The Belgica & Beyond
amateur translations, scans, & assorted research by m.w.
actively under construction.
WRITTEN FROM THE BELGICA 1897-1899
CORRESPONDENCE
- coverage in the Belgian press, translated
- coverage in the British press
- coverage in the American press
- scientific lectures, translated
- list of Expedition publications a) Lecointe on Danco’s contributions
QUELQUES EXPÉDITIONS SUIVANTES
- de Gerlache & Charcot (the Français)
de Gerlache & the Duke of Orléans (the Belgica in the Arctic) - the failed Second Belgian Antarctic Expedition (Arctowski & Lecointe)
- the successful Second Belgian Antarctic Expedition (Gaston de Gerlache)
- the Royal Belgian Observatory
Georges Lecointe’s 20th Century
MARRIAGES & OTHER LIFE EVENTS
Lecointe Family Arctowski - de Gerlache
- Racovitza
- van Mirlo
- van Rysselberghe
ASSORTED BELGICA RESOURCES
- bibliography
- associated persons
- contemporary photographs
the sailors of the Belgica performing a “starlight concert” on Sept. 26, 1897, from Johan Koren’s diary
contact: packloafertranslations@gmail.com
Émile Danco’s Geophysics
Danco is keeping up with doggish persistance his magnetic observations, the details of which are such that he is almost constantly occupied during working hours. He is steadily failing, but he complains little and keeps up an abnormal sort of cheerfulnees.
— DR. FREDERICK ALBERT COOK, THROUGH THE FIRST ANTARCTIC NIGHT
Translated by m.w. from the Introduction and Chapter 2 of Physique du globe: measures pendulaires (1907) by Georges Lecointe (and, technically, by Émile Danco), which can be found in the original French here. The obituary included in the introduction of this monograph is nearly identical to the one Lecointe wrote in Aux pays des manchots, but the order of events surrounding Danco’s death is a bit different. I’ve done my best to translate the monograph version in alignment with the terminology used in my hard copy of the 2020 translation by Cynthia Kaiser and Howard Goldfine, but the following is in no way a direct reproduction of their work.
notes on translation: I’ve chosen to translate la marche de la pendule as the pendulum’s gait. I believe it indicates the length of time of each swing of the pendulum, but I’m not entirely sure and haven’t read Lecointe’s explanatory chapter very closely as I am more interested in what can be gleaned about the personalities on this expedition than I am in the mathematical details. Though I am not overly familiar with geophysics myself, it’s evident from the text that Danco did not entirely absorb his instruction and found his assigned role on the Expedition to be rather confusing. If you happen to be better educated in this realm, please reach out.
Lieutenant E. Danco
died on board the Belgica
died on board the Belgica
5 June 1898
INTRODUCTION
The role of carrying out the observations relating to Physics of the Globe were entrusted, at the beginning of the Expedition’s organization, to Artillery Lieutenant Émile Danco.
It is therefore natural that this first report on the work partially carried out by Danco should contain the biography of our comrade, who died down there in the ice in the whole-hearted pursuit of accomplishing all that he had been assigned.
Émile Danco was born in Malines, on November 27, 1869. He studied at the Institut Saint-Louis in Brussels, then at age 17 he was admitted to the military academy in the special weapons division. In 1888, he was admitted to the officers’ training school as a cadet second lieutenant.
At age 19, Danco still had a childlike character. This was due to the well-meaning but strict affection of his father, Lieutenant-Colonel Danco.
Even when he was already an officer, Danco was never allowed to go out alone. As soon as he left the officers’ training school, he had to walk a straight line home, and his outings always took place under the vigilant eye of his father.
He tried vainly, on many occasions, to strike out independently. Discouraged, he resigned himself to the situation, and by the second year of officers’ training school, he no longer even tried to enjoy any liberty without having first obtained authorization. This excessive severity, while preventing him from preparing for life’s challenges, did have the happy consequence of making him take his work seriously: he graduated second in his class in the artillery section.
In 1891 he entered the Malines regiment, but shortly thereafter, he lost his much-adored father.
Émile Danco, who had lost his mother when he was still in the cradle, found himself alone in the world. He possessed quite a good fortune, and he enjoyed the esteem of his superiors and the affection of all his comrades. Most unusually, he did not have a single enemy.
Despite his deep affection for the 2nd Field Artillery Regiment, he was suddenly seized with a strong desire to leave Belgium. Following what circumstance — possibly romantic? — was this decision made? I don’t know. All I know is that he wrote to me in France many times, telling me of his wish to take further training in the French fleet as Count de Borchgrave and myself had done.
Unfortunately his wishes were of little use; the Belgian government did not wish to send a third officer abroad.
Meanwhile, de Gerlache had just announced his expedition to the South Pole. Danco went to him, and, with extraordinary insistence, begged to be included among the officers. The gallant young man assented in advance to all the requirements of the position and to all the wishes of the head of the expedition, and even put a sum of several thousand francs at his disposal. De Gerlache, however, hesitated: not because he doubted Danco’s capabilities and courage, not because he spurned the money offered to him, of which he had the utmost need, but because he knew that Danco had a very delicate chest. In the end, faced with the obstinate insistence of our friend, he gave in.
But then the army put up a strong opposition. All the chief officers expressed an unfavorable opinion of Danco’s departure, especially the Inspector General of the armed forces, Lieutenant-General de Cuyper, an old friend of Lieutenant-Colonel Danco. He said that allowing the son to leave would mean sending him to a certain death; moreover, this would deprive the expedition of a member possessing the same abilities but with more robust health.
Danco, unshakeable, sent a petition to the Minister of War; it failed. Desperate, he turned to the Archbishop of Malines, who agreed to take his case to the Court.
The authorization of which he’d dreamed for so long finally arrived.
Guided by the Lagrange brothers, he immediately began preparing for the magnetic observations; under the direction of M. Lancaster, he studied the various meteorological services in which he was to be M. Arctowski’s second.
He went to Austria where he made pendulum measurements under the guidance of Colonel von Sterneck; he went to Wilhelmshaven, where Dr. Borgen gave him precious advice; finally, he spent a few days in France, at the Saint-Maur Park Observatory.
He still needed physical training. For this purpose, he spent a fairly long time in Norway, where he built up his strength by making long treks on skis in the fresh air. There, too, with complete devotion and selflessness, he helped Commander de Gerlache, who was preparing for the departure.
From the moment the Belgica departed until May 17, 1898, Danco carried out a series of pendulum measurements in Rio de Janeiro; he calculated the magnetic forces at different points in the Gerlache Strait; lastly, he had just begun an important series of magnetic observations when death took him away.
When, on the 17th of May 1898, the sun appeared for the last time, Danco had little idea that the winter would be fatal for him. His physical health was satisfactory and his morale had not been undermined in the slightest by his fears about the outcome of this first winter in the southern pack ice.
But only two days after the star had ceased to appear, Danco began suffering and dragged himself around with difficulty.
On the 27th of May, Doctor Cook warned Commander de Gerlache and myself that Danco was seriously affected: his heart condition was progressing at frightening speed.
Shortly thereafter, the invalid’s appetite disappeared, and he refused everything other than a little condensed milk and peptones. From then on, he was forbidden from leaving the ship out of fears that the frozen winds would provoke an attack of pneumonia.
Our poor friend was in despair over the idea of having to abandon his magnetic observations. Without saying anything to him, I took over his work, rejoicing in the thought that when he had recovered, I could return his notebooks to him, completely up to date.
Alas! On the 29th of May, the illness worsened to the point that Danco noticed his true state. Despairing, he begged me to carry out his observations, fearing he would not be able to resume them for a long time. I reassured him as best I could and promised to communicate my findings every day: if he wasn’t too tired, he could even do the reductions. He accepted at first, but he had overestimated his strength: he was forced to renounce all work.
That afternoon, the doctor found that the disease had wreaked such havoc within Danco that nothing more could be done to save him: strong albuminuria had appeared.
The 2nd of June brought a painful awakening, erasing the possibility of any remaining doubts: the end was rapidly approaching. The Commander asked that I undertake the cruel task of informing the dying man.
Warn him? Must we? This blow won’t just hasten the end? And besides, Danco has no parents; all his testamentary provisions are in order… But have we the right to let him fade slowly away, entirely unaware? By mutual agreement, M. de Gerlache, M. Cook and I decided to wait a little longer.
Towards the evening of June 4th, Danco took a turn for the worse: he was so weak that he could no longer swallow anything more than a little lemon juice. As the doctor had noticed that the patient’s oppression was augmented by darkness, we kept two candles burning constantly in the room. Thus we had the painful impression of already keeping vigil in a death chamber.
Poor Danco! He was so grateful to us for the little we could do for him! One thing consoled us: he did not see death approaching. He spoke of the return journey; he wanted to be the first to see land again; he was going to watch for it from the crow’s nest…!
Was this sweet illusion sincere? Or did he, due to the exquisite delicacy of his generous soul, hope to mislead us so as not to sadden us further?
On Sunday, June 5th, our invalid was so unwell in the morning that Doctor Cook gave him an injection of morphine. Around four in the afternoon, he woke up: he did not feel any pain, but his breaths came in gasps. Around five o’clock, he needed another shot of morphine; the final reckoning was rapidly drawing near!
Around 7 o’clock, the doctor came to warn us that the death throes had begun.
All of us went into the wardroom. Danco was stretched out on the canapé; he stammered out a few painful words; at times, his eyes flew wide open, then closed slowly; a long death rattle came from his suffering chest.
The doctor asked me to talk to the dying man, but words would not come! This was a devoted friend, a brother who was lying there: my heart was as tight as a vise…
What to say? Of whom might I speak with this poor kinless soul? Suddenly, I remembered the devout admiration he professed for his regiment, the 2nd Field Artillery; the grateful and intense affection he felt for two of his former professors, the Lagrange brothers, whose wise counsel he turned to in the wake of his father’s death; lastly, Artillery Lieutenant Henrion, his best friend, almost a brother.
As if in a dream, I evoked these beloved names one by one for him, and I could sense, by a light pressure from his hand, that these memories still touched his heart.
Suddenly, the rattle ceased: for one last time, Danco opened his eyes, then closed them forever…
It was 7 o’clock in the evening, June 5th, 1898.
Danco lay, calm and handsome, in the folds of the national flag. The men of the crew came in, one by one, to kneel in front of the body; consternation and regret was written on every face.
Commander de Gerlache, Lieutenant Amundsen, and I reserved the task of watching over the deceased for ourselves.
At midnight, it was my turn to watch. One miserable candle lit the absolutely freezing death chamber; as a hygienic measure, we’d opened a porthole. Complete silence reigned all around me, and nothing could turn my thoughts from the corpse hidden just there inside that flag. Yet I no longer felt the same anguish that had gripped me during his agony: I knew that he was now enjoying his eternal rest.
Monday, June 6: all was somber, all was gray, the sky blurred into the pack. The silence was only interrupted by the muted creaking of the masts or the ship’s hull. All work was suspended, except for the sailors Johansen and Knudsen, who were sewing a funerary sack in which the corpse would be buried.
At four o’clock in the afternoon, all was ready. M. Amundsen, M. Cook, and I summoned all of our energy to carry out the shrouding.
Just as we were completing our funereal task, there was a knock at the door: M. Van Rysselberghe, second engineer, had brought us some dried flowers, the last gift from his mother the day we departed Belgium; “He had promised to keep them always, but he feels relieved of his promise if he gives them as a final farewell to the one leaving us.” With great emotion, we placed the flowers and resealed the shroud. Next, the corpse was lowered to the pack ice and placed on a sledge until the following morning.
The night of the 6th to the 7th of June was radiant with beauty: hour by hour, we would make our way to the poop deck for observations, barely able to tear our gazes from that dark bier lying just there, so close to the ship.
On the 7th of June, at 11 o’clock in the morning, it was so cold that the men had a tremendously difficult time hoisting the Belgian flag, which was tied with a black ribbon, along the rigging: it was 35° below zero with a bitter wind blowing violently. Some sailors cut an opening in the ice in which to immerse the body, but whenever a piece of ice was broken off, the fragments froze together anew.
The work was going nowhere and we were about to give up when, suddenly, a short break appeared, reopening an old crevasse. Right away, the men hitched themselves to the funeral sledge, which we all followed.
Having arrived at the crevasse, we were attaching cannonballs to the lower part of the sack, but just when Lieutenant Melaerts went to push them into the opening, the ice broke beneath his weight!
It is therefore natural that this first report on the work partially carried out by Danco should contain the biography of our comrade, who died down there in the ice in the whole-hearted pursuit of accomplishing all that he had been assigned.
Émile Danco was born in Malines, on November 27, 1869. He studied at the Institut Saint-Louis in Brussels, then at age 17 he was admitted to the military academy in the special weapons division. In 1888, he was admitted to the officers’ training school as a cadet second lieutenant.
At age 19, Danco still had a childlike character. This was due to the well-meaning but strict affection of his father, Lieutenant-Colonel Danco.
Even when he was already an officer, Danco was never allowed to go out alone. As soon as he left the officers’ training school, he had to walk a straight line home, and his outings always took place under the vigilant eye of his father.
He tried vainly, on many occasions, to strike out independently. Discouraged, he resigned himself to the situation, and by the second year of officers’ training school, he no longer even tried to enjoy any liberty without having first obtained authorization. This excessive severity, while preventing him from preparing for life’s challenges, did have the happy consequence of making him take his work seriously: he graduated second in his class in the artillery section.
In 1891 he entered the Malines regiment, but shortly thereafter, he lost his much-adored father.
Émile Danco, who had lost his mother when he was still in the cradle, found himself alone in the world. He possessed quite a good fortune, and he enjoyed the esteem of his superiors and the affection of all his comrades. Most unusually, he did not have a single enemy.
Despite his deep affection for the 2nd Field Artillery Regiment, he was suddenly seized with a strong desire to leave Belgium. Following what circumstance — possibly romantic? — was this decision made? I don’t know. All I know is that he wrote to me in France many times, telling me of his wish to take further training in the French fleet as Count de Borchgrave and myself had done.
Unfortunately his wishes were of little use; the Belgian government did not wish to send a third officer abroad.
Meanwhile, de Gerlache had just announced his expedition to the South Pole. Danco went to him, and, with extraordinary insistence, begged to be included among the officers. The gallant young man assented in advance to all the requirements of the position and to all the wishes of the head of the expedition, and even put a sum of several thousand francs at his disposal. De Gerlache, however, hesitated: not because he doubted Danco’s capabilities and courage, not because he spurned the money offered to him, of which he had the utmost need, but because he knew that Danco had a very delicate chest. In the end, faced with the obstinate insistence of our friend, he gave in.
But then the army put up a strong opposition. All the chief officers expressed an unfavorable opinion of Danco’s departure, especially the Inspector General of the armed forces, Lieutenant-General de Cuyper, an old friend of Lieutenant-Colonel Danco. He said that allowing the son to leave would mean sending him to a certain death; moreover, this would deprive the expedition of a member possessing the same abilities but with more robust health.
Danco, unshakeable, sent a petition to the Minister of War; it failed. Desperate, he turned to the Archbishop of Malines, who agreed to take his case to the Court.
The authorization of which he’d dreamed for so long finally arrived.
Guided by the Lagrange brothers, he immediately began preparing for the magnetic observations; under the direction of M. Lancaster, he studied the various meteorological services in which he was to be M. Arctowski’s second.
He went to Austria where he made pendulum measurements under the guidance of Colonel von Sterneck; he went to Wilhelmshaven, where Dr. Borgen gave him precious advice; finally, he spent a few days in France, at the Saint-Maur Park Observatory.
He still needed physical training. For this purpose, he spent a fairly long time in Norway, where he built up his strength by making long treks on skis in the fresh air. There, too, with complete devotion and selflessness, he helped Commander de Gerlache, who was preparing for the departure.
From the moment the Belgica departed until May 17, 1898, Danco carried out a series of pendulum measurements in Rio de Janeiro; he calculated the magnetic forces at different points in the Gerlache Strait; lastly, he had just begun an important series of magnetic observations when death took him away.
When, on the 17th of May 1898, the sun appeared for the last time, Danco had little idea that the winter would be fatal for him. His physical health was satisfactory and his morale had not been undermined in the slightest by his fears about the outcome of this first winter in the southern pack ice.
But only two days after the star had ceased to appear, Danco began suffering and dragged himself around with difficulty.
On the 27th of May, Doctor Cook warned Commander de Gerlache and myself that Danco was seriously affected: his heart condition was progressing at frightening speed.
Shortly thereafter, the invalid’s appetite disappeared, and he refused everything other than a little condensed milk and peptones. From then on, he was forbidden from leaving the ship out of fears that the frozen winds would provoke an attack of pneumonia.
Our poor friend was in despair over the idea of having to abandon his magnetic observations. Without saying anything to him, I took over his work, rejoicing in the thought that when he had recovered, I could return his notebooks to him, completely up to date.
Alas! On the 29th of May, the illness worsened to the point that Danco noticed his true state. Despairing, he begged me to carry out his observations, fearing he would not be able to resume them for a long time. I reassured him as best I could and promised to communicate my findings every day: if he wasn’t too tired, he could even do the reductions. He accepted at first, but he had overestimated his strength: he was forced to renounce all work.
That afternoon, the doctor found that the disease had wreaked such havoc within Danco that nothing more could be done to save him: strong albuminuria had appeared.
The 2nd of June brought a painful awakening, erasing the possibility of any remaining doubts: the end was rapidly approaching. The Commander asked that I undertake the cruel task of informing the dying man.
Warn him? Must we? This blow won’t just hasten the end? And besides, Danco has no parents; all his testamentary provisions are in order… But have we the right to let him fade slowly away, entirely unaware? By mutual agreement, M. de Gerlache, M. Cook and I decided to wait a little longer.
Towards the evening of June 4th, Danco took a turn for the worse: he was so weak that he could no longer swallow anything more than a little lemon juice. As the doctor had noticed that the patient’s oppression was augmented by darkness, we kept two candles burning constantly in the room. Thus we had the painful impression of already keeping vigil in a death chamber.
Poor Danco! He was so grateful to us for the little we could do for him! One thing consoled us: he did not see death approaching. He spoke of the return journey; he wanted to be the first to see land again; he was going to watch for it from the crow’s nest…!
Was this sweet illusion sincere? Or did he, due to the exquisite delicacy of his generous soul, hope to mislead us so as not to sadden us further?
On Sunday, June 5th, our invalid was so unwell in the morning that Doctor Cook gave him an injection of morphine. Around four in the afternoon, he woke up: he did not feel any pain, but his breaths came in gasps. Around five o’clock, he needed another shot of morphine; the final reckoning was rapidly drawing near!
Around 7 o’clock, the doctor came to warn us that the death throes had begun.
All of us went into the wardroom. Danco was stretched out on the canapé; he stammered out a few painful words; at times, his eyes flew wide open, then closed slowly; a long death rattle came from his suffering chest.
The doctor asked me to talk to the dying man, but words would not come! This was a devoted friend, a brother who was lying there: my heart was as tight as a vise…
What to say? Of whom might I speak with this poor kinless soul? Suddenly, I remembered the devout admiration he professed for his regiment, the 2nd Field Artillery; the grateful and intense affection he felt for two of his former professors, the Lagrange brothers, whose wise counsel he turned to in the wake of his father’s death; lastly, Artillery Lieutenant Henrion, his best friend, almost a brother.
As if in a dream, I evoked these beloved names one by one for him, and I could sense, by a light pressure from his hand, that these memories still touched his heart.
Suddenly, the rattle ceased: for one last time, Danco opened his eyes, then closed them forever…
It was 7 o’clock in the evening, June 5th, 1898.
Danco lay, calm and handsome, in the folds of the national flag. The men of the crew came in, one by one, to kneel in front of the body; consternation and regret was written on every face.
Commander de Gerlache, Lieutenant Amundsen, and I reserved the task of watching over the deceased for ourselves.
At midnight, it was my turn to watch. One miserable candle lit the absolutely freezing death chamber; as a hygienic measure, we’d opened a porthole. Complete silence reigned all around me, and nothing could turn my thoughts from the corpse hidden just there inside that flag. Yet I no longer felt the same anguish that had gripped me during his agony: I knew that he was now enjoying his eternal rest.
Monday, June 6: all was somber, all was gray, the sky blurred into the pack. The silence was only interrupted by the muted creaking of the masts or the ship’s hull. All work was suspended, except for the sailors Johansen and Knudsen, who were sewing a funerary sack in which the corpse would be buried.
At four o’clock in the afternoon, all was ready. M. Amundsen, M. Cook, and I summoned all of our energy to carry out the shrouding.
Just as we were completing our funereal task, there was a knock at the door: M. Van Rysselberghe, second engineer, had brought us some dried flowers, the last gift from his mother the day we departed Belgium; “He had promised to keep them always, but he feels relieved of his promise if he gives them as a final farewell to the one leaving us.” With great emotion, we placed the flowers and resealed the shroud. Next, the corpse was lowered to the pack ice and placed on a sledge until the following morning.
The night of the 6th to the 7th of June was radiant with beauty: hour by hour, we would make our way to the poop deck for observations, barely able to tear our gazes from that dark bier lying just there, so close to the ship.
On the 7th of June, at 11 o’clock in the morning, it was so cold that the men had a tremendously difficult time hoisting the Belgian flag, which was tied with a black ribbon, along the rigging: it was 35° below zero with a bitter wind blowing violently. Some sailors cut an opening in the ice in which to immerse the body, but whenever a piece of ice was broken off, the fragments froze together anew.
The work was going nowhere and we were about to give up when, suddenly, a short break appeared, reopening an old crevasse. Right away, the men hitched themselves to the funeral sledge, which we all followed.
Having arrived at the crevasse, we were attaching cannonballs to the lower part of the sack, but just when Lieutenant Melaerts went to push them into the opening, the ice broke beneath his weight!
One of his legs had already plunged into the freezing water before we could get ahold of him!
Everyone bared their heads; the Commander came forward to speak, but he was so deeply moved that no sound managed to emerge from his constricted throat. After several moments, he could finally utter his pained regrets and an eternal farewell.
And so, the cannonballs were pushed into the sea; under this traction, the corpse jerked upright, as if it had regained life! We all trembled, seized by a mysterious horror, while slowly, ever so slowly, the sack slid, sank, and disappeared beneath the pack ice, which, in order to better guard its prey, closed over itself again.
Oh, this alabaster pack, so long dreamt of by Danco! This pack that will serve as his mausoleum, in his beautiful dream, from which he will not wake this time, and which will carry on indefinitely in his death…!
Danco was the most devoted friend, the most enthusiastic about the Expedition. In every thing and every minute on board, he was an example of the strictest discipline, of the most complete abnegation of the self; he did his duty greatly.
The name Danco Land has been given to the stretch of land restricting the southeastern side of the strait discovered by the Expedition.
Everyone bared their heads; the Commander came forward to speak, but he was so deeply moved that no sound managed to emerge from his constricted throat. After several moments, he could finally utter his pained regrets and an eternal farewell.
And so, the cannonballs were pushed into the sea; under this traction, the corpse jerked upright, as if it had regained life! We all trembled, seized by a mysterious horror, while slowly, ever so slowly, the sack slid, sank, and disappeared beneath the pack ice, which, in order to better guard its prey, closed over itself again.
Oh, this alabaster pack, so long dreamt of by Danco! This pack that will serve as his mausoleum, in his beautiful dream, from which he will not wake this time, and which will carry on indefinitely in his death…!
Danco was the most devoted friend, the most enthusiastic about the Expedition. In every thing and every minute on board, he was an example of the strictest discipline, of the most complete abnegation of the self; he did his duty greatly.
The name Danco Land has been given to the stretch of land restricting the southeastern side of the strait discovered by the Expedition.
OBSERVATIONS CARRIED OUT BY THE BELGIAN ANTARCTIC EXPEDITION
In 1897, Lieutenant Danco carried out a preliminary series of pendulum measurements in Vienna, under the direction of General von Sterneck. These observations were performed with the goal of setting the constants on the apparatus and determining the durations of its oscillations in order to facilitate the calculation of relative values of gravity in various locations in relation to Vienna.
He also completed the same measurements in Uccle and Rio de Janeiro, but, as we will show later, these observations did not produce satisfactory results.
Finally, upon the return of the Expedition, Danco was dead, so we completed our own series of pendulum measurements in Punta Arenas.
In 1906, the two pendulums still at our disposal were brought to Vienna for a second comparison by General von Sterneck.
It would certainly have been interesting to have taken advantage of our stops in Funchal and Montevideo for performing pendulum measurements there, but the duration of these stops was too short for such work.
We give below the complete summaries of each of our stations.
Observations from Vienna — These were done in 1897 at the Military Geographical Institute under the surveillance of General von Sterneck, who had willingly taken charge of personally instructing Danco in the proper handling of the instruments.
Danco does not include the value obtained for 𝛾, that is to say the amplitude of the oscillations impressed upon the pendulum by the pillar, under a force of 1 kilogram. With this failure of indication, we must assume that this value was very small and we can consider the correction of e as zero.
It follows that 𝘵1 = 𝘵0.
The observations made in Vienna in 1907 are published in full from page 31 of this report.
Shortly after our departure from Rio de Janeiro, in 1897, Danco informed us that he no longer remembered the precise conditions in which the measurements were carried out in Vienna; he doubted his recollection of which time was used for the base of the equation: was it mean time or sidereal time under which he had regulated the directional pendulum?
In 1906, when we returned to Danco’s pendulum observations with the view of publishing them, we recalled the circumstances mentioned above and we asked General von Sterneck to search within his archives for any pertinent information. We also expressed our desire to see him in Vienna to redetermine the measurements made by our pendulums.
General von Sterneck generously accepted our request. The observations that he voluntarily performed to this end are published from page 37 of this report. Unfortunately, pendulum n. 105 has disappeared.1
But, as we will observe on page 29 of this work, the measurements taken with pendulum n. 104 in 1906 are entirely different from those obtained with the same pendulum in 1897; and as the two series of observations were performed with the same amount of care, we must conclude a priori that the length of pendulum n. 104 has changed.
On the other hand, as the results obtained with pendulum n. 106 were approximately the same in 1906 and 1897, we may deduce that the length of this pendulum has more or less stayed the same.
How the variation in the length of pendulum n. 104 was produced, and around what period this variation was at its maximum, if at any rate it does not operate in a regular manner: we will return to these problems later, when we deal with the observations performed in the Magellan Strait by Punta Arenas.
As a final addition, General von Sterneck wrote to us that he had no doubts as to which time had served as the regulatory base for the pendulums in 1897: it was sidereal time, which the 1906 measurements in Vienna further proved.
Observations from Uccle — These were done at the Royal Observatory of Belgium, in the former anemometric pavilion, in the center of the courtyard of honor.2 One of Danco’s notes says:
“The observations made at the Uccle Observatory gave the results written inside the following tables, but we cannot guarantee their exactitude, given that the pendulum serving as the counter had only performed its first observations the day before and that the electric current was not functioning normally, due to a slight disturbance which required an immediate adjustment before the beginning of the observations.
These causes probably impacted the regularity of the meter’s functions.
The figures are even less certain as we only performed two comparisons of the counter against a chronometer regulated to roughly 6 hour intervals.”
We have reviewed the calculations and researched all of the particular circumstances within which the observations were performed in Uccle in 1897, and we thereby obtained values of g for each observation that did not differentiate much from one to the other, but of which the average value is 9.57635, an obviously inexact number.
In light of these conditions, we abstain from publishing these observations, resolving to return to them soon, if necessary, in the Annales de l’Observatoire royal de Belgique, when we publish therein the results of the measurements soon to be carried out with precision-engineered pendulums in Uccle.
Observations from Rio de Janeiro — These were done at the National Observatory, in the conditions which Danco verbally informed us were not very advantageous. The gait found by the regulatory pendulum confirms this memory.
The values Danco obtained for g in these unfavorable circumstances seem inadmissible to us. Moreover, these observations have since lost their interest, as precise measurements were performed in Rio de Janeiro in 1901 by O. Hecker.3
Observations from Punta Arenas — These were done in the hotel of Mme Nogueira, at the corner of “Calle Atacama” and “Calle Santiago” (see below the plan of Punta Arenas, plot n. 53).
He also completed the same measurements in Uccle and Rio de Janeiro, but, as we will show later, these observations did not produce satisfactory results.
Finally, upon the return of the Expedition, Danco was dead, so we completed our own series of pendulum measurements in Punta Arenas.
In 1906, the two pendulums still at our disposal were brought to Vienna for a second comparison by General von Sterneck.
It would certainly have been interesting to have taken advantage of our stops in Funchal and Montevideo for performing pendulum measurements there, but the duration of these stops was too short for such work.
We give below the complete summaries of each of our stations.
Observations from Vienna — These were done in 1897 at the Military Geographical Institute under the surveillance of General von Sterneck, who had willingly taken charge of personally instructing Danco in the proper handling of the instruments.
Danco does not include the value obtained for 𝛾, that is to say the amplitude of the oscillations impressed upon the pendulum by the pillar, under a force of 1 kilogram. With this failure of indication, we must assume that this value was very small and we can consider the correction of e as zero.
It follows that 𝘵1 = 𝘵0.
The observations made in Vienna in 1907 are published in full from page 31 of this report.
Shortly after our departure from Rio de Janeiro, in 1897, Danco informed us that he no longer remembered the precise conditions in which the measurements were carried out in Vienna; he doubted his recollection of which time was used for the base of the equation: was it mean time or sidereal time under which he had regulated the directional pendulum?
In 1906, when we returned to Danco’s pendulum observations with the view of publishing them, we recalled the circumstances mentioned above and we asked General von Sterneck to search within his archives for any pertinent information. We also expressed our desire to see him in Vienna to redetermine the measurements made by our pendulums.
General von Sterneck generously accepted our request. The observations that he voluntarily performed to this end are published from page 37 of this report. Unfortunately, pendulum n. 105 has disappeared.1
But, as we will observe on page 29 of this work, the measurements taken with pendulum n. 104 in 1906 are entirely different from those obtained with the same pendulum in 1897; and as the two series of observations were performed with the same amount of care, we must conclude a priori that the length of pendulum n. 104 has changed.
On the other hand, as the results obtained with pendulum n. 106 were approximately the same in 1906 and 1897, we may deduce that the length of this pendulum has more or less stayed the same.
How the variation in the length of pendulum n. 104 was produced, and around what period this variation was at its maximum, if at any rate it does not operate in a regular manner: we will return to these problems later, when we deal with the observations performed in the Magellan Strait by Punta Arenas.
As a final addition, General von Sterneck wrote to us that he had no doubts as to which time had served as the regulatory base for the pendulums in 1897: it was sidereal time, which the 1906 measurements in Vienna further proved.
Observations from Uccle — These were done at the Royal Observatory of Belgium, in the former anemometric pavilion, in the center of the courtyard of honor.2 One of Danco’s notes says:
“The observations made at the Uccle Observatory gave the results written inside the following tables, but we cannot guarantee their exactitude, given that the pendulum serving as the counter had only performed its first observations the day before and that the electric current was not functioning normally, due to a slight disturbance which required an immediate adjustment before the beginning of the observations.
These causes probably impacted the regularity of the meter’s functions.
The figures are even less certain as we only performed two comparisons of the counter against a chronometer regulated to roughly 6 hour intervals.”
We have reviewed the calculations and researched all of the particular circumstances within which the observations were performed in Uccle in 1897, and we thereby obtained values of g for each observation that did not differentiate much from one to the other, but of which the average value is 9.57635, an obviously inexact number.
In light of these conditions, we abstain from publishing these observations, resolving to return to them soon, if necessary, in the Annales de l’Observatoire royal de Belgique, when we publish therein the results of the measurements soon to be carried out with precision-engineered pendulums in Uccle.
Observations from Rio de Janeiro — These were done at the National Observatory, in the conditions which Danco verbally informed us were not very advantageous. The gait found by the regulatory pendulum confirms this memory.
The values Danco obtained for g in these unfavorable circumstances seem inadmissible to us. Moreover, these observations have since lost their interest, as precise measurements were performed in Rio de Janeiro in 1901 by O. Hecker.3
Observations from Punta Arenas — These were done in the hotel of Mme Nogueira, at the corner of “Calle Atacama” and “Calle Santiago” (see below the plan of Punta Arenas, plot n. 53).
Following the instructions we were given at “Collegio Salesianos,” our station above the sea had an altitude of 10 meters. This figure might be exact, but still needs to be verified; we did not have the time to make sure.
The pillar on which the instrument rested was made of bricks and cement mortar. The masonry was perfectly dry when the observations began, so the instrument was quite stable, as is further proven by the values for g listed on the following page. The gait of the pendulum was read as equal to zero. We obtained this result by regulating it against a sidereal chronometer whose diurnal gait we had determined through observations with an artificial horizon.
But the following remarks have made us adopt, with reservations, a hypothesis of this chronometer’s absolute regularity:4
- From the 13th to the 29th of March, anomalies recorded in the gait of the chronometer.
- On the 29th of March, the chronometer was sent ashore in order to repair its electrical contact; it thereby underwent manipulations that could have transformed its gait in a noticeable manner.
- The observations through the artificial horizon occurred on the 4th of April and the 10th of May, while the pendulum observations were done the 22nd of April. The gait of the pendulum was thus calculated in time with the gait of other chronometers, gaits which could have been erroneous.
- Evidently, the observations through the artificial horizon did not grant any great precision. We might ask why, in these conditions, we chose this chronometer over the others for the observations done on land. Our reasons were: 1st that as this chronometer possessed an electrical contact, we hoped to use it in place of the pendulum since its mechanism had suffered from its very long sojourn in the humid steerage of the Belgica; 2nd that we did not want to remove chronometers A and B for fear of disturbing their workings and finding ourselves embarrassed by this fact later in the course of our navigation; 3rd and last, chronometer C was suffering from skips each time it was transported to land.
During the observations performed with pendulum n. 104, this force produced an oscillation of 0.15 scale division, from which it follows that 𝛾 = 0.31 and that e = 12 x 0.31, or -4 units of the seventh decimal order.
During the observations with pendulum n. 105, the amplitude of the oscillation was 0.25 scale division, where e = -6 units of the seventh decimal order.
For calculating the value of g in Punta Arenas…
[Lecointe goes into mathematical detail here for about two pages, explaining how their approach to calculating the missing values rested on accounting for 5 or 6 possible variables in the pendulum lengths and regularity. As I am not familiar with gravitational physics, especially not of this era, I have refrained from attempting to translate this section any further.]
Conclusion — The pendulum measurements carried out by the Expedition do not give the value of gravity for any location except Punta Arenas, and even this is only an approximation.
To speak frankly, the reasons as to why the Expedition did not measure the gravity on Danco Land or on one of the islands of the Palmer Archipelago can be summarized as follows: the speed with which we had to operate throughout the de Gerlache Strait, the absence of any tools which would have allowed us to take pendulum measurements during such short debarcations, and the small number of hands which could be spared for these debarcations.
Later on, the ship was imprisoned by the pack, rendering it impossible to think of pendulum measurements.
Lecointe included a few footnotes:
1. In 1899, upon the return of the Belgica Expedition, one chronometer and the instruments related to geophysical observations were offered to the Military Academy, to be conserved in their museum. When, in 1906, we asked to take the three pendulums from the Belgica, n. 105 was missing.
2. This pavilion, having fallen out of use, was demolished during the year 1908.
3. Bestimmung der Schwerkraft auf dem Atlantischen Ozean sowie in Rio de Janeiro, Lissabon und Madrid, mit neun Tafeln, by O. Hecker. — Veröffentlichung des Königl. preussischen Geodätischen Institutes. New series, n. 11 — 1903.
4. From Résultats du voyage du S. Y. Belgica en 1897, 1898, 1899; Scientific reports, etc. Astronomy. & From Études des chronomètres (2e partie), by G. Lecointe, p. 46