But Bennett had more on his mind that morning than mock-moons and auroras.  To the south and east, about a quarter of a mile from the tent, the pressure of the floes had thrown up an enormous ridge of shattered ice-cakes, a mound, a long hill of blue-green slabs and blocks huddling together at every conceivable angle.  It was nearly twenty feet in height, quite the highest point that Bennett could discover.  Scrambling and climbing over countless other ridges that intervened, he made his way to it, ascended it almost on hands and knees, and, standing upon its highest point, looked long and carefully to the southward.

A wilderness beyond all thought, words, or imagination desolate stretched out before him there forever and forever—­ice, ice, ice, fields and floes of ice, laying themselves out under that gloomy sky, league after league, endless, sombre, infinitely vast, infinitely formidable.  But now it was no longer the smooth ice over which the expedition had for so long been travelling.  In every direction, intersecting one another at ten thousand points, crossing and recrossing, weaving a gigantic, bewildering network of gashed, jagged, splintered ice-blocks, ran the pressure-ridges and hummocks.  In places a score or more of these ridges had been wedged together to form one huge field of broken slabs of ice miles in width, miles in length.  From horizon to horizon there was no level place, no open water, no pathway.  The view to the southward resembled a tempest-tossed ocean suddenly frozen.

One of these ridges Bennett had just climbed, and upon it he now stood.  Even for him, unencumbered, carrying no weight, the climb had been difficult; more than once he had slipped and fallen.  At times he had been obliged to go forward almost on his hands and knees.  And yet it was across that jungle of ice, that unspeakable tangle of blue-green slabs and cakes and blocks, that the expedition must now advance, dragging its boats, its sledges, its provisions, instruments, and baggage.

Bennett stood looking.  Before him lay his task.  There under his eyes was the Enemy.  Face to face with him was the titanic primal strength of a chaotic world, the stupendous still force of a merciless nature, waiting calmly, waiting silently to close upon and crush him.  For a long time he stood watching.  Then the great brutal jaw grew more salient than ever, the teeth set and clenched behind the close-gripped lips, the cast in the small twinkling eyes grew suddenly more pronounced.  One huge fist raised, and the arm slowly extended forward like the resistless moving of a piston.  Then when his arm was at its full reach Bennett spoke as though in answer to the voiceless, terrible challenge of the Ice.  Through his clenched teeth his words came slow and measured.

“But I’ll break you, by God! believe me, I will.”

After a while he returned to the tent, awoke the cook, and while breakfast was being prepared completed his calculations for latitude, wrote up his ice-journal, and noted down the temperature and the direction and velocity of the wind.  As he was finishing, Richard Ferriss, who was the chief engineer and second in command, awoke and immediately asked the latitude.