THE JOURNAL OF M. J. DUMONT-D’URVILLE. 463 
Feb. 7.—The next day the weather was cloudy ; soon we felt a slight 
gust from the north-west, and a fine rain fell, mingled with snow, which 
melted on reaching the deck. 
At 9 pm. we were all summoned to the deck by one of those 
magnificent sights so common in high northern latitudes: I allude to 
the aurora, the luminous rays of which suddenly light up the sky during 
the long winter nights. In the evening the sky had cleared, but all the 
horizon had remained enveloped in a band of fog, which hid ali stars 
except those near the zenith. Shortly afterwards the east wind, which 
had been blowing strongly all day, bringing up much rain, suddenly 
dropped, and at the same time the sky was lighted up by a new light 
like that of the moon, and variable in intensity. Pencil rays, broad 
below, thinning off above, seemed to converge to the same point, about 
five or six degrees north of our zenith. AJl these rays, developed en 
tiroir, one above the other, seemed to preserve a great mobility; their 
base did not rest on the horizon, and the bank of fog I have mentioned 
prevented us also from following them down to the level of the sea. At 
10 p.m. these luminous rays formed a perfectly spherical cap; at this 
moment the spectacle was at its best, but this did not last long, and the 
rays were only partially visible, embracing a more or less broad space, 
but never again forming a complete cap. It was above all in the south-' 
east and north-west that it was most brilliant. We noticed no sudden 
variation in the needles of our compasses. M. Dumoulin tried in vain to 
make some magnetic experiments. The sea was very rough; the ship, 
not being steadied by the wind, kept turning about, and the rolling did 
not allow any observations to be made. 
Feb. 9.—During the two following nights part of the sky was lighted 
by similar auroras, but the phenomenon was never so striking as on the 
night of the 7th. Afterwards the wind veered to W.N.W., and we saw 
no more of it. 
On the 17th we reached the entrance of the Bay of Tempests, and 
that day we again dropped anchor in the roads of Hobart Town. We 
had already enquired of the pilot concerning the condition of the sick 
men we had left on land; he said he had heard that several of them 
were dead, but he could give us no further details, which made us very 
anxious. We were, therefore, impatient to see one of our own men, to 
learn positively how many more victims we had to deplore. However, 
soon, M. Hombron, who had recognised our ships, hastened on board; he 
informed me that during our absence three men had succumbed. The 
Astrolabe had to mourn one named Bernard, a young and interesting 
sailor, of gentle and polite manners, in the highest degree zealous and 
devoted. I was not unprepared for this loss, for at the moment of out 
departure this unfortunate man had been seized by dropsy supervening 
on dysentry, and was almost beyond hope. More unfortunate still, the 
Zélée had lost a good sailor named Beaudoin, and her master carpenter, 
