On Sunday afternoon I had a stroll with Nelson, who told me how the nine

at the hut had spent the time. Dr. Simpson was in charge, and had

converted the newly built hut into a palace of mystery. In his corner to

the south-east a small Gardiner oil-engine was clacking away. This was

used primarily, in conjunction with a dynamo, to charge accumulators for

his electrical recording instruments. Mysterious clicks and gasps and

ticking galore warned us that chronographs and other wild fowl, to be

described later, were brooding over meteorology yet _in ovo_. Ponting

had “raked in every little bit” available, including some magnificent

studies of surf breaking on the ice-foot. Day and Nelson roused our

envious admiration chiefly by the condition of their common cubicle. No

old beams from the stable framed their bunks! They were supported by

carved and polished standards, encased in veneer (of venesta casing);

and below were some fine specimens of joinery in the shape of two

capacious drawers!

[Illustration:

_Photo by H. G. Ponting._]

CAPTAIN SCOTT WEARING THE WALLET IN WHICH HE CARRIED HIS SLEDGING

JOURNALS.

]

Day had equipped the hut with acetylene. The generator occupied a corner

of the enclosed porch, where one could hear it gurgling as one entered

the hut. If the outer door were not shut properly the fact was made

evident by the dimming of the light! For the water in the generator soon

froze if a blast of −40° struck it from the outer darkness. We were

prohibited from carrying candles through the porch into the verandah

storeroom for fear of explosion.

Nelson and I initiated the survey of Cape Evans on that stroll. The

lakes had diminished greatly; not by ordinary evaporation, but through

the removal of ice particles by the process of ablation. The margin of

the lake ice was fringed by “blobs” of ice united into a lacework, and

day by day one could see this fringe vanishing. It was curious that the

small animalcule (_Flagellata_, etc.) should in some cases belong to the

same genera as in English ponds!

Cape Evans is a low promontory of triangular shape. Its average height

is only about twenty-five feet above the sea, though Windvane Hill rises

to sixty-five feet. The southwestern portion consists of rocky ridges of

kenyte with steep cliffs adjoining the sea, but to the north-east is a

gravelly plain surrounding Skua Lake. Quite abruptly on the east and

about half a mile from the western extremity, rises a steep bank of

gravel (the Ramp) to a height of 150 feet. A few hundred yards of slope

studded with quaint cones of rubble brought one to the edge of the great

sheet of glacier ice which covers the whole western side of Mount

Erebus. This was our domain, and to this cape we were practically

confined during the ensuing six months (see Map No. 4).

Patches of ice covered portions of the cape, but the rest of the surface

consisted for the most part of kenyte gravel with ridges and bosses of

solid lava (kenyte) projecting through it, especially to the south-west.

These dark lavas undoubtedly represented an earlier offshoot from the

volcano of Erebus, probably a subterranean flow; while careful mapping

later on showed us that the little sheets of ice were not haphazard, but

were “glacierets” fed by blizzard snowdrifts.

The most ingenious apparatus in the hut was due to Clissold the cook.

This was an electrical device to tell him when the “bread was riz.” He

used to make the dough in the galley and place it in a big pot,

puncheon, or pan. This was supported on a little trolley and stood at

his bedside. The dough mixed, Clissold turned into bed, and left the

rest to the yeast cells.

When the dough rose sufficiently it pushed up a disc which overbalanced

a gutter. Down this ran a lead ball which made contact and rang a bell!

Further, the bell actuated a pulley and wire and made another contact

whereby a red light appeared at intervals above his head! All this

apparatus was made in the hut, and we never found out where certain of

the “works” were hidden. Anyhow the bread was very satisfactory.

[Illustration: The Electrical Breadmaker 17.4.11]

On the 17th April Scott took a party back by the same route to the

Discovery Hut. Scott, Bowers, and Crean returned there, accompanied by

Day, Nelson, Lashley, Hooper, and Demetri. Debenham and I went in charge

of two ponies who were to pull the sledges as far as possible.

There was a fine moon, so that it was quite light at 8.15 a.m. We

crossed several cracks, and I tested the ice with an axe. A moderate

wind was blowing from the north—always a safe direction, for the

blizzards invariably came from the south. The surface had improved

greatly in the last few days, and the ponies had no difficulty in

pulling along at about four miles an hour.

Erebus was clouded, but occasionally we could see a red glow when the

mists dispersed. Rarely was there so much sign of _heat_ visible, though

the steam banner often spread out a hundred miles.

[Illustration:

Changes in wind direction, March 17, 1911.

]

Opposite Turk’s Head (six miles south) the wind changed to a west breeze

and then lulled, but a little further, near Glacier Tongue, there was

quite a strong southerly, and we could see the drift sweeping over the

promontory above Hutton Cliffs.

Here Scott sent the ponies back in our charge. The others marched on,

and had a cold, rough time reaching the Discovery Hut. Their

difficulties in climbing the ice rampart at Hutton Cliffs in the teeth

of a smart blizzard is well shown in one of Dr. Bill’s sketches in the

_South Polar Times_.

A small villa had been erected in our absence, to carry the

magnetometers. This was built of asbestos or similar material, and held

together by brass nails. It also formed a _camera obscura_ for

meteorological purposes. A lens in the roof projects the clouds on to a

sheet of squared paper. This sheet is rotated until the clouds appear to

move along a set of lines, and by comparing this with a compass the

direction of their movement is obtained accurately and quickly.

That evening I helped to festoon the hut with telephone wires. While so

engaged I saw my first aurora, and it did not impress me. “Like a huge

broad cirrus cloud right across the sky from W.N.W. to E.S.E. No colour

or movement, and it only lasted five minutes.”

[Illustration:

A sketch showing the balloon unwinding the black silk threads from the

two conical reels.

]

Wright and I assisted Simpson to send up a _ballon sonde_. This seemed a

complicated business at first. We had to carry out a queer theodolite

with the eyepiece inserted at right angles to the telescope at the side;

and a large tank for generating the hydrogen; and the inner tube of a

bicycle tyre—and various reels of silk, etc., etc.; not to mention a

small tissue-like deflated balloon of red gutta-percha.

The tank was filled from a convenient tide crack in the sea-ice, and

then Charles filled the cycle-tube with calcium hydride. This compound

is analogous to carbide, but gives off hydrogen instead of acetylene. He

attached it to the top of the generator, and squeezed it to push the

lumps of hydride into the water. The balloon was attached to an outlet

pipe, and gradually lost its dejected appearance and became a red sphere

of some two feet diameter.

In about ten minutes the balloon was inflated. This was merely a test,

and after tying a piece of silver paper on the balloon it was set free

and rose rapidly. With the theodolite the vertical and horizontal angles

could be plotted, and thus the path of the balloon charted

approximately.

The sun was setting (at 3 p.m.) while we were doing this, and gave a

yellow glow to the steam-cloud on Erebus, which was drifting to the

south-east. When the balloon was about 4000 feet up we could follow the

flashing paper, and saw that here the air currents were opposed to the

direction of the steam-cloud at 13,000 feet elevation.

[Illustration:

SIMPSON SENDING UP A “BALLON SONDE,” Nov. 12, 1911.

The meteorograph stands on the box. Inside the latter are the two

conical reels of silk. In the background is the magnetic hut, the

Grotto Glacier and Vane Hill.

]

[Illustration:

THE EAST CORNER OF THE HUT SHOWING THE EDDY TRENCH SCOOPED OUT BY

BLIZZARDS ON THE WINDWARD SIDE OF THE HUT, SEPT. 14, 1911.

The stores annexe appears just on Clissold’s right, and the “weather

cupboard” on the right of the picture.

]

The next afternoon there was a furious blizzard of fifty miles an hour,

and a temperature of −7°. We kept to the hut, and made a start at winter

occupations. I was busy writing a narrative of the western journey for

Captain Scott. In this I proposed to discuss the physiography in some

detail. When I had written twenty pages on the _first_ day and a half, I

wondered if the “Owner” would live through a report 840 pages long!

Luckily the rule of three responsible for this forecast did not hold

throughout!

Inside the hut the temperature was +47°. This was not exactly hot, and

poor Ponting was delighted when some of the new-comers advocated

lighting the small stove near his dark room. He said that developing

photographs with water down to 47° was not the pleasantest job on earth.

The blizzards hit his side of the hut, so that the inside of the dark

room was festooned with icicles, giving it a most picturesque but

uncomfortable appearance.

Things were getting straight in our cubicle. Our floor space was about

eight feet by eight. We built a small table opposite the door and put

shelves over this. Gran occupied a bunk over mine, and the legs of his

wire bedstead hung over my head and feet, and caused many bruises at

first. Debenham’s bunk was raised six feet off the ground, and was

supported on two stout wooden cylinders, on which the linoleum had been

rolled. He climbed into it by a primitive ladder. His sea-chest was

under the table, while mine half blocked the doorway.

On the rubbish-heap outside I found a small tin which served as my

wash-basin. In this I kept a sponge, and normally it stood on my chest

below Debenham’s bunk. We were able to get about half a tea-cup of water

if we found the cook in a good humour, so that it was rather a dry rub.

Secretly I was rather proud of my morning wash, but it did not seem to

improve my appearance. I soon discovered the reason. Watching Debenham

one morning before I arose, I saw him finish his ante-breakfast pipe and

casually knock it on the edge of his bunk. The ash obeyed the laws of

gravity, and fell into my sponge with great accuracy, and as if it were

accustomed to do so!

When the chest was thereafter freed from my ablutions, it was seized by

Debenham as a petrological laboratory. For hours he might be observed

rubbing down fragments of rocks on a glass plate with carborundum

powder.

He had a microscope, and was able to examine the many thin sections thus

produced without awaiting his return to civilization. It is most

interesting to see a dark rock gradually becoming transparent as the

section gets thinner. First the quartz and felspar show up like clear

and milky glass respectively. Then the green or brown colours of the

mica hornblende or augite appear, while the characteristic green fringes

to the clear olivine crystals or the absolute opacity of magnetite

define those minerals. And then under the polarized light of the

microscope even the colourless minerals show wonderful colours—from the

pale greys and yellows of quartz and felspar to the vivid blue and

purple of the olivine and pink and neutral tints of white mica.

Thus Debenham classified the numerous rocks from the western mountains.

_Kenytes_ rich in lozenge crystals of a beautifully banded felspar;

_granites_ showing brown cleaved crystals of hornblende and mica among

the quartz grains and simple felspars; _basalts_ with numerous crystals

of olivine and magnetite in a felted mass of little felspar

laths—gneisses, granulites, etc., etc., each and all can be pigeon-holed

by picking out the relative proportions of the few minerals specified

above.

By far the most interesting instrument in the hut—consulted by scientist

and layman alike—was the “blizzometer.” Such was the name we used for

“Dines Pressure-tube Anemometer.” We could all see a roll of paper on a

rotating drum, on which a pen was always scratching lines giving wind

velocity. But the expert could tell lots more. He could say not only how

heavy each individual gust had been during the past twenty-four hours,

but he could tell from the character of the graph whether the wind were

from the north or south, and, more awkward still, he could tell when the

night watchman had neglected his duty and let the inlet become choked

with drift!

[Illustration:

Copied from Simpson’s diagrams at his lecture in the hut, June 3,

1911.

]

You could not bluff Simpson or the blizzometer. The blizzard gave a

thick series of vertical lines, so close together that a broad ribbon

almost resulted. The north wind was never so strong, and the lines were

shorter and less close together.

To understand the working of the blizzometer, let us accompany the night

watchman. He has been engaged on his diary, maybe, till nearly midnight,

when a complete set of observations are to be taken. He goes to the

blizzometer to see what particular virulence of blizzard he has to face,

and sees that the pen is motionless at the bottom of the paper—having

dropped down after tracing gusts of sixty miles an hour. The night

watchman feels depressed. He has to go and inspect thermometers and

barometers and various other -ometers, but had hoped he would be spared

“clearing the head” of the blizzometer. However, he wraps up well, and,

carrying an electric lamp, ventures out round the south of the hut. He

reads the thermometer at the most exposed corner, and then glances up to

the roof ridge and wonders whether he’ll be blown off or not. In a

sheltered nook he finds a brush of wires, and clutching this he climbs

up a ladder to the roof. He feels the hut vibrating under the blizzard,

and the drift shoots past him to the north. He clutches a metal tube

projecting two feet above the ridge, and proceeds to prod the wires into

its orifice, which faces the blizzard. A plug of drift snow breaks

loose, and the wind once more drives freely into the nozzle of the

blizzometer. It rushes down the tube into the hut and enters the base of

the instrument. Here it passes under and into a metal bell floating in

paraffin. The pressure raises this float, and of course raises a piston

attached to it above. The piston passes through a gland to the outside

and carries the pen at its upper end. Thus with every gust the piston

(and pen) rises and falls, and a record is made directly on the rotating

drum. The watchman warms his hands inside his jacket, and when feeling

has returned to them he trudges into the hut, and devoutly prays the

“head” will remain unchoked all night.

At this period our hut interior looked neat but not gaudy. Later, the

continual tramping in of boots carrying snow and gravel, somewhat

detracted from the neatness; but luckily, in the absence of brilliant

illumination, no one was perturbed by the accumulation of “matter in the

wrong place” which soon collected in the corners. But one object in the

hut looked rather incongruous, and that was the Broadwood Pianola, lent

us by the Broadwood Company. It was intended to keep this on the ship,

but our unloading was done so successfully that some time could be

devoted to transhipping the pianola. By dint of dismantling the

wardroom—removing the stairs bodily—Rennick and his assistants managed

to hoist the pianola on deck, and so got it eventually into the hut.

We were a strikingly unmusical crew. Ponting on the banjo and Nelson on

the mandolin were the best. No one but myself ever used the piano. I had

three pieces of music and speedily lost one—it was found under the

pianola buried in grime six months later,—so that there was rather a

sameness about my performance. I grieve to state that my two pieces

became less rather than more popular as winter advanced!

However, I rather thought I might shine as a pianola player, and started

to practise as early as April. After listening for some time, my

scientific colleagues, who occupied bunks immediately back of the

pianola, were moved to remark, “For Heaven’s sake, Griff, give that a

miss, and let some one play who can keep time!” Perhaps I should have

persevered, but they could throw too straight, and I never attempted

pianola-playing again.

On the 21st Scott returned from Hut Point, leaving Meares, Nelson, Day,

Forde, Keohane, Lashley, and Demetri in the 1902 hut with the ponies.

They had had bad weather going—as I expected. Very thick drift hampered

them, and the new chums, especially Hooper, had been severely

frostbitten. The latter had two angry red sores on his neck where the

blizzard had caught him between his helmet and jersey. To climb the

cliff at Hutton Cliffs they had to empty a sledge. Crean and Lashley

held it up at arms’ length like a ladder, and Scott managed to climb up

it, and cut steps over the cornice. They reported that the others

expected to stay a fortnight more, and they augured badly for the

commissariat under Meares, because “he’s so very sparing with the

butter!”

Ponting kindly developed my western negatives in his dark room. They

were no worse than I expected, being, however, all rather thin. Half a

dozen were broken, and I had improved on a common error by putting

_three_ on one plate. We had such a rush before starting our journey

that neither Debenham nor myself could test a single plate under

Antarctic conditions. It seems simple now, but we had many failures

before we gauged the best method. Previous Antarctickers had recommended

plates and not films. I now disagree with this advice _in toto_, at any

rate for sledging. We broke the plates. They scratched easily. Changing

them in our bags was an unmitigated nuisance and filled the dark slides

with hairs. Lastly, the glass plates weighed so much that they were

always left behind when we had to cut down weights.

We had an idea that the quickest exposures would be advisable with

snowscapes. Ultimately we took most of them at half a second or

thereabouts!

A typical scene would largely consist of a skyline of snow mountain

backed by a blue sky more or less covered by grey or white clouds. The

foreground was usually also snow with bluish shadows. Everything was

blue or white. There was little contrast, and owing to the photographic

value of _blue_ being almost the same as that of _white_, the resulting

photograph was of a dismal flatness and one could not distinguish land

from sky.

Of course this pointed to yellow screens to cut out all blue and give it

the effect of black. We had much better success thereafter, but this

necessitated the slow exposures I have mentioned previously.

My chief camera was a Zeiss Minimum Palmos equipped with all modern

features, taking telephoto pictures, stereoscopic, ¼ plate or panorams

(7½ inches long). It had a focal plane shutter calculated to give ¹⁄₁₅₀₀

of a second; but the rubber shutter froze stiff, and my exposures were

largely made with a red handkerchief presented to me by Wright.

At the east end of the hut Ponting was busy at a huge instrument which

looked like a cross between a barrel organ and a butter churn. It was

really a “washer” for cinema films. The films were wound on a cylinder,

placed in the washer, covered with a lid, and then rotated by a handle.

When this operation was finished we all admired Ponting’s ingenuity, for

he emptied out the water and placing a rug inside the hybrid, converted

it into a most comfortable lounge chair.

The 23rd was Sunday, and Scott held Church service as usual. He and Dr.

Bill would consult as to the hymns, and Bill acted as choir-master. He

and Scott would test the key by striking several notes on the pianola

before service. Then just before we started the hymns Bill would sound

the note again and Scott would lead off with the first line. He had a

tenor voice and could sing much higher notes than most of us, and made

no ado about remarking, “We’ll have this a few notes higher,” between

the first and second verses.

Early in the winter Dr. Atkinson started physical measurements, which

were always the source of much interest and amusement. They were taken

every alternate Sunday or Monday, and a list of the figures for those

present on the 24th April may be of interest.

In addition to ordinary measurements, tests of the grip by the

dynamometer and breathing power by the spirometer were also recorded. In

the former an oval spring-frame is compressed and a rachet and cog

actuates a finger which indicates the grip. The spirometer consists of a

small enclosed vane which is blown round by the pressure due to one

expiration.

I got the heights of the officers and recorded them on the wall of the

“owner’s” cubicle. The other measurements are given in the table

herewith.

APRIL 24, 1911.

──────────────┬───────────────────────────┬────────────────────────────────

Name. │ Height. Weight. Dyn^r.│Waist. Arm. Chest. Spir^r. Calf.

──────────────┼───────────────────────────┼────────────────────────────────

│Ft. in. Stone lbs. │ Ins. Ins. Ins. Ins.

Captain Scott │ 5 9·05 11 6½ 320│ 30½ 14¼ 39¼ 294·5 15½

Dr. Wilson │ 5 10·5 11 0 275│ 29 13 36 287·3 15¾

Lieut. Bowers │ 5 4 12 0 280│ 32¾ 13⅛ 40 230 16⅛

Cherry-Garrard│ 5 9½ 11 6 300│ 30 13¼ 36¾ 267 15

Atkinson │ 5 6·75 11 0½ 270│ 30 13⅚ 36¾ 265 15¼

Debenham │ 5 8·4 11 0½ 305│ 29½ 12½ 38¼ 261 13¾

Taylor │ 5 10·6 11 7 350│33¾[7] 13 36½ 307 14¼

Ponting │ 5 7·5 11 2½ 275│ 30¾ 14¼ 37 238·5 14¼

Oates │ 5 9·35 12 4¾ 270│ 31½ 13½ 40 266 15¼

Evans │ 5 6·85 11 13 350│ 34[7] 14 40½ 270 15¼

Gran │ 5 11·05 13 3¾ 300│ 31½ 12¾ 40 335 15½

Wright │ 5 10·8 11 12 345│ 30½ 12¾ 38 329 14¾

Simpson │ 5 10·95 11 2¾ 260│ 30 13 37 308 13¼

──────────────┼───────────────────────────┴────────────────────────────────

Day │

Nelson │absent at Hut Point.

Mears │

──────────────┴────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Wilson, Bowers, Taylor, Ponting, Gran, and Meares were non-smokers, and

Wilson, Bowers, Taylor, and Simpson were teetotalers, though several of

the others swore off alcohol except on high days.

At noon the northern and western sky was very beautiful, and I made an

effort to record the colours by means of chalks in my diary. The

dominant note was yellow shading to lemon-green in the west. Over the

western mountains was a rose-pink flush verging into lilac-grey through

salmon-red. To the north the band of salmon-red flanking the yellow

changed into slate-blue and pale blue overhead. The sun’s rays shone

gold through clouds over the Barne glacier, which exhibited magnificent

purple and blue shadows.

It is sad to think that Bowers’ sailor-like criticism of the magnificent

study in reds and yellows was that it reminded him “of a mess of eggs

that had carried away,” meaning thereby a dish of fried eggs which had

been upset.

Captain Scott instituted an aurora watch on this date. It was desirable

to discover if periods of great magnetic disturbance (as shown by the

magnetometers in the ice grotto) were accompanied by striking displays

of auroræ. There were fifteen officers in the hut, so that each man’s

turn came along about once a fortnight. He was to go out at every hour

and sketch the aurora if present, and of course attend to the

meteorological instruments, inspect the ponies, keep up the fire, and

generally mount guard from 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. A feast of sardines heated

on a bunsen burner was promised to the gallant watchman.

The most imposing objects near the cape were the stranded icebergs.

Ponting and I walked across to them in the afternoon. First we reached

the Arch Berg just before it fell in and became the Castle Berg, the

Arch Berg, in which the major portion of the arch had fallen, leaving

only a narrow elevated strip uniting the two moieties of the berg. There

was a magnificent view, looking back at Erebus through this white arch,

and Ponting promised himself some particularly pleasing views when the

sun returned.

[Illustration:

CAPTAIN SCOTT’S AUTOGRAPH LIST FOR THE AURORA WATCH.

]

Later we went over to the tunnel berg, which Wright and I surveyed in

January. It had also broken up, and had tilted up some twenty feet on

the southern side, owing to readjustments in the equilibrium. The once

vertical tunnel was now only half its length, and lying at an angle of

45° (see Fig. p. 97).

Two seals were lying in the lee of a small berg near by. As we

approached they took to the mushy water immediately surrounding the

berg. They lay there on the sea-ice submerged by the pressure of the

berg above it, being just under water, and not worrying to get through

the ice into the Sound beneath.

[Illustration:

The Arch Berg just before it fell in and became the Castle Berg, April

27, 1911.

]

Later in the day a wandering Emperor was led in by a strap round his

neck, and I held his wings while Dr. Bill pithed him by a lancet in the

brain.

“The last bunk has been added by Oates. He brought in some boards from

the stables—not needed now owing to the decease of the six ponies—and

has built an erection which presumably satisfies him. We all remark that

it is only held up by a small plank nailed to Bowers’ bunk; but Oates is

quite imperturbable as usual, and no whit disturbed by ribald remarks as

to a ‘deadfall’ trap baited with oats.”

I had been reading Cherry’s set of Kipling, and there was such a clatter

of talk from our rivals across the hut that I publicly christened them

the Banderlog. Birdie retaliated by criticizing my pronunciation; but I

said I had no objection to calling them the “Bunderlohg,” and did so for

the rest of the winter.

Debenham fixed up a terra-cotta curtain across our entrance which had

been presented by Ponting, and now we were hidden from the vulgar gaze,

though one frank critic said our sanctum looked like nothing so much as

an opium den. Day had run in a branch acetylene light, and Debenham had

stained everything stainable a dull red-brown with that beauteous dye,

“Condy’s Fluid.” Not to be outdone, Gran fixed red linen borders on the

shelves made from photographic “window” material, while I draped my bunk

with a deep blue hanging, which had originally formed part of the Sunday

tablecloth. We put down all captious remarks to jealousy; and the

“Ubdugs” were more secluded than any other coterie in the hut.

Immediately north of Cape Evans the coast-line consisted of alternating

rocky crags and snowdrifts, but about half a mile away this gave place

to the vertical wall of the Barne Glacier. In places this ice barrier

rose to 180 feet, and was fissured with crevasses from which frequent

falls took place. These varying features were named later on, and

Wright, Debenham, and myself were never tired of examining the silt

bands, and included blocks, crevasses, debris slopes, etc., which

characterized the vicinity of High Cliff.

The summer sun acting on some of the dark boulders included in the ice

face had etched them out until they appeared like giant gargoyles

projecting three or four feet beyond the general plane of the ice wall.

I made a rough pencil sketch of these “gargoyles,” and on my return to

the hut asked Dr. Bill to show me how to improve on this attempt.

On the 27th an important institution was inaugurated, which was

afterwards called _Universitas Antarctica_. Captain Scott had sounded

Wilson, and then he called up Simpson and myself and asked us if we

would be willing to help carry out a scheme of winter lectures which he

had drawn out.

We had a notice board on the side of the “Owner’s” cubicle, and on this

he appended the following notice:—

WINTER LECTURES.

Some members of the community have very kindly consented to give a

series of lectures during the forthcoming winter, the programme of

which is attached hereto.

These lectures are arranged for each week, to be given on Mondays,

Wednesdays, and Fridays, after the evening meal.

It is proposed that each lecture should be followed by a discussion,

conducted on ordinary debating lines, and regulated by myself as

chairman. The time occupied by the lecturer will be about one hour. It

is not thought advisable to attempt to impose a time limit on the

subsequent discussion. Attendance at lectures is purely voluntary, and

neither the lecturer nor the chairman will feel aggrieved if any

person prefers to read a novel or otherwise employ his time.

WINTER LECTURES AND DISCUSSIONS.

Subject. Lecturer.

Monday, May 1. Antarctic Birds E. A. Wilson.

Wednesday, „ 3. Halos and Auroras G. C. Simpson.

Friday, „ 5. Physiography G. Taylor.

Monday, „ 8. Future Plans of the Expedition R. F. Scott.

Wednesday, „ 10. Illustrated Lecture H. G. Ponting.

Friday, „ 12. Mineralogy F. Debenham.

Monday, „ 15. Penguins E. A. Wilson.

Wednesday, „ 17. Management of Horses L. E. G. Oates.

Friday, „ 19. Ice Problems C. Wright.

Monday, „ 22. Evolution of Sledge Rations H. Bowers.

Wednesday, „ 24. Parasitology E. L. Atkinson.

Friday, „ 26. Biological Problems, I. E. Nelson.

Monday, „ 29. Illustrated Lecture H. G. Ponting.

Wednesday, „ 31. Tips on Sketching E. A. Wilson.

Friday, June 2. Meteorological Instruments G. C. Simpson.

Monday, „ 12. Surveying E. R. G. R. Evans.

Wednesday, „ 14. Volcanoes F. Debenham.

Friday, „ 16. Biology II. E. Nelson.

_Also_ Motor Sledging (Day); Whales (Wilson); Midwinter Illustrated

Lecture (Ponting); Physiography II. (Taylor); Horses II. (Oates);

General Meteorology (Simpson); Beardmore Glacier (Taylor);

Radioactivity (Wright); Scurvy (Atkinson); Lantern Lecture

(Ponting).

The Cape Crozier sledging party probably leaves on July 1. The

programme for the remainder of the winter will probably be regulated

according to this and other circumstances. It is hoped that the

lectures named below can be duly arranged, so that every one may

have an opportunity of hearing and discussing them.

Central Asia (Meares); Magnetism (Simpson); Constitution of Matter

(Wright); Mineralogy II. (Debenham); Physiography III. (Taylor);

Biology III. (Nelson); Bacteriology (Atkinson); Evolution of Polar

Clothing (Bowers); Seals (E. A. Wilson); ending on September 1st.

(Signed) R. F. SCOTT.

Three lectures a week rather terrified some of the party, and it must

be admitted that when a lecture was “on,” there was not much room for

private reading! Anyhow, none of the officers ever absented

themselves. The seamen attended the first two, but most of them “gave

it a miss” thereafter, being probably intimidated by the title and

probable aridity of the third lecture, “Physiography, by Griffith

Taylor.”

To the south of Cape Evans extended a long and narrow belt of cliff

hemmed in “betwixt the glacier and the deep sea,” which we called

Land’s End. This extended about a mile; and thereafter was a face of

glacier ice for four more miles similar to, but not so imposing as the

Barne Glacier face.

Gran reported marvellous ice caves beyond Land’s End, so Ponting, he

and I went off to investigate them. When we reached the crevassed face

we found that the caves were really the exposed ends of crevasses.

However, this seemed much the best way of entering a crevasse, so we

crossed the mushy tide crack and passed through the narrow entrance

which was half blocked by a tree-like mass of ice. At the back a huge

Stonehenge pillar supported the roof, and outgrowths from the walls

were connected to the flat floor by huge stalactites. Sticking

promiscuously to the central column was a slender slab of ice, which

seemed to indicate that there had been no movement of late, or it

would have fallen. This was comforting, for Ponting made me “pont” in

the interior for several minutes while he tried a flashlight. Near by

I spotted a crack in the ice face covered by ice stalactites cemented

together. I chipped out an entrance till it resembled what

cave-explorers call a “fat man’s misery,” and then squeezed inside. It

was another pretty little cavern, and the colouring was very striking.

“The most magnificent blue light filtered in through the outer wall,

as vivid and glowing as it is possible to imagine.”

Cherry-Garrard now began his most arduous winter employment as Editor

of the _South Polar Times_. He had brought down a typewriter, and

proposed to continue the Antarctic publication, of which two volumes

had already appeared in 1903–4, in Scott’s First Expedition. His

notice read as follows:—

NOTICE.

_South Polar Times._

THE first number of the _South Polar Times_ will be published on

Midwinter Day.

All are asked to send in contributions signed anonymously, and to

place these contributions in the box under the looking-glass as soon

as possible. No contributions will be accepted for this number after

May 31st.

A selection of these will be made for publication.

It is not intended that the paper shall be too scientific.

Contributions may take the form of prose, poetry, or drawings.

Contributors whose writings lend themselves to illustration are

asked to consult with the Editor as soon as possible.

The Editor,

_S.P.T._

A tin receptacle was nailed under the notice board, and labelled the

Editor’s Box, and Cherry set to work on his editorial pending the

avalanche of contributions. Three issues appeared in 1911, and one

other in 1912, but I shall describe _S.P.T._, as it was familiarly

termed, in greater detail later in the narrative.

I commenced duty as night watchman on the 28th. I used to spend some

of the long hours in writing my journal, so that there is never any

dearth of notes of what happened about that period!

I wrote on this occasion, “It is not the sinecure that I imagined.

Primarily I have to go out every hour and observe the auroræ. If they

are really on tap, I have to stay on Wind Vane Hill (a quarter of a

mile off) till they’re over! (I hope it stays overcast!) There was a

fine display at 9 p.m. Sunny Jim had taken me out to see the

spectroscope test. Behind Erebus it was going strong, and I could see

a bar in the yellow-green of the spectrum which is particular to

auroræ. I wrote the following in the log-book:—

“’At 21.10 (= ten past nine) a fine display along the whole sky

behind the Erebus mass. At first isolated greyish streamers

reached over 8°; they had a reddish tinge, but were not bright

enough to give a bright line in the spectroscope. The whole

brightened until almost a continuous band of (almost yellowish)

light. It concentrated with a movement to the north, reminding one

of a caterpillar’s motion as the more vivid mass of light

undulated towards Erebus. At one moment it clotted into a globule

of light not unlike a meteor, pointing to the crater with a

streamer extending up, and slightly to the south. There was a

tendency for the more northern streamers to point the same way. At

21.16 the display was over. There was perceptible orange and

traces of purple (_fide_ E. A. Wilson) in the borders. During the

maximum, the streamers were over 20° from the horizon.’

“Clissold and Birdie retain me to keep the fire going in the galley. I

put coal on twice (say at 2 and 4 a.m.) and rake out the ashes at 6

a.m. Wake the cook (Clissold) at 6.30. Wright says look to the

acetylene apparatus. If it gets below 32° F. in the porch, open the

inner door and let in a whiff to the mess deck! If the drum rises

three feet and there’s risk of explosion, pump out the water, if vice

versa dump in some water, for the bell won’t work. Teddy Evans is to

be waked at 7 and Sunny Jim at 4 and 7.30.

“I intend to have a bath when Scott and Evans turn in. The former is

reading and the latter plotting Inaccessible Island—a scandalous

proceeding at 12.30 a.m.! For my bath I have to get ice from the old

tin bath outside and replenish the galley boiler. I tried to get

tinned fruit for my 4 a.m. repast instead of sardines, but it was no

go! I can boil water on the little acetylene bunsen, if it’s worth

doing.”

_Later._—“I have sketched the N.E. corner of the hut, and tried to

write a poem and failed. Been out five times and seen no auroræ. Had a

hot bath and filled the boiler with ice. Stoked up the fire and

examined the acetylene plant. Sunny Jim awoke at four. Finds something

wrong with the ice grotto lamp, but has gone off to sleep. The

temperature in here is +49° F. There is bread and butter, sardines,

and possibly cocoa awaiting me. Clocks tick everywhere, and wriggles

and snores are universal. I am yawning my head off.”

_Later._—“I turned in at 7 a.m., so ending my first watch, and stayed

till 11 a.m. cutting breakfast.”

I helped Cherry to build a stone hut on the beach before lunch. The

weather was quite calm, and yet before we had finished the meal there

was a furious blizzard blowing up to fifty-six miles an hour—gale

strength being thirty-eight miles. It lasted just twelve hours, but

the sudden rise was very characteristic.

One morning Captain Scott summoned a council of Dr. Bill, Teddy Evans,

and myself to christen officially the main features of our winter

quarters. The officers who had spent the summer on the Cape had

already named some of the beaches and lakes. Teddy Evans had started

surveying, and fixed stations on outlying points, while the geologists

had cruised about the moraines to the east and so had some knowledge

of the topography there. Land’s End and Seal Rock for southern

features were agreed to. The two lakes kept Nelson’s names of Skua

Lake and Island Lake. The hill where the screens stood was changed

from Vane Hill to Windvane Hill. North Bay and South Bay were obvious,

if not novel. Oates’s pursuits were considered in the names of the

lowlands near the hut, for these were named The Paddock and The

Course. I begged that the rugged crest across the S.W. be called the

“Backbone,” but I never heard any one use the term! Finally the steep

scarp 150 feet high and continuous from High Cliff to Gully Bay came

up for discussion. Scott said, “Now this is why I summoned you,

Taylor. What do they call this in Physiography?” I could think of

nothing but “scarp”; but Scott gave it the euphonious name of the

Ramp. “Going up the Ramp” was one of the commonest remarks during the

succeeding months. Part of the Ramp to the north was a sheet of snow

and ice, and for this I suggested Slippery Slope; while, later, a

series of steps I cut up the face was known as the Golden Stairs!

Later in the day Wright and I filled a balloon which Simpson and

Bowers let off. The procedure was now more elaborate, and in place of

merely testing wind direction the balloons carried up a meteorograph

and miles of fine silk thread.

In a small aluminium cylinder about eight inches long is contained a

small aneroid (for pressure and height) and a small two-metal

thermometer. Levers attached to these scratch two fine lines on a

copper plate, and by suitable enlargement these lines give the

temperatures at varying heights. The black silk unwinds like a

Penelope thread and trails after the balloon. After some minutes a

fuse burns through and liberates the balloon. The meteorograph falls

to the ground with its record.

[Illustration: Balloon Meteorgraph]

Theoretically all one had to do was to follow the silk and pick up the

instrument. Actually it led one to the water’s edge and there

vanished, or crossed the seracs and crevasses of the Barne Glacier and

vanished again; or, worse still, started southward, and broke in the

first quarter-mile on the rugged blocks of kenyte on the Cape! Simpson

and Bowers were indefatigable in searching for the graphs, and

recovered about half of them, often walking ten miles to get a record.

A notice that any one finding a meteorograph would be presented with a

box of chocolates resulted in no great diminution of our store of that

attractive comestible!

It was good fun sending up the meteorographs in the earlier months,

and the vagaries of the balloon gave rise to much chaff among the

operators which in naval parlance is called “hot air.” It was an

excellent school for “rounding off rough corners,” for each member had

his mannerisms so dinned into him that he could not be said to err in

ignorance.

On the 1st May Dr. Bill gave the first lecture on Flying Birds of the

Antarctic. It was postponed from 8 p.m. till 8.15, while the sailors

(in the “mess deck”) washed up! The ribald youth spent the

quarter-hour drawing “dicky birds,” which we passed along to Dr. Bill

to keep his mind occupied, and so save him from stage fright.

Dr. Bill shut off suddenly at 8.45, to the Owner’s pretended

amazement. The discussion lasted till nearly ten, each man being

called on by Scott in the order in which he happened to sit at the

table.

As the birds have no enemies down south their white colour did not

seem necessary for protection. I suggested that it was because white

plumage would radiate out less heat than black (which seemed to recall

some old physical experiment I had done!). Oates said, “Talking about

birds, why were all Shackleton’s ponies grey?” Bowers wanted to know

how the second skua chick was killed in its first week. Did its

brother gobble it up? Ponting instanced an example of more than two in

a clutch. He had photoed a chicken and two eggs in a nest near the hut

last January! I inquired into this phenomenon which interested Dr.

Bill much, and after some minutes broke it to Ponting that I had done

the deed, taking pity on a motherless chicken and placing it in a warm

nest near by! A yarn that amused them was an experience in the islands

off South Australia. Here 5000 young cormorants were slain by an

adjoining colony of terns in a few hours. Where were the parent

cormorants? asked some one. They had all abandoned their offspring at

sight of the visiting members of the Australasian Association!

On the 2nd May we held our first football match. The game was

“Soccer,” and curious was the composition of the teams. There was

little five-foot Anton, our Russian groom, who knew no English and

probably had never seen a football. Somewhat of a contrast were Crean

and Taff Evans, about six feet high, and two of the biggest men in the

navy. Moreover, Evans was a noted Welsh player. Wright’s knowledge was

based on ice hockey. I had played rugger in 1905, and now found that

the rules differed considerably. Atkinson was our star player, though

Gran had played football for Norway.

We played on the sea-ice in North Bay, which was still badly cracked,

and not very thick, so that there was a chance of our game being a

moving one in several senses!

I dare not give my opinion of the game. Every one seemed to be

offside; the more so the better. I followed hard on the ball, which

later I was told was inadvisable. Anton got one idea into his head,

and merrily kicked the ball to the middle of the field wherever he

happened to be. At halftime a blizzard started, and helped our side

materially. I had on windproof jersey and singlet, but as there was

forty degrees of frost I did not get particularly hot. In fact, I

could feel my arm “going” every time I stopped running, which was

unfortunate, for I had a collision with Crean which took the last of

my wind. Scott was playing just behind me, and was very urgent that I

should follow him up, but grinned cheerfully when I said I was too

winded! The blizzard nearly blew the ball off the ice. It rose to

forty miles per hour, but there was little drift, and it stopped when

it couldn’t help our side, so naturally we won by three goals to

_nil_!

Lectures alternated with football, so that next day we heard a very

interesting lecture from Dr. Simpson.

LECTURE ON METEOROLOGICAL INSTRUMENTS.

BY DR. SIMPSON.

_June 3, 1911._

On the 3rd June Simpson described very clearly the various

meteorological instruments in use at Cape Evans. He illustrated his

lecture with simple diagrams, which are reproduced in the figures on

p. 221.

He started with an amusing instance of error in measurement. It is

an obvious principle that the measurement itself must not alter the

condition of the experiment. Thus, if you want to know the length of

your own trousers, you introduce an error if you bend down to

measure them!

There are three methods of measurement in general use—by

photography, by moving a lens, and by various mechanical methods.

Lastly, the time must be accurately recorded, and this is usually

done by a chart carried on a rotating drum, which is clock-driven.

The whole apparatus being called a chronograph.

In determining temperatures we need that of the air itself, and we

must eliminate the direct effect of radiant heat. Thus a thermometer

placed near a newly kindled fire records the access of heat long

before the surrounding air is warmed by the fire. Hence we must

bring a large quantity of air into contact with the thermometer. The

method while sledging is to use a “sling-thermometer.” Here the

thermometer is enclosed in an aluminium case of which the opened lid

forms a handle, by which the thermometer can be swung rapidly for

some minutes in the air.

In self-recording thermometers it is more usual to suck a large

quantity of air past the thermometer by means of a little fan, as

shown in Fig. B.

If, however, a check is kept by frequent comparisons with standard

thermometers at the same place, this is not necessary. Thus the

thermograph at Wind Vane Hill consists of a bimetallic coil fixed at

one end, as shown in Fig. A. The inner strip is of brass, the outer

of steel. When the temperature rises the brass expands most and

straightens the coil, thereby deflecting the lever and pen, and so

marking a graph on the rotating drum.

Another form of thermograph is shown in B, which was placed just at

“Simpson’s corner.” The large brass bassoon and copper coil were

outside the hut in the “weather cupboard,” while the small float and

drum were inside the hut. The air drawn into the bassoon by the fan

affected the volume of the alcohol in the copper tube, and so raised

or lowered the little float, and so actuated the pen. It needed to

be checked also by frequent comparisons.

To determine wind velocity we had several instruments. On the hill

were the Robinson Cups, which whirled round merrily and were

registered by clockwork. Every six miles there was a signal sent

electrically to a chronograph inside the hut. Here we had a more

unusual instrument, called in full the Dines Pressure Tube

Anemometer, but early named the Blizzometer. Its records, owing to

its more sheltered position, were one quarter lower than those on

Wind Vane Hill.

On the roof two vertical tubes were visible. One pointed into the

wind, and another (not shown) pointed away from wind, and was worked

by its suction effect. The outer tube is sketched in Fig. C, and the

lower end of this long pipe communicated with the blizzometer inside

the hut. A practical experience with the blizzometer in a blizzard

is given in another paragraph (p. 222). Since the resulting pressure

varies as the square of the velocity, it is necessary to arrange the

inner capacity of the drum to suit. It has, therefore, a paraboloid

vertical section (being wider lower down), so that the heaviest

gusts do not raise the piston (and pen) disproportionately high on

the graph. The essential details of the apparatus are shown in Fig.

D, the instrument being about a yard long. In Fig. E is shown the

ingenious method for obtaining a continuous record of wind

direction. The wind vane on the roof as it swings twists a cylinder

on the same axis. This cylinder was situated in the porch in close

proximity to the acetylene plant, over which we had to climb to

regulate the instrument. On this cylinder was wound a sheet of

metallic paper. At the side was a sliding point which made a mark

when pressed on this paper. It was actuated by a clockwork which

gradually lowered the point to the bottom during a period of seven

days. With a steady wind a vertical ribbon was marked on the chart,

and in our case nearly all the marks were confined to the south-east

or north quadrants.

Simpson next proceeded to explain the instruments for detecting the

electrical condition of the air. This was merely a variant of the

quadrant electrometer, which is rather too technical an instrument

for the layman. The magnetic measurements are also open to the same

objection. The Dine’s Meteorograph is, however, a very ingenious

instrument, and I have given an account of it in a preceding section

(p. 234).

There was a crowded and enthusiastic audience, and the experiments

were most striking in view of Simpson’s limited material. As a

preliminary Ponting nearly blew us up with his acetylene lantern, and

canny Dr. Bill sought shelter under the table!

In the second football match, I tried the effect of wearing light

American shoes in place of heavy ski-boots. I don’t think it improved

my speed much, though I managed to give Crean two “busters,” which

pleased me greatly. Simpson did not appear, and later we found that

Wright had seen the door of the magnetic hut unfastened, and had

locked it while Simpson was within! My tight thin shoes naturally made

my toes “go,” but by diligent rubbing and gradual warming before I

entered the hut I managed to bring them back without any great pain.

My first lecture was on the principles of physiography. Dr. Bill

assisted me to draw some sketches on large sheets of paper, which I

pinned on the pudding-board. This rested against a chair on the table,

and was lighted by our acetylene branch! Cherry drew a sketch of the

author and pinned it on the gas-jet as a screen. I discussed the

evolution of a land surface from an “infantile” plain, such as that of

Red River, Canada, through various stages of uplift to the “senile”

condition of a peneplain.

I had made several small models in plasticene, and believe the lecture

was fairly successful; for Simpson said he started sleepy and ended

wide awake!

I based most of my lecture on my recent work on the geology of the

Federal Capital Territory in Australia, and the substance thereof is

given in the following paragraphs. This region (about 100 miles each

way) illustrates almost all the new concepts in the evolution of a

land surface.

Before the faulting the rivers flowed over fairly open country as the

Upper Yass River does now. The Murrumbidgee River rose on the north of

the Tindery Range and the Snowy River on the south. An ancient fault

plane assisted the Murrumbidgee to capture the snowy tributaries at

Tharwa. The country was broken by two main north-south faults. Thus

the head of Yass River was cut off to make Lake George. Molonglo River

managed to saw its way down through the scarp (as it rose) and so

formed the Molonglo Defile. All the old snowy tributaries (Upper

Murrumbidgee, Gudgenby, etc.) preserved their southward direction as

they cut deep gorges in their uplifted beds. These tributaries form

“boat-hook” bends where they join the big river. The present divide at

Cooma is an insignificant wind-gap.

The old river-bed draining the Lake George area (which is seventeen

miles long) is preserved as a deposit of huge quartz boulders two

hundred feet above the lake at Geary’s Gap. This may be termed a

“_dead_ river.” The silts of Lake George are still being added to, and

hence this country is below base level, and may be described as

_embryo_ topography. The narrow gorge of the Molonglo and those of the

Cotter and Gudgenby exhibit _infantile_ erosion features. The lower

Molonglo River flows through a deep but wider valley with a _youthful_

facies. The Yass River is flowing through undulating or _mature_

country. The Upper Molonglo, winding over a dead-flat plain of silt

(held back by the rock bar at the defile) is meandering over _senile_

topography. In every case the cross section of the valley gives the

key to the method of its formation _and date_ of its present form.

After the lecture Captain Scott’s attitude was rather amusing. He said

physiography was too novel to accept at once, and he would like to

hear if it agreed with the teaching of older geology? Dr. Bill was

very cordial, and said the onus lay on the geologist to disprove the

tilting and faulting which I had instanced in the Australian federal

territory.

It is a point of some interest as illustrating the growth of a special

physiographic outlook, that I had quite forgotten to mention the

_geological deposits_ above Lake George, which corroborated the

evolution of the surface as deduced by pure physiographic reasoning!

Simpson discussed the question of the rain factor in physiography, so

I told them about our gigantic rain gauge in Lake George, near

Canberra. This is about twenty miles long and five miles wide. At some

periods it is thirty feet deep, and contains murray cod several feet

long. Again—as at present—it is covered with grass, and inhabited by

sheep and less desirable immigrants in the shape of rabbits and foxes.

Next morning I was very pleased at a kindly remark of Scott’s:

“Taylor, I dreamt of your lecture last night. How could I live so long

in the world and not know something of so fascinating a subject!”

Atkinson had been having successes with the fish trap, and I went out

with him to see the sport. We tramped about half a mile over the ice

to the north-west. Here was a hole in the ice three feet across. It

was filled with new mushy ice, but we soon chipped this out and flung

it to one side. Then we hauled at the rope and pulled up the trap. It

was a cylinder of wire netting about three feet long with re-entrant

ends, so that the fish could enter at the centre, but (nosing along

the walls) had not sense enough to get out again. It showed beautiful

phosphorescence as it rose out of the water, for the days were, of

course, quite dark now.

There were twenty-one victims this time. Atkinson had caught two

batches of forty-one and forty previously. We put them in a bucket,

where they froze immediately. The change from +29° (in the water) to

−20° outside was too much for them, and in their last gasps their

gills swelled out to an enormous extent. These fish were about eight

inches long, the same _Notothenia_ we had met with before. In shape

they resembled “Miller’s Thumbs.”

Atkinson found some parasitic grubs in some of these fish, and took

them over to Dr. Bill. The latter was engaged on some wonderful sunset

sketches, but abandoned this task and nonchalantly proceeded to make a

lifelike water-colour of pink parasitic grubs on a purple background

of liver and gall!

I received a commission from Ye Editor to write the introductory

article for the _South Polar Times_. “On Ross Island and the Ice

Barrier. What it was like, is like, and what it’s going to be like!” I

started seriously with petrology and volcanics, etc., and then gave up

and went in for romance out of my head. Cherry seemed very satisfied

with it, and authorized me to write as much as six pages of

print—illustrations to be contributed by Bill!

Captain Scott gave his first lecture on the 8th of May on the “Plans

of the Expedition.” He had thought out all possible details, and

ultimately carried out his plans exactly, so that I do not need to

give full notes. He relied on the ponies essentially, and frankly

confessed that he was disappointed with the dogs, though he added that

this may have been due to their food.

With regard to the motors, he hoped they would help; but he was not

using their loads in his calculations. He realized that he was here

carrying out an experiment to benefit future expeditions.

He felt it best to adhere to his original plan and proceed as if

Amundsen were not in the field.

He said the great difficulty would be on the plateau. “Shackleton was

five weeks there, and was nearly done, while the Pole party will have

to spend ten weeks on the plateau. If we have bad weather,” he added,

“no one can stick it. One last point: you will see that this will take

144 days. If we start on November 3rd—and earlier will kill the

ponies—we can’t get back till March 27th. Now, no ship can remain in

the Sound as late as this, so that inevitably the Pole party must stay

another year; and if a small party stays, there might as well be a

large party to carry out further explorations.”

There was a long discussion on the possibility of getting ponies up

the great Beardmore Glacier. It turned largely on the character of the

glacier—so Dr. Bill came out with a base suggestion that the

physiographer be deputed to read up all the available information, and

give a lecture thereon!

Ponting asked if the pony food could not be in part edible by men. He

was questioning our cavalry captain, and boldly suggested that oats

should be eaten—which _double entendre_ amused the House.

Simpson has been wandering around disconsolately getting people to

smell a liquid in a bottle. Something is wrong with the petrol engine,

and all the engineering talent, including the cook’s, is at fault.

Finally it was decided that this doubtful liquid from the tank was

kerosene, and not petrol, and that perhaps a fresh supply of more

suitable diet would remedy matters.

Ponting gave a lantern lecture on Burmah, which was interesting to all

of us. However, it had no bearing on Antarctic topics, so that I made

no notes thereon.

I had been busy for some time on a series of maps, which I proposed to

send in to the editor of the _South Polar Times_. It was evident that

among the fifteen officers in the hut there were many travellers, and

it occurred to me that we had practically covered the world. So I drew

three maps, and in place of the geographical names I inserted the

names of the travellers. Finally, I made a table of countries visited,

and those who were near the head of this table were quite keen to see

who was the greatest traveller—in this limited sense. It was soon

evident that the contest lay between Captain Scott, the oldest, and

Gran the youngest of the party! The “Owner” called out several times

after I’d got his list, “Did you put me down for Peru ... and Azores,

etc.?”

The final results were—

─────────────────────────────┬────────────────────────────

│ Chief areas.

─────────────────────────────┼────────────────────────────

Captain Scott, 59 mentions│First in Africa and America.

Gran, 53 „ │Second in Europe.

Lieutenant Evans, 42 „ │First in Europe and America.

Meares, 39 „ │First in Asia.

Taylor, 33 „ │First in Australasia.

Ponting, 32 „ │Second in Asia.

Bowers, 31 „ │Second in Africa.

Garrard, 27 „ │Second in Australia.

─────────────────────────────┴────────────────────────────

There was then a considerable drop to the remaining seven men. We had

about two hours’ violent discussion when I read out the list. Simpson

objected to the sailor-men being placed so high, for obviously in most

cases they merely touched at the seaports, and saw little of the

country proper. He said he would arrange them as follows: Meares,

Taylor, Ponting, Scott, Garrard. At any rate, Simpson could claim the

widest polar experience, for he had spent a year within the Arctic

circle studying the meteorology of Lapland! Scott, Wilson, and Day had

been many months in Antarctica before; but unfortunately this is

no-man’s land, and I only allotted each of them two marks for all

this!

My second night-watch occurred on the 11th. It was blizzing outside at

forty miles per hour. Hooper provided me with a fine repast, which I

sketched to fill in time! There was cocoa and bread and butter—a sort

of currant-pudding (euphoniously termed “Bugs in Bolster”), jam,

honey, and milk. No sardines, so that it was evident that I had got on

the blind side of the commissariat.

Cherry yells out, “Didn’t you get it away from the cliffs, Sunny Jim!”

which indicates that he’s dreaming of tracking balloons.

In the wee smaa’ hours I wrote “Valhalla, a celestial medley,” for the

_South Polar Times_. This skit on the manners and customs of the

Antarctickers met with undeserved favour in Scott’s eyes.

On the 15th Dr. Bill gave his second lecture, of which I took full

notes, and give them herewith.

LECTURE ON PENGUINS.

BY DR. WILSON.

_May 15, 1911._

There are many varieties of penguins, but they are all restricted to

the Southern Hemisphere. Although a number of fossil forms have been

found, they are also not known north of the Equator. With the

exception of the Galapagos Islands and the southern shores of the

continents, they are chiefly found on the sub-antarctic islands.

Fossils occur in South America, where many genera have been

identified. For instance, six come from Seymour Island (Graham Land)

and five from Patagonia. In New Zealand there are fossil skeletons

six feet high, which were first described by Huxley. They occur in

Eocene limestones.

The origin of the penguins is obscure. They began to specialize very

early in the history of birds, and all relationship to other

families is obscured. Probably they could fly once, but now the

wing-feathers are not of the type used for flight. The requisite

muscles are degenerate and the tendons have become ligamentous. Its

feather tracts are distributed like a lizard’s scales, and the

arrangement is in no way so advanced as in that of a domestic fowl.

The earliest bird, the _Archæopteryx_, had teeth, and one or two

modern birds (_e.g._ the goosander) have makeshift teeth to grip

slippery fish. One hopes to find real teeth in the embryo of the

emperor penguin, though none are present in the adult bird.

Some of these early Cretaceous birds were divers, and so had adopted

aquatic habits. Their shankbones were formed of three parallel

parts, and this structure is exhibited in the emperor, though in all

other birds the shankbone is solid.

Probably New Zealand was the original home of this type of bird.

Their nearest allies are the petrels and divers, but the

relationship is doubtful.

_Groups._—There are three main groups of penguins—

(1) Emperor, { From 53° S.

King, { to the

Pygosceles. { edge of the Pack,

┃ { _i.e._ 78° S.

┏━━━━━━┻━━┳━━━━━━━━━━┓

┃ ┃ ┃

Adelie. Ringed. Johnny.

(2) Crested Penguins with long golden { From 38° S.

(_a_) Royal. } feathers over each eye. { to

(_b_) Great. } { 55° S.

(3) Jackass Penguin. { 50° S. to

{ the Equator.

_Breeding._—The Emperor lays one egg and incubates it between the

feet and the breast-flap. The Johnny penguin seems to have the same

habit. The Adelie scratches a bare hole in gravel. The Crested

penguin makes a grass nest, while the Jackass burrows.

_Migration._—The Antarctic penguins spend about eight months on

shore and four on the pack-ice. They usually remain within fifty

miles of land.

The Adelies arrive in Ross Island in mid-October, the scouts

preceding the main army by some ten days. After about ten days

choosing nests the first egg is laid, and then the second soon

after. They are hatched in a month.

_Feathers._—The Emperor chick has two sets of down feathers. The

earliest is pushed off at the end of the new feather in a few days.

And then the final feather forms the base of the down feather.

The Adelie moults at the end of February.

_Food._—The Adelie gathers a crop full of shrimps, and then has to

run the gauntlet of all the chicks to reach his own nest. You can

see his terror that none will be left for his own, for they are

meanwhile digesting! The young birds remain on land until starvation

drives them to the water. It is inexplicable how they know where to

go!

The Emperor lives on fish, and so has a different-shaped beak. They

obtain their food by diving down through cracks in the Barrier ice.

For one adult hatching an egg there are a dozen unoccupied. And

there is such a rush to claim a lonely chicken that the latter

simply hates the whole proceeding!

Three-quarters of the chicks have died by the end of October.

From our visit to Cape Crozier in 1911 we know that the young do not

shed their down till January. The bay ice is moving out all summer.

By January most of it has gone north, and the penguins have gone

with it. The chickens are not fit to enter the water in their down

feathers, and after their free ride north they live on the pack-ice

for some weeks before commencing to swim.

Penguins swim under water, and breathe with open beaks as they make

their frequent “dolphin” leaps.

The dogs and ponies turned up from Hut Point on the 13th—just a month

after we left them there. Meares arrived first. He had been lost in

the drift, but had wisely coasted along by Turk’s Head and got through

all right. We welcomed them with their favourite gramophone records.

“They all went into the Shop” to cheer Meares, and then “Prehistoric

Man” to see how exactly Huntley’s voice agreed with Nelson’s!

Dr. Atkinson started testing us for scurvy. We submitted our first

fingers, and he jabbed them with a pointed glass tube till the blood

flowed. I grieve to state my thick skin or sluggish blood necessitated

five pricks. This blood, if healthy, should be quite alkaline, and its

alkalinity is tested by neutralizing the blood with dilute sulphuric

acid. Anyway, I didn’t think much of it! For if most of the fellows

were extra good—I was medium only, while Scott and Wright (two of the

toughest specimens) were the worst!

Several of the officers were recalcitrant, and refused all the Owner’s

cajoling to lecture! Oates only gave in after much importunity, for he

hated public speaking in any form. However, his lecture on “Horse

Training” was awaited with much interest. He solemnly arose and

commenced lugubriously with the words, “I have been fortunate in

having another date set apart for me for a second lecture,” which

raised a shout of laughter.

LECTURE ON HORSES.

BY OATES.

_May 17, 1911._

In feeding the ponies during the winter we must run no risks. The

pony’s stomach is very small, and he stores water in a cæcum between

the guts. In a natural state he grazes 20 hours out of the 24, hence

it is advisable to divide up the meals as much as possible and give

it them five times a day. This is inconvenient here, but we feed

them three times a day.

Compressed chaff made from _young_ hay would be very good, but our

Australian hay was not likely to be cut very young. (“Oh!” from

Debenham.) Bran tends to dry the mouth; oats are good, because he

must chew them; and oilcake is very nutritious.

The pony meals are as follows:—

_Morning_: Chaff.

_Noon_: Snow, chaff, oilcake, or oats. Always give them water on an

empty stomach.

_Evening_: Snow at 5 p.m.; branmash with boiled oilcake or boiled

oats and chaff.

With regard to the famous continental training, our English polo

teams can beat the foreigners, as was shown by Colonel de Lisle. It

is a Munchausen tale to speak of “lifting” a horse over a fence with

the bridle.

Here are two horses, drawn by Uncle Bill for me. One is “balanced,”

the other not. The better horse puts most weight on the hind legs,

which are the propelling members. One should make them walk fast. If

necessary, dig them under the ribs! (Birdie plaintively interjected,

“Where is a man to walk to be ‘in command of a pony’s head and ribs’

if he’s short in the arm?” And Titus solemnly answered, “Midway.”)

Cherry’s and Birdie’s ponies are balanced, but it would take a giant

to train “Weary Willie.” If you want to back a horse touch him on

the front shin. The French school of _haute école_ is rather in the

nature of trick riding.

In his second lecture (August 10, 1911) Oates discussed pony

psychology. Said he, “Consider the thing a horse has in place of a

mind. He has no reasoning powers but has a very strong memory. Their

vision is not strong, but they do all by hearing. If they hear a

shout they connect it with some excitement. To shout ‘Woh!’ when a

horse is backing is both ludicrous and useless—I’ve done it!

“It might be a good thing to dye the forelock to prevent

snow-blindness. As to whether they should be groomed here, I think

not. The grease in the coat protects the body. It is best to cut it

once and then it will grow thick later. Litter might be an

advantage, but they don’t lie down much.”

Atkinson came in and reported having seen a meteor fall just beyond

Erebus. Simpson’s precise mind led him to ask, “Did it really fall?”

Wherefore Day interjected, “You mean, was it pushed!” Thus do the

“pseudo-scientists” hold their own.

On the 18th we played our penultimate game of football. The sun had

vanished, but there was a little light at midday. It was, however, so

dark that on our return I chaffed Nelson for funking it, and he

retorted that he’d been playing just behind me the whole game!

Our routine was now much the same each day. I will quote my diary for

May 19.

“A calm morning, but snowing. Wakened by Hooper at 8.15. ‘Rouse and

shine, Mr. Taylor, sir.’ All, however, lie low, except Birdie Bowers,

Evans, and Sunny Jim. Then Birdie starts chirruping and keeps it up

solid, chiefly directed at the opposite diarists’ den. This is

inhabited, according to him, by the ‘Rubbly Ubdugs.’ I go out to

breakfast and find penguin feather flavour in the water, tea, and

milk. (This is due to a layer of feathers in our glacier supply.) So I

make a repast on porridge and marmalade. Nelson and Captain Scott

arrive later. I retreat to my bunk and read Edmund Gosse; Debenham

starts rock sections; Gran peruses maps to decide where he will go

next.

“Our den is invaded by ‘Titus’ Oates, ‘Mother’ Meares, ‘Birdie’

Bowers, ‘Sunny’ Jim, Bernard Day, and ‘Silas’ Wright, from which they

are with difficulty ejected, and then I start ye eternal narrative of

the Western Journey.”

The next lecture was on Ice Problems, by Wright. He showed fifteen

slides, including some made from views on our western journey.

We had a long discussion on the flow of glaciers, which lasted till 11

p.m. Discussions were in the air nowadays, and no one had a greater

belief in them than Captain Scott. He was quicker to see the weak link

in a chain of argument than any man I have ever met. In my own special

study of the glacial geology of Antarctica, his practical knowledge

quite balanced what I had gained from books or travels among glaciers

of the temperate zone, so that I had many talks with him, and owe him

much scientifically for his help in criticizing and so strengthening

my main conclusions.

Physical measurements took place again on the 21st. There were loud

cheers when Atkinson announced my waist as 35 inches. I had “gone

steady” on food during the past few weeks and knew this was another

libel, and when he corrected his statement I was proud to rank with

Dr. Bill with a waist of 29½ inches!

“_May 25._—It has been blizzing all day, and I will describe the

doings in the hut. I am sitting on my bunk in the pose photoed by

Ponting, using my little drawing-board as a table. Gran is writing one

of his six diaries with Deb’s nib, which he blunts. He has a patent

plasticene pen rack, which doesn’t improve the handle. I told him to

learn Russian, or write an Antarctic novel in Norwegian, for he will

be at a loose end until ski-ing is possible.

“Debenham is painting his third masterpiece. He uses my plane-table

sheet on which to paste down his papers. His little terra-cotta

water-pots (shrimp paste!) are much admired. He is rather fed up,

because he has just found that he is painting on the wrong side of his

drawing. I tell him that won’t make any difference! Day also is busy

elaborating his sketches. Marie Nelson is writing a voluminous

lecture, and making certain of all future arguments by questioning

Atkinson, Bill, and Titus (_re_ horses, etc.) beforehand. Dr. Atkinson

is groping among encysted ‘mully-grubs’ at his half of the table,

while Silas Wright wrestles with pendulum details on the other side.

“Simpson is writing up weather for _S. P. T._; while, I believe, Dr.

Bill has finished the ‘hot-stuff’ sketches of geology, etc., for my

_S. P. T._ article. He has copied most of them from my rough sketches,

photos, or specimens. Cherry is flapping away at _S. P. T._ on the

typewriter and chortling muchly.

“Teddy Evans is plotting a graticule for the southern survey, while

Ponting has just perpetuated the ‘Teamsters’ in the stable where Titus

entertained Meares to tea. Birdie Bowers is writing reams for his

lecture on sledge-foods—guess it will make a book! The ‘Owner’ is

reading in his cubicle as usual.”

On the 23rd Nelson and I started off for his biological station about

a mile to the south on the sea-ice. I carried a plane-table, for I

wanted to plot the four islands off the Cape. It was a fine clear

morning, with tints of yellow, pale grey-blue, and deep blue enriching

the sky. Nelson had a special sledge equipped with a winding drum and

various boxes of “gadgets,” as he called his instruments. With this

apparatus he was surveying the depth of the sound, and found that it

varied very abruptly from place to place. Next day we went off again,

and I obtained further angles from different stations, being unable to

find the flag at east base. Finally, I found it beaten flat by the

blizzards, the 1½-inch thick standard of solid male bamboo being

snapped to splinters.

On Queen’s birthday Captain Scott informed me that he was afraid I

should be able to do very little science on the southern trip. “You

would only be able to go up the Beardmore and down again, so your time

would practically be wasted.” So that he decided that I should go west

to Granite Harbour, at which I was very pleased, though it was rather

rough on Debenham, who was to have had charge of a party in that

region. Dr. Bill pointed out that Debenham and I were fully occupied

with different aspects of geology, so that there was room for both of

us, and Scott arranged that I was to take Gran and Forde as the other

members of the party.

My report of the western journey was approaching completion, and I

devoted some time to making a portfolio out of purely local

ingredients. From the rubbish-heap I got me a Venesta box, built of

tough 3-ply wood. I brought this into the hut, and with much labour

pulled off the galvanized binding strips. Then I cut out suitable

portions, leaving thereon the stencil of Beach’s jams. I scrubbed them

free of strawberry jam, and then worried Day to give me a nice piece

of sealskin. This I pared down thin and soaked it in alum overnight.

Later I riveted it with bifurcated rivets from Shackleton’s hut, and

the net result was interesting, if not aesthetic!

“It is really the ‘long winter night’ now. I should say the real

darkness began about the 20th, but you can still see to read outside

at midday! I nearly got frostbitten paring that sealskin by

candlelight in the outer storeroom. Only I kept my fingers in the

candle flame fairly frequently!”

Birdie Bowers’ lecture on Sledge Foods was very good.

He poked fun at the “medical faculty” on every possible occasion. I

deplored the inability to speak with authority on sledging rations,

for in the west I had permitted our butter to be eaten instead of

leaving it in a depôt, as the southern party had done! But the chief

event was the appearance of Debenham as an advocate for an official

tobacco ration while sledging, and when this was settled by the Owner,

a fresh argument on the relative values of tea and cocoa between

Birdie and Seaman Evans made more merriment.

Late in May Ponting made some of his most picturesque studies. On one

occasion we marched out to the west over the sea-ice to photo the

icebergs. We carried a lantern, and were thus able to cross the

numerous cracks in the sea-ice safely. There had been rather high

tides lately, and these had surged through the cracks and deposited a

mushy layer, which was apparently very salty and did not freeze very

hard. We could hear the shish, shish of Debenham’s ski, but were

unable to see him. Ponting had two huge cameras, and had just set up

his apparatus when Captain Scott, Gran, and Bowers arrived. The Arch

berg had weathered greatly, and the top of the arch had caved in on

the fifth with the noise of an avalanche. The berg was rising out of

the water and had tilted up great cakes of sea-ice. Ponting wanted a

figure in the picture, but one wondered if the berg would choose that

moment to overturn! When the flash went off, however, I had moved over

too far, and so no scale appeared to give an idea of the gigantic mass

of ice.

The last day in May was characterized by a sharp blizzard. It had been

quite calm all the afternoon, and Atkinson went off to catch fish. We

caught a whole _one_, and the weather was so warm (only 18° of frost)

that he was still moving when we reached the hut! This weather lasted

till 5.15 p.m. Then in _two minutes_ the wind rose from calm to

forty-five miles per hour with snowdrifts like driving rain.

Next day we went out to a new hole cut in the 3 feet ice. There was a

forty-mile blizzard, but as there was no drift we got out to the hole

easily enough, though as it was drifted over we had to be careful not

to fall in. Our huge hopes from the new ground resulted in three fish!

We had much more rope to haul in and found it rather hard work.

Atkinson was much amused by the old yarn of the Irishman’s remark

while hauling up his mate: “Hold on, Mike, while I spit on my hands!”

This was apropos of my having to stop hauling to warm my nose. Atch’s

went further, and he had to stay outside the hut until the pringling

subsided!

Dr. Bill gave us a fine lecture on sketching, illustrated by numerous

samples of his own and by copious allusions to the trials of the

budding artists in the hut! He pointed out that one aspirant had done

a fine sketch of an iceberg with a splendid reflection showing in

_stormy_ water. I backed up my unfortunate colleague by showing Bill a

portrait I had made of himself, which turned out “handsome” instead of

“lifelike.”

LECTURE ON SKETCHING.

BY DR. WILSON.

_May 31, 1911._

Sketching down here is very different from this class of work

elsewhere. We are limited in our tools, being confined to pencil and

chalks; and even with these we can only finish a sketch on the field

in midsummer.

Accuracy rather than the making of pictures should be our aim in

Antarctica, especially as our sketches are largely connected with

scientific work. Nothing can be done with colour, though on the 1902

expedition I carried forty coloured crayons and tried to use them

out of doors. Nansen, however, managed to do some useful crayon

drawings in the Arctic.

My method is to make pencil drawings in as great detail as the

temperature will allow, and to scribble over a sort of artist’s

shorthand. I use very few colours, and can indicate Prussian blue,

for instance, by pr. b., etc. Even in temperate regions you have to

use somewhat similar shifts, for you can’t sit down to paint a

brilliant sunset. This “shorthand” I practised largely in Norway in

1897. One gets into the habit of realizing quickly what colours will

mix to give the required shade.

In Antarctica every topic requires a different method of treatment,

and all require accuracy. Now here are some tips that you may find

useful.

Every line is to be criticised as a part of the whole lot, which

means you musn’t scribble haphazard. It is a good test if you can

discover something in your sketch which you did not realize when you

drew it. Always try to analyze the gradations and colours; this

power is largely a matter of habit. You can’t overdo the exercise of

your power of “seeing,” and down here the shades are so subtle that

you get very good practice.

No coarse methods will reproduce snow, ice, or distant mountains.

All these take time, and I notice that surveyors and physiographers

fail here!

Now I will try to point out why some sketches fail.

There is a promising art student present who drew an iceberg. He had

not attempted one before, and so did it carefully and successfully.

But beyond this are waves and sky, and he thinks he knows them. So

we find him showing the berg reflected in waves! He should have

roughed in bits of the waves and sky and made notes. Here we see the

necessity of a first sketch which shows you bits of every feature of

the whole.

The pencil is the only thing to use here, though in other regions

you would also make a rapid sketch to show colour contrasts. Don’t

try to draw with a brush.

To reproduce your sketches, you use H and F pencils. It is very

difficult to grade snow and sky with ink. It is best to use a hard

pencil so that you don’t get into a smudging way, but make each line

distinct.

Do your outlines in very faint lines so that they will disappear

when shaded, and without the use of rubber. If you want a straight

line or circle use a rule or a compass. Be careful to get the

horizon level or you will spoil the whole sketch. Remember that

nature relieves everything by shadow and colour, but not by _lines_.

_Principles of Sketching._

You will find Ruskin’s book very helpful. One should have them

instinctively, as in the case of so many Japanese and all good

artists. The rest must acquire them.

1. _Accuracy_, by attention to small details and differences.

2. Methods. Pen and ink is difficult for snow and sky, and soft

pencil is easier.

3. Outlines are the edges of shadows.

4. Perspective is not of much use in Antarctica.

5. Use an empty picture frame to gauge size and position.

6. Colours are mostly snow-white or blue-grey, but occasionally even

shadows may be orange or the brightest blue.

7. In shading, first practise with a square on white paper and hatch

it. Be careful never to go over the edge.

8. To test the inaccuracy of your eye carefully copy a maple leaf

and then superpose it on the original.

9. If using pen and ink outlines only, never thicken a line. Use

even lines, and remember that it is imperfect because there are no

outlines in nature.

10. There is no _royal way_ to do trees or clouds, etc. Be careful

not to adopt mannerisms.

11. Clouds are solids with a light side and a shaded side; and also

with perspective.

And he ended up with a sly reference to myself. “In drawing land

forms you tend to become a physiographer”!

[Illustration: Evans teaches us to cobble.]

I spent the next morning on a “make and mend.” My Russian felt boots

were wearing out from the usual cause: not through rough surfaces, but

from scorching when drying near the stove! So I borrowed Wright’s

sewing awl, and Taff Evans coached me with this weapon. It always used

to worry me how cobblers sewed a boot when they couldn’t see the

inside thereof! Anyhow I made a sketch of the method, and afterwards

sewed boots, bags, camera cases, and all sorts of gear with complete

success.

_Procedure._—(A) Push threaded awl through first hole and pull one

end of thread out on inside of boot. To this

attach a stiff point, _i.e._ a nail.

(B) Pull back awl and push through next hole.

(C) Make two loops of the awl thread (see sketch)

_inside_ the boot, and put the nail through the

loop, whose end is attached to the boot (the other

loop is in the supply thread), and so on.

Then I darned four socks, using string instead of wool, for with

_four_ pairs on, and with our hardened skin, the roughness was

immaterial.

Whit-Sunday came along in due course, and we had Church service. This

consisted of the usual Morning Prayer with the special Antarctic

Collect and two hymns. Absolutely the chief lack in the hut was a

hymnal with tunes! We had a Broadwood piano and a dozen hymn books,

but no music except three or four songs, such as “Asleep in the Deep,”

“Old Madrid,” and “Alcala.”

Captain Scott asked me to vamp some tunes for the hymns. I could

really have risen to hymn _music_, but was unable to vamp, and told

him so. I tried to invent an accompaniment or two but failed dismally.

Cherry next negotiated it, and managed one or two quite successfully;

but each fresh tune needed such a lot of practice that he gave it up

after a few Sundays.

However, there seemed no end to the tunes known to Scott and Bowers,

and these with Wilson, Debenham, and Lashley formed quite a

respectable choir.

The Owner was very keen on the hymns. On one occasion he gave out

“Onward, Christian soldiers,” and was so dissatisfied with the result,

that he specially repeated the same hymn next Sunday till we were more

in unison.

The _South Polar Times_ was now finished as far as the letterpress,

and was in the hands of the binder. The whole production was supposed

to be a secret, but it was necessarily a very open one! We could all

see Day manipulating sealskin and Venesta board—in his bunk; though I

don’t think that any one expected he would make such a really artistic

job of it as he did. Ponting printed four of his finest photographs on

very large sheets and then moulded them and trimmed them as plates,

and they added greatly to the beauty of the resulting volume.

I had handed in my official report on the first western journey to

Captain Scott, and now busied myself with a comparison of the

meteorological results of the 1902 and 1910 expeditions.

The temperature curves are very interesting and are shown in the

annexed figure.

[Illustration: Diagrammatic illustration featuring a horizontal

measuring scale with evenly spaced vertical ticks and branching lines

above it, suggesting plotted data or a schematic layout.]

[Illustration: Sections of Fossils Beardmore Gl. 1908]

On the 5th of June, I gave a lecture on a place I had never seen and

probably will never see—the Beardmore Glacier. I had to spend a

considerable amount of time in reading it up in Shackleton’s book.

Scott had lent his copy to Campbell, so that mine was the only copy in

the hut, and was naturally consulted by everybody. It is a unique

copy, for all the expedition signed it, so that it forms the last

collection of such autographs; and later Sir Ernest was good enough to

write a brief letter therein on the opposite page.

Curiously enough there was one aspect of the Beardmore on which I

could speak with some authority. I had spent two years in Cambridge

doing paleontological research on some Cambrian corals from Central

Australia. Among the specimens which Shackleton had brought back from

the farthest south rock was a small pebble of green marble. In this

were some minute fossils, and they turned out to be the same

“ancient-cups” (_Archeocyathinæ_) as I had described in Cambridge. So

this unique specimen was handed over to me for description, and I was

able to tell our fellows the “habits” of the Beardmore corals.

[Illustration: Fossil ‘Sponge-Coral’ from the Beardmore Glacier 84°S.

1912 (Restored).]

These queer fossils seem to unite the characters of the two great

families of sponges and corals. They died out in the Cambrian age, but

are of world-wide distribution in deposits of that period.

I had drawn an enlarged map of the Beardmore, and I read extracts from

“The Heart of the Antarctic,” describing the position of the crevassed

areas, etc. My next “old master” was a fine effort—a sort of panorama

of what you would see looking back down the Beardmore. I had

commandeered it from the _Sphere_; but it seemed unnecessary to say

so!

Then from some notes given me by Professor David, I was able to

describe the geology of the rocks fairly fully.

Two contrasted longitudinal sections of the Ferrar and Beardmore

glaciers showed the immensity of the latter and its comparatively

slight slope. I even had a specimen to exhibit! a small piece of the

original fossil-bearing green marble hung as a pendant on my

watch-chain. This was examined by all present, and the southern party

swore to pick up all the green marble they could carry, on the off

chance of it containing my pet fossils! I may be allowed to mention

that this specimen now adorns a lady’s ring, and is mounted after a

design which I owe to Lady Scott.

[Illustration:

The most southern fossils: archeocyathinac marble set in a ring.

]

The question of collecting specimens was important, especially as no

geologist was going south. However, I asked them to collect fresh

pieces (which need not be large), and from rock _in situ_ if possible.

A description of the physiographic data most required finished the

lecture.

Dr. Wilson raised a question as to the meaning of the word

“glaciated.” “Is Erebus glaciated?” he asked. I said “No, not in the

strict sense”—for the word applies to regions laid bare after a

glacier has retreated. Scott thereupon said that a new name is needed

for glacier-covered lands. (I think the word “glacierized” is

permissible for this type of country.)

The Owner and I had a great cag as to the shape of the ice at the

mouth of the Ferrar Glacier, which he had explored in 1903. I said in

1911 it had a _tongue_ jutting out to the south-east; he thought there

was a _bay_ here! “This is very queer,” said Scott. “Well, I can’t

make it out! I expect I shall continue to believe I’m right, and you

will believe you’re right.” I said, “I can do better than that. I

believe we are both right, and it’s these incomprehensible glaciers

that are wrong!”

It was late when I turned in and most of the others were asleep. Some

were dreaming, for Cherry cried out suddenly, “But look here, those

horses are quite unloosed!”

Titus Oates was awakened in the next bunk and inquired anxiously,

“What’s that about the horses?”

It will have been gathered that there was some touch of the navy about

our life in the Hut. I may, without breach of confidence, say that I

had been warned by a former explorer against the “side” of the naval

men. This advice seems most amusing on looking back at our

experiences. Apart from Scott the naval men were younger than the

scientists, and their attitude may be gathered from their

nickname—which they bore with considerable complacency—of the

“pseudo-scientists”! But it was a case of give and take. A naval man

would wish to learn some branch of science, and one of the most

amusing evenings was when one naval student underwent an examination

by one of the geologists and successfully attained honours, through

the whispered promptings of the other geologist.

The account of the lectures will show how catholic were our interests.

Practical meteorology and navigation are two subjects in which I

received kindly assistance from the respective experts. Dr. Bill, as I

have shown, was willing to devote hours to any of us who wished to

learn to sketch. Ponting was always ready to train the southern party

so that they might obtain a satisfactory photographic record of the

Polar dash. And so on right through the community, including the

seamen and others in the mess deck. I am sure the latter enjoyed the

free life. It must have been a topsy-turvey experience for them to see

the weary watchman—who was always one of the officers during

1911—nodding or shivering over the stove, while they snugly slept

through the night.

Occasionally, if the unfortunate officer fell over the fire-irons, or

otherwise disturbed the “mess deck,” the sailor-men would permit

themselves the luxury of caustic remarks behind their curtains—well

knowing that the chance of scoring off a member of the “afterguard”

would not occur in a less socialistic community. I remember playing

off a game of bezique with Taff Evans, who rather prided himself on

the game. At first, to my amazement, he was beaten, and the mess deck

crowded into our cubicle to jibe at Taff! However, he soon got

“topsides” of a mere geologist. Dr. Atkinson was keen to learn

Russian, and we used to hear him chanting vocabularies with the two

Russians in the mess deck.

If we wanted any repairs done, it was always easy, with a little

blarney, to get round Evans, or Crean, or Lashley, or one or other of

the petty officers, and all the scientists learnt something of many

handicrafts through contact with the stalwarts of the navy.

Debenham and Gran went off to visit Hut Point, and bring back the

specimens we had left there in April, so that I had the Ubdug cubicle

to myself. The enemy took advantage of my lonely condition, and just

as I had got off to sleep a great beam of wood, six feet long, was

pushed into my bunk by some base villain. I arose in my wrath, and

seeing that “Marie” Nelson seemed somewhat conscious in his bunk, I

pushed it on to him, and added a chair or two, and various other

movables. He fell upon me, and we rolled about over the main table

until I skilfully deposited him up against the Owner’s cubicle, when

he had to desist for fear of wrecking it. Birdie Bowers, Meares, and

Oates were hugely delighted, the more so because Birdie had done the

foul deed!

Such were the cowardly tactics of the Bunderlohg. I was too tired to

attempt to chastise Birdie, and turned in again, merely remarking that

he would not have dared to do this if my honourable colleagues had

been present.

It was quite an accident, but almost all the scientists and non-naval

men were on the port side of the hut, while the naval men and

“Teamsters” were on the starboard side. Dr. Wilson was out of place in

the ranks of conservatism; but as he used jovially to egg on both

sides, we rarely knew his opinion on the burning questions of the day!

Curiously enough, the right arm of the conservatives (“reactionaries”

_we_ called them) was our biologist Nelson. He and Bowers argued

largely, until Birdie became too deeply immersed in the question of

stores to attend to much else. But I was credited with a nimble

tongue, and Simpson was always crushing, with his inside knowledge of

social problems, so that the Progressive Party was by no means

unrepresented. We could always rally a strong colonial contingent in

the persons of Debenham (Australia) and Wright (Canada); and never

have I had such amusing arguments (cags we called them) as during the

Antarctic night. Woman’s Suffrage I have known argued _ad nauseam_

from dinner-time (7 p.m.) till midnight, when Nelson and myself were

left still opposed, and still full of argument. Prayers for peace

never deterred Nelson from preaching women’s inferiority. Boots were

the arguments that usually drove him to seek his cubicle and sink to

rest.

In mid-June there was bright moonlight, so Wright and I decided to

visit Cape Royds, and get a few things from Shackleton’s hut. I

started with balaclava and wind helmet, and two pairs of gloves. As

there was no wind, and only −8° temperature, I shed first the helmet,

then the balaclava, and then the thick and thin pairs of gloves! It

was about six miles only, and of course much easier by the sea-ice

than _viâ_ the crevassed Barne Glacier (our route in January). We got

some gas tubing, which Day wanted, some ginger for Atkinson, tracing

paper and a chisel for Charles, and I bagged a carpenter’s rasp. It

reminded me of Crusoe’s visits to his old ship, for it was great fun

poking about in cupboards, not knowing what treasures might turn up.

We soon turned south to our own hut, meeting Birdie and Cherry also

off to Cape Royds. On our left Erebus looked like a great cone of

white sugar against the blue-black sky, where the moon shone

resplendent. Charles rudely scoffed at my poetic wish that Luna were a

mirror and would show us how the world were progressing!

Debenham and Gran returned next day after an absence of six days at

the Discovery Hut. On arrival they found one of our dogs (Macaca)

lying in the porch. He had been lost for a month, and was naturally

pretty thin! They fed him on some biscuits, and then got the blubber

stove going. In the whole time they had only had three hours decent

weather! In the same time we had only experienced three hours bad

weather. But every day was showing us more and more clearly that the

weather conditions were extraordinarily localized in the Ross Island

area.

They had started back on Sunday, but were caught in a snowstorm when

about two miles off, and so took their bags off the sledge and bolted

back for safety! Monday was very thick; and later Debenham woke, and

his watch said 2. The only clue as to whether this was 2 a.m. or 2

p.m. was that the dog seemed very hungry, which made them think it was

morning. So they rushed off without breakfast, and expected to arrive

in time to have it with us; to find us just getting ready for supper!

It was a quaint coincidence that Birdie and Cherry had also lost count

of time, and came in expecting breakfast at 7 p.m. Such is the

pernicious effect of the sun’s absence for four months!

For some weeks I had been helping Simpson in the magnetic hut. Each

Thursday he secluded himself in the little asbestos hut, and proceeded

to obtain absolute measurements of the magnetic field. He had a small

stove to warm the hut, and kept the temperature at +65°, so we were

comfortable enough, except that a wind of sixty degrees of frost

sailed in through the hole in the wall by which he viewed his stadium.

At Cape Evans the magnetic variation was about 150° E., which means

that the north-seeking end of the magnet pointed to the south-east! In

other words, we were far to the southward of the south magnetic pole.

In fact, when we were at Knob Head Mountain, up the Ferrar Glacier,

the variation was nearly 180°, and we were close to the line joining

the south magnetic pole to the end of the earth’s axis—which is the

real South Pole.

The procedure in the magnetic work was too technical to be inserted

here. However, Simpson estimated the dip of the needle by accurate

measurement of the angle of rest of a magnet swung on a horizontal

axis. Then he got the horizontal factor. This controls the position of

an ordinary magnet, as usually swung on a vertical axis.

The results were used as a check on the continuous record obtained

from the magnetometers in the ice grotto. At certain fixed dates

Simpson and Wright carried out “quick runs.” All the chief

observatories in the world were doing the same work at the same

instant, and Simpson’s work, so near the magnetic “hub of the

universe,” was obviously of prime importance in this connection.

The Cape Crozier party were now busily engaged with their preparations

for the midwinter journey to the haunt of the Emperor penguins. For

some weeks Cherry had been practising hut-building near Skua Lake. He

used the kenyte boulders, which lay scattered around the hut. It was

roofed with sealskin, and in one corner he managed to maintain a

blubber stove.

[Illustration: Bill’s Nose-nip 17·6·11]

Uncle Bill was busy making a patent nose-guard to withstand the

blizzards of the Barrier.

“Extraordinary the affection a fellow gets for a pair of old pants!”

says Birdie, who has spent all morning darning a pair for the

midwinter journey. Dr. Bill glances at them, and says drily, “Most

extraordinary!”

Some one else chimed in, “It’s queer the way your clothes vanish in

this hut, even if they are _marked_!” We all agreed that the only safe

way was to wear them. Gran pathetically remarked, “And dey do seem to

go den too!”

Said Meares caustically, “Never mind, you’ll find them when you have

your next bath” (which sounds unkind, if you don’t understand the

difficulties of bathing in the hut; for Gran melted down bits of

glacier for a wash as often as most of us!).

I went out to South Bay to see how Nelson’s biological station was

progressing, and carried a thermos flask with me. The moon gave a

little light. His semicircular wall (called the “Igloo”; quite

wrongly) was built of mush ice from the hole, and was now six feet

high, opening to the north. It was curious how the blizzard drifts

rebounded from the wall and left a windward trench all round the

latter, though a great pile of drift extended many yards north (to

leeward).

He picked at the new ice with a crowbar and ladled it out with a sort

of net. Then he pulled up his nets, which phosphoresced beautifully

from transparent _Siphonophora_. It must be understood that though our

air temperature in winter was below −30°; yet the salt water was

always +29° (or 59° warmer!). So that a sound scheme would have been

to have had a diving-bell retreat and go down under the sea-ice, out

of the blizzards at minus thirty. This was, of course, just what the

seals did!

[Illustration: A characteristic Portrait in a Bliz.! 18·6·11]

He emptied the animals into the thermos flasks (which were intended

for _our_ comfort), and so got them back to the hut without their

being damaged by freezing.

Then we returned to the hut, facing the keen north wind; so that a

characteristic photograph of _any_ explorer under such conditions is

shown in the annexed sketch!

Debenham and I had some arguments as to the temperatures in the hut. I

felt cold in my bunk, whereas he said he was always warm in his.

However, we got a thermometer and tested the temperature at various

levels.

[Illustration: Vertical Temperature Gradient in Hut 19·6·11]

Near the stove it was 55°, but on the floor in our cubicle it was 35°,

only a degree or two above freezing. No wonder our toes got cold. My

bunk was 42°, the table was 45°, and his bunk (six feet above the

floor) was 52°. So that naturally he was warmer in the belt of

ascending air. However, the elevated bunks were (like the “gods” at a

theatre) not specially well ventilated, so that I preferred my cooler

sleeping-place.

Next day Simpson and I went off again to look at the Igloo. There was

only a faint starlight, and we could neither find the Igloo nor the

Cape when we turned back! However, we steered by a star and got back

to the hut by a longer route, during which I fell three feet into the

tide crack between the sea-ice and the hut.

That evening Day lectured on “Motor Sledges.” It was good to hear him

so optimistic. Scott told us of his experiences at Lauteret in France

with the “Antarcticker” Charcot. (Quite recently a statue to Captain

Scott has been erected by the French in this region.)

I had agreed to sketch the movements of the steam cloud from Erebus

during the winter, but I note on the 20th June, that it was about the

first time for a month that I had been able to see the top of Erebus.

Ponting reported that it was glowing strongly during the day; but no

colour was visible when I went out to look at it, while Debenham spent

a long while outside on the off chance of an eruption. But −35° cooled

him off, and he came in unsuccessful.

“_Midwinter Day, June 22, 1911._—Here it is Midwinter Day, and except

in my sleeping-bag sledging, I have not felt specially cold down here,

sixty below freezing without wind is perfectly comfortable. But this

morning a nippy north wind made my thumbs ache while cutting out the

fish trap, and Atch’s and my noses are getting red-tipped and sore.

Still, I’ve known that happen elsewhere! One never gets ‘chaps’ here;

I wonder why? However, August is the coldest month and the stormiest,

but it will be lighter then.

“This afternoon, at 3 p.m. (Greenwich) there was a strong twilight to

north. Light red (a clear non-yellow colour) along the horizon. Then

indigo—probably a cloud—then clear pale blue, and above this

slate-blue merging into the star area. No moon or sun. But an hour

later all this had vanished.

“I am on night duty. Dr. Bill was up till 1 a.m. He heard me cursing

because I couldn’t find my towel after my usual bath, and came to help

me. Bathing at 6° above freezing-point, you don’t care to wait about

much! I have on my Jaeger coat, felt boots, two pairs of wool socks,

wool helmet, two jerseys, thin flannel shirt, and thick singlet, thick

underpants and thick corduroy trousers. By keeping my feet up on a

chair out of the cold ‘floor air’ I keep comfortably warm, but will

probably go into the kitchen galley.

“2.30 a.m. Just been putting in half an hour with the confounded

stove. I added compressed fuel at midnight, but later found it nearly

out. I’ve devoted one of my two weekly candles to it, but it only

flamed weakly. So I waked Clissold. He says it’s due to the cold ice

I’ve just put in; but adds, ‘Let her rip!’ So I don’t care. The

porridge won’t be properly cooked, but most of them like it so!

“I suppose the gramophone will be celebrating to-day. They are fine

records. I like the opening chorus to the ‘Dollar Princess’ best,

though I can only hear the words ‘across the water,’ but the minor key

is O.K. Margaret Cooper’s ‘’Tis folly to run away from love’ is the

only clear girl’s voice. Robey on ‘Golf’ and ‘Prehistoric Man’ are

very popular. Oates always calls for ‘The Sergeant of the Line’ and

‘Why should I marry at all?’ Both are good bass songs. The Anona-Banjo

dance is fine. Meares likes ‘We all walked into the Shop,’ while Gran

prefers a Creole wail, ‘Ma Honey’ and ‘Madam Butterfly,’ which I can’t

stick! We have a few hymns, and the ‘Night Hymn at Sea’ is grand.

“Debenham, Ponting, and Cherry (especially the latter) are good at the

pianola. It works usually from 5 to 6 and 12.30 to 1.30, while the

gramophone runs from 8 to 9 if there’s no lecture. We don’t have any

sing-songs, and they are really not needed with the three or four

hundred tunes on the two instruments.

“I snoozed peacefully after my night-watch till noon on the 22nd. Then

we had lunch, and Cherry produced the first number of the _South Polar

Times_ and handed it to Captain Scott.

“He had typed all the prose, and (cutting out alternate pages from a

day-book) had pasted the sheets in the book between clean pages. There

were fifty pages of typescript. Then Day had bound it splendidly in

Venesta board. It was edged with sealskin, and he had cut a cameo

monogram, _S.P.T._, through the outer layer of venesta into the dark

_middle_ layer of the three-ply boards.

“There were about ten full-page illustrations, and many drawn by Bill

in spaces left in the text when typed.

“The guessing at authors was very funny. Gran was rabidly curious. I

fear no one thought I had done ‘Valhalla,’ which is a mixed

pleasure—for all seem to enjoy it; while Nelson put down the

‘Protoplasmic Cycle’ to Debenham, though he had actually read the

verse in the Pack in my diary! Bill’s illustrations are tiptop,

especially the three Egyptian tablets. The latter are frightfully

clever apart from the draughtsmanship. Every line is a history in

itself.

“The _first_ sketch shows three of the debris cones on the Ramp. One

is labelled—in honour of our cubicle—the Ubdugs, while Birdie, in his

green hat, crowns another.

“The _second_ shows Keohane painting (he did the yellow funnel on the

ship). He stands on Forde. ‘Chippy’ carries the hut, and Abbott (with

frosted hair) helps him. Day on his motor has his long legs and arms

disposed in true hieroglyphic attitudes. Meteorological signs for

thunder and lightning surround the engine.

“In the bottom corner is the western party sledging. Three men pulling

hard, while one lanky individual provided with a long beard is

sketching instead of working! This is a foul and funny libel on

myself!

“The _third_ represents Birdie, Crean, and Cherry (with spectacles)

adrift on the floe. This is labelled with the sign * (for ice) to

prevent any mistake. The killer-whales are going for Birdie’s fat

legs. Then there’s the 1902 Hut bulging out with ice, with drip-pots

to catch the thaw, and ‘Hoosh’ labelled in Beaufort scale letters.

“In the other corner a screaming drawing of the ‘Little Perisher’

(Atkinson) caressing a frostbitten ear and nose which is labelled with

the ‘glazed frost’ sign. They are the funniest pictures I have ever

seen, and beat Hogarth into a cocked hat for detail.”

[Illustration:

“SOME ANTARCTIC ARCHIVES.”

]

EXTRACT FROM SOME ANTARCTIC ARCHIVES.

1. And it came to pass that in the month of January,

2. Scothe-Ohnah took up wintak-watahs on Ros-is-land.

3. And there was great barkinofdogs and neighinofhorses

4. With phufphuf of motahs.

5. The Hut was raised by chypechap, fordandkohane.

6. Abbottelped.

7. All said “Itwa s’dam cold”.

8. After Three Weeks (E’Linag Lyn) it was done.

9. Then twelve under Scothe-Ohnah started South,

10. Fourundah Sharn-Gatch for the West.

11. Theship departed.

12. The Cobbos parted, Kreen-an-Ephans.

13. Birdibow-Ahs of the mighticaluph reached the furthest.

14. Withim Soljah-an-gran.

15. Bur-de-Cherry and Crean “chaunst their arm”.

16. Olswell.

17. Allah-ad-diris.

18. Sharn-ledwel and kambaque.

19. Theoldh-utwas full. Itliqued. Itwa-so-dakh.

20. Soljah-fash-son-ed a stove.

21. It burned with blubber and did nearly all the cooking.

22. Hu Ra. Hoosh. Hush. Hoosh.

23. Thesephroze.

24. Scothe-Ohnah and with him eight others left for Kapevans. Thalef

thejonah.

25. Theice bluout.

26. Phrostbit nosears and phace.

27. Thisis thethir tieth.

28. Garnfroste phace!

29. Daian Marie came sledging.

30. They got phrostbit. Algot phrostbit.

31. Bill Esau sumemp-Rahs.

32. Enuphsasgudas-a-phest.

“Gran is very funny about Valhalla! He has been sounding Birdie and

Ponting as to the home of the northern gods! Marie Nelson had never

heard of Valhalla, but was going to work to find out who coined the

word ‘pont.’ The Owner read the greater part to us. He can make a good

speech and write well, but he’s no reader, as he confessed! Ponting’s

plates are splendid. Gran thinks he did the ‘Sleeping Bag Medley’; but

I doubt it strongly. However, probably my guesses are as wild as any

one’s and the whole thing is very good fun.

“After lunch I went out for a stroll to see the Antarctic in darkest

night. No one else seemed keen. I walked to South Bay over Island Lake

and back over Skua Lake.