and as our bowsprit is laid for one due south, we again stir our hopes and discouraged spirits to fresh ambitions of further discoveries. “Shall we succeed, or will the ice seize us with a final and relentless embrace?” A fog soon fell over the scene, but we continued our renewed efforts to push poleward with increasing vigour. At ten o’clock we reached a point where the main body of the pack again refused us a path. The _Belgica_, however, will not be discouraged. She ploughs on between the heavy masses of ice, to some open lakes beyond, where she seems to gain fresh courage, and then rushes upon the offending fields with a spirit of animation altogether in keeping with that of her directors. There are about us great numbers of white and gray petrels seeming to urge us on. The fog rises and falls offering a peep, now and then, into the white world to which we are so anxious to force our way. Most of the men are standing about on the decks, offering words of encouragement to the bark as she batters and breaks the offending floes which hinder her passage. A few men, sitting on the anchor chains, have premonitions of impending danger and discuss the prospects of an antarctic winter, and the incidents of starving and freezing, cast adrift on the ice. While thus making our way energetically, and with our hopes raised to the highest pitch of anticipation, some mystic force brought the ice together, and early in the afternoon we found ourselves again beset--powerless either to advance or retreat.