God help us, I say again!
September 14th.--Sunday, and a day of rest. My fears have
been confirmed, and the thin strip of blue water has disappeared
from the southward. Nothing but the great motionless ice fields
around us, with their weird hummocks and fantastic pinnacles.
There is a deathly silence over their wide expanse which is
horrible. No lapping of the waves now, no cries of seagulls or
straining of sails, but one deep universal silence in which the
murmurs of the seamen, and the creak of their boots upon the white
shining deck, seem discordant and out of place. Our only visitor
was an Arctic fox, a rare animal upon the pack, though common
enough upon the land. He did not come near the ship, however, but
after surveying us from a distance fled rapidly across the ice.
This was curious conduct, as they generally know nothing of man,
and being of an inquisitive nature, become so familiar that they
are easily captured. Incredible as it may seem, even this little
incident produced a bad effect upon the crew. "Yon puir beastie
kens mair, ay, an' sees mair nor you nor me!" was the comment of
one of the leading harpooners, and the others nodded their
acquiescence. It is vain to attempt to argue against such puerile
superstition. They have made up their minds that there is a curse
upon the ship, and nothing will ever persuade them to the contrary.
The Captain remained in seclusion all day except for about half an
hour in the afternoon, when he came out upon the quarterdeck.
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