212 A YEAR WITH A WHALER 



It was not quite bright enough to read by — 

 but almost — and it threw sharp, black shadows 

 on the deck. Gradually the arch would fade, to 

 be succeeded by others that spanned the heavens 

 from other angles. Often several arches and 

 segments were in the sky at the same time. 

 Sometimes, though rarely, the aurora assumed 

 the form of a curtain hanging vertically along 

 the horizon and shimmered as though agitated 

 by a strong wind. 



I was pleasantly surprised by the tempera- 

 tures encountered in the Arctic. We were in 

 the polar ocean until early in October, but the 

 lowest temperature recorded by the brig's ther- 

 mometer was 10 degrees below zero. Such a 

 temperature seems colder on sea than on land. 

 Greater dampness has something to do with it, 

 but imagination probably plays its part. There 

 is something in the very look of a winter sea, 

 yeasty under the north wind and filled with 

 snowy floes and icebergs, that seems to congeal 

 the marrow in one's bones. In the cold snaps, 

 when a big wave curled over the bows, I have 

 seen it break and strike upon the deck in the 



