In essence, it was precisely March 20. Tomorrow, the 21st, was the day of the equinox; the sun would disappear below the horizon for six months not counting refraction, and after its disappearance the long polar night would begin. Following the September equinox, the sun had emerged above the northerly horizon, rising in long spirals until December 21. At that time, the summer solstice of these southernmost districts, the sun had started back down, and tomorrow it would cast its last rays. I shared my thoughts and fears with Captain Nemo. “You’re right, Professor Aronnax,” he told me. “If I can’t take the sun’s altitude tomorrow, I won’t be able to try again for another six months. But precisely because sailors’ luck has led me into these seas on March 21, it will be easy to get our bearings if the noonday sun does appear before our eyes.” “Why easy, captain?” “Because when the orb of day sweeps in such long spirals, it’s difficult to measure its exact altitude above the horizon, and our instruments are open to committing serious errors.” “Then what can you do?” “I use only my chronometer,” Captain Nemo answered me. “At noon tomorrow, March 21, if, after accounting for refraction, the sun’s disk is cut exactly in half by the northern horizon, that will mean I’m at the South Pole.” “Right,” I said. “Nevertheless, it isn’t mathematically exact proof, because the equinox needn’t fall precisely at noon.” “No doubt, sir, but the error will be under 100 meters, and that’s close enough for us. Until tomorrow then.” Captain Nemo went back on board. Conseil and I stayed behind until five o’clock, surveying the beach, observing and studying. The only unusual object I picked up was an auk’s egg of remarkable size, for which a collector would have paid more than 1,000 francs. Its cream-colored tint, plus the streaks and markings that decorated it like so many hieroglyphics, made it a rare trinket. I placed it in Conseil’s hands, and holding it like precious porcelain from China, that cautious, sure-footed lad got it back to the Nautilus in one piece. There I put this rare egg inside one of the glass cases in the museum. I ate supper, feasting with appetite on an excellent piece of seal liver whose flavor reminded me of pork. Then I went to bed; but not without praying, like a good Hindu, for the favors of the radiant orb. The next day, March 21, bright and early at five o’clock in the morning, I climbed onto the platform. I found Captain Nemo there. “The weather is clearing a bit,” he told me. “I have high hopes. After breakfast we’ll make our way ashore and choose an observation post.”