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appeared almost denuded of ice and snow, with glittering glaciers of purest creams and turquoise blue winding their way to the sea. It was a reminder of Greenland. January 15. Soon we were plowing the treacherous waters of the Erebus and Terror Gulf (well named) of Ross, gruesome in spirit, notwithstanding a clear, sunlit day. At 3 P.M. we were within a mile of Paulet Island. This island was discovered by Sir James Clark Ross on December 30, 1842. It is volcanic, with an extinct crater, and must have changed measurably since Ross saw it, for the rocks are only 200 feet in height, while he says that they seem 750 feet, and from the distance to "rise so abruptly as to render it quite inaccessible." Nevertheless, two boatloads of sailors put off to the island for seals, and we rowed between huge iceblocks, threading the way without much difficulty, and hauled up the boat upon a large level beach of rounded stones of a grayish-blue color.

Immediately the air was filled with the strange cries of millions of penguins that covered the shore and hillsides up to their summits.

Each one of us went about his special work, and our meteorologist proceeded to take some magnetic observations. Brownish-gray albatrosses flew and strutted about regardless of the newcomers. There were also beautiful white pigeons, gray and white gulls, and black-headed shags. But the penguins were a perfect wonder. Upon this densely populated island we heard everywhere the queer voices of these creatures as they scolded and growled, disputing our passage, with the body swelled and the feathers at the back of the head raised in anger. In the deep-blue water countless penguins disported, rising and diving in porpoise-fashion with incredible swiftness. The roar of the surf, the distant thunder of huge ice-masses breaking from glaciers, glistening in the brilliant, crisp sunlight, in delicate alabaster, turquoise, and cobalt blue, and the blowing sound of huge finback whales, added charm to a scene of wondrous beauty and weirdness.

A few rods inland there was a goodsized pond the shores of which were seamed with well-trodden paths which wound up the sides of the hills. Along these paths or roads long lines of sober penguins waddled, hopped, and sprawled, in their

black-backed, white-breasted coats, their little wings extended, resembling ill-made flowing sleeves to a swallow-tailed coat. Solemn swallow-tailed guards were posted upon rocks and lumps of ice, and there seemed to be a well-organized system of government. The skua-gulls are their enemies, robbing the nests of eggs and young. Family groups, when invaded by a penguin from another group, set upon the invader and either send him about his business or kill him. As it was late in the season, the young were almost as large as their parents, and covered with a soft, mauve-colored down. They stood helpless, close to their mothers, while the fathers protested at our presence. The nests were formed of a ring of stones, which the males pilfered, each for his own particular family. The whole island was redolent of guano of a pink color; the odor was almost nauseating.

When we embarked it was about 8:30 P.M. We sped toward the ship, that, toy-like, lay several miles distant, a little black atom in this great space of azure and lilac-pink and gold. Again on deck, I repaired to the cabin and groped in its darkness for a match, and lighting a candle, found the sketch-box. Then hurrying above, I climbed upon the poop-deck over empty barrels, rusty chains, and various debris, and placing the box on a coil of rope, finished a sketch in about twenty minutes, when the welcome call of spieza from our palefaced steward brought me back to practical things. We had no fire for heating purposes in the cabins other than that furnished by a lamp in the gun-room, and everything was very damp.

We moved through gloomy weather over Erebus and Terror Gulf, toward Cape Seymour, a tawny-colored island entirely free from ice and snow, but full of penguins. After delays from fog and ice we landed and left a record-cairn. At 11 A.M., January 18, we were in sight of King Oscar II Land, with Mount Jason towering high into the clouds, covered with the everlasting snow, in lilac-turquoisegray. It was some thirty miles away, over a vast level sheet of ice-floe. Overhead the sky was a soft blackish blue, deepening into a band of mellow gray gendarme-blue.

We had reached the Antarctic Circle. A cry from one of the sailors drew our attention to a strange upright object standing motionless upon the sea-ice. It resembled an

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AN ANTARCTIC SUNSET, ADMIRALTY INLET, JOINVILLE LAND, FEBRUARY 13, 1902, ABOUT 7 P.M.

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