The dark rocks in
the white snow were a pleasant sight. So long had our eyes looked on
icebergs that apparently grew or dwindled according to the angles at
which the shadows were cast by the sun; so often had we discovered
rocky islands and brought in sight the peaks of Joinville Land, only to
find them, after some change of wind or temperature, floating away as
nebulous cloud or ordinary berg; that not until Worsley, Wild, and
Hurley had unanimously confirmed my observation was I satisfied that I
was really looking at Clarence Island. The land was still more than
sixty miles away, but it had to our eyes something of the appearance of
home, since we expected to find there our first solid footing after all
the long months of drifting on the unstable ice. We had adjusted
ourselves to the life on the floe, but our hopes had been fixed all the
time on some possible landing-place. As one hope failed to
materialize, our anticipations fed themselves on another. Our drifting
home had no rudder to guide it, no sail to give it speed. We were
dependent upon the caprice of wind and current; we went whither those
irresponsible forces listed. The longing to feel solid earth under our
feet filled our hearts.
In the full daylight Clarence Island ceased to look like land and had
the appearance of a berg of more than eight or ten miles away, so
deceptive are distances in the clear air of the Antarctic.
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