Through the first Antarctic night, 1898-1899 : $b a narrative of the voyage of the "Belgica" among newly discovered lands and over an unknown sea about the south poleCook, Frederick Albert
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Through the first Antarctic night, 1898-1899 : $b a narrative of the voyage of the "Belgica" among newly discovered lands and over an unknown sea about the south pole
Cook, Frederick Albert
Antarctica; Antarctica -- Discovery and exploration -- Belgian; Belgica (Ship); Voyages and travels
I have heard of a deaf man who once said that life was of value to
him only because of “reading, eating, drinking, and the prospect of
death.” This sentiment in a modified form would, I am certain, be the
confession of many, if not most, of our party, during every stormy
period. The modification is, perhaps, only in the last word, and this
we would change to “the prospect of an early return to the inner world
and to renewed social conditions.” The storms are so numerous and close
that a tempest is nearly always on the horizon. If it is not so, as
was the case a week ago, the air about the _Belgica_ rings with
happy voices and musical sounds. But there is always something to make
hilarity short-lived. If it is not the weather it is a frozen batch
of skins, a garment hopelessly torn which needs mending, a watch to
repair, a boot to mend, a camera to alter, or any one of a thousand
discomforts and distractions about the ship which send the soul to the
verge of desperation. To-night I have stockings to darn, to-morrow
pantaloons to mend, and all of next week carpenter-work, mending and
making sledges, sewing sails, dressing skins, and taking photos in a
temperature -22° C.--all of this is far from pleasant, but it contains
a lesson. It teaches us how much of the drudgery of life is done
uncomplainingly by mothers, sisters, wives, and other members of the
family circle. It makes us feel the importance of feminine existence,
causes us to see the ups and downs, the ponds and eddies, the rapids
and cataracts of the humdrum side of life which man ordinarily escapes.
November 16.--The winter night, with its death-dealing blackness,
has passed; the spring, with its awful storms and gray monotony has
followed, and the summer, with its continuous noonday splendour,
commences to-day. At least it ought to, if our estimated position is
correct. We have, however, had no observations in a week, and are not,
in consequence, able to fix our exact position, and the persistent
cloudiness of the sky is such that we cannot determine whether the sun
is above or below the horizon at midnight.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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