The sunset is again superbly beautiful to-night. All day we have remained firmly held by the ice. The sky has been of a pale, wintry blue with alto-stratus and fracto-stratus clouds of a leaden and steel-gray colour. In the north-west and the north-east there is a water-sky, but the hopeless ice-blink is in every other direction. A dazzling whiteness has made the pack glitter to such an extent that it has become painful to walk about without smoked glasses, but to-night there is a restful lilac over the white glitter, which is a charming relief from the intense brilliancy of the day. As the sun descended into the invisible mist of ice-crystals, which always hangs over the pack, it poured out a wealth of golden light over the clouds and onto the pack. For a very brief period the clouds had the appearance of streams of hot metal, and the projecting snows were aglow like mounds of fire. As the sun sank from view a great bunch of cumulus clouds, in the south, suddenly lit up with a brilliant rose light. The yellow then vanished and the rose was thrown on the snows. The rose later faded into the purple of twilight, which for several hours gave a steady glow of lilac to the pack. [Illustration: The Sailor’s Recreation.] [Illustration: Bow of the _Belgica_ After a Collision with an Iceberg.] We did not retire until late to-night. There is something about our present position which suggests many premonitions. For forty-five hours we have not consciously moved, and the ice holds us with a grip which promises us no relief for forty-five weeks. There is a cheer and a new joy in the curious colour effect of the coming night, and this is about the only encouragement in our present prospects. We have persistently tried, to-day and to-night, to steam northward and southward, and eastward and westward, but the _Belgica_ refuses to mind the helm, while the ice disputes our right of way. The fact is forced more and more upon us that we are fixed for the winter, and destined to pass through the first long antarctic night. Gerlache has all along manifested an inclination for wintering in the pack, but every officer has been so much opposed to this that the Commandant did not openly betray his disposition. To-night Gerlache is sounding the sentiments of all hands, upon their willingness to winter in the ice. Everybody is opposed to it, but if it must be, they are inclined to submit gracefully to the unquestionable fate.