CHAPTER VI

MAKING WINTER QUARTERS AT CAPE EVANS

On the morning of the 4th we carried out hawsers, and put in ice anchors

in the ice, over which so many journeys were to be made in the next

fortnight. Captain Scott, Evans, and Dr. Wilson went off to choose a

suitable site for the hut, and returned very pleased with their brief

survey.

Let us look landward from the _Terra Nova_, and examine the locality

where the expedition will spend some six months of the ensuing twelve.

We are drawn close to the ice, which stands about eight inches above the

sea, and some eighteen inches below water-level. It is variable in

texture, that near the ship being rather mushy and honeycombed

below—while several large cracks traverse it. Further away is a belt of

clear hard ice, and then bands of snow-covered and clear ice for a mile

or so, until the shore is reached. Here along the western slope of

Erebus extends a belt of the dark volcanic rock, _kenyte_, and in

consequence of the rapid heating of dark objects by the continuous

sunshine, this is largely free from snow. Immediately at the shore line

is a belt of very soft ice, fantastically honeycombed, and threaded by

streams of fresh water. Crossing a snow-bank, we rise slightly, and

reach the kenyte gravel on which our hut and the headquarters generally

are placed. Walking along this gravel slope, we come to a flowing

stream, falling over a little waterfall—a rarity, as may be imagined, in

Antarctica. Moreover, this stream rises in quite a respectable

lake—which, if not large enough for a regatta, at all events affords

good exercise in chasing the skua gulls, which have been attracted by

the open water. Continuing eastward, the steeper lower slopes of Erebus

are reached. The lower portions are of the same dark eruptive rock; but

a few hundred feet from the sea-level these are covered by a pall of

snow, which extends almost uninterruptedly to the summit of Erebus. The

slope steepens considerably at an elevation of some five thousand feet,

and when the top is clouded over, the lower portion is not unlike the

base of Fujiyama in Japan. On a clear day the steam-cloud capping Erebus

is very obvious. Usually it is seen drifting to the south from a sharp

vertical column arising directly above the crater. Sometimes, however,

the steam-cloud spreads out fairly symmetrically, and on one occasion it

simulated a gigantic cedar-tree, with a central trunk and spreading

branches. To the south are two stranded bergs, which I shall describe in

detail later. As a background to these dazzling white pyramids is the

sombre ridge of Inaccessible Island, which some of us before long—in

spite of its name—managed to conquer. To the north-east is the

cliff-like edge of the Cape Barne glacier, reaching almost to the

curious dark erratic outline of Cape Royds. Fifty miles away to the

west, across the sound, the wonderful glacial valleys of the western

mountains are seen veiled in clouds.

Now began a strenuous time for all on board. It was necessary to get the

heavy cargo off the ship while the floe remained firm. Though the

weather was excellent there was no telling when a heavy wind would send

all the sea-ice into Ross Sea. Gang-planks were run out, and the wildly

excited dogs pulled, pushed, and tumbled into the hands of men on the

ice. Then they went at a gallop over mushy ice to the bow ice-anchor

chain; there they were tethered at intervals of a foot or so. We had not

been at work long when inquisitive visitors turned up. These were the

Adelie penguins, who waddled eagerly forward, and promenaded about, with

their heads bent on one side in a very critical fashion. Unfortunately

the dogs were as keenly interested in them, and simultaneously twenty of

them rushed at the nearest penguin. A scene of wild confusion ensued.

The heavy cable was jerked about so violently that the end dogs were

lifted several feet into the air and hung there a moment suspended by

their chains. Whips, yells, and curses were of no avail until the

miserable bird had been torn limb from limb. For some hours one man had

to be on the watch to warn off trespassers and prevent penguin suicide.

[Illustration:

SURVEYING THE NORTH COAST OF ROSS ISLAND FROM THE _TERRA NOVA_, JAN.

3, 1911.

Photo looking aft from the foc’sle, showing six officers at the

standard compass.

[_See p. 85._

]

[Illustration:

PHOTO FROM THE SHIP OF CAPE EVANS, JAN. 26, 1911.

The Tunnel Berg appears on the right. Behind is the dark line of the

Ramp, and

twelve miles away the cone of Erebus with a small steam cloud.

]

The ponies, with one exception, were much less trouble, and were swung

out in a box on a rope from the yard with great ease. The motor sledges

were transhipped in their cases—which had hitherto formed efficient

walls to the dog “hangar.” Three ropes attached to the mainyard, and

manned by ten men, enabled the case—weighing about a ton—to be swung up,

outward, and downward on to the floe without a jar. The motors were then

taken from their cases, and run further on to the floe, where Day and

Nelson soon had them running. It was their buzzing which annoyed our

high-spirited steed, “Hackenschmidt.” He careered about the waist of the

ship, and was more trouble to land than all the other sixteen. He

continued his career of uselessness during the following busy season.

Ponting found much material here for his cinematograph, and had the

machine clicking merrily most of the forenoon. He has literally miles of

films, and it is amusing to see the way he snips off a foot or so of an

exposed film quite callously to develop it and judge the result. As he

says, it only represents a second which will never be missed in a series

of several minutes.

It was a large hauling job that confronted us. Material for a hut, 50 by

25 feet, with walls and roof of six or eight layers; sledging

equipments, tents, etc., for thirty men; food for two years; fuel

(chiefly a patent coal compound) for the same period; and fodder for the

seventeen horses and for the dogs. All this had to be carried nearly two

miles across the sea-ice on sledges. What now were the means of haulage?

We had many and varied methods. Firstly, the motor sledges; secondly,

the ponies; thirdly, the dogs; and fourthly, man power. Each has

something in its favour. Speed of transit goes to the dogs,

non-liability to accidents to the man power; gross tonnage to the

motors, and general efficiency (with decent specimens) I should award to

the ponies.

[Illustration:

Sketch from Inaccessible Island, showing the divided steam-cloud on

Erebus, and the region around Cape Evans, looking north, 11 p.m.,

January 5, 1911.

]

The man-sledges got to work very early in the campaign. The sledges are

nine and twelve feet long, with runners four inches wide, and upturned

somewhat at both ends. There is a flexible bent prow, and six or eight

vertical stanchions, which support the upper frame—as simple a design as

one could devise. Everything is secured by leather lashings, the

abutting ends being sewn into a sort of leather bucket. A rope loop

projects from the front, but is fastened to the forward stanchions, and

not to the prow-piece, which serves chiefly to guide the sledge over

hummocks of ice. A long rope with broad canvas belts (attached thereto

by tributary ropes) constitutes the harness. When the load has been tied

on by a piece of spun yarn, the leader steps into his belt, adjusts it

over the hips, and, grasping his ski-sticks firmly, gives the word and

plods on. Many a mile have we covered with bodies hanging forward over

the belts, and our spiked boots and ski-sticks barely enabling us to

pull the heavy load through a patch of snowdrift. But over moderately

smooth sea-ice it was quite easy for four men to pull a 1000 lbs. load

on two sledges for a distance of a mile and a half in twenty-five

minutes.

There were two dog teams in constant use, one driven by Meares, and the

other by the Russian youth, Demetri. Their sledges are Siberian, and

somewhat higher in the frame. The chief difference consists in a high

hoop or arch of wood, which is placed two feet from the prow. By this

the driver can twist his sledge around. He also carries an iron-pointed

staff, to be used as a brake and also to guide the sledge to some

extent. The dog teams consist of five dogs—one leader who is specially

trained to obey commands (and sometimes scorns to pull), and two pairs

of dogs toggled to a central rope much as in the man harness. These dog

sledges career about in long sweeping curves, and the air resounds with

barbaric cries of “Ky! Ky!” or “Chui! Chui!” while the ice screeches

under the impact of the driver’s pointed staff. His chief difficulty is

to steer clear of penguins, for awful is the result if they sight an

unfortunate bird! A dog team pulls the driver, so that 150 lbs. must be

added to their load. Each dog pulls about one quarter that moved by a

man, but at twice the speed.

The motor sledges took some little time, naturally enough, to swing into

the ranks. They have fourteen horsepower motor-car engines, four

cylinders, magneto ignition. Most people have seen illustrations of

them, for they have been run in Norway and England previously, though

designed for the expedition. The two axles bear two pairs of cog wheels

about eighteen inches diameter. Around these run two endless bands—one

on each side of the sledge—which carry flat square plates. These plates

constitute the bearing surface, and each plate is actually stationary on

the ground until it comes under the rear cog wheel, when it is caught up

and passed forward to the front cog wheel. Hence the car runs on its own

platform. The flat square plates grip the snow by diagonal bars. There

is a large tool box in front of the engine, and a small elevated padded

seat at the back. Otherwise no top hamper obscures the mechanism. When

not in use the motor wears a huge quilted hood which keeps the cylinders

from freezing.

In work two men are necessary. One drives from the seat, and another

holds the end of a rope fastened to a projecting bowsprit. The latter is

the helmsman, for at a pull sideways the sledge slews around without the

expenditure of much effort. The camber on the plate belts also helps the

turning of the heavy mechanism. The two motor sledges were in frequent

use for the first few days, and hauled most of the hut material to the

shore. They pulled about two tons, and one of their functions (most

fully appreciated) was that of hauling back empty man-sledges—empty

except for the wearied pullers who lay back on the sledges and dreamily

regarded the clear sky on their welcome rest between pulls.

The ponies had been standing continuously for five weeks, and were

therefore not very fit for a few days. They were given a short rest at

the pony lines on the snow behind the hut, but soon came into

requisition, and have done the greater part of the hauling since. The

ponies had, however, many little peculiarities which were troublesome,

not only to those uninitiated in the mysteries of pony-driving, but to

the experts as well. I shall have more to say on this later.

Let us accompany a man sledge from the ship to the hut. The question of

knots troubles a landsman. At first it was not uncommon for the first

jerk to result in the rope parting company with the sledge! The start

was always difficult, for the sledges froze to the ice, and it was

necessary to “break them out” by extra help.

[Illustration:

THE FIRST HOUR ASHORE.

Demetri preventing Penguin suicide.

]

[Illustration:

TWO MOTOR SLEDGES ON THE BEACH AT CAFE EVANS, JAN. 20, 1911.

The tabular berg has just grounded where the ship lay at anchor and so

she has steamed off to the north. The motor engine is covered by

felting. The sea-ice can be seen breaking away.

]

We had not much eye for the beautiful scenery around, but were very

keenly and vitally interested in the surface over which we had to pull

the load. Ten feet of clear ice were less difficult to traverse than one

foot of snowdrift only an inch deep. The party all wore snow-goggles of

amber or green glass to prevent snow-blindness. These fogged from

perspiration, and required frequent cleaning unless the sun were very

bright, when luckily they warmed up somewhat, and the moisture did not

condense so rapidly. At first we would follow the motor trail marked by

staves and empty oil drums. But this was too heavily drifted in places,

so we deviated south to reach clear ice. All goes merrily until we reach

a snow belt. The first sledge touches the snow, and a slight jerk makes

us pull to our belts. Another jerk announces the arrival of the second

sledge, and if we are pulling three sledges the combined resistance

reminds one of hauling three ploughs through stiff wet clay. On this

snowdrift we see the pony hoof-marks and the long furrow cut by the

dog-driver’s staff. Then on to clear ice again, where spiked boots are

essential. We reach a broad band of troubled ice crossing the smooth

surface. This is a recemented crevasse, and is practically as strong as

the rest of the surface.

[Illustration: Sun-holes 2–1–11]

The older ice near the shore is “pitted” in a curious fashion. Imagine a

red-hot horse-shoe planked down on the ice, with the front forced deeper

into the ice. This is the shape and size of these holes, and it seems

probable that they might save a man’s life in a blizzard; for they are

all directed to the south, and would form a sort of compass if he had no

better! The explanation is that they are due to the action of the

hottest solar rays, which, of course, occur when the sun is in the

north. Curiously enough, those small holes have no effect on the sledge

haulage, except that they tear the runners somewhat. On another patch of

snow is a queer “spoor.” A serpentine trail of four or five parallel

lines, with large three-toed footprints, alternating with the curves of

the continuous serpentine trails. Suddenly it changes into a broad,

shallow gutter in the soft snow! What strange beast has made this? It is

of course due to the penguin. As he ponderously heaves from foot to foot

his stiff tail feathers swing in unison. When he is tired of this method

of progression he drops on his breast and propels himself by his

toe-nails. Hence the broad gutter! This trail is very like those fossil

prints set down to gigantic Plesiosaurians in bygone times.

[Illustration:

Antarctic spoor, January 12, 1911.

]

To our right is a patch of very dark ice with an evil crack leading to a

small pool. We skirt this warily, and are not much surprised to hear a

sudden plop! as two or three penguins shoot out of the water and land at

our feet, and often right in the way of the sledge. A pony-sledge passes

us and then stops—amid our jeers—to breathe the steed, for the ponies

are short of wind at this early stage. We hear a steady droning, and the

motor rolls by. But we beat across country, while the helmsman is

hauling the behemoth on to a new course. The belt is beginning to cramp

our muscles, and the steady stab and drag of the ski-sticks at first

blister the hands. Soon the welcome bamboo at the camp comes into sight.

Snow bridges have been built across the tide cracks just below the hut.

Here the ice rises and falls a couple of feet during the day. We save a

little “go” for the last hundred yards, and rush her at the tide cracks.

“Up she rises,” and several willing helpers from the hut lend a hand,

and so our load pulls up on the belt of snow by the hut. Here Bowers

takes charge, and his gang puts the wood near the hut site, the food on

another spot, fodder here, and oil in the far corner. Then we run the

sledge out of the way to the ice, and if there is no motor returning,

pull it back with light loads and rapidly easing muscles to the ship.

We were returning on Friday evening, somewhat wearied, when Ponting met

us and told us the “owner” wished every one to hurry to the ship, for

the killer-whales were breaking up the floes, and the stores on the ice

would be lost! We ran on and found the sea-ice all broken away at the

stern; but Ponting had not explained his own very exciting adventure.

Two dogs had broken loose and were racing about at the edge of the ice,

when a party of eight killer-whales appeared at the stern of the ship,

evidently attracted by these strangely active “seals.” An _orca_ is

twenty to thirty feet long, and has the most fearsome jaw of all the

creatures that hunt in the high seas. Thirteen long conical teeth are

set in each jaw, each projecting a couple of inches from the bone—and

(unlike those of the crab-eater) built for business. Ponting, ever keen

on good photographs, took his camera along to get a close view of these

fellows. He narrates that they lifted their wicked-looking heads above

the water to look at him, and he was just pressing the button, when he

felt as if an earthquake had hit him. The whole floe was being broken

away by the orcas, and he was separated from firm ice by two feet of

water. He did not stop to finish that photo!

After dinner Debenham and I made a trip across the ice to Inaccessible

Island. This rises sharply from the sea, about one mile south of the

ship, and is usually surrounded by a belt of water—due to the warming

action of the very dark rocks of which it is composed. Here we came

across our first “sastrugi.” They are long, deep furrows cut by the

drifting ice crystals in the sides of snowdrifts as they are driven

onward by the blizzard winds. Thus they lie on the windward sides of the

drifts, and make sledge-travelling very difficult if they face the

sledge. If the drifts are across the path of the blizzards the sastrugi

may cut right through the former. Inaccessible Island was almost covered

with the debris of kenyte lavas, though here and there bosses of solid

rock remained, especially towards the summit ridge. In these cold

latitudes the frost action breaks down the rocks very rapidly, without

destroying the mineral structure to such an extent as is the case in

warmer regions. The kenyte weathered into blocks, which irresistibly

suggested the Easter Island “idols.” Every variety of this rock was

found. Some with large crystals an inch long, others like glass, of a

chocolate colour; vesicular lava, full of bubbles, looking like

petrified bath-sponges, and pieces of kenyte caught up in a later flow

of lava, and burnt just to the tint of a red brick. Just before midnight

we returned to the ship, and labelled our specimens in broad sunlight,

before turning in.

There are two icebergs stranded off Cape Evans, and Captain Scott

arranged that Wright and myself should have some time free to study

their structure while the sea-ice was firm around them. He came along

himself to have a close view, and Ponting brought a sledge, filled with

cameras, to collect photographs. They were both pyramidal, and projected

a hundred feet or so above water. Most probably they had been much

tilted, for a very prominent layer of snow—which from its included air

melted slowly—was now almost vertical. It was obvious that they were

affected by the tide, for a pool filled with brash ice almost surrounded

them, and we could hear the ice fragments creaking as they rubbed

together.

A unique feature occupied our attention most of the time. Traversing the

berg from end to end was an oval tunnel, forty feet high and fifteen

feet wide, so regular in its outline that it looked as though a red-hot

bar had been pushed right through (a distance of 150 feet). The scenic

possibilities of this mass of shadow in the midst of the dazzling white

of the berg were, of course, fully appreciated by Ponting, and I doubt

if any mass of ice has ever been photographed so thoroughly, from the

right, from the left, from above, below, outside and from inside, and

right through it! By a stroke of almost unbelievable luck the view back

through the tunnel just framed the ship at a mile distance. Next day the

berg had swung through 180°, the ship had steamed away, and the sea-ice

had moved out, so that Ponting was rightly overjoyed at the “fortuitous

concourse of atoms,” which has given rise to one of the most interesting

of his studies.

[Illustration:

Iceberg equilibrium. The tilting of the Tunnel Berg during the winter,

1911. N.B. The front of the tunnel broke away before September.

]

We were equipped with rope and axes, and cut steps some sixty feet up

the berg until we were well over the tunnel. I was much surprised when

one of the blows of the ice-axe seemed to set free a strip of

orange-peel! Visions of a Japanese hut far to the south floated through

my mind, but on examining the object it was found to be a small

fossilized fish. I dug it out six inches below the surface, and as the

sun melts off quite an appreciable layer every day, this fish may have

been enclosed in the berg for a very long period. The species was

probably _Notothenia_, and somewhat resembles the garfish of Australian

waters. This reminds me of some rather curious biological specimens

discovered by one of the non-scientific members in our little waterfall.

They were white spherical objects, two millimetres wide, which could be

peeled like an onion, and each seemed to enclose a little pearl. But

Lillie identified them as crystalline lenses from the eyes of

_Notothenia_, which were the only things found indigestible by the

omnivorous skua gull, and so accumulated in the stream near their nests.

Both ends of the berg tunnel were fringed by beautiful icicles, many

being branched almost as much as the famous Jewish candlestick. The

exterior of the berg on the more gently sloping side was armoured with a

panoply of plough-shares projecting horizontally, and due probably to

the sun melting the surface differentially, as described in the case of

the sea-ice. It was unpleasant to climb, and a fall would have

precipitated one into a most uninviting pool. As we watched it two

killer-whales rose to the surface, and “blew off steam” through their

dorsal spouts. They moved towards the south, under the solid ice, and we

could see them long after spouting occasionally along a narrow open

crack leading in that direction.

We were very fortunate in our weather at this time. Bright calm days, so

warm that one could sit outside in the lee of a pile of fodder after

lunch—as many of us did—and enjoy a short siesta. From the first day

work was carried on busily at the hut. The foundation was excellent, for

the surface all round our camp consists of kenyte gravel, on which the

snow melts as soon as the sun strikes it; which is porous, so that water

will not lie on it; and finally, is so springy that our food cases were

not damaged, however heavily they were dumped on the gravel. The main

timbers were prepared long before we left New Zealand, and most of the

matchboard was cut to size, tied in bundles, and roughly labelled. The

floor area is fifty feet by twenty-five feet, and the roof is quite

plain, with a central ridge. Three small windows, permanently shut, and

with doubled panes, admit sufficient light in summer; while later on an

elaborate acetylene plant will come into use. Of greater interest were

the precautions to keep out the cold. Vertical tongue and groove

matchboard was nailed both outside and inside the framework, an

air-space thus being enclosed between them. Next, a layer of a patent

quilted seaweed material, made of sea-grass sewn into jute sacking, was

tacked on in two-foot breadths. On the outside this was covered with

weather-boarding, and on the inside by another layer of matchboard. The

floor was made of thicker boards separated by ruberoid, while the roof

has an inner matchboard ceiling—an air-space (with joists, etc.),

matchboard, two layers of seaweed quilt, matchboard, and two layers of

ruberoid. Thus every portion of the hut has many layers, each of which

is fairly wind-tight. The door opens into an air-tight porch, and this

is protected from the south-east blizzards by a windscreen. A large

ventilator on the roof ridge is the only legitimate air-gap, but in one

corner the meteorologist has a sort of external cupboard for his

instruments, which is bound to be cool. Everything went along

swimmingly. The official carpenter and two of the petty officers carved

out the more intricate details of carpentering, while the afterguard

soon became moderately expert at nailing matchboard, chiefly with

geological hammers. One of the scientists (subjected to criticism)

complained that he never could drive a nail straight while any one was

watching him. His tormentor declared that he must have afforded

amusement the whole day, and pointed to a complete series of wilted

nails due to the tyro’s efforts. For the roof-work the spiked boots of

the geologists were in great request, for it was possible for us to

manœuvre over the sloping boards at much greater speed than could

“Chips” and his assistants.

On Sunday (the 8th) occurred an unfortunate accident, almost the sole

mishap since the loss of the ponies in the gale. We swung out the third

motor-car, having freed it from its case while it was inboard.

It was landed on the sea-ice safely, and run smartly away to a firmer

surface fifty yards away. I then left the ship with a one-man

sledge-load bound for the hut. Captain Scott and Lieutenant Campbell

were testing the ice, and warned me to be especially careful of certain

wet patches near them. I got through to the shore without incident, but

this unhappily was not the case with the motor sledge, which started off

immediately afterwards. I was not present, but heard that it was pulled

across on to apparently firm ice near the doubtful portion, which had

just been crossed safely. There one of the men went through, but was

hauled out safely. He declared he felt himself being pulled under the

floe by the strong tidal current. Almost the next moment one corner of

the motor sledge sank, and then gradually the end, and finally the whole

of the machine crashed through the ice; and despite the utmost efforts

of the hauling party it sank in a hundred fathoms. Thus was lost nearly

a thousand pounds’ worth of valuable machinery, and since it is made

largely of aluminium, it corrodes extremely rapidly, and would not be

worth salvage, even if it were possible—now the ice is out—to grapple it

at that depth.

During the building of the hut meals were eaten in a huge brown tent

alongside, and many of the afterguard slept in small tents on the shore.

A new type of these latter looks exactly like a rounded sun-helmet lying

on the ground. The rim is represented by the broad flap, which will be

covered with snow on sledging journeys, though now a handful of gravel

is sufficient to keep them secure.

One evening I strolled into the skuary just behind the camp. Here are

hummocks of kenyte with little lakes and shelving gravelly beaches. In

the lakes a reddish plant akin to seaweed coats the bottom, and dries to

a leathery wrinkled mass. The skuas nest anywhere, not even a semblance

of a nest being perceptible. They resent intrusion very strongly, and

every one is at first slightly intimidated by the tremendous swoops,

rushing wings, fierce eyes, and shrill cries of protest. I wanted a

specimen, and decided to test a method of obtaining it, which smacked

somewhat of Munchausen when described to me in Australia. Taking a flat

slab of kenyte I waited until a skua was approaching. Then, before the

bird arrived, I threw the rock into the air almost straight up. The bird

collided with it as it was falling, and dropped to the ground stunned.

This scheme of hunting is really much more certain than it sounds, for

the bird has apparently no fear of objects above it.

The ship was moved to a fresh berth, some five hundred yards nearer the

hut, and also nearer the slopes of Erebus. Henceforth almost all the

transport was effected by pony teams. There were many incidents at

first, for the ponies did not understand the icy surface, and were by no

means too subdued by their long voyage to object to most of the duties

demanded of them. Hackenschmidt is still obdurate, I believe, but the

others have calmed down, and done their four trips a day as long as it

was necessary. One soon gets to know their characteristics. Fiery

“Blücher” trots through all the work, whether he is pulling an empty

sledge or half a ton through a snowdrift; in fact, the driver is usually

dragged alongside over the ten miles involved. With a slippery surface

and only a single rope halter, it will readily be understood that four

legs can defeat two if the whim seizes him. One gentleman, rejoicing in

the name of “Guts,” broke away three times, just as I had lugged him the

weary mile to the ship, and galloped back unencumbered. But the

least-envied duty in the expedition is a morning in the company of

“Weary Willie.” With drooping lip and stubborn eye, he improves on a

crawl only when his driver precedes him with the halter over his

shoulder, and practically drags both pony and sledge. In spite of a

heavy load of patent fuel, he used to start back two steps to the minute

quicker, thinking he was returning to the pony lines, but this soon

degenerated to a crawl, and his objections to returning for another load

necessitated special help at the turning-point. There was another pony,

whom I only discovered on the last day, who was a happy mean between

Blücher and Weary. He was anonymous, but deserved a baronetcy. The last

loads consisted of patent fuel (in foot cubes) and compressed fodder,

while ballast, in the form of thirty tons of kenyte, was loaded from a

snow-slide and taken back to the _Terra Nova_.

Many of our minor pursuits irresistibly reminded me of a childhood’s day

on the sands. There are little trenches to be dug, to lead telephone

wires to the Observatory hill; pemmican to be poked out of tins in solid

cakes just like the little sand-heaps moulded in toy buckets; miniature

bridges over the tiny creeks; and, most realistic of all, grottoes to be

carved out of solid banks—not of sand, but of hard, clear ice.

The track to the Observatory hill passes along a miniature glacier with

a bank fifteen feet high on the nearer side. In this it was decided to

cut an “ice-house” for the mutton, and for seals and penguins. Next door

the physicists cut out another grotto for magnetic work. Each took about

a week to complete.

A “drive” was made into the ice about six feet high and four feet wide.

At a convenient distance this was widened out to fifteen feet, and we

should probably have cut out a prosaic rectangular chamber, but that we

found that the floor of almost impenetrable frozen kenyte gravel sloped

up very steeply. Moreover, the sun melted the “glacier” at a great rate,

so that we had to leave a fairly thick roof. These restrictions produced

a very pretty style of architecture—a sort of double crypt with a

central partition, and gentle, sweeping curved roof, like an opened

cockle-shell lying with the convex sides uppermost. The sunlight

filtered through the roof and entrance wall, making the ice look like

alabaster.

[Illustration:

Sketch of two grottoes cut in glacieret near the hut, January 15,

1911.

]

It was hard work chipping the ice. We were helped by a few layers of

dust mixed with skua feathers—representing very ancient surfaces—along

which the ice broke readily. One half was covered with a rough flooring,

and on this were deposited a hundred carcases of sheep given by the New

Zealand farmers. In the other half a hundred penguins occupy one corner,

and later we shall add seal meat.

A little nearer the hut the physicists excavated an =Ⅼ=-shaped grotto,

of severely rectangular cross section, and lacking those picturesque

sweeps in the roof which were necessary in the other cave. It penetrates

the “glacier” for about twenty-five feet, and is entered by an aperture

some three feet high. One feels very like a rabbit entering its burrow,

but this constriction is necessary to ensure equable temperature. A mild

blizzard was blowing while we were cutting it out, though in the

calm—not to say stuffy—atmosphere of the grotto a temperature of twenty

below freezing had little effect on one’s comfort. To be sure files, and

saws, and other iron tools developed an octopus-like surface, for they

stuck to one’s fingers as if smeared with gum. The wall struts—for the

lining—were cemented simply and effectively by a mush of ice and water,

which solidified immediately. Two large kenyte boulders formed jagged

obstructions on the floor. When foundations for the instrument standards

were being made, it was found that under the layer of gravel forming the

floor was another layer of ice. It is quite possible that our hut may be

built on gravel over a thick ice-sheet. This will be tested by a shaft

in the winter leisure.

On the highest portion of Cape Evans is hoisted the Union Jack. Near by

is the meteorological screen, and two anemometers are merrily whirling

round. We have been laying telephone wires across the space between the

hill and the hut to connect the instruments there to the meteorological

laboratory (“corner” would be a better term) in the hut.

On Sunday 15 work was suspended for a day, for everything was

progressing well. Many of the men took ski on to the slopes of Erebus,

behind the hut, and had a pleasant time, diversified by many tumbles, in

consequence. To the north of these slopes extended the hitherto

untraversed Barne glacier, which formerly blocked all communication with

Cape Royds during summer. Its seaward face is a high cliff of ice,

strongly crevassed, and reaching from Cape Evans to Cape Barne. Wright

and myself received permission to go on the glacier, and providing

ourselves with an alpine rope, ice-axes, food, and windproof clothing,

we set off up the rocky slopes behind the hut. We soon reached an

irregular snow surface deeply pitted where boulders had sunk, with

little runnels of water murmuring below the crusts in ice in numberless

little gullies. As the ice became more apparent we roped up and marched

to the north, gradually ascending the slope of the glacier. Our

objective at this time was the rock ridge behind Cape Barne, about two

and a half miles away. The glacier came down from Erebus in undulations

resembling gigantic rounded steps. It seemed probable to us that the

best surface would occur where the ice was in compression rather than in

tension. Here in the hollows the crevasses would tend to close up, and

we found them quite readily crossed. In the icy surface were broad

ribbons of snow, slightly depressed below the surface, and curving

grandly round the undulations of Erebus. These looked solid enough, but

an ice-axe hardly met with any resistance in the snow, and on sweeping

it away one could see a chasm extending indefinitely down. Higher up the

slope the snow formed bridges, but here in narrower crevasses it was

only of value in veiling the depth. However, it was a mere question of

jumping; the leader gathering in the rope and taking a good leap while

the follower drove his ice pick into the surface and held on firmly. If

there had been any great danger involved, two men would, of course, have

been insufficient, but we progressed in this fashion for a mile, then

crossed another mile of softish snow without crevasses, and reached the

Barne ridge, with rocks running from the coast halfway up to the crater

of Erebus. Here to our surprise we saw nothing but kenyte hummocks and

debris lying between us and Cape Royds. It would not have been human to

have resisted this opportunity of visiting the headquarters of the 1907

expedition. After resting a little among the huge mounds of kenyte

boulders—actually bearing small tufts of red and green lichens—we

tramped quickly across alternating patches of rock and snow, past small

ice-covered lakes, and soon reached Back-door Bay. Here quite a large

stream—for Antarctica—was falling over an ice cliff, and we reached the

first sign of another settlement. This was a bamboo pole planted in a

cairn. Then we scrambled over slopes of kenyte gravel, skirting the

rotten ice which filled the outer part of Back-door Bay. The narrow gulf

at the north-east end of the bay still contained firm ice, and we

crossed this without attracting any remark from a colony of twenty

seals, and so reached Cape Royds. Here signs of occupation were very

evident, though the hut was some distance away on the further (northern)

slope of the hill. A sledge with cases of tinned meat, a ladder, and the

tubes of the hand-boring plant, had been left close to the water of

Back-door Bay. We carried off a tin of beef in case the hut contained

nothing more attractive.

Following some old sledge tracks we topped a rise, and were right on the

hut.

Every one is familiar with the appearance of Shackleton’s hut. It is

very snugly placed in a little dell leading to a small lake, which

empties into the sea over some steep cliffs a quarter of a mile away. It

seemed extraordinary that so many empty boxes and such piles of debris

could have been the result of fourteen months’ stay. I suppose our camp

will appear the same three years after we have departed. We skirted

round the ruined pony shelter, over boxes of cork packing and cases of

empty bottles. The door of the porch had carried away, but the inner

door was standing. A foot of ice sealed it at the bottom, but hanging on

the door was an envelope addressed in Professor David’s hand, “To Any

One who may visit Cape Royds.” It did not enter his mind when he placed

it there that an old student of his would be the first to see this. The

envelope contained a short account of the results of the 1907

expedition, left there “in case the _Nimrod_ is lost on her return

voyage.” I carried the record back to Captain Scott, a very interesting

document, though luckily not of vital importance, since the expedition’s

success was not marred by any accident at the eleventh hour.

We then set about getting into the hut. Cutting into the ice with our

ice-axes we came to a tightly fixed block of wood—which we thought had

been placed there to fasten the door. More chips of ice were removed by

the ice-axes, and we saw that it was merely a broom, which had fallen

down and been embedded its whole length in a foot of ice. There was

nothing for it but to cut away this stubborn sentinel, and then it was

possible to open the door a foot or so.

We entered with much curiosity. All the windows had been covered with

battens, but I did not expect to find it so snug and untouched by the

weather. Not a grain of snow seems to have entered. We opened one

window, and the place might have been abandoned the day before. On the

low table in the centre a meal had been left. Condensed milk, saucers,

biscuits, jam, and gingerbread. The latter were very good, and not

harmed by two years’ exposure. At the back was a tray from the oven with

a batch of scones just cooked, and a loaf of bread. I lifted the latter,

and the whole outer surface peeled away, leaving a ball in the middle.

This is just the way basalt weathers when exposed to the air, and it is

known technically as “spheroidal weathering.” I did _not_ eat the bread.

The 1907 expedition left in a hurry, I believe, which accounts for the

somewhat unkempt appearance of the hut. Boots were scattered on the

floor, books over the bunks, socks drying on lines. In one corner a

roulette machine, in another a packet of paper used in their printing

press. I fear I was most interested in tinned fruits, and searched

through a huge store of unused food in one corner of the hut. Tea,

pickles, jams, milk, onions, sausages, hams, cocoa, delicatessen,

everything but canned fruit. Finally we saw that the dark room was built

of cases of bottled fruit, and in honour of the first crossing of the

Barne Glacier we broached a case and extracted a bottle of gooseberries

and another of currants. It was a queer meal. I had brought bacon and

ship’s biscuit. Wright selected plum-pudding, sardines, and Nestle’s

milk. I found preserved ginger, raisins, and corned beef. We drank

alternately of currant and gooseberry vinegar, and ate through the above

menu. Antarctica is immune from dyspepsia, for we felt none the worse.

We strolled round the headquarters. The penguins were very interesting,

for they were busy feeding half-fledged chicks. There are no nests near

Cape Evans, but the atmosphere is the purer! I was not prepared for the

shape and size of these chicks. They were nearly as tall as their

parents, and twice as large round the most important part of their

anatomy. Huge balls of dark grey fluff, with feeble little squeaks no

louder than a chicken’s—in strong contrast to the indignant cries of

their parents.

After a couple of hours at Cape Royds we turned south and experienced no

difficulty until we reached the crevasses, for we followed our previous

track. The crevasses seemed to have widened a little; we were somewhat

tired, and the farther edge was now higher than the nearer. In some

examples—which we did not tackle—the difference in height reached two

feet. However, we crossed them safely (though in two instances one foot

went through the soft snow) and reached Cape Evans without misadventure.

[Illustration:

PHOTO OF THE HUT, SHOWING THE RAMP AND EREBUS, JAN. 20, 1911.

The south annexe built of food cases (on the right) and the stable on

the left built of coal blocks are just being finished.

]

[Illustration:

PENGUIN COURTSHIP ON THE ICE-FOOT NEAR CAPE EVANS.

]

Captain Scott had made a journey on a dog sledge to his old quarters

(1902) at Cape Armitage, sixteen miles south of us. Unluckily he found

his hut filled with ice and practically useless, so much so that they

slept outside. He had never seen the locality so free from snow. On the

25th of January he hopes to make a start on the depôt journey to the

south, and on the same day the western scientific party sets out to

explore Dry Valley, Snow Valley, and the Koettlitz Glacier. Captain

Scott has honoured me with the charge of this party, whose personnel I

have described previously.

[Illustration:

_Traced G T._

First sketch-map made January 21, 1911 (before any survey), showing

ice fronts and positions of ship, A-E

]

We have now occupied our hut for a week. Let me close the story of these

early days by describing our life in the hut. To-morrow we leave it for

some months of sledge work, so that we have been very busy for some time

past. From the porch one enters the quarters assigned to the seamen and

cooks. A large galley-stove is placed on the right, and behind it is the

chief touch of colour in the hut in the form of rows of tins of food,

spices, and utensils. A bunk suspended high up from one corner by an

iron rod marks the resting-place of Engineer Lashley. To the left are

many wire mattresses supported on neat iron frames. A queer instrument

like a guitar cut in half is the cherished possession of Anton, the

Russian groom. His comical little bow when you address him—for he speaks

no English—reminds me of the action known as “louting low.”

“For some time the ship had been lying quite close to the hut—about a

quarter of a mile away at the spot C (on the accompanying sketch-map).

The original edge of the ice is shown, and here the ship stayed (at A)

until the motor sank. Then she moved to B, nearer the Barne Glacier. On

the 18th she came along the crack which opened near the stranded bergs

to the position C. But seventeen bergs came into sight, and one huge

tabular, as if desirous of this site, bore right down on her. So the

ship moved across the Sound to get away from the northern wind. In

cruising about here, she ran aground at D off Cape Evans. There was

sixty feet of water under the stern and only seventeen feet at the bows!

That’s pretty steep! They ‘rocked’ her by running across ship in unison,

and after an hour got her off. I photographed her from the Cape where

the land party watched the efforts of the seamen.”

Later I heard that this collision with the reefs of McMurdo Sound tore

out a small splinter a foot deep and about ten feet long! Luckily the

stout old ship could spare this at her bows without grave inconvenience.

A bulkhead of boxes, amid which two branded “sherry” mark the

wherewithal of future festivities, separated the “mess deck” from the

“wardroom.” The latter occupies two-thirds of the hut, and here the

sixteen officers live. A long table extends down the middle and reaches

to a palatial inner room, sacred to Ponting, the photographer. The roof

of the latter is by no means wasted, but constitutes an important

laboratory. At the back are two incubators, not for eggs but for

parasites, bacteria, and other pleasant creatures fondly cared for by

Dr. Atkinson, whom we expect to see brooding for hours over his pets.

The centre of the room is thus accounted for. The right and left are

divided into cubicles. First, on the left, are five mattresses assigned

to Messrs. Oates, Meares, Bowers, Atkinson, and Cherry-Garrard. The

right wall was divided into three compartments, occupied respectively by

Messrs. Debenham, Gran and Taylor, Nelson and Day, Simpson and Wright.

We have to live in this space for six months of darkness, and as we are

limited horizontally to seventeen square feet each, it will not cause

surprise to find that we have imitated the New York sky-scrapers. The

first few hours of our house furnishing were devoted to amassing enough

thick timber to build strong frames for the mattresses. These are built

in tiers, and so each cubicle has some clear floor space. In our own

cubicle Debenham has raised his bunk five feet from the floor, and

underneath this will ultimately develop a whole geological laboratory!

In the far corner is a little oil-engine and dynamo, providing current

for Dr. Simpson’s meteorological apparatus. On a table at one of the two

windows is the “counter,” an important portion of the biologist’s

sanctum. The rest of it is below the counter!

[Illustration:

SHIP AGROUND ON A REEF OFF CAPE EVANS CLOSE TO THE TUNNEL BERG.

The whaleboat is trying to tow off the ship, while a skua gull on the

cape is an interested spectator.

]

[Illustration:

GRIFFITH TAYLOR IN SUMMER RIG (ON A KEEN DAY) ON CAPE EVANS, JAN. 25,

1911.

]

Half the left side of the wardroom is in part partitioned off. Captain

Scott has one portion of this. His eastern boundary is a huge

drawing-table under our second window. On the other side of this, and

snugly fenced in by the dark room, are the quarters of Lieutenant Evans

and Dr. Wilson.

Near the dark room are the stove and the pianola. The removal of the

latter from the ship nearly devastated the officers’ quarters afloat.

The stairs were removed, and we had to get into the ship’s wardroom down

a rope during the two days while they struggled with the pianola.

However, it has safely arrived, though just the last few days a new

gramophone has had greater popularity.

During the two months of our absence the hut will be fitted with

acetylene lighting. The four officers and five men who remain have also

a contract to kill (and clean) a thousand penguins and skuas, so that

they will be as busy as the sledging parties.

Outside the hut the sea waves now wash the kenyte gravel. In the last

two days a mile of sea-ice has floated off, and now the _Terra Nova_ is

hovering around only waiting to land the three parties (south, west, and

east) before she turns her prow to the green northern land. All our

preparations are made, and we join her to-morrow morning.

The educative value and the interest of an expedition like this is

inestimable. I have tried to describe some of the features with which I

have been most impressed myself. During the voyage one learns something

of seamanship, of biology, of navigation, and of naval matters

generally. Firsthand information on every conceivable subject from men

who have seen many quarters of the world with an appreciative eye is

obviously full of interest. The biologist discusses those portions of

his subject which touch on geology or meteorology with students who are

as anxious to approach them from other standpoints. In another way also

is this expedition almost unique. It is hardly credible that twenty men

should associate for three months in somewhat cramped quarters without a

jar; yet I can truly say that the best of good fellowship has always

existed. This is the best possible omen for success in the future.

[NOTE.—This narrative is left in the form in which it was sent back to

Australia in January, 1911, in the belief that nothing is lost (and

perhaps some touch of reality gained) by so doing.]

III

FIRST WESTERN EXPEDITION

JANUARY–MARCH, 1911

FIRST WESTERN EXPEDITION

On the 24th of January the ponies went over the sea-ice to Glacier

Tongue _en route_ for the Barrier Depôt trip. Captain Scott and the

western party sailed in the _Terra Nova_ to the Tongue, which we reached

about noon.

Later we were able to study the Tongue in some detail, but we could see

that it consisted of a huge pier of ice about half a mile wide, and

projecting some five miles from the low cliffs south of Turk’s Head. The

surface was undulating, and about a hundred feet above the sea in the

centre. Its origin is doubtful. Probably it is old piedmont ice anchored

on some hidden ridge, but it is added to by blizzards sweeping over the

root of the Castle Rock Promontory and depositing snow on the leeward

side of the cape. We saw sections of it stranded fifty miles to the

north-west later, which proved its partial origin from snowdrifts.

On the 25th Debenham, Wright, and myself marched to Hut Point, where the

1902 hut was situated. We took a light sledge and our sleeping-bags. It

was very interesting to recognize the places of which we had read in the

“Voyage of the _Discovery_.” Castle Rock was very prominent, a huge dark

square “keep” about two hundred feet above the promontory; “Danger

Slope”—an icy slope dropping down to 150 feet ice cliffs—on which Vince

lost his life early in 1903. The conical hill, seven hundred feet high,

just east of Vince’s Cross, was Observation Hill; destined to carry

another cross two years later to the memory of the man who had built the

hut below.

Off Hut Point the sea-ice was very rotten and full of huge holes.

However, we reached the ice-foot easily enough, and pulled up to the

hut. The surroundings were very tidy compared to Shackleton’s quarters,

which was very natural, for the 1902 expedition practically lived in the

ship. It was surrounded by tremendous eaves, which were meant to protect

stores, etc. We found the door blocked by ice, and had to enter by a

window. It was filled with snow to a depth of four feet, which had

drifted in through various openings. We found a bulwark of biscuit boxes

in the middle, and various stores of chocolate, etc. Some brownish

powder, after some cogitation, we determined to be pepper. It had quite

“lost its savour” in the ten years of exposure. Alongside were the

little magnetic huts. Wright commandeered some asbestos sheets for our

own magnetic equipment, and then we set off to see the real object of

our visit.

[Illustration:

Original geological sketch by Captain Scott (January 19, 1911),

directing our attention to an unusual outcrop at Hut Point.

]

Captain Scott had noticed an exposure of lamellar rocks of a sandy

appearance among the almost uniformly dark basic rocks of this region,

and, although no geologist, he realized that it was possible that a

fragment of the well-known Beacon Sandstone (a fossil-bearing rock) had

been torn up by a basic lava on its passage to the surface. This would

show the relative age of the two rocks concerned (the lava, of course,

being younger), and so was well worth investigating. We found the

outcrop readily enough from Captain Scott’s sketch, but Debenham and I

decided that it was a weathered variety of eruptive rock, and not of

sedimentary origin.

Two other appearances were noticeable here, which were worth recording

because we saw them later in various other quarters of Victoria Land. We

could not account for them from our first example. On the steep face of

the cliff (five hundred feet high) near where poor Vince slipped to his

doom, were four long horizontal ridges—one above the other—of dark

masses of rock. They resembled lateral moraines left by giant glaciers,

but I believe they are due to debris rolling down to the foot of a snow

slope. The latter varies in extent with varying seasons, and so the

debris ridge may be deposited at another level.

Another very curious feature soon attracted our notice. All the more or

less level lowland around Cape Armitage, as well as the bare plateau of

Crater Heights, was marked out like a gigantic tesselated pavement. I

noted in my journal, “The lowlands of loose black rock appear to be

rolled by a steam roller, while the surface is broken by gutters from

four to eight inches deep.” These gutters marked out hexagonal and

polygonal areas some twenty or thirty feet across. When a light snowfall

had collected in the gutters, the valleys seemed to have been paved with

black tiles united by white mortar.

These symmetrical polygons are due to a slow movement of half-frozen

soil, which has been noted in polar lands, and is called solifluxion or

soil-creep. We saw many examples of these tesselations in the western

moraines.

We walked back to the camp on the sea-ice, pulling the asbestos sheets

on the sledge. There was some cold tea to spare in Nelson’s tent, and we

were glad to make our meal off this and some biscuits. Then, pillowing

my head on a camera, I coiled into my sleeping-bag, and so spent my

first night on trek.

On the next morning we were told that we could ride back to the ship on

the dog sledges. Nothing loth, we tied our sledge behind Meares’, and

soon covered the eight miles.

The dogs pulled rapidly, but seemed to need frequent rests. It was much

more lively than “man-hauling.” Meares’ constant cries, “Tchui—Tchui!

Ky—Ky!” directed the leading dog, and the six pairs behind him swerved

left or right in unison. There were numerous seals on our route, and

Meares had considerable trouble to keep the dogs to the straight path of

duty. One ginger seal especially excited their interest, and ours also,

for the colour is most uncommon. Usually the seals are a dull fawn

brown, though the breast is often beautifully mottled with white spots.

My first seal-killing had been done a day or two before.

After dinner Wright and I had marched off on hunting bent. We walked

over the great South Road—where we had cleared a track for the ponies

over Cape Evans—and reached Gully Bay. Just over the tide crack we came

on three seals; one beautifully dappled, one small and dark, and a huge,

big fellow. We wanted the skin for making sandals, and so attacked the

biggest specimen. There was not much attack about it! You just hit him

hard on the nose, as Wright did with an ice-axe, and then stab him under

the fore-flipper, as I did with my Serbish dagger. To make sure, we

pole-axed him also. Then we skinned him with considerable difficulty,

for two of us could hardly make the body budge! The skin and blubber

were two inches thick and frightfully slippery; you could not grip it.

We had to drive the ice-axe into the loose flap of hide, and so

gradually drag the carcase into the positions necessary for flaying. We

left the hide on the head and limbs, and then cut through the

cartilaginous breastbone and secured the huge liver—about forty pounds

of it, I expect. We intended to drag the hide back with a rope, but all

we could manage was the liver, of which I hung a part on each

forefinger. Then we walked back to the hut, about half an hour’s

journey, and when we arrived I gave the liver to the cook. I soon found

that my fingers were frostbitten, and through inexperience I stayed in

the hut. For five minutes I tramped up and down with an almost

unbearable pain in my fingers very like toothache. Never again did I

expose my hands in the Antarctic in any constrained position, so that

this first slight mishap was a good lesson to me.

On the 27th of January the ship left Glacier Tongue, to carry our party

to the western side of MacMurdo Sound, a distance of thirty miles. I got

a photo of the face of the Tongue—showing queer little bulbous icicles

where the swell of the tide had licked them. The Tongue rises and falls

with the tide, and so there was no very definite crack between it and

the sea-ice at its end. Little did we think that this century-old

natural wharf was to be torn away from its moorings a few weeks later!

Now that all chance of adding to our equipment had passed, we found that

several important matters required attention. For instance, my

ski-boots—in which I had to traverse rocky slopes for six

weeks—developed a hole thus early in the campaign! This apparently

trivial matter bulked very largely in the succeeding journey, and though

they were roughly cobbled on board and stiffened with all sorts and

conditions of nails—none being very suitable—they were a constant source

of worry.

In the afternoon we approached Butter Point, passing through a belt of

“brash ice” to reach it. This curiously named headland is where the 1902

party started to explore the western valleys. Here a supply of butter

was left for the returning travellers to reward them with a toothsome

dish of fried seal’s liver (if they had “first caught their seal”).

Butter Point is really the north-east end of a “piedmont” glacier. It is

a mass of ice—almost stagnant—which covers a coastal shelf some five

miles wide between the foothills and the sea. The snow slopes rose

rapidly to a hundred feet or so, and then more gradually to five hundred

feet. Many unsuccessful attempts to fix an ice-anchor in the hard snow

(covering the glacier) resulted in our moving north a short distance,

where a grip was obtained when the anchors were carried some two hundred

yards inshore.

On the summit of the snow ridge, about half a mile away, we saw the pole

of the depôt left by the 1907 expedition. This was now visited by a

sledge party to depôt provisions for the forthcoming northern journey in

spring.

In the meantime our two sledges were lowered on to the ice, and packed

in readiness for our start. The sledges differed in size, one being

twelve feet long, and the other only nine feet. The latter Evans

evidently regarded as the apple of his eye, but weight for weight it was

much less efficient than the larger sledge, since it weighed almost as

much, but could not carry three-quarters of the load. We had a heavy

equipment for four men, averaging about 270 lbs. each, but as we were

only proposing to take one sledge for a considerable portion of the

journey, this was of little importance.

Our total load was as follows:—

LBS.

_Sledges, etc._ Twelve-feet sledge 52

Nine-feet sledge 47

Two instrument boxes 14

Iron under-runners 52

———

Total 165

———

_Food and Fuel, etc._ Oil tins on platform 78

One tin of spirits 5½

Seven weeks’ food 250

Biscuits (four boxes) 196

Ready bag (one week) 41

Boxes protecting biscuit 52

Cooker 7½

———

Total 630

———

_Tools, etc._ Three ice-axes ... 8½

Crowbar and shovel 14

Candles 3

Lantern 1½

Alpine rope 11

Bamboos 2¼

Tent and poles 26

Four sleeping-bags 49

Repair bag, etc. 14

———

Total 130

———

_Instruments, etc._ Theodolite 11½

Aneroids, etc. 1

Zeiss camera 8

Six dozen plates 12

Goerz camera 7

Three dozen plates 6

Box camera and films 7

Polariscope 5

Binoculars 3

Compass, abney, etc. 5

———

Total 65

———

_Personal Gear_ 50

———

LBS.

Totals Sledges, etc. 165

Food, etc. 630

Tools, etc. 130

Instruments, etc. 65

Personal 50

————

1040

————

[Illustration:

MODEL OF COUNTRY TRAVERSED ON FIRST JOURNEY.

Outward journeys, Butler Point to Alcove Camp and Butler Point to

Heald Island, shown. See also folding map at end of book. C =

Cathedral Rocks. D.I. = West Dailey Island. K = Knob Head. D = Davis

Bay Depôt. H = Heald Island. N = Nussbaum Riegel. W = Walcott

Glacier.

]

Several items in this list may be commented on. The heavy steel sledge

runners were designed to fit under the wooden runners of the sledge, to

take the wear and tear when we were crossing the rough ice of the

glaciers. No favourable occasion for their use arose until half our

journey was completed, and then, as will be seen, the trial resulted in

the smashing of the large sledge. We also carried the biscuit tins

enclosed in their stout wooden cases up and down the Ferrar glacier,

with the idea of preserving the biscuits from breakage. The cases were

discarded on our return to Butter Point without any inconvenience from

broken biscuit resulting. These two items alone constituted one-tenth of

our load, and we were glad when trials showed that we could get along

much better without them.

It will be noticed that an exceptionally large photographic battery was

carried. This was necessitated by the character of the problems which

engaged our attention. For instance, Wright was chiefly interested in

the forms of ice structure which we encountered. The most delicate

ice-crystals, which withered at a breath, must needs be photographed _in

situ_. There was no possibility of his bringing back specimens for study

in the hut during the dark winter months. For similar reasons a somewhat

bulky polariscope—in which sheets of ice were examined in polarized

light—formed part of Wright’s load, and accompanied him in a rucksack

wherever he went. Debenham was engaged on the more usual work of

collecting specimens, mapping their occurrence in the field, and

studying the relations of the various rocks. For this purpose another

camera was essential, since in general his investigations were carried

out in the cliffs at some distance from the rest of us. The subject

which primarily interested myself may be popularly described as the

bearing of geology on scenery—in other words, “How has the land surface

been affected by the flow of glaciers, by the action of wind, frost,

water, and ice? How do the resulting features differ from those observed

in more temperate regions where water plays such an important part and

ice erosion is absent?”

During February we obtained nearly a hundred photographs illustrating

the typical valleys, glaciers, moraines, and general topography of the

western mountains, which it is hoped will help to settle the question,

“How do glaciers erode the deep valleys they occupy?” But early in March

our cameras became practically useless, for the cold stiffened the

shutters and the snow obliterated the details of the landscape.

I asked Pennell to take some soundings off the glacier mouth, for it has

been supposed that glaciers cut their troughs out even below the surface

of the sea. Rivers, of course, cannot erode below this level, so that

this investigation was of importance in connection with the Ice _versus_

Water Erosion hypotheses. He found only seventy fathoms (420 feet),

which bears little resemblance to the glacier-cut fiords of Norway, some

6000 feet below sea-level. There is often so much silt and debris

washing down from these valleys, that it may be possible that a deep

rock trough has been filled thereby. But I think it improbable for

reasons which will appear later.

Debenham went off with the eastern party to examine the depôt on Butter

Point. Priestley was able to identify many of the articles here as

having been left by David on the magnificent magnetic Pole journey.

Meanwhile, Wright, Evans, and I got our stores and sledges on to the ice

and started packing. Some of the seamen went off to kill a seal,

accompanied by our doctor, Levick. The latter was to show them a humane

and speedy way of ending the seal. He described the method to us on his

return, but the effect was spoilt by the butcher declaring that the seal

had travelled a hundred yards after Levick had officially killed it!

Debenham had arranged his northern depôt by six o’clock, and then our

party put the finishing touches to our two sledges. With the zeal of a

new leader, I advised donning wind-proofs as evening drew on; but

experience showed later that they were rarely needed until mid-February!

I left my trusty “mousetrap” camera on board, some one snapping a photo

of us just before the start.

About 6.30 we pulled off from the ship across the sea-ice which

separated us from the glacier. The surface was good, and we dragged the

sledges about five miles before camping. We headed for the northern side

of the glacier. The southern side of the Ferrar was really more direct,

but it was cut up into gullies and pinnacles such as made sledging

almost impossible.

I asked Evans to cook during the first week; and Debenham was cook’s

mate, to follow on later. So upon halting Evans took charge of the

cooker and proceeded to light the primus, while Wright and I erected the

tent over him. Debenham filled the outer cooker with ice and then joined

us in piling snow blocks on the flounce of the tent. After seeing that

all was secure on the sledges we dived into the tent, and sitting on our

rolled-up bags proceeded to change our socks. All of us, except the

unfortunate cook, who was too busy mixing pemmican and salt and pepper

and thickers—measuring out chocolate and cocoa, etc.—to have any time to

attend to socks! This was one reason why cooking was not more popular!

Our wet socks were hung on a rope slung upon the sledges, and by morning

the frozen moisture had evaporated (ablated) completely off.

However, on this particular evening, while the pemmican was being

cooked, Wright and I walked a mile or so to the south and reached a

lateral “tongue” or prolongation of the main glacier. There was a sudden

rise of some three feet, and the surface, in place of being level and

comparatively smooth, was carved out into deep irregular bowls with

overhanging margins. These were in all probability giant “sunholes,” and

their floors were covered with a most beautiful carpet of snow crystals.

Examined closely, each crystal plate was like the segment of a fan

strengthened by cross-ribs. These plates were often half an inch across.

The whole structure of sunholes, crystals, and hummocking ice reminded

me of nothing so much as the appearance of a coral reef, and I suggested

the name “coral-reef surface” for the type of ice and snow weathering.

We returned and found the “hoosh” nearly ready. I read the sledging

orders which Captain Scott had given me a few days previously.

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

Letter of Instruction to Griffith Taylor, Esq.

]

As usual we found the pemmican too rich at first, and I note that I

could only eat three of the biscuits! This delicate appetite did not

survive many days of Antarctic sledging. I slept soundly, only waking

once at four; but the thought that I carried the chronometer and was

responsible for the punctual rising at 7.30 (6.30 local time) made me

uneasy for many ensuing mornings!

We did not expect to return by this route, so that I thought it

advisable to investigate the physiography of the lower end of the

glacier. After breakfast we all went over to the south side of the

valley. Wright was soon busy on hands and knees investigating the

beautiful “fan” crystals. Debenham and I walked on further to some

isolated moraine heaps, which projected about ten feet above the ice. I

made a traverse over the glacier as far as the lower slope of the hills

with the following results. The moraine heaps seemed to be the outward

and visible sign of a large continuous ridge—or sheet—most of which was

buried in old ice and snow. The mingling of fine silts and huge

boulders, some four feet long, was characteristic of a glacial deposit,

and a few doubtful striæ were present. Many varieties of rock were

represented, granites, recalling the famous “Shap” of the Lake District;

splendid porphyries with large almond-like felspars in a brown matrix;

gneisses of many varieties with parallel layers of glistening mica and

dull black hornblende; and some crystalline limestones and much

dolerite; both of which occurred _in situ_ about ten miles further west.

These elongated silt and boulder ridges showed deep cracks along their

sides, indicating, I imagine, considerable movement of the glacier which

bore them.

The next half a mile was rather difficult travelling, through pinnacle

ice and through large lately frozen pools of water. Very striking were

some of the ice-forms here. “Topsy-turvy” icicles, whose original

support had almost melted away—leaving them attached below and

surmounted with knobs like hatpins, and unsupported crusts of ice which

dropped one into a pool of water, were types that made the most lasting

impression. I soon reached the land—a sunny slope facing the noon sun.

Here several merry little brooks hurried down over the powdery silt to

hide themselves beneath the glacier. To be sure, they were only an inch

deep and meandered across little channels a couple of feet wide, but

they were unusual enough to excite interest. Gradually the silts changed

into a pebbly soil, and this into a uniform layer of coarse gravel as I

ascended the slope. Larger stones and boulders became common, and one

specimen seemed of special interest. It was a fragment of coarse granite

some six inches long, with its upper surface weathered to such an extent

that every felspar appeared as a separate glistening brick; yet the

moiety of the granite buried in the silt was as smooth as any pebble

from the beach. I consider it by no means improbable that this

relatively large amount of “weathering” had been accomplished while this

fragment lay in its present insecure situation.

A little higher up the slope I was amazed to see a carpet of green moss,

as flourishing as any in more temperate regions. I sat down on a granite

erratic, and noted that three types of vegetation were present. One was

a veritable moss, to my unbotanical eyes, the ordinary moss of universal

distribution. Of the other two species, which may have been algæ, one

resembled the seaweed called _Ulva_, and the other had a somewhat

fibrous structure. The patch of green was sixty feet long and about

fifteen feet wide, and is possibly the largest area of vegetation south

of 77½°! I was under the impression that these forms were quite common

around MacMurdo Sound, but if I had known that they were inhabited by a

most interesting primitive flea, I should certainly have added some to

our load. However, we obtained thousands of the insects next year at

Granite Harbour.

On my return I found that Evans had laboriously collected the fragments

of a shell, which, pieced together, built up a red scallop. He picked it

up on the moraine, where it may have been blown by the wind.

We inspanned at noon, and before lunch reached the low ridges marking

the junction of the centre of the glacier with the sea-ice. Here we

obtained fresh water for the cooker, by cutting some three inches

through the sea-ice. Evidently at this season the sub-glacial drainage

overpowered the sea-water at this spot, which was eight or nine miles

from the open sea.

To the north of this was that remarkable “Double Curtain” glacier, which

is photographed in the _Discovery_ volume. After lunch Wright and I

decided to walk in that direction, and we soon saw we should be

justified in devoting some hours to its examination; while Debenham came

along later and collected the varied rocks in the vicinity. As we

approached the northern slopes the surface of the Ferrar Glacier altered

in character, and gave place to large lake-like areas of ice, which

exhibited most beautiful figures on close examination. In the upper

layers of the ice were included radiating designs which resembled a

miniature Hampton Court maze in porcelain embedded in glass. These

intricate patterns—which are characteristic of glacier ice—I termed

“Arabesques.” They are due, I imagine, to some variation in the

solidifying water, perhaps owing to air being squeezed into the latest

ice formed—or again show where stones have sunk deep into the glacier.

Somewhat nearer the shore there were more unpleasant surfaces met

with—large dome-covered ponds into which we fell at frequent intervals.

We decided that a tramp over the Crystal Palace would give rise to the

same sensations. Bounding the glacier and separated from the debris

slopes by a wide stream was an avenue or colonnade of gigantic ice

pinnacles thirty feet high. These were traversed by narrow crevasses,

down one of which I had to climb to rescue an ice-axe. The sun

glistening on the icy minarets and beautiful icicles made a most

impressive sight. This ice ridge is due to pressure from the glacier

piling the ice against the cliff higher up. This crenellated selvage to

the more level central level centre of the glacier—moves to the sea with

the main body, and so preserves its lateral position, though no pressure

can exist where we saw it—for it is many yards from the rock.

Between the pinnacle ridge and the slopes was the water-bearing channel

which invariably accompanies a large glacier in these regions. This

physiographic feature is one of the most interesting and most important

in connection with the characteristic topography of Antarctic valleys.

The small valley bounded by ice on one side and rock on the other is

conveniently termed the _Lateral moat_. Hereabouts it was rather

complex, but further up the main glaciers its valley occupied merely a

simple V. After crossing the pinnacles we had to negotiate a stream in

which the water lay in pools several feet deep—though its flow was

comparatively small. Then over a silt moraine and so across another

slight depression to the talus slopes below the “Double Curtain”

tributary glaciers. It seemed a simple matter at first to investigate

the glacier front, but it lay much further up the slope than I had

imagined, and was moreover protected by an icy mantle of frozen thaw

water which surrounded the snout. Wright cut steps across this “mantle,”

and found that the almost vertical face of the glacier was forty feet

high, and composed of layers of snow which had only lately reached the

condition of ice.

[Illustration:

MY FIRST CAMP IN ANTARCTICA AT THE SNOUT OF THE FERRAR GLACIER.

Over a mile away is the Double Curtain Cliff Glacier. The Kukri Hills

are 3000 feet high. The Snout is only ten feet above the sea-ice on

which is the tent. The socks are hung out to dry on the sledge.

]

[Illustration:

PHOTO TAKEN JUST BEFORE WE PACKED THE SLEDGES FOR THE FIRST SLEDGE

JOURNEY, JAN. 27, 1911.

Note the biscuits in the four venesta cases. The men are wearing

windproof blouses.

[_See p. 120._

]

Meanwhile I climbed up the steep rock slopes alongside the glacier. At

first the rocky debris was a confused jumble of granites, dolerites, and

basalt, with occasional limestones and gneisses. At 2500 feet elevation

I reached the top of the slope and stood on the great shoulder which

characterizes the Kukri Hills hereabouts. Here solid rock was

plentiful—the same gray granite traversed by long dykes of dark basic

rock. A wonderful panorama was spread out before me. I could see up the

Ferrar Glacier as far as Knob Head. To the south-west jutted out the

three giant gables—like the roof of a Gothic cathedral—which were so

appropriately named Cathedral Rocks.

I was much interested in my first view of Descent Pass, by which we

proposed to reach the Koettlitz Glacier. Still further to the south-west

the spurless wall of the Ferrar was notched by the “Overflow.” The

latter appeared to spill out through a gloomy curving gorge which

indisputably showed evidence of water erosion. In the far west towered

the massive Royal Society Range, culminating in Mt. Lister. Its eastern

face was carved into rounded “armchair” valleys (cwms) and deep

razor-back ridges—another type of topography which has been recognized

in temperate regions as characteristic of glacial erosion.

On descending to the main glacier I found that the others had collected

several small sponges and shells from the small silt moraine in the

lateral moat. These organic remains are puzzling, for it is difficult to

imagine that such light and fragile specimens indicate a sea-beach,

which could only have raised so many feet above the sea at some far

distant period.

Objects of greater biological interest had been encountered on our walk

to the side of the glacier. In the rough ice we saw many Emperor

Penguins, stolidly motionless and obviously awaiting the end of their

moulting season. We crossed over towards them and found that there were

several flocks, probably totalling one hundred.

In the nearest group were thirty-six individuals, only one of which had

completed moulting.

He was singled out for sacrifice and fell by a blow on the neck. Evans

and I dragged him to our camp, where I skinned and cleaned the carcase

in preparation for a change of diet if our appetite failed on a pemmican

regime. The limbs I hacked off with my new bowie knife, and I was

chagrined to find that penguin bones can chip the best Sheffield blade!

Already my boots began to give trouble. The soft leather sole would not

hold the short nails, which only were available on the _Terra Nova_, so

that I attempted to mend matters by driving in some Canadian lumber

spikes supplied by Wright.

After Wright had taken another round of angles with the theodolite we

moved on up the Ferrar Glacier. The surface degenerated rapidly. The

flatter portions were sun-carved into serried ranks of projections like

plough-shares, and we used the term “Plough-share Ice” to describe this

feature. Although this was unpleasant to walk on, yet the sledges

travelled over it readily—for as a general rule bad walking meant easy

pulling, and _vice versa_. But great holes, two or three feet deep, were

cut out below the general level, and these were closer together as we

moved further west. They were crusted with fan crystals, and indeed

represented a stage of surface evolution which I have described as

“coral reef structure.” We had much difficulty in guiding the sledges,

and they capsized several times before lunch. Every now and again the

sledge runners would jam, sending a jar through one’s frame, so that

this unpleasant experience became known—quite naturally—as a “jam-jar.”

Towards evening we approached the first series of pressure rolls.

Crossing diagonally (from south to north) were four frozen rivers which

formed tempting surfaces, but unfortunately in the wrong direction, for

they led to the broken ice of the Overflow.

We camped in an undulation filled deeply with hard snow, a little below

a fine tributary glacier and nearly opposite the Overflow.

On the 30th we started up some steep undulations. We had anticipated

easy going, for Evans, on his 1902 journeys, had always encountered

clear smooth ice here. But the ice was buried under a foot of snow and

only showed in occasional holes. I made brief notes of the surfaces

throughout the day, at our various halts, and they are characteristic of

glacier sledging and so are here reproduced.

“_First Halt._ Heavy going up the undulations; three of them traversed

already; the surface is smooth but the runners stick to the snow.

“_Second Halt._ We have crossed the head of quite a deep snow-covered

valley crossing the glacier,—on both sides were numerous crevasses, but

they were not wide, the largest being under three feet. I slipped in

twice, and Evans and Wright had similar mishaps (in no case, however,

did both feet go in). Definite snow bridges over crevasses. We halted at

a dead seal, obviously a young specimen and yellowish in colour.

“_Third Halt._ We can see a good lateral moraine at the foot of the

cliffs, for we are gradually rising up a steep slope with a bad surface.

Only a few narrow cracks.

“_Fourth Halt._ Still on the same slope, which is hard going and causes

much sweat, chiefly owing to our rather heavy loads, as the slope is

only three degrees.

“_Fifth Stage._ Same surfaces; stopped for lunch, having done 3600 paces

in three-quarters of an hour (_fide_ pedometer).

“_Sixth Stage._ The surface became less damnable and we did a mile in

which short patches of ice appeared under one inch of powdery snow. Some

‘glass-roof’ ice is appearing into which we fall, and the snow is still

one foot thick in many places.

“_Seventh Stage_ (5 p.m.). We are reaching plough-share ice.

“_Eighth Stage._ Snow is falling on the northern slopes, but does not

reach down to our level.

“_Ninth Stage._ Much better surface, nearly all ice, though the snow has

powdered it to a greyish colour.

“_Tenth Stage._ ‘Arabesques’ are showing in the clear ice underfoot,

they seem to mark fairly old solid ice and indicate good travelling.

“_Eleventh Stage_ (8 p.m.). Crossing the glacier to Cathedral Rocks;

surface good, but the moraine seems a long way ahead.

“_Twelfth Stage_ (9 p.m.). Stopped near the big moraine after heavy

pulling over two inches of soft snow. Camped on big patch of hard snow

by a huge boulder.”

We spent the forenoon making our depôt at this camp. It lay four miles

north-west of Descent Pass, and would be on our route if we decided to

return to the sea by the Pass. We left here what we did not require

during our fortnight in the Dry Valley region. We piled three biscuit

boxes on the smaller sledge, and packed the smaller provision bags under

the sledge. We put the butter inside the instrument box with the spare

photographic plates. Also I decided to leave the heavy steel

under-runners, for so far we had met with no rough ice. The penguin had

been lashed on behind the sledge and had suffered considerably from the

capsizes! Him we buried under some blocks of snow, pending a “hoosh” on

our return. We took a fortnight’s provisions in addition to the

“ready-bag,” and I tied a note to our depôt flag, mentioning the 11th as

the probable date of our return.

Just to the west of the main Cathedral Rocks was a very interesting

tributary valley—the first real low-level tributary of which we had had

a good view. Obviously owing to some difference in the snow-supply, this

tributary is keeping pace with the main glacier, and enters the latter

“at grade.” The majority of the other tributaries have not entered the

Ferrar on a level (at grade) since it was two thousand feet thicker.

The sun was quite powerful, and we had to wear goggles in consequence,

but during our ensuing stay in Dry Valley there was so much bare rock

that we had no need for them. At lunch my unlucky boots fell to pieces

again, and Evans put some scientific sewing into them. But no sewing

held, until continual frost turned the leather into a material almost as

strong as steel.

Towards six o’clock we reached the top of the steeper portion of the

Ferrar Glacier, and found ourselves on a small ice plateau about 3200

feet above sea-level. On the south it rose to the south arm, while to

the north was the entrance to Dry Valley. The col of ice leading in this

direction is of considerable interest, for it shows what conditions were

like near Luzern in the Great Ice Age. However, I will describe this

form of “Twin Glacier” in a later paragraph.

A few miles before we camped we were hauling the sledge along the foot

of the grandest geological section I have ever seen. The cliff was 3300

feet high (as determined by Abney level), and was divided into so many

distinct layers that it resembled a gigantic sandwich! It was capped by

a little triangle of yellowish rock, which represents the most eastern

exposure of the Beacon Sandstone in the valley. Beneath this were two

wonderful “sills,” or horizontal sheets of the basic lava called

dolerite. They could be traced in the cliffs for miles and miles, and

represented flows of lava wedged in between the granites and sandstones.

These dolerite sills were strongly columnar, and near by some isolated

pillars of enormous size were visible on the skyline. Above and below

the lower of these black sills were layers of grey granite, and the

lower portions of the granite were shrouded in a steep slope of brownish

talus which reached to the flashing white surface of the great glacier.

[Illustration:

The wonderful geological “sandwich” near the Dun and Hedley Glaciers.

(The 3000-foot cliff at the south-west end of Kukri Hills, February

10, 1911.) In descending order: _yellow_ beacon sandstone; black

dolerite; red-grey granite; black dolerite; red-grey granite; dark

brown talus.

]

I hoped to reach the head of the Dry Valley glacier that evening, so

that we pulled on till 9 p.m., and reached the beginning of the slope to

the north. Here we formed our Fifth Camp just abeam of a tributary

glacier—which, from its shape, we called the “South America” glacier. We

had some difficulty in fixing the tent-flaps, for the glacier was now

practically free from snowdrift, and there was nothing to weight down

the skirt of the tent. But the night was calm and warm, so that I walked

across to the lateral moat without helmet or gloves in perfect comfort.

_February 1, 1911._—To our surprise—after five days’ pulling over heavy

snow in the Ferrar Glacier—we found no snow in the adjoining valley! We

made across the valley a little to reach the medial moraine, and to get

away from the disturbed ice at the corner. At lunch we camped in a huge

hole alongside a giant boulder of granite. Here alone we found enough

snow to secure the tent. Water was obtained from a mass of slushy ice on

the sunny side of an adjacent boulder.

Many points of interest appeared round us. All over the clear ice were

circular patches of darker ice, varying in size from an inch to two

feet. Embedded in the darker ice were the arabesque patterns described

previously. These dark patches marked where stones had gradually sunk

through the glacier, as the sun’s rays—rendered operative by radiation

from their dark surfaces—melted the ice around them. As a consequence,

only the most massive blocks remained above the ice hereabouts, and the

medial moraine—in place of being a continuous ridge of heaped

debris—consisted of a block here, another twenty feet off, a third

somewhat further, and so on along a line down the valley.

On the slopes of the north, under Obelisk Mountain, were two interesting

glaciers. We named them from their shape “Catspaw” and “Stocking”

Glaciers. They spread over a low range of hills shaped somewhat like a

broad terrace, and from my sketch it seems possible to prove

considerable retrogression on the part of the “Catspaw.” In 1903 the

“paw” was furnished with relics of a well-defined “mantle” in the form

of three “claws” prolonging the glacier some hundreds of feet. There was

no trace of these in 1911. The irregular outline of this glacier

suggests that it originally spread out and perhaps joined with the

Stocking (to the east) and other isolated curtain glaciers. Hence the

absence of any trace of a valley below these glaciers. They merely

“spill” over the broad terrace and hang there supinely, quite

unconnected with the main glacier below. This absence of marked erosion

is, to my mind, a very important point, and similar features constantly

occur.

The gullies in the Solitary Rocks afforded an interesting piece of

evidence as to the relation of outcrop to weathering. One of the trials

of physiography is to decide how much of the outline of a valley must be

set down to the varying resistances of the rocks involved, and how much

is due to the generalized type which marks the physiographic age of the

valley. For instance, a narrow gorge usually marks a valley of _late_

origin; but it _may_ be due to a hard band of granite and be quite

local, the rest of the valley having the broader features of the

_mature_ stage of erosion. To return to our local evidence. I was glad

to see that the gullies intersecting the Solitary Rocks crossed the

unconformity (junction) between the dolerite and granite without any

change in their outline, proving that these two rocks offered much the

same resistance to weathering.

As in the Ferrar, the frozen surface streams ran across the glacier

diagonally towards the north-east. Perhaps this uniform northerly

direction was due to the greater melting on the northern side of the

glaciers by the noon sun.

About six o’clock the slope became too steep for the sledges. We halted,

therefore, about a mile from the snout and prospected for a good camp

site. There was no snow anywhere, and the edge of the glacier was a

steep slope some forty feet high, down which it would be little

advantage to lower the sledge. The centre of the glacier was cut up by

surface streams into asymmetric gullies twenty or thirty feet deep.

Along the sunny (southern) side of these gullies were a series of

“alcoves” arranged like the stalls of a choir. They were thirty feet

deep, and about a hundred across, and were most beautiful objects—their

steep faces being fretted into a thousand pilasters and niches.

On the northern side these alcoves were much smaller, but presented the

same features. We lowered the sledge down a convenient gully in the wall

by means of the alpine ropes, and proceeded to pitch our tent on the

rough ice forming the level floor of the alcove. These were ideal

conditions for a sheltered camp—with the exception of the floor. We had

a strongly-running stream an inch deep alongside which led to an amusing

incident one evening. However, it was a good site, and though the wind

howled along the surface of the glacier, nothing was even disturbed in

our sheltered nook.

I decided to spend two days round the snout of the glacier before moving

down the valley towards the sea. The “groin” blocking the valley

attracted my attention, though I was afraid it might prove to be merely

a 500-foot moraine. So we arranged to spend the day in the matters most

interesting to us. Debenham climbed up some 2000 feet to the “coaly”

debris on the Kukri Hills. Wright (and Evans) investigated the physics

of the ice in the vicinity of Alcove Camp. Debenham and I started

together down the glacier, and experienced considerable difficulty in

leaving the ice. Captain Scott had descended easily enough in 1903, so

we kept along the southern edge, seeking a convenient place. The steep

lateral slope gave way to a perpendicular cliff over fifty feet high,

and we had to cross many ridges and small crevasses before we came to a

gully which led to a “silt” fall. Here, partly by slipping and partly by

being lowered by the wickstraps of my gloves, I managed to reach the

lateral moat, and Debenham followed safely. (Afterwards Debenham cut

steps up the less steep face nearer our camp.)

Debenham finally climbed to an outcrop of black lava forming a wall

eighty feet high, and obviously representing quite a late phase of

volcanic activity.

I carried lunch with me down the valley, and ate it under a huge granite

erratic abreast of the snout of the glacier. The slopes of the hills

contracted here, and practically enclosed the glacier save for a deep

narrow gorge just under the 500-foot groin mentioned above. The slopes

were strewn with fragments of grey granite, of fawn granite, and of a

felsite containing hornblende laths and “zoned” felspars. Many of the

basalt fragments seemed to show the effects of wind action, and

exhibited the wedge form of “dreikanter.” The latter are elsewhere

characteristic of desert regions, where also wind action is more

pronounced than water erosion. Many of the large granite erratics

contained felspars three inches long, and every gradation between

granite, gneiss, and felsite seemed to be present.

Many interesting features were shown by the glacier snout immediately

below me. Between the groin—which I named the Bonney Riegel—and the

glacier, extended an oval lake about a mile long, and half that in

breadth. This connected with a much larger lake to the east by a deep

waterway through the Bonney Riegel. The whole lake—some four miles

long—I named Lake Bonney, after the President of the British

Association, himself a climber and student of the Alps. Between the lake

and the actual face of the glacier was an area of distributed silts,

which extended under the glacier; while the latter also contained bands

of silt, which were boldly curved in the form of an arch with the centre

thirty feet above the limbs. Here the glacier can be exerting no erosive

action on its bed, and I believe that for a long period thaw and freeze,

wind and water, have been the chief agents in eroding the Taylor Valley

hereabouts.

[Illustration:

Moraine material at the Taylor Glacier, looking west.

]

Leaving the glacier and the upper lake, I proceeded east to the Riegel.

As I climbed up the slope of the hill, I was delighted to find that it

was composed of granite _in situ_. This bar across a great glacial gorge

was paralleled by many in the Swiss Alps, and any light which can be

thrown on their occurrence in the path of an apparently irresistible

power like an immense glacier, will be of interest.

In my opinion this bar (or riegel), and the more important one we

discovered some ten miles east, are relics of “steps” in the original

topography. A series of “armchair valleys” (or cwms) were first cut out

in the sloping margins of the newly snow-covered land area. The plateau

ice in the interior gradually grew in extent, and finally overflowed and

drained out through the largest cwm valleys to the sea. By degrees it

eroded many of the cwm features, but it left relics of their presence in

the form of these “bars” and basins. This is what I call the

“palimpsest” theory, and I shall explain it more fully when I describe

the elongated valleys of the Koettlitz ice tributaries.

I slid down the steep eastern face of the Riegel, where King Frost had

gnawed away the cliff and built up a steep ramp of talus, and reached

the channel connecting the two parts of Lake Bonney. This was twenty

feet deep and filled with water, of which only the top six inches was

frozen. Large laminae of dull green algæ covered the bottom of the lake,

and just at the snout of the glacier a bright red alga lent an unusual

touch of colour.

Perched high up on the shoulder of the valley and close to the Rhone

glacier, Debenham made out a small black crater, and I got a fairly good

telephotograph of it from our camp. It is probable that the basalt

debris I found near the lake had fallen from this crater, which was

several hundred feet wide. Its position on this glaciated shoulder is

very interesting, and seems to prove that eruptive action occurred here

since the period of maximum glaciation. I managed to cut steps up the

front of the glacier and so enter one of the many surface gullies. I had

a very unpleasant time getting back to Alcove Camp, a distance of nearly

two miles. I thought perhaps the northern side of the glacier, which was

flatter, would be easier to negotiate. But the sun had weathered it into

a series of small alcoves, whose floors were as smooth as glass and

sloped towards the edge of the glacier, here fifty feet high.

[Illustration:

The recent crater on the flank of the Taylor Valley. The Rhone (cliff)

glacier appears on the left, February 7, 1911.

]

The alcoves were bounded by razor-like ridges, and I had to crawl along

from one to the other, where I did not cut steps. The others had

returned to camp earlier, and Evans proudly produced a fossil-bearing

specimen which he called a “whisker-stone.” It certainly showed signs of

organic life, but they were merely fibrous algæ of a type fairly common

in the south, so he did not get the reward for the first fossils. That

evening Evans kindly sewed “toggles” on my sleeping-bag, so that I could

lash it up after I had coiled in. We cut trenches in the ice to lead the

thaw waters away from the tent, and turned in to sleep soundly, though

the wind was howling above us along the face of the glacier. But twenty

feet below, snugly sheltered in the alcove, nothing disturbed us.

Next morning before rising Wright remarked on the severity of his

exercise the day before, which had left him so bathed in perspiration

that he felt clammy all night. On examining his sleeping-place, however,

he found that something had blocked the stream by the tent, and its icy

current had been flowing under his bag most of the night. With the

temperature ten below freezing this hydropathic treatment was by no

means appreciated by him!

_February 4, 1911._—As we could not take the sledge beyond the glacier,

we packed up the tent and sleeping-bags with five days’ food and our

instruments, and carried them down towards the sea. Wright carried his

pack in the Canadian method by a “tump-line” round his forehead. He took

the theodolite. Evans wrapped his goods and the tent round the tent

poles and carried them like a standard over his shoulder. Debenham and I

took the food. I found as usual that the Italian method of carrying a

harp—a strap over the right shoulder—suited my convenience best.

Debenham copied the Australian swagsman with a smaller bundle in front

nearly balancing a roll on his back. We took no cooker, and I left my

camera below the Riegel after taking some photographs of the latter.

We walked along the northern edge of the lake over a belt of smooth ice

about twenty yards wide. The water here was very deep, especially where

steep cliffs fringed the lake. Towards the centre the ice soon became

much broken, and then a large portion of the centre of the lake was

occupied by silt and morainic debris. In fact, the deep water was

probably controlled by the radiation from the dark rocks along the

shore. The valley was by no means steep-sided as a whole, but there was

evidently a well-defined shoulder terrace about 2000 feet above the lake

bed on the north and a less marked one on the south. Above them the

slope was steeper.

Running into the lake at the east end were several small creeks. One I

noticed particularly had cut a fine gully in the moraine of the typical

=ᐯ= shape. This was twenty feet deep, and its debris was deposited as an

alluvial fan or delta. I mention this as an instance of typical water

erosion in Antarctica, though later we saw much larger examples.

We had lunch at the east end of Lake Bonney, which extends four miles

east from the snout of the Taylor Glacier. Here the wide valley was

filled with morainic debris, and several tributary glaciers were close

at hand. A large hanging glacier almost reaches the level of the lake.

It is fed by three separate firn-fields, the ice being precipitated over

a steep craggy cliff, and then reuniting into a broad glacier below.

This I called the Sollas Glacier. Another similar glacier on the

northern side almost reached the middle of the valley, and we passed

just under its snout. The water from all these glaciers drained into

Lake Bonney. I was much surprised to find that after we had passed the

lake, the bed of the valley began to rise. This lake evidently occupies

an area of internal drainage, and we pressed eastward wondering if we

should be stopped by a range of hills. Evans had mentioned seeing in the

distance (in 1903) a glacier which completely blocked the valley, so our

supposition was not beyond possibility.

Immediately east of Lake Bonney the bed of the valley was occupied by

curious areas which Evans’ name of “Football Fields” described quite

well. These were four oval areas about 1000 yards long and half that

width, as level as a playing-ground and composed of a gravelly silt with

insignificant shallow streams winding through each. Separating the

“Fields” were ridges of moraine about fifty yards across. The “Fields”

gradually became higher in an easterly direction, each, however,

maintaining its own particular level. These isolated patches of dead

level in the midst of a wilderness of moraine heaps often a hundred feet

high need explanation. Level areas of silt under _any_ conditions denote

material deposited at base level. (This may be the _permanent_ base

level of all water erosion, _i.e._ the level of the sea, or a

_temporary_ level, as when a river enters a lake, the latter acting as a

base level until it is filled.) The “football fields” represent,

therefore, the last stages of a chain of lakes which occupied the bed of

the valley at this point. Probably Lake Bonney will gradually be silted

up in a similar manner, though here conditions are abnormal, for the

drainage is a thorough puzzle. The lake would seem to have no outlet,

and yet, as we have seen, it is quite shallow except a mere fringe near

the cliffs. In midsummer a great quantity of thaw water runs down from

the main glacier. Possibly evaporation and ablation may balance the

inflow. It seems improbable that the water soaks out through the moraine

in view of the frozen condition of the moraine a few feet down.

From the football fields we passed under the snout of Lacroix Glacier.

This ended in a vertical cliff of ice some thirty feet high, which as

usual rested on debris and moraine material.

This glacier was a beautiful example of an avalanche-fed cliff glacier.

There was very little connection between the upper firm portion and the

lower solid snout of the glacier, the supply being maintained by

occasional falls of ice over the great granite cliffs separating the two

portions.

[Illustration:

The avalanche-fed Lacroix Glacier in the Taylor Valley, February 7,

1911.

]

Below the snout there was a steep fall through boulders and fragments of

granite to the centre of the valley, and along this slope hurried a

pleasant little brook three feet across and some three inches deep. It

filled the air with as cheerful murmurs as any stream in more favoured

latitudes. Lying among the moraines within the next few miles I counted

no less than thirteen dead seals in various stages of decay. This fact

was of some comfort to us, for we seemed to be ascending continuously,

and could see no seaward outlet to the valley. Yet the seals had come

through somewhere, and where they could pass, so surely could we!

About three miles beyond Lake Bonney we reached the water parting. The

drainage from these high moraines was partly into Lake Bonney and partly

to the east. Beyond we could see the valley contracting to a defile

while striking knobs—recalling the Bonney Riegel—bounded the narrow

gorge and led to terraces about 1700 feet high. To the south, however,

an extension of these, 3000 feet high, quite barred the large valley we

had just traversed.

It was now nearly six o’clock and my shoulder was aching with my pack.

Judging from the readiness of the others to drop their loads, I

concluded that they felt the same. But we all had an idea that a few

minutes later would give us a view of the Ross Sea. We wondered if we

could pass around the snout of the wonderful tributary immediately in

front. It opposed a face of ice forty feet high; but just where it

butted into the steep south slope of the defile, there was a narrow gap

where thaw-ice had filled in the interspaces between the cliff debris.

Over this we carried our packs; over this the seals must have

laboriously crawled to die further inland. One seal reached no less than

twenty miles from the sea, and ascended many hundred feet on its death

journey. Another, near Solitary Rocks some ten miles further west, at a

height of 2000 feet, may have ascended the Ferrar Glacier—an incredible

journey for a marine animal like the seal.

[Illustration:

Sketch section across the Taylor Valley at Suess Glacier, showing the

Nussbaum Riegel which bars it.

]

We scrambled up the slippery ice mantle below the snout of the Suess

Glacier—as we named this striking glacier—and reached the highest

portion of the valley since we had left the Taylor Glacier. The rock

slopes looked full of interest. Here were vertical strata of limestone

and slate, which were the first sedimentary rocks that we had examined

_in situ_. Unfortunately they were so folded and altered that no trace

of fossils could be expected.

We could not see the sea from the crest of the defile, where we were

about 300 feet up, and so moved east down the other slope. We reached

another lake nearly a mile long with a splendid gravelly shore, on which

I decided to pitch the tent. We had brought no floorcloth; but after the

wet and icy floor in the “alcove” we found the warm gravel most

comfortable.

We had a frugal meal of biscuit, butter, and cold water. Our beverage

from the lake was distinctly medicinal, and as the latter had no outlet

we called it Lake Chad.

[Illustration: Looking West up the Dry Valley below Taylor Glacier, from

the 3000′ Bar across the Valley]

I was distinctly troubled over the topography of the day’s march. We had

left a huge open valley—a suitable outlet for a large flow of ice like

the Taylor Glacier—and had arrived at a narrow defile completely blocked

by the tributary Suess Glacier. We reckoned we must be near the sea; but

where was the large open moraine-strewn valley described by Professor

David in 1908? I wondered if we had got into an unimportant tributary

and missed the main outlet of the valley altogether! So after dinner

Evans and I made straight for the top of the ridge (immediately south of

the tent) which seemed to block the great valley. It was a stiff ascent

of 1600 feet over rough blocks of slate. There we reached a flat, bare

ridge with a further ascent to 3000 feet a little further west. To my

surprise I saw that immediately to the south was a broad high-level

valley gradually sloping to the east. I thought at first I was looking

into the Ferrar Glacier, but soon saw that here in Antarctica was an

example of the extraordinary valleys which are so characteristic of the

Italian Alps. As shown by the cross section, the dry valley is barred by

a huge Riegel, which is traversed by a deep defile at the north, and

scooped out to some extent into a huge elevated, rounded channel on the

south. From this ridge, above the mile long defile, Evans and I at last

saw the sea gleaming in the east across some twelve miles of

moraine-strewn valley.

On the 5th, Wright and Debenham remained near the camp, while Evans and

I marched down to the sea to tie the survey on to Ross Island—if we

could recognize any portion of that far distant feature. We each carried

much gear, and the annexed rough sketch shows how a geologist is loaded

when “on trek.”

It was extraordinary to find two more very large tributary glaciers on

the south side of the valley—reaching some way into the ice-free main

valley, and blocking up the main drainage to form a series of lakes. We

named the first the Canada Glacier, and Wright later on clustered the

names of various Canadian men of science on the adjoining peaks. The

second we called the Commonwealth Glacier; and to the small glacier

which we ultimately reached, on the north-east end of the Kukri Range, I

gave the name of Wales Glacier, so that our party’s homelands are well

represented in Dry Valley! We had to climb 400 feet up the slopes here

before we could see anything definite to the east; but then I was able

to sight the theodolite on to Mount Bird, Cape Bird, and Beaufort

Island. It was a long and rough tramp back—across numerous little

streams, running as usual to the north-east,—but we reached camp again

at 9 p.m. and turned in thankfully.

After a somewhat _dry_ breakfast, Wright and I took the theodolite up

to the top of the Riegel. We climbed some 2400 feet, but did not reach

the top of Mount Nussbaum—the central summit,—which I estimated at

3000 feet high. When we reached the scarp facing up the valley to the

west the wind was tempestuous, so that we could not stand against it,

much less use the theodolite. We sheltered under the lee of some

projecting dykes of dark rock for some little time. There came a lull,

and almost before we got the theodolite ready the gale had veered to

the east—diametrically opposite—and continued to blow almost as

fiercely from that quarter. This violent storm would have been

unsupportable on the Barrier, but the party in our camp below

practically felt none of it. Our apparent fine weather was due less to

absence of wind than to the absence of loose snow, and to the

abundance of shelter.

[Illustration: The Compleat Explorer. 8·2·11]

I tramped to the south and found that the “Round Valley” ended in a 1700

foot scarp above the trough containing Lake Bonney. There was little

wonder that we had not realized on our seaward tramp, _viâ_ the defile,

that such a high-level valley existed.

[Illustration:

“Anorthoclase” felspar, thrown out of Erebus, 2 inches long. The

characteristic mineral in kenyte.

]

This elevated ridge was comparatively free from debris, but there were

huge erratics of granite with large felspar crystals three inches

across. They were wonderfully scooped out by the wind, and were nearly

twenty feet across in some cases. We also found small kenyte erratics

containing large felspar crystals. These may have been carried across

from Mount Erebus, or some unknown locality in the south.

After supper I took the prospecting dish (which was the last article

purchased in New Zealand) and washed for gold in the gravels alongside

the lake. There were numerous quartz “leads” in the slates and

metamorphic gneisses, and eruptive rocks and limestone were in the

vicinity. This is a juxtaposition which is always promising, and

furnishes the “country rock” of most gold fields. But the quartz was too

glistening and pure. It had not the “kindly” rusty appearance which the

gold-seeker admires, and so I was not very sanguine. However, water was

abundant in Lake Chad and I washed out many pans of dirt. The “tails” of

heavy sand were not promising, even pyrites and magnetite being almost

absent. We knew there would be no water available on the remainder of

our journey, so I depôted the “pan” on a boulder by Lake Chad, where

some future archæologist will discover striking evidence for the lost

kingdom of Sheba!

Next day we started back to Alcove Camp, buoyed by the thought of hot

pemmican after nearly a week’s cold “tucker.” We lunched just at the

east end of Lake Bonney on our old site below the peak of the

Matterhorn. The latter is the most striking mountain in the region. The

conical summit (formed of black dolerite columns) perched on a broader

granite base, certainly gives it a resemblance to its forerunner in the

Alps. We estimated it to be 9000 feet high. Luckily we took careful

angles which we worked out later in the hut. To our chagrin all

observations resulted in a poor 5000! Such is the effect of lack of

trees or any standard of comparison in Antarctic scenery. Continuing

west we found that the penguins seemed to have the same queer habits as

the seals, for we found a skeleton some fourteen miles from the sea.

We reached Alcove Camp about 5 p.m. and saw that our camp site was

ruined by thaw water. We hunted around for a new floor, and the only

available one seemed to be a pile of moraine rubble just like a heap of

road metal! This we levelled off, and when the ice had melted away in

the sun, we pitched our tent upon this stony bed. Then we had a hot

meal, much appreciated after our days of cold food.

We were up at 7.20, Greenwich time (really 6.20, local) and shifted our

gear from the heap of road metal to the surface of the glacier. We had a

good breakfast, though I noted that twelve lumps of sugar did not seem

to sweeten the cocoa. It was difficult to move the sledge, for the dark

straps had sunk two inches deep in the hard ice and there frozen in

again. We managed to get everything ready by 10 a.m., and moved up the

glacier. It was very sunny, and Evans wore a huge “Madeira” straw hat,

quite a yard across—a queer but useful article that his previous

experience had led him to add to his kit.

We had lunch about six miles up the glacier in the medial moraine. I

took careful notes of the latter, which differed conspicuously from

those of temperate glaciers. It consisted of huge blocks of granite with

smaller pieces of dolerite and sandstone. They were often 100 feet

apart, so that this moraine compared with Swiss examples was a very

“tenuous thread.” Comparatively little material can be supplied to these

slow moving or stagnant glaciers, and all the small stones have

undoubtedly sunk into the ice long ago.

The upper portion of the Kukri Hills hereabouts showed by the fragments

of the Beacon Sandstone torn off by the intrusive eruptive rock dolerite

that the latter was newer. The relative ages of the other rocks could be

deduced in the same way. For instance, the dolerite sent “dykes” into

the granite, so that the latter was older. These points are well shown

in the section I sketched.

Near the Solitary Rocks the glacier was moulded into a gigantic furrow

or longitudinal undulation. We followed this up toward the ice-falls

from the upper glacier and camped for the night on a small patch of snow

in the lee of some large boulders of the medial moraine. These boulders

had lee-ridges of snow, which, we were interested to see, were generally

turned into solid ice and formed part of the glacier itself. This shows

that nothing but a maturing process (resembling that of wine!) is

necessary to convert snow into glacier ice.

[Illustration:

The age of rocks. The granite (Gr.) is the oldest; it is penetrated by

flat sheets of dolerite (D) at the junction with the main mass of

the latter. The beacon sandstone (B.S.) has also been torn up and

surrounded by the dolorite (below A and B), and has probably been

lifted up by the lava (to B.S.). The talus (Ta) of loose rock is the

latest deposit. From a sketch of the new end of the Kukri Hills made

February 1, 1911.

]

Wright and I went over to the Kukri Hills while the others pitched camp.

I wished to measure the “lateral moat.” Near the edge of the glacier

there was a thick coating of snow. At the actual edge there was a sharp

curve downward, and carefully peering over we could see that there was a

frozen stream at the bottom of the gully, over 150 feet below us. I

determined to measure the slope and angle accurately, and for this we

had brought the alpine rope and ice-axes. Wright lowered me over the

edge, which I found was a snow cornice projecting over six feet. Under

the cornice was a well-defined platform a few feet wide—which, however,

narrowed on either side—and then came a long slope to the bottom. Wright

paid out the rope, and I let myself down to its end. There I started to

cut steps, but unfortunately slipped and fell the last thirty

feet—luckily without damage except to my knuckles. I can remember

thinking that an ice-axe was an uncomfortable companion in this roll

down the slope and so threw it away for fear lest it should claim close

acquaintance with my person. The stream was over a hundred feet wide,

and then I reached the foot of a steep rocky slope formed of dolerite

blocks fallen from a bold crag a few hundred feet up.

I climbed up the glacier side again, and then found that the large

snow-shawls of the cornice prevented my getting back—for as Wright

hoisted me the rope merely cut deep into the snow and soon my head was

pulled into the lower parts of the huge cornice! I crawled along under

the cornice, devoutly trusting it would not avalanche on me, but

ultimately had to retrace my steps down to the stream. Again I slipped,

and this time lost the skin off my other hand as I rolled once more into

the moat. Luckily some few hundred yards north I saw a place where the

cornice had fallen off, and here I was pulled up by Wright with such

vigour that the ice-axe entered my leg!

The huge cross-section of these “moats” is worthy of note. They

definitely prove that no _lateral_ erosion of any importance is

occurring in this portion of Antarctica. After returning to the tent the

glacier treated us to rounds of volley-firing! These were due to the

opening of contraction cracks as the ice shrank in the colder night

temperatures.

Wright and Evans spent the morning of the 9th over near the ice falls

from the upper glacier. These we named after the famous Cavendish

laboratory in Cambridge. They had to cross a surface compounded of

“plough-shares” and “thumbmarks,” which they found intensely slippery,

so that even surefooted Evans fell and nearly broke his elbow.

Debenham and I cracked sandstone boulders, but found nought of interest

save worm burrows in some shaly bands. However, these indicate damp

conditions for some portions of the Beacon Sandstone, and so show that

the latter is not perhaps of desert origin.

The most extraordinary feature in this small ice plateau near Knob Head

Mountain is that the moraines here lead down into Taylor Glacier. Hence

they cut right across the upper portion of glacier above Cavendish

Falls, and show that the ice west of the latter is almost wholly flowing

into the Dry Valley region and not into the lower Ferrar, as was

supposed. This looks as if the “South Arm” and the glacier from the

north side of Mount Lister formed the main supply of the Lower Ferrar,

while the northern portion (_née_ Upper Ferrar and Dry Valley) is a

distinct glacier now temporarily united with it after the fashion of the

Siamese twins. This type of union is by no means unknown, and indeed

explains the structure of Lake Luzern—that beautiful high-cragged chain

of lake basins in central Switzerland. Here also two independent

glaciers (the Reuss and the Aar) cut out deep parallel gorges as they

moved to the north.

[Illustration:

Plan of the bygone _twin_ glaciers of Lake Luzern, whose overflow led

to the break through the high range near Vitznau. A close parallel

with the conditions near Knob Head between the Ferrar and Taylor

Glaciers.

]

They spread out laterally, and ultimately the Reuss Glacier overflowed

to the west, and cut through the high ridge forming the picturesque

cliffs of the Rigi and opposite shores.

As I have explained elsewhere (p. 280), when, after our return, I

described this interesting parallel between Lake Luzern and the

“opposed” glaciers at Knob Head, Captain Scott was good enough to honour

me by naming the northern “twin” the Taylor Glacier.

That evening we camped near the ice divide between the glaciers. We had

intended to ascend the South Arm, but after making our way in that

direction for some time, we saw that a snowstorm was brewing, and so

turned towards the Kukri Hills.

They seemed to me less than a mile distant, but knowing the difficulty

of judging distances, I suggested we should camp under the slopes,

“about a mile and a half on.” Wright, with his Canadian experience,

thought this would be well over two miles, and I remember the distance

turned out to be three miles! Thereafter I calculated apparent distances

with great care, and when convinced I had allowed for everything I would

use a “factor of safety” of 3—and come out about right!

Debenham finished cooking, and being already an adept, had very properly

saved some “thickers” for his final “flutter” at breakfast. So Wright

started with the evening meal. He imparted a scientific and physical

aspect to the operation by suggesting a “drop test” to estimate the

viscosity of the pemmican; an observation of its meniscus (or curved

surface) to see its sticking power; notes on colour and taste; and—added

one of his hungry audience—“I suggest 50 per cent. be subtracted from

the cook’s allowance on account of grits!”

Perhaps as a result I had a dream in which my astral self did some

logical reasoning! It is a fact that the fossils called trilobites

gradually become more supple and less clumsily built as one traces them

through newer formations. It occurred to me in the dream that this also

held true for man and his monkey ancestors, and that the stiff, clumsy

orang-outang, etc., developed into the limber human acrobat. Not a very

epoch-making correlation, but the best my _astral_ self has accomplished

to date!

On the evening of the 10th we reached our depôt at Cathedral Rocks. We

could see our flag from five miles off with the glasses. On arrival we

found the food uncovered, so that the sun had melted the pemmican and

butter. The skua gulls had found the carcase of the Emperor, and our

chance of a variation of the menu had departed with the skuas.

That evening we discussed literature. Seaman Evans had read many popular

works, and was far superior in this respect to any of the other seamen

with whom I had much to do. He had read some of Kipling’s poems, and

“had no use for them,” nor did Dickens appeal to him. As was perhaps

natural, he preferred books with more “plot” in them; especially did he

delight in the works of the French writer whose name he anglicized as

Dum—ass!

Our sledging library was quite extensive, for each of us had devoted a

pound of our personal allowance to books. I will give the catalogue, if

only as a caution to later explorers. Debenham took my Browning and the

“Autocrat”; Evans had a William le Queux and the _Red Magazine_; Wright

had two mathematical books, both in German; I took Debenham’s Tennyson

and three small German books. The _Red Magazine_, the “Autocrat,” and

Browning were most often read; Evans’ contribution being an easy winner.

Somehow we didn’t hanker after German.

On the 11th Wright and Debenham carried out a very important operation

to determine the movement of the Ferrar Glacier. They fixed stakes right

across the glacier which were aligned on two prominent peaks. Some six

months later Captain Scott re-measured this line, and found that very

considerable movement, amounting to thirty feet, had taken place during

the winter.