THE JOURNAL OF M. J, DUMONT-D’URVILLE. 455 
on the 23rd in the middle of the basin where we had just run such 
great danger, had almost entirely disappeared; the ice-pack itself 
seemed to have receded under the violence of the wind. The obser- 
vations which were taken later on one of the largest icebergs showed 
us that in truth the northern part of the pack had moved nearly three 
miles to the west. Jt was even possible that the iceberg which served 
us as a point of observation had been forced back westwards, and thus 
the entire pack could have shared in this motion without our being 
able to discover it. As soon as the calm returned, each of us, uneasy 
as to the fate of the Zélée, hastened to search the horizon, but in vain. 
Her position caused me grave fears: in spite of the fury of the squalls, 
in spite of the thickness of the snow, she had kept up in our wake 
at three or four cables’ length; but when I signalled to her freedom 
of action, I had been told that she was clewing up her main topsail. 
Now, in such a position, damage alone could have compelled Captain 
Jacquinot to lessen sail; I had, therefore, every reason to fear that the 
corvette, not being able to carry her canvas, had drifted rapidly on to 
the iceberg, where she would certainly have foundered; and in that 
case it would be indeed fortunate if, even at the risk of disaster to 
ourselves, we could have rescued our unfortunate comrades from so 
terrible a shipwreck. During the evening the fears which tormented 
us concerning the fate of our consort were slightly allayed: after five 
o'clock the man on watch thought he caught a glimpse of her six 
or seven miles to leeward. It was not till six o’clock, as we were 
making a long tack towards the land, that we suddenly recognised 
quite clearly our faithful companion, with all sail set in order to reach 
us. She had fallen about seven or eight miles to leeward, had seen 
us and crowded on canvas to beat up to us. At once I bore down gently 
upon her, and two hours later the two corvettes were sailing quietly 
side by side, as though nothing had happened. At this moment my 
heart was relieved of a great weight, for all the satisfaction I had felt 
in the discovery of Adélie Land would have been poisoned for me by 
the loss of the Zélée, if such a catastrophe should have ended her career, 
or even if it had been necessary to abandon her in these gloomy lati- 
tudes. In the evening the sea became once more very beautiful ; a gentle 
south-west breeze rose, and a hope sprang up in my mind of being able 
to sail along ‘the coast eastwards, after having been so abruptly stopped 
to the west. 
Jan. 26.—The whole of the 26th was therefore spent in beating up 
to the land, from which we were at night only three or four leagues 
distant; we were obliged at the same time to repair the damage caused 
by the last gale. I had not been able to communicate with the Zélée, 
but it was evident that she had suffered considerable damage to her sails 
during the bad weather, for her crew were employed all day in bending 
new sails to the yards. 
