LOW TEMPERATURE. told the story. As it hung against the snow wall I called Jensen's attention to it. The top of the delicate red streak of alcohol stood at 31° below zero.
We crawled out in the open air at last, to try the sunshine. "I will give you the best buffalo-skin in the ship, Jensen, if the air outside is not warmer than in that den which you have left so full of holes." And it really seemed so. Human eye never lit upon a more pure and glowing morning. The sunlight was sparkling all over the landscape and the great world of whiteness; and the frozen plain, the hummocks, the icebergs, and the tall mountains, made a picture inviting to the eye. Not a breath of air was stirring. Jensen gave in without a murmur. "Well, the hut must have been full of holes, after all; but I'll fix it next time."
I brought out the thermometer and set it up in the shadow of an iceberg near by. I really expected to see it rise; but no, down sank the little red column, down, down, almost to the very bulb, and it never stopped until it had touched 68-1/2° below zero,—100-1/2° below the freezing point of water.[1]
I do not recall but two instances of equally low temperature having been previously recorded, one of which, by Niveroff, at Yakoutsk, in Siberia, was -72° of the Fahrenheit scale. I am not, however, aware that any traveler has ever noted so low a temperature while in the field.
It struck me as a singular circumstance that this great depression of temperature was not perceptible to the senses, which utterly failed to give us even so much as a hint that here in this blazing sunlight we
- ↑ It is worthy of observation that the lowest temperature recorded at Port Foulke, during my absence, was 27° below zero.
