Page 131 of 159 CHAPTER XXI. AMID THE MISTS. - An Antarctic Mystery

I asked Captain Len Guy what he thought of the presence of these birds.

“I think what you think, Mr. Jeorling,” he replied. “Since we have been drifting, none of them have taken refuge on the iceberg, and here they are now in crowds, if we may judge by their deafening cries. From whence do they come? No doubt from land, which is probably near.”

“Is this West’s opinion ?”

“Yes, Mr. Jeorling, and you know he is not given to vain imaginations.”

“Certainly not.”

“And then another thing has struck both him and me, which has apparently escaped your attention. It is that the braying of the penguins is mingled with a sound like the lowing of cattle. Listen and you will readily distinguish it.”

I listened, and, sure enough, the orchestra was more full than I had supposed.

“I hear the lowing plainly,” I said; “there are, then, seals and walrus also in the sea at the base.”

“That is certain, Mr. Jeorling, and I conclude from the fact that those animals—both birds and mammals—very rare since we left Tsalal Island, frequent the waters into which the currents have carried us.”

“Of course, captain, of course. Oh! what a misfortune it is that we should be surrounded by this impenetrable fog!”

“Which prevents us from even getting down to the base of the iceberg! There, no doubt, we should discover whether there are seaweed drifts around us; if that be so, it would be another sign.”

“Why not try, captain ?”

“No, no, Mr. Jeorling, that might lead to falls, and I will not permit anybody to leave the camp. If land be there, I imagine our iceberg will strike it before long.”

“And if it does not ?”

If it does not, how are we to make it?”

I thought to myself that the boat might very well be used in the latter case. But Captain Len Guy preferred to wait, and perhaps this was the wiser course under our circumstances.

At eight o’clock that evening the half-condensed mist was so compact that it was difficult to walk through it. The composition of the air seemed to be changed, as though it were passing into a solid state. It was not possible to discern whether the fog had any effect upon the compass. I knew the matter had been studied by meteorologists, and that they believe they may safely affirm that the needle is not affected by this condition of the atmosphere. I will add here that since we had left the South Pole behind no confidence could be placed in the indications of the compass; it had gone wild at the approach to the magnetic pole, to which we were no doubt on the way. Nothing could be known, therefore, concerning the course of the iceberg.

The sun did not set quite below the horizon at this period, yet the waters were wrapped in tolerably deep darkness at nine o’clock in the evening, when the muster of the crew took place.

On this occasion each man as usual answered to his name except Dirk Peters.

		We are citizens of the world. The tragedy of our times is that we do not know this. Thomas Wilson Woodrow