As we leave the land behind us we are followed by hundreds of kittiwakes, in billowy masses of white and blue, chattering in endless chorus, now sinking as they swoop low on extended wing over the vessel's wake, now rising as they soar lightly in their graceful evolutions up towards the blue sky. Between heavens and seas, the black form of the Jason, labouring and moaning as her engines drive her westward. Behind us the rocky coast of Iceland, a fringe of violet blue, is slowly sinking into the sea. Behind us lie home and life : what lies before us ? We cannot tell, but it must be beautiful. A start on such a night is full of promise. I am sitting alone in the stern of the vessel and gazing out into the night at the gathering clouds, which, still tinged by the sun, are sailing over the horizon to the north-west. Behind them lies Greenland, as yet invisible. All nature is, as it were, sunk in her own dreams, and gently and quietly the mind, too, is drawn back into itself to pursue the train of its own thoughts, which unconsciously borrow a reflection of the colours of the sky. Among all things that are beautiful in life are not such nights most beautiful? And life - is it much more than hope and remembrance? Hope is of the morning, it may be, but on such nights as this do not memories, all the fair memories of bygone days, arise dewy and fresh from the mists of the distant past, and sweep by in a long undulating train, sunlit and alluring, till they dis- appear once more in the melting western glow? And all that is mean, all that is odious, lies behind, sunk in the dark ocean of oblivion. The very next day, June 5, we reached the ice, which this year has come a long way south. The impression which the floe-ice of the Arctic seas makes upon the traveller the first time he sees it is very remarkable. (...) The drifting ice, a huge white glittering expanse stretching as far as the eye can reach, and throwing a white reflection far around upon the air and mist ; the dark sea, often showing black as ink against the white ; and above all this a sky, now gleaming cloudless and pale-blue, now dark and threatening vrith driving scud, or again wrapped in densest fog - now glowing in all the rich poetry of sunrise or sunset colour, or slumbering through the lingering twilight of the summer night. And then in the dark season of the year come those wonderful nights of glittering stars and northern lights playing far and wide above the icy deserts, or when the moon, here most melancholy, wanders on her silent way through scenes of desolation and death. In these regions the heavens count for more than elsewhere ; they give colour and character, while the landscape, simple and unvarying, has no power to draw the eye. Never shall I forget the first time I entered these regions.
[00:06.36]As we leave the land behind us we are followed by hundreds [00:08.88]of kittiwakes, in billowy masses of white and blue, chattering [00:11.98]in endless chorus, now sinking as they swoop low on extended [00:15.69]wing over the vessel's wake, now rising as they soar lightly in [00:19.41]their graceful evolutions up towards the blue sky. [00:22.87]Between heavens and seas, the black form of the Jason, labouring and moaning [00:26.90]as her engines drive her westward. Behind us the rocky coast [00:30.21]of Iceland, a fringe of violet blue, is slowly sinking into the [00:33.33]sea. Behind us lie home and life : what lies before us ? We [00:37.84]cannot tell, but it must be beautiful. A start on such a night [00:42.08]is full of promise. [00:44.35]I am sitting alone in the stern of the vessel and gazing out [00:47.93]into the night at the gathering clouds, which, still tinged by [00:51.28]the sun, are sailing over the horizon to the north-west. Behind [00:54.75]them lies Greenland, as yet invisible. [00:58.06]All nature is, as it were, sunk in her own dreams, and [01:01.11]gently and quietly the mind, too, is drawn back into itself [01:04.33]to pursue the train of its own thoughts, which unconsciously [01:07.34]borrow a reflection of the colours of the sky. [01:10.64]Among all things that are beautiful in life are not such [01:14.04]nights most beautiful? [01:15.26]And life - is it much more than hope and remembrance? [01:18.61]Hope is of the morning, it may be, but on such nights as this [01:20.47]do not memories, all the fair memories of bygone days, arise [01:24.42]dewy and fresh from the mists of the distant past, and sweep [01:28.07]by in a long undulating train, sunlit and alluring, till they dis- [01:31.81]appear once more in the melting western glow? And all [01:35.52]that is mean, all that is odious, lies behind, sunk in the dark [01:38.78]ocean of oblivion. [01:41.10]The very next day, June 5, we reached the ice, which this [01:44.57]year has come a long way south. [01:48.06]The impression which the floe-ice of the Arctic seas makes [01:49.40]upon the traveller the first time he sees it is very remarkable. (...) [01:52.91]The drifting ice, a huge white glittering expanse stretching as far as the eye can reach, and throwing a white reflection [01:58.88]far around upon the air and mist ; the dark sea, often showing [02:03.25]black as ink against the white ; and above all this a sky, now [02:06.71]gleaming cloudless and pale-blue, now dark and threatening [02:10.20]vrith driving scud, or again wrapped in densest fog - now [02:14.10]glowing in all the rich poetry of sunrise or sunset colour, [02:17.68]or slumbering through the lingering twilight of the summer [02:20.18]night. And then in the dark season of the year come those [02:23.69]wonderful nights of glittering stars and northern lights playing [02:26.75]far and wide above the icy deserts, or when the moon, here [02:30.35]most melancholy, wanders on her silent way through scenes [02:34.00]of desolation and death. In these regions the heavens count [02:37.44]for more than elsewhere ; they give colour and character, [02:41.34]while the landscape, simple and unvarying, has no power to [02:44.25]draw the eye. [02:45.83]Never shall I forget the first time I entered these regions.
