Sea of Glory

with the atmosphere. Much in the same way that a neon light operates, bombarded molecules of oxygen and nitrogen in the vicinity of the poles emit light. Each gas has its own specific color, and the aurora’s pattern depends, in large part, on where in the atmosphere the collisions occur. Wilkes claimed that the best way to observe this spectacular display was to lie flat on the ship’s deck; he left no report of what his dog Sydney thought of his master’s unusual behavior.
    For the next four days, they cruised along the icy barrier. Indications of land were now frequent and clear to all, and taking the geographer’s prerogative, Wilkes named the more prominent features of what lay to the south for some of his less offensive officers: Totten’s High Land and the Budd and Knox Coasts. Wilkes’s spirits were so high that he was moved to invite the officers into his cabin to share a bottle of champagne in celebration of their discovery. Not in attendance were those who, in Wilkes’s words, “had expressed themselves as disappointed at the result[,] saying I was ‘too d——n lucky a fellow’ to have this good fortune.”
    On February 14, Wilkes thought he had a sure chance of finally penetrating the barrier, but just seven miles from the coast they were stopped at the head of what Wilkes dubbed Vincennes Bay. It was a beautiful day, and the incredible clarity of the Antarctic atmosphere, which is virtually devoid of humidity and dust, enabled them to see more than seventy-five miles of coastline.
    Wilkes decided to spend a portion of the day performing magnetic observations on a suitable ice island. In addition, the ice might provide some much-needed water. After a brief search, they found an iceberg that was, according to Wilkes’s onetime nemesis, Charlie Erskine, “three times larger than the Boston Common.”
    Charlie had come a long way since the vision of his blessed mother prevented him from dropping a belaying pin on Wilkes’s head. While Reynolds and so many of the squadron’s officers continued to harbor an almost obsessive hatred for their commander, Charlie had moved on. In Rio de Janeiro, he decided to learn how to read and write. He asked an older sailor to write down the word “mother” on a piece of paper. “I went to work copying,” he remembered, “and covered many fathoms of paper with that precious name.” By the time the squadron had reached Sydney, he had made much progress. In addition to “mother,” he had learned other words and phrases: “home,” “sisters,” “brothers,” “Roxbury,” “Boston,” and “Hurrah for Jackson, all nations!”
    That afternoon on an iceberg in the Antarctic proved to be a highlight of the cruise for Charlie. “We had a jolly time . . . ,” he remembered, “sliding and snowballing one another, and playing with the penguins and seals. As we had not got our ‘shore legs’ on we received many a fall on the ice, which, we found, was very hard and flinty, and caused us to see a great many stars.” It was apparent to Charlie that the iceberg had once been aground and then turned over. It was the only way to explain all the rocks and boulders imbedded in its surface. He and his friends collected as many of the stones and pebbles as they could find. “These specimens from the Antarctic Continent were in great demand during the remainder of the cruise,” he reported. In the center of the iceberg, beneath a ten-inch-thick skim of ice, they found a three-foot-deep pond of freshwater that was judged to cover at least an acre. Filling large leather bags, they quickly collected five hundred gallons of water.
    As Charlie and the other sailors enjoyed themselves, Wilkes and his dog, Sydney, retreated to a corner of the iceberg, where Wilkes set to work on another drawing. It is a revealing picture, particularly since it includes a self-portrait. Wilkes is shown in the foreground with his mittens on, sliding awkwardly down a small ice hill toward Sydney, waiting obediently at the bottom. An officer, who may be First Lieutenant Overton Carr, stands between Wilkes and the others, almost as if he were on guard duty. Although Wilkes probably intended the picture as an inside joke, the contrast between his solitude and the conviviality of the rest of the crew is almost heartbreaking.
    For the next week, the Vincennes continued west. On February 17, they reached an area where the icy barrier began to curve north. It was a place that Wilkes would