“There was a twilight, grey-blue to the north—an arc extending from

about Granite Harbour to Cape Royds, and this gave some light. I wore

my felt boots, which are warm though slippery. I came one cropper

through not seeing a drop of two feet down a snow ridge. As I walked

up the next snow slope, it gave out an octave—the notes descending the

scale! I could just see Tent Island, but could not make out the edge

of the cliff close by. It was so calm that I walked part way back

without a helmet. I came another cropper, hurting my shin and elbow

and so to the hut.

“On my return, I found them draping the hut with sledge flags. My

‘blood-stained banner’ and Debenham’s (both made by my sister) were

hung over the table. Atkinson and Birdie made their own flags. (Atch

has a black tree on a white silk flag.) Ponting and Gates have none.

“Then we had dinner, while Ponting manœuvred the cameras to get a

photo. He moved away all nearer than I was, so I was left in the

foreground, and unfortunately practically spoilt the picture! For I

meekly cast my eyes down as the flash went off, and am obviously blind

drunk! They don’t know that I only had a quarter-glass of awful

lime-juice, while the others had champagne!

“Then speeches began. The Owner made a ripping speech, pointing out

that we’d done half the time, and must realize that we could only do

about as much more. Dr. Simpson wished health to the southern party,

and we who were going west drank it with him. I arose with an apology

for saying, ‘Captain Scott, Gentlemen, and Non-scientists.’ This dig

at Oates, Birdie, and Co. brought down the house, for they have

occasionally opened by saying, ‘Captain Scott, Scientists, and

Gentlemen.’ Atkinson and Wright failed lamentably, except that Charles

said (_à la_ the discussions), ‘I have no remarks to make, sir, in

addition to those stated,’ while Atch said, ‘I endorse that.’ Debenham

discussed the colonial representation on the expedition. Cherry

reminded us of the home folks drinking our healths.

“Birdie had moved off to the foot of the table, and said he couldn’t

make a funny speech, so he was going to _show_ us something funny.

Therewith entered four of the seamen with a unique Christmas tree.

“It was built of a ski-stick draped with bunting, with penguin feather

foliage, hung over with candles and candied fruit. The gifts were from

Mrs. Wilson’s sister, and were perfect. Birdie’s distribution was

magnificent.

“Every second present or so was a necklace or earrings for ‘Miss

Jessie’ Debenham. Meares got many wedding-rings in memory of his

refrain, ‘Ting! Ting! You buy the ring.’ ‘Marie’ Nelson had a huge

fan, while Dr. Bill got a book of drawing copies. Titus got a popgun,

and ‘Silas’ Wright an envelope marked ‘In memory of my native land,’

containing the Stars and Stripes! This, as a loyal Canadian, he threw

away with contumely.

“I got a ‘Physiographic outfit’ of shovel, axe, and pick for ‘our

Griff,’ and a packet of shaving paper for ‘the Lord High

Physiographer,’ and (I blush to state) a trumpet with a note which I

scorn to set down!

“Then the table was cleared away, after we had pulled crackers, and we

sat down to look at Ponting’s slides of events to date. They were

admirable, especially the Ice-foot and Pancake ice. I was exhibited

rather frequently, and the incipient beard excited much hilarity.”

A few of the seamen became rather merry by this time, and a set of

lancers was not a great success, my partner finding the floor

unsteady. We all turned in before 2 a.m. (except Dr. Bill, who was on

watch), and so ended our Midwinter Feast.

[Illustration: How we found Midwinter.]

On the next day I spent some hours trying to find the exact time when

the sun _was lowest_. As we had not seen him for two months, this may

seem difficult! But from the Nautical Almanac it was possible to plot

the sun’s position (declination) for three or four days each side of

the 22nd. This came out a parabola, of which we could not find the

exact apex (or date of lowest sun). However, by adding the curve of

the _variation_ (as suggested by Wright), the date came out readily

enough at the intersection of two straight lines.

“The result at Greenwich was ⅒ of 24 hours after the noon of June 22 =

2h. 24m. p.m. Our clock[8] keeps Greenwich time (though we are not

quite on 180° meridian), so that this time by our clock was the

critical instant of midwinter. Hence Dr. Bill was the only one awake

at that interesting moment!

“However, Thursday’s dinner on the 22nd was the nearest to the exact

time of lowest sun, so we were _en règle_. Meares insisted that I was

thus particular because I wanted another feed on the 23rd! This to me,

who ate nothing and drank less!”

Gran and I had a competition, as to who could guess the most authors

in the current volume of _S. P. T._, the loser to give a dinner on our

return. I stipulated “no alcohol,” but, on Gran’s remonstrances,

agreed to “Australian wines.” I thought I should win, for he hadn’t

contributed, and I knew three of the thirteen with some certainty! I

wrote out a list, and so did he, and we asked Cherry to referee. He

was not to be drawn from the silence of the editorial chair. Finally

he said our bet was off, because we were equal. Teddy Evans, however,

declared that he knew most of them, as they’d been discussed by Bill

and Cherry in his cubicle. He said I got ten right and Gran nine. At

any rate, the first suitable place for a dinner was my own town

(Sydney), where, of course, I was host, so that Gran came off best

ultimately.

Late in June I gave a lecture on the “Physiography of the Western

Mountains.” Ponting kindly made two dozen slides for me, and he put

these through the lantern, with the addition of some maps I drew on

glass, and one extra (by Gran), which was a libel on the

physiographer! The problems discussed in this lecture have already

been described in my sledge narrative.

On the 27th June the gallant midwinter expedition started. Dr. Wilson

was in charge, and was accompanied by Bowers and Cherry-Garrard. Their

object was to visit the Cape Crozier Rookery, and to study the habits

of the Emperor penguins during the nesting season. No one had ever

seen them nesting, nor had any eggs, except long-abandoned specimens,

ever been found. Wilson hoped to get embryo chicks, and thus study the

early stages of these birds, which in some ways are the most primitive

existing, and which therefore exhibit features linking them to the

reptiles.

They took two sledges, pulling a heavy load of 253·3 lbs. per man.

Numerous bamboos, specimen bottles, penguin-nets, special clothing,

etc., accounted for the load; but they proposed to be absent five

weeks and would need extra provisions in view of the extremely low

temperatures. No such trip had ever been made before. No one realized

what they would have to encounter, and I hope no one will ever again

attempt to do anything so close to the confines of human endurance.

Nelson, Gran, and I accompanied them nearly to Glacier Tongue. We

could just make out the black crags against the white snow. I had a

bet with Bill that we could see Little Razorback Isle. I lost, for it

was the 500-foot cliff of Turk’s Head, and this was a pity. I was so

sure, that I bet him the small amount of £40,000,000!

“When we stopped I called for three cheers for the Cheery Winter

Knight, the Short Winter Knight, and the Long Winter Knight. When they

saw that I meant ‘Knight’ (and not the surrounding gloom!) they

laughed muchly, and we left them cheery.”

In the evenings we went in for games of various sorts—though never

_cards_, for some unknown reason. Captain Scott and Atkinson used to

play a couple of games of chess each evening. Nelson was our “star

performer” at any game of skill, and could beat any of the others at

chess. I should think Debenham and I probably played most chess.

Wright and Simpson occasionally indulged, and were of about the same

class. Gates and Debenham were fond of backgammon. Evans, Gran, and I

played Matador a great deal, until I found myself getting beaten with

monotonous regularity, when I decided that dominoes wasn’t an

intellectual game, and stuck to chess!

“We have just been discussing Jules Verne on the shooting of bears

with mercury bullets! The temperature is now −40° F. (seventy degrees

of frost), and the feat would be possible, at any rate, as far as

loading went!”

Outside “Silas” Wright is busy getting “time” from star occultations

with a patent telescope. His station is near the rubbish-heap, and is

connected by telephone to the hut. It is a cold game, as may be

imagined, and to manœuvre in light gloves with delicate screws would

try the patience of a saint. I never heard of a Saint Silas, and when

Wright’s light blows out, the gentleman inside the hut (with the

chronometers) blushes at the language carried by the telephone wire.

There was a yarn (which it is not necessary to believe) that the said

wire had to be drenched with water at regular intervals to prevent the

heated remarks from fusing it!

Wright had one of Colonel Sterneck’s gravity pendulum equipments, and

for this he needed to know times to 0·000001 part of a second! Thus he

could tell whether his pendulums swung quicker or slower in Antarctica

than in New Zealand. If they swung quicker, then they were nearer the

centre of the earth “down south.” Thus the good old simile in which

the shape of the earth is compared to a flat-ended orange is deduced

scientifically by a frostbitten scientist at “seventy below freezing”!

As soon as Simpson had equipped his main station he fitted up a

thermometer screen above the Ramp on the icy slopes of Erebus. Later

two more were placed on the sea-ice —one towards Tent Island and the

other in North Bay. These were labelled A, B, and C at first, but

these seemed prosaic names when one had literally a chance of losing

one’s life when one paid them a visit during disturbed weather in the

long winter night. So that the screen in North Bay was dignified into

“_Archibald_,” “_Bertram_” lived above the Ramp, and “_Clarence_” was

“way out in the country” to the south.

Ponting and I introduced ourselves to Bertram on the last day in June.

He lived beyond the rough moraines, so we had to put on leather boots.

One of the dogs (Tsigane) accompanied us. We could just see, and

managed to climb up the 150-foot Ramp, with some diminution of wind,

and in half an hour had reached Bertram, 250 feet up.

There were two thermometers—one registering maximum temperatures, one

giving present reading and also (the most interesting reading) the

minimum temperature. On this occasion the coloured alcohol showed −20°

F., −27°F., and −37° F., respectively. In calm weather it was usually

from five to ten degrees colder at the Hut than at Bertram, for the

cold air sank to sea-level. But in rough weather all the air was

churned up, and the temperatures were much the same at all four

stations.

We read the thermometers by a candle, for it was a calm day; but my

toes began to go, and so we hurried back to the Hut, when I decided to

go in for more socks.

After this I read Bertram fairly regularly when the weather seemed

promising. Scott definitely ordered that no one should visit the

screens if there seemed risk involved, for the Hut thermometer

recorded continuously and the others were only for comparison, and got

less important as we noted the regularity of their characteristic

differences. After a few visits I used to glissade down the icy Ramp,

though I could never see when I had reached the bottom, for in the

dark you cannot distinguish a vertical from a horizontal plane of ice.

“We had service on the 2nd of July. With our three chief songsters

Crozierwards, there is less harmony. I followed Day in the hymns, and

he afterwards confessed that he had forgotten the tune; so my help was

not valuable! Meantime Simpson had a duet in the corner with Wright.

‘Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three’ ... etc.; he counted the

seconds through the ’phone to Wright, who was cussing the stars

outside. The only accompaniment we had now that Cherry was away was

the telephone bell.

“The combination would have been ludicrous if it hadn’t been

necessary, for Wright had to abide by the transits of the stars, and

they occurred service or no service.”

The most noteworthy feature in the Hut was a strong propensity to

argument. I think Nelson and myself were the chief offenders, as we

disagreed on every topic under the sun, and let each other (and also

the rest of the Hut) know the reasons! I remember one cag resulted

from a night-watch supper. About this time I used to watch from 8 p.m.

till 2 a.m., and “Marie” Nelson from 2 till 8 a.m. We went shares in

the supper.

Here follows a verbatim report of an argument whose only merit is its

accuracy and representativeness.

_Scene_: Breakfast in the Hut, July 3, 1911.

_G. T._ (grabbing a fragment). “This isn’t your bread, Teddy?”

_Teddy Evans._ “Yes, it is.”

_G. T._ “Chuck over a bit in your lily-white fingers, Marie!”

_Marie._ “Now _that’s_ what I call a well-cut piece of bread. It’s

symmetrical about its axis.”

_G. T._ “Why don’t you call it by its crystallographic name? It’s an

_enantiomorph_!”

_Marie_ (mentally broken up, but stubborn!). “You’re taking refuge as

usual in long, meaningless words; anyhow, that’s a rotten word; _ante_

is Latin and _morph_ is Greek. You don’t know _how_ to cut bread.”

(Then he proceeded to explain how I maltreated the loaf of our

combined night-watch supper.)

[Illustration: The Night-Watch Supper 3·7·11]

_G. T._ “I know no one else is interested, but I don’t see why _I_

shouldn’t bore them also! (Loud cheers.) That bread crust projected

six inches, and I only ate the overlap. You’ve had all your own

suppers, and mine too, all the winter, you miserable, cynical

reactionary. Anyhow, _enantiomorph_ is _all_ Greek, and means

‘mirror-reflection.’ So it just suits the case.”

(Marie subsides, the Owner pushes off to his cubicle, and I proceed to

tease Ponting. Then the cag is continued in my bunk by Marie _solus_,

until I cry _pax_.)

And that’s how the long winter night passes!

“_July 4._—Have just been ragging ‘Silas’ Wright as an American (?) on

this auspicious day. Whereupon he fell upon me and succeeded in

tearing my pocket. It is a snorting day. Wind fifty miles per hour and

temperature −29° F. I went out for a few minutes with bare hands, and

it took me about five minutes in the Hut to get them right. Yet it is

warmer than yesterday, when bare hands were possible. The wind does

it.”

[Illustration:

SNOWDRIFT ON CAPE EVANS SHOWING THE DEEP EDDY ON THE WINDWARD SIDE,

SEPT. 9, 1911.

The drifts all lie on the south sides of the kenyte boulders. Four

miles to the south appears Tent Island.

]

[Illustration:

DEBRIS CONES ON LAND’S END (ONE MILE SOUTH OF THE HUT), SEPT. 9, 1911.

Each is 30 feet high and due to the weathering of a huge boulder of

kenyte. In these two specimens the process is only half complete,

the core of the erratic still remaining. Erebus Glacier on right.

[See p. 291.

]

We finished the day with the most exciting experience of the winter.

Life in the Hut, as will have been gathered, was comfortable enough,

and with such splendid mates, I felt it so pleasant that I had to keep

on reminding myself that I was in Antarctica in the middle of the long

night. Yet occasionally, as on this day, Nature warned us that she was

not to be trifled with.

Atkinson and I went off to read Bertram, leaving about 4 p.m. There

was quite a lot of drift, and we soon lost sight of the Hut, but

luckily there was no mistaking the Ramp. The end of my nose was nipped

with −25° F. and the gale of wind. (You can apparently feel something

“go with a ping,” just as if the blood froze in the end of your nose.)

Anyhow, it soon got warm again when covered by my mit. It was worse on

top, and we soon lost sight of all rocks and cones. The wind kept

fairly steady and we steered by that. After about half an hour I

counselled return, and we turned back to regain our bearings, and

after being out an hour and a half we found Bertram. The fusees which

we carried just burned long enough to read the temperatures (minimum,

−38°, maximum, −25°).

We reached the Hut about 6 p.m., and my task was over. Atkinson was so

pleased with our success that he decided to go off 800 yards to

Archibald. I tried to dissuade him, but he said he’d be back in twenty

minutes, and would just return _against the blizzard_, and so couldn’t

miss the Hut—or at any rate Cape Evans, which extended a quarter of a

mile each side of the Hut.

Gran also started to go to “Clarence” about the same time, but

realized it was impossible, and managed to find Cape Evans again,

though quite at the wrong place.

About 7 p.m. Nelson and I went out to have a look round for Atkinson.

It was very thick but not blowing so hard. We informed Scott of his

absence, and he immediately organized search parties, realizing better

than we could the seriousness of the event. Atkinson had been out an

hour, and we could not imagine what had happened. Day took up tins of

oil to the top of Cape Evans, and burnt great flares every few minutes

for hours. Debenham, Gran, and I walked along the top of the low

cliffs on the Cape with candle lamps.

[Illustration:

Lost in the blizzard, July 4, 1911.

]

We felt sure that he must have got to the coast, for it stretches for

thirty miles along the east, and that he was perhaps sheltering in

some cranny. We formed a long chain from Cape Evans to Inaccessible

Isle, and it was only by marking an arrow in the snow that I could

remember which way safety lay. For the wind had died down, but the

thick drift and the benumbing cold made us more and more anxious as no

news came in. From 8.30 till 10 p.m. the blizzard was blowing again,

and we began to feel hopeless. Captain Scott arranged for two sledge

parties: one, under Lieutenant Evans, went south along the Glacier

cliffs for six miles; the other, with Seaman Evans, went north to

Shackleton’s Hut. They carried tents and sleeping-bags. Wright went

round the cliffs of Inaccessible Island. Ponting and I searched the

Cape Barne glacier. We thought he must have fallen into a tide crack

or sprained his ankle, for now the moon began to show a bit, and at 11

p.m. it was clearing somewhat. We could see Day’s huge flares on the

cape from a distance of several miles. Just as we reached the big

cliff of Barne Glacier two rockets went up, and we knew that he was

found. We learned that Atkinson was quite dazed, though he had got

back entirely unassisted, and had not seen any one until he reached

the Cape Evans cliffs and saw Debenham above him. His right hand was

badly frostbitten, with huge blisters on each finger—just like a

condor’s crest.

[Illustration:

“BLIZZOMETER RECORD” DURING THE SEARCH FOR ATKINSON, JULY 4, 1911.

]

He had walked off towards Archibald with the blizzard, but halfway

there turned back, feeling it foolish to persist. He got back quite

safely to the tide gauge, which was only a stone’s throw from the hut.

Then he was completely lost. The wind had dropped somewhat. He tried

to keep it full in his face; and, perhaps, owing to eddies around the

cape, he must have wandered due west away from the hut and towards the

open sea. After some hours of helpless wandering, where he had to keep

moving to prevent his freezing to death, he came to some high cliffs.

He thought these might be the walls of Inaccessible Island, but there

is little doubt that he had wandered south now, and was skirting Tent

Island. He tried to burrow into the snowdrifts here, and so got his

hand badly frostbitten. Then the moon showed faintly, and he owed his

life to the fact that he remembered to have seen the moon over Erebus

(and therefore east) on the preceding night. So he staggered towards

the moon, and after about an hour and a half he reached Cape Evans,

and was safe. We had imagined that the blizzard, constantly blowing

from the south, would have enabled him to steer east to the coast;

but, owing to lulls and to eddies, and finally to his dazed condition,

he lost all sense of direction, and would have undoubtedly perished

but for the moon. The search parties got in by 2 a.m., and then the

blizzard fury increased nearly to gale strength, and continued all

next day. It was only during the six hours while Atkinson was lost

that it lulled sufficiently to permit of any one venturing away from

land. If it had kept up to its original or final strength, we might

easily have had other casualties in the search parties.

The recital of dreams, as furnishing outside interests of a sort, was

occasionally tolerated in the hut. I wonder if most people go through

my dream evolution? As a child, a feeling of terror, often that

primitive idea of falling and never hitting anything, which is a

survival of tree life. Later, the growth of a belief that the dreamer

himself never gets hurt. And then in the late ’teens the comfortable

realization that it’s only a dream, to be followed by “dreams within

dreams”; and, finally, at the age of thirty by logical reasoning while

dreaming.

I noted that we had been south six months before I began to dream of

snow and ice, and this perhaps is of psychological interest. In one

dream “I was climbing up above Grindelwald, aided by a New Zealand

guide, in company with Dr. Bill. We got ‘bushed’ on a high peak near a

hay-stack. I had a talk with Dr. Bill, in which I said that I had

dreamt that the guide was going to take us down an easy way, which he

wanted to keep dark, as he’d discovered it and wanted to keep it for

_rich_ tourists. We both smiled at this fool dream. Then I really

awoke, and I suppose my sub-conscious self is still smiling on

‘Haystack Mountain’ in the Grindelwald!”

The ponies were snugly housed in the stable along the lee side of the

hut. Their stable was built of the blocks of compressed fuel, and was

quite a snug abode. They were rather vicious little beggars, and a

walk down the narrow “aisle” meant a risk of a bite or a kick. Oates

and Meares spent a lot of time in the stable making blubber and seal

pemmican for the dogs. The western party had nothing to do with the

ponies, for only those who were leading the ponies _south_ were

responsible for exercising them. In midwinter some “fearful wild fowl”

took cover in their shaggy coats, and occasioned Captain Oates much

trouble.

I noted this in my journal as follows—

“Baron Bernard du Day, Messenger from Captain Titos _Oates_.

“Greetings to _Debenham_.

“Wilt thou peril thyself so far as to visit the stable, and for

payment of one straight-cut cigarette an hour, comb the manes of ye

Siberian ponies to catch ye intrepid and adventurous louse?

“Debenham meekly leaves his rock sections, and hies him hence!”

Some of the game from the Pony Coverts was exhibited by Atkinson under

his microscope. They resembled white ants in wind-helmets! No legs

appeared in the specimen, so I asked if they had been worn off in the

chase, but the indignant exhibitor was silent.

During the autumn another grotto had been added to our outlying

villas. This had been cut out in the glacieret to house Wright’s

pendulums. We called it the “Cave of Pendullum.” It was usually

drifted up, and we had to cut down to the sacking door, being careful

not to chop the telephone wires. Inside, in one corner, was the

telephone box, well crusted with ice, through which he could hear the

ticking of the sidereal clock in the hut. There was also a delicate

apparatus from the Cavendish Laboratory at Cambridge to register the

“ionization of the air,” and a microscope and micro-camera. On an ice

bench was the chief instrument, a stand carrying four short pendulums.

Each was mounted on an agate knife-edge, and was surmounted by a

mirror. The time of swing of these pendulums was very delicately

measured, and gave the _pull of gravity_ at Cape Evans, thus leading

to an estimate of the shape of the earth.

This account is somewhat brief, and this is explained in my journal as

follows: “This description has been greatly interrupted by the

irruptions and incursions of the Anti-Feminist, who _will_ pour out

his antiquated views on ‘Woman’s Mission in Life’ into the unwilling

ears of Debenham and myself. His only semi-sane argument is, that as

all laws rest on an appeal to force, and as men are physically

stronger than women, therefore men must protect, must rule, and

(apparently) therefore must control and administer all the laws! The

rest is pure selfishness.”

Tuesday (11th July) was Jam Day, as I write with glee. There are two

articles of diet to which I am not particularly addicted, and they are

cheese and sardines. We got cheese _solus_ for four lunches a week,

and sardines every night-watch. So that I used to reckon by Tuesdays!

I proceeded to translate German glaciology as usual, but unfortunately

Debenham and Nelson started a cag on the merits or demerits of

Australian tennis champions; and when that was over we had another as

to which was the worst storm in the _Terra Nova_. Nelson said it took

place off Cape Town, Wright said off St. Paul, Atkinson said south of

New Zealand. All this talk occurred in our cubicle, and as Debenham

and I had not experienced the two earlier excitements, we were not

violently interested, and tried to push the debaters out, with

complete lack of success. I did very little German!

On the 12th of July we had a record blizzard. For over twelve hours

its mean velocity was above forty miles per hour, and it rose above

seventy miles per hour at 9.15, 11.15, and 5.30. At 9.15 p.m. it

fairly boomed over the hut. Luckily the hut is so surrounded by

“lean-tos” and great snowdrifts that the wind is led gradually on to

the Hut, else it would surely have blown us into the sea.

This blizzard was accompanied by relatively high temperatures. It

roared all that day, but after lunch, on 13th, I write: “... it is

getting cooler; none of that oppressive heat of +8° F. (24 degrees of

frost), and is now much nicer (-7°); so that the leaks have stopped,

after damping Gran’s mattress considerably.” The lunch was evidently

cheese, so that I confined my attention to brown bread, dripping, and

cocoa. We were able to leave the Hut in the afternoon, and walked up

to Bertram. Skua Lake was so brilliant, I thought at first it had

melted, but it was merely polished like plate-glass by the furious

drift.

[Illustration:

The Twin Glaciers (copied from diary, July 15, 1911).

]

Teddie Evans had been engaged for some days on plotting the chart of

Dry Valley on the first western journey. He made a fine drawing, with

“form-lines” inserted, so that the shape of the glacial valley showed

up splendidly. Captain Scott, Evans, and myself discussed the naming

of the new glaciers, etc., now first charted. We had given some of

them provisional names on our journey, and the Owner chaffed me

somewhat, but said he didn’t mind a bit. There were two distinct

glaciers included in the Ferrar Glacier, which Scott had named in

1903. He asked me if the one entering Dry Valley was going to be

described as a type; and I said that its exposed bed was probably

unique in Antarctica. Then he said, “We’ll call it the Taylor

Glacier.” So that on 15th July I became a cartographic entity!

One of the most interesting paragraphs in the German tome through

which I was laboriously wading tended to show that the world was

approaching another Ice Age rather than leaving it behind.

In the Swiss Alps the Germans have shown that there were no less than

four Ice Ages included under the last glacial epoch, separated into

three inter-glacial periods. The general temperatures can be obtained

by studying the depression in the snowline and the position of the

moraines in these four Ice Ages. It really looks as if we were now in

an _inter-glacial period_, rather than permanently free from glacial

conditions. However, the next Ice Age is seventeen thousand years off,

even by the lowest computation.

[Illustration: The future Ice-age 18.7.11]

[Illustration:

Similar reversal of the steam banner of Erebus at noon, May 1, 1911.

]

I was able to make a characteristic sketch of Erebus on the 18th July.

The steam cloud extended across an arc of 90°, and appeared to be

drifting _to_ the south. The banner was possibly a hundred miles long.

On the surface there was a cool southerly wind, in just the opposite

direction. Several fine undulations showed in this banner, and at

times a hummock of steam over the crater pointed to extensive

outbursts of vapour. Far to the south the banner was very faint, and

reminded one of the Milky Way.

The dawn colours were very beautiful. We were not to see the sun for

over a month, but over his position were belts of crimson lake, dull

red and green, with pale blue above.

Sometimes the dogs would accompany us up the Ramp. Atkinson and I went

up to read Bertram on the 21st, while Stareek and Tsigane trotted

alongside. The latter is quite sociable, while Stareek, one of the

leaders, is one of the most imperturbable. According to Atch, he has

been seen admonishing Tsigane for his undignified behaviour!

These walks were good exercise, but the weather was getting colder

(though midwinter was past) and −35° was quite common. My first

occupation on reaching the Hut was to go and hold my head over the

stove. After some minutes the lumps of frozen breath which surrounded

my mouth would melt somewhat, and I was able to free my beard from the

flannel of my helmet!

After Church service on the following Sunday (23rd), Ponting gave an

exhibition of cinema pictures in his dark room. It was a very select

show, as there was only room for an audience of four! His films were

_negatives_, so that the black and white were reversed. Under these

circumstances the seals appeared white and more slug-like than ever,

while the white shadows following the penguins were most uncanny.

While we were in the dark room Simpson called out that the wind was

still rising. It reached eighty-four miles per hour at 8 p.m., which

was the record during the first winter, though this was easily beaten

in 1912.

The 26th of July was a splendid day, and without doubt marked the

return of daylight. Simpson and I visited Bertram and were able to

read the thermometers without recourse to fusees. We marched on the

Erebus Glacier some distance, and found numerous pot-holes in it, due

to stones sinking therein. On our return I continued plotting the

chart of the Koettlitz Glacier. Wright is obtaining interesting

results from his ice sections by “rubbings” of the ice striæ with a

soft pencil. These photograph quite well.

We were well stocked with books in the Hut. Almost every officer had

taken down some standard novels in addition to a few text-books, and

curiously enough there was very little overlapping. For instance

Cherry had a row of Kipling’s works which almost all of us

appreciated, Day had Dickens, Debenham had four or five poets, and

more popular still—a collection of thirty “paper-back sixpennies,”

which every one was always borrowing. He kept them in a box under his

elevated bunk, and I remember one evening after we had turned in, some

one came into our cubicle and started burrowing about. Debenham said,

“Now then, what are you after down there?” A voice replied, “Where do

you keep those sixpenny novels, Debenham?” It was Scott, who couldn’t

sleep, and wanted some light literature!

I had two or three of Wells, Browning, Tennyson, and “Martin

Chuzzlewit.” However, though _my_ library was small, I used the

official library more than any one! I have mentioned elsewhere the

splendid little library of standard fiction presented largely by Mr.

Reginald Smith. This consisted of about 250 portable volumes published

by Smith, Elder and Co., and by Nelsons. There were Merriman’s,

Brontë’s, and Conan Doyle’s, and all the shilling editions of

noteworthy books by authors like Gosse and Belloc. Mr. Mackellar gave

us many other volumes, especially some small art books. These lived in

Day’s bunk. Then Admirals Markham and Beaumont presented us with many

rare copies of books on Polar Exploration. These were constantly being

read, especially by Bowers, whose lectures on sledging rations and

polar clothing led him to read every word. Candidly I must admit that

it was not cheering—when the blizzards were booming over the hut and

all was dark around us—to read of Greeley’s awful suffering in the

Arctic, where forty out of fifty men perished; or of the loss of the

_Jeannette_ and her crew in Siberia; but still the volumes were always

being referred to by one or other of the officers.

We had several larger books, Haydn’s “Dictionary of Dates,” which

didn’t seem to be much troubled, and Harmsworth’s Encyclopedia, which

was always in demand. Cherry had the large _Times_ Atlas, and we had

Paul’s “History of the 19th Century,” and Harmsworth’s “History of the

World.” Oates brought along Napier’s “Peninsular War,” and rarely

seemed to read or need aught else. I had a bet with him that I would

finish Paul’s six volumes before he had read through Napier. However,

neither was completed, though Oates was a long way ahead! Scott had a

shelf of poets and a number of foreign novelists, chiefly Russian and

Polish.

I had finished all the lighter literature in about three months, and

thereafter was able to advise some of the others as to works meriting

their fleeting attention! It occurred to me that it would be amusing

to try and discover the tastes of the fifteen officers of the hut.

Books were naturally often discussed. Oates must have been reading

some of Merriman, for I find that Simpson took exception to his praise

of the latter’s works on meteorological grounds! This seems rough on

Merriman; but Simpson said it was not possible to see the _midnight

sun_ at Tver, and he also objected to the wrong use of the word

_parhelion_. I’m afraid I’d missed these “professional errors,” but I

remember what seemed a serious flaw to _me_ in Davis’ “Soldiers of

Fortune” (otherwise a rattling yarn), was the author’s weird

geological description in the first chapter! Similarly we expected

Captain Scott and Seaman Evans to revel in Kipling’s sea yarns,

whereas they were not enthusiastic. Both made the same criticism;

Evans saying that there seemed to be a lot made about a little, and

that, “anyway things isn’t so concentrated-like in the Navy!”

I hope living authors, if they ever read this, will rise superior to

our criticism! Debenham didn’t like “Kipps”; in fact, except for

Wright I couldn’t get a word in favour of Wells. Even Nelson, who

liked reading “Anne Veronica,” declared it was a piece of satire from

beginning to end, in which Wells was obviously gibing at his readers!

The only book Nelson and I liked in common was Gissing’s “Born in

Exile,” and I grieve to state that the “Owner” characterized this as

“Tosh!” “Richard Yea and Nay” is loved by Debenham. I couldn’t read

it, and declared it was not free from gross errors. (_Pace_ Hewlett!)

Challenged thereon, I said I had visited the castle at Gisors, and

that it was still a well-preserved ruin, whereas in the novel it is

“_razed to the ground_.” This, of course, led to a cag on the meaning

of the word _razed_, in which all the hut took part, and I’ve no

recollection as to who was supposed to have won! Any Canadian novel

that was appreciated by one man, would be caustically slated by

Wright. I think we were all better at criticism than appreciation.

Chambers’ “Fighting Chance” was damned “because the hero kisses a girl

under water”!

However, as a result we began to get some idea as to each other’s

tastes in literature. I was a sort of referee, in that Ponting, Day,

Debenham, Wright, and Simpson, would sometimes read a book on my

recommendation, while Meares, Oates, and Nelson, always went for what

I didn’t like!

We had very strong winds about this time, and were very anxious to

know how the Cape Crozier party were progressing. They were due back,

and had had awful weather judging by our experience. On the 29th

Atkinson and I made our usual excursion up the Ramp to “Bertram.”

There was no drift, but the wind rose to fifty miles per hour at

times. We could hardly keep up on the ice, and I was actually blown

bodily off the little cone on which Bertram was erected. Later we went

out to “Archibald,” letting the wind blow us there. Scott said he saw

us start, and when he looked again in a few minutes we “were mere dots

on the horizon!”

But it was not so easy getting back, and I only managed it by bending

double and watching our outward tracks.

On the 1st of August I went on night-watch at 8 p.m. Most of the men

were turning in, when Hooper called out, “Here’s the Cape Crozier

party.” So we all rushed out and there were the three of them. Cherry

staggered in looking like nothing human. “He had on a big nose-guard

covering all but his eyes, and huge icicles and frost stuck out like

duck’s bills from his lips! They had been away five weeks and a day,

and it had been hell all the time practically. After leaving Meares

and Sunny Jim, they had pushed on and camped four miles this side of

the 1902 Hut. The next day they camped on the Barrier. There had been

but little snow on the sea-ice, though a snowdrift led them up on to

Barrier. Here awful soft snow began, and it was very cold. They had to

relay most of the way, and sometimes even with one sledge they could

hardly get a move on. It was like pulling in soft sand, and often they

only seemed to be marking time.

“It took them three weeks to get to Cape Crozier, and they remained

there ten days. They were unable to get any blubber and had to return

when only one tin of oil was left. Blizzards held them up off Mount

Terror, and here Birdie is credited with sleeping three days and

nights (bar meals). The other two didn’t! They spent three days

building a stone igloo, and pitched the tent to leeward. A tremendous

blizzard came up and blew their tent away! They had now a poor chance

of getting back, and proposed to dig snow holes each night and cover

themselves over with the floor cloth. Luckily they found the tent a

quarter of a mile away, just on top of the sea cliff! They had camped

just south of the big cliff under which we had rowed in January, 1911.

“All the ice blew off the Ross Sea with the force of the blizzard.

They were only able to get down to the Emperor penguins on one day.

These were nesting—if such it can be called—on a piece of old sea-ice

between the cliffs of Cape Crozier and the high Barrier Ice. They had

to crawl down between the Barrier and the Rock Cliffs, and here Birdie

stuck as his clothes had frozen so stiff! There were only a hundred

penguins there, instead of 1000 as they had expected. They spent two

hours getting down and could only carry away six eggs, of which three

broke. Cherry says his mits were made warmer thereby! The temperature

was down to −77° F. (a sledging record) and often below −60° F. Their

sleeping-bags froze stiff, and they couldn’t roll them up, while

Cherry’s was too big and never thawed except where he touched it;

moreover, they tore badly when they were getting into them.

“On their return they could only make one mile on the first day, and

Birdie went down a crevasse to the length of his harness. They managed

to get him up by a bowline on the alpine rope. On the last three

nights Cherry said that no one slept. They used to doze on the march

and over their meals, but were too cold in the bags. On emerging from

their tents they had to be careful to hold their heads as they would

bear them later, for their clothes froze and held them like a coat of

mail!”

About three miles to the south lay _Tent_ Island; so called because in

1904 the men cutting a canal through the ice had their tent there.

Atkinson and I walked over there early in August, to see if we could

find his belt, which he had lost on July 4th. I carried a plane-table

to continue my survey of these islands. It was extraordinary to see

footprints in the gravel, which must have been made by Priestley in

1907, though they looked as fresh as my own.

We visited Clarence on our return, and found it to be much less

imposing than Archibald or Bertram. Merely a little box at sea-level,

containing two thermometers, but no stand or cairn. It was getting

gloomy and we just returned in time, for Atkinson’s feet were pretty

well gone in his old finnesko.

It is a queer fact that both Atkinson and myself dreamed that the Cape

Crozier party were returning on the night before they arrived. In _my_

dream I modestly went out and pulled their sledge back. However, I

don’t think we published their approach on the strength of these

dreams, else we might have claimed some credit for our superior

intelligence!

When there was no wind it was quite pleasant strolling about by the

light of the moon. In the long winter night it was cheering to realize

that we could tell _where_ the sun was even if we hadn’t seen him for

over three months, for the moon’s brighter face of course points to

the sun. This comforting deduction led to the following astronomical

effusion in _S.P.T._:—

THE ERRANT SUN.

Throughout the night,

Nor life nor light,

E’er chases gloom away;

But still the moon

Foretells full soon,

Arrival of the day.

For each bright ray

Shot to the day,

By Luna’s silver bow,

Transfixes straight

Her lucent mate,

The errant sun below.

I wrote at the foot for Dr. Bill’s edification—

“If your artist can rise to the occasion will he please illustrate

this poem (_sic_) with a sketch?” and to this note there hangs a tale

as shall appear later.

Wright and I went off for a tramp towards Inaccessible Island. We came

across some of the queer snow stalactites which I called “Cold Feet.”

They were due to snow collecting on the ends of icicles where they

were somewhat sticky. The snow built out a “foot” to windward, and

they looked exactly like long white stockings.

Near the big icebergs Gran pointed out to us an Emperor penguin and

yelled to us to kill it. On approaching it, however, it objected

strongly, having legs and arms and answering to the name of Lieutenant

Evans!

The pressure of the sea-ice had raised great ridges of ice around

Inaccessible Island. Some cakes of ice were most precariously perched

on the top of these six-foot hummocks. The queer structures resulting

from the buckling and cracking of this six-foot thick sheet of ice

reminded the geologists very strongly of the type diagrams used to

illustrate the major folds and earthquake cracks in the earth’s crust.

On the 4th of August we made a real start for the summer campaign by

taking the two motor sledges out of their winter quarters. “It was

frightfully heavy work and took about twenty of us to move one a foot.

I wouldn’t care to go over a snow-lidded crevasse in one.”

Simpson gave us a good lecture on General Meteorology in the

Antarctic.

I thought Simpson didn’t lay enough stress on the purely _local_

character of our storms. I said that he reminded me of a minnow living

behind a stone in a big river, wildly excited over every eddy and

paying more attention to them than to the river as a whole. This “cag”

between the scientists greatly delighted certain of the ribald, and

Simpson was referred to as the “minnow in the eddy” for some time

thereafter.

The usual occupations filled our time during the first fortnight of

August. I was busy mapping the vicinity, translating German geology,

calculating sledge stores, and writing a long article on the Inmates

of the Hut for _S.P.T._ On the 14th I wrote, “To-day is a beautiful

day, with a temperature of −38° F.; but with no wind, so that one can

stay out quite comfortably. It is very light now, for the sun is due

in five or six days. Erebus is very active, and is puffing up big

gouts of steam. Debenham measured one which rose 4000 feet in ten

seconds! The banner then sweeps south and east. It is lit up by the

hidden sun in a most beautiful manner. I say the colour is tawny, Atch

says russet, Birdie burnt sienna, while Bill says it’s a mixture of

vermilion and yellow ochre! Anyway it is very pretty, and Debenham

says he can see inside the crater.”

[Illustration]

Through falling into a small crevasse I found some beautiful ice

crystals above the Ramp. Later I turned up some slabs of ice which had

covered old water channels and their lower surfaces were sparkling

with beautiful basket crystals half an inch across. In some cases

these were branched like candelabra. Wright managed to photo some of

them satisfactorily, for unlike our rock collections, _his_ specimens

were extremely fragile and hard to preserve. I renovated my smaller

camera which had suffered so in the gale. After I fitted it with a

simple “flip-flap” tin shutter, this piece of apparatus was always

called the mousetrap.

By this time most of the diarists had lost their early enthusiasm. The

Owner wrote an hour or two each day. Gran and myself were probably the

most voluminous writers. Debenham, Cherry, Wilson, and Simpson also

kept records; but most of the others affected to despise diaries.

Wright would bring his along once a fortnight, sometime when I was

engaged on mine, and look through it for references to himself. We

often went for a walk together (invariably towards the Erebus

Glacier), so his diary was often something like this—

Aug. 1.—Went up the Ramp with G. T.

„ 2.—Ditto.

„ 3.—Ditto.

„ 4.—No entry.

I suggested he should fill in his blank days with “Did _not_ go up the

Ramp with G. T.”! The “illiterate” took a great, if transitory,

interest in our labours. Birdie seeing me stuck for copy on August 13

sang out, “Write—Turned in, turned out; ditto, ditto. That’ll fill

your diary!” Atkinson assisted as follows: “On night-watch; slept till

10.30; woke up and was very pleased to see Atkinson, because he’s such

a good fellow!” Cherry’s quota, “We have many cags on scientific

subjects and so acquire much merit.” While Uncle Bill, with a merry

twinkle, added, “And next week we’ll get on to some serious work!”

I think the seamen enjoyed life in the Hut as much as any of us. The

night watches must have pleased them immensely. To see a weary officer

nodding and shivering all through the night, while they were snugly

rolled in blankets and enjoying an uninterrupted night’s rest, was

just the state of things they would appreciate! As I have noted

already, some of them unconsciously imitated Kipling’s Emanuel Pycroft

in “Bonds of Discipline,” feeling they might never have the

opportunity of reprimanding an officer again, they would pour out

(from the shelter of a bed curtain) the vials of their wrath on any

unlucky watchman who fell over the fire-irons or discomposed their

slumbers! It is fair to state that in the next winter they cheerfully

took on night watches, and were quite equal to reading all the

meteorological instruments.

The 15th was a rather threatening morning; the wind coming from the

west, which was most unusual. “Debenham says this implies a blizzard.

Every one has a different theory of blizzard forecasting. Mine is

simple! If you’ve had four days fine, you’re sure to get a blizzard!

This works well in winter.”

“Last night we had an addition to our Antarctic family. Innumerable

pups accrued to us, descendants of our long-haired collie, ‘Lady,’ and

the Siberian dog, ‘Beely-glass.’ They occupy a corner of the stable,

and add life to our ménage. Julik went off some time ago, and is

undoubtedly lost; though it is difficult to see how, unless he got

into a deep crack. The other day Peary and Cook and another dog

(harnessed to the cook’s light sledge) bolted. They tipped Clissold

into the tide crack, and made for Cape Royds. Luckily, Atkinson

managed to catch them. Tsigane, Peary, and Cook are the only dogs I’d

care to take back.” The others were too unsociable, and though by no

means savage when well fed, they were little interested in their

owners’ doings, and exhibited none of the so-called dog-like

affection.

Wright and I walked south over Cape Evans, and above the curious belt

of moraine, which we called Land’s End. It was pretty cold, for Evans

found the mercury frozen that day at Clarence; but as there was no

wind this did not affect us after the exercise made us warm. Sometimes

one could feel one’s nose “go with a ping,” as if the blood had really

solidified in one’s veins. But vigorous rubbing and nursing in the

warm palm of one’s hand usually restored circulation. As long as one’s

heat energy was abundant there was no risk; but when vitality was low,

through fatigue and hunger, frostbite was certain in any cold

extremity.

As we walked over the Erebus Glacier we noted numerous circular dark

patches in the ice. These exhibited maze-like patterns (arabesques),

and marked where stones had sunk through the ice. There were no stones

visible on the surface, and no source of supply, so that either these

were very ancient, or else they were due to the effect of the sun on

stones deep buried _in_ the glacier ice. The Land’s End Ridge was a

mile long and only a hundred yards wide. It was most precariously

placed between the glacier and the deep sea, and was perched on a line

of cliffs which were just uncovered by the retreat of the glacier.

Monoliths of kenyte lava and ash (tuff) were scattered along the

moraine. Great debris cones, capped by huge unweathered blocks of

kenyte, rose to thirty or forty feet high. The Land’s End cliffs

abutted on the crevassed piedmont glacier to the south, and from their

150 feet elevation we could see the curving crevasses crossing the

glacier, and could determine that the “ice caves” were but these

crevasses seen in vertical section on the ice front.

To the south extended a fine view of Turk’s Head, and the long

promontory to the Hut Point. We returned towards our hut, and

attempted to reach the sea-ice from the moraine. In the dim twilight

we judged that there was a twenty-foot gully between us and what

looked like an iceberg. When we dropped into it, it was only four feet

deep! So deceptive is a snow surface in the absence of light and

shade.

The next day was cold again (-35°), and Gran and I climbed

Inaccessible Island. I carried a theodolite, and fixed it on the top

(521 feet). It was awfully cold work. I had to remove my fur gloves,

and my fingers “went” very soon, and standing still made my toes lose

feeling also. By the end of an hour I could do no more, and was so

numb that I could not put the theodolite back properly in its case. My

fingers and toes ached badly all the way home, but had recovered on

arrival.

I went out to the rubbish pile and commandeered enough material for a

book-binding kit. I bound up some glacial pamphlets into two pieces of

“venesta wood” from a packing case. The rest of the case made the

sewing frame. Two iron clamps, lent me by Simpson, made the press,

while I had found a queer residue in the glue pot, which I used in

default of better. Towelling for head border, and tent cloth for the

back completed it. Next day I wrote _Hoc Pegit_ in what is probably

the first book professionally stitched and bound in boards in

Antarctica.

Atkinson gave us a clear and concise account of scurvy, from which I

gather that our chances of seeing any are few.

LECTURE ON SCURVY

BY ATKINSON

_History_: Scurvy was a dread disease about the end of the 18th

century. Anson lost 300 out of 500 men from scurvy in 1795, but

about that time Blaine introduced the use of lime juice, and since

then it is practically unknown in our navy.

_Symptoms_: It is a general non-febrile disease, and not contagious.

It is marked by mental depression, syncope, and debility, and the

morbid blood arising often causes characteristic patches on gums,

thighs, etc., like bruises. Atkinson modestly ascribed the cure to

the Naval Medical Corps (loud cheers!). He said that immunity was

possible, and was assisted by plenty of lemons and other vegetables

(_sic!_).

_Detection_: Ralph found that if you gave too much acids to animals

they got scurvy, and Wright also believes it is a form of acid

intoxication. Serum is obtained from the clotted blood of the

patient. This should be alkaline in reaction, and its alkalinity is

tested by neutralizing it with various strengths of sulphuric acid.

Thus ¹⁄₃₀ or ¹⁄₅₀ normal strength of acid should be neutralized by

alkaline serum. If only ¹⁄₉₀ normal acid (N)/(90) is necessary to

neutralize, then “you have your scurvy.”

_Prevention_: Fresh meat alone does not prevent scurvy, since they

had plenty of horse in the siege of Paris, and yet suffered heavily.

Possibly it is too acid. Fresh vegetables seem to contain an

alkaline salt which is helpful, and possibly sodium lactate is a

useful drug. Nansen, however, believed in change of diet as being

very helpful.

In the discussion Uncle Bill said that many of the symptoms noticed

after sledging were purely due to the lowering of tone. If one entered

upon hut life gradually by living for a day in the annexe you wouldn’t

feel funny feelings in your toes! “I asked if a vegetarian diet would

do down here? We have no fresh vegetables, but we have bread, butter,

cocoa, sugar, jam, porridge, tinned fruit, tinned milk and cheese. (I

lived on a less varied diet in Cambridge, only I still don’t enjoy the

cheese lunches where the pungent stilton stalks around, and the

exclusives have to collect together and wave the phantom off.) Bowers

said that Bill developed spots on his face on the Crozier journey; but

Bill swore they were beard sprouts. Birdie had been nodding a bit, so

I said he was evidently scorbutic, as he exhibited a tendency to

syncope, deposit of fat, and an inflamed head (a cruel hit at his red

hair). Ponting had been listening anxiously to the doctor’s criticisms

of sausages, and various potted meats, and then read us a cable he had

received in November announcing that a friend meant to send a half ton

of sausages by the Relief!”

On Saturday night (19th August) we experienced the maximum wind

pressure of the winter. “It rose from forty-five miles per hour to

eighty-six miles in one fell shriek.” There was such heavy drift that

it blew through the outer walls (of cases) and filled the annexe. The

temperature had risen astonishingly, for we found “Bertram”

registering +½° F., whereas a day or two before mercury was freezing!

The blizzards were sometimes accompanied by a sort of “foehn” wind

warming affect, and nearly always raised the temperature slightly.

They swept away the stagnant heavy cold air which collected at

sea-level, and which normally surrounded the Hut.

The 21st of August was a calm, clear day. The sun was due in a day or

two now. Nelson was having some trouble with his soundings at the

“Igloo.” So seven of us marched out to help him free his rope. It was

quite a procession, Nelson going first to fix a block and tackle

(pronounced _taikle_!) on his obdurate rope. Then Atkinson and

Clissold—who worked the fish trap, and so were professionals in such

jobs—walked along in a dignified way. Then long Day on ski, followed

by Debenham also on ski, and causing some amusement by his “croppers.”

Finally, “Trigger” Gran started long after us, and “flapping” along on

his ski easily caught us up. I could easily keep up over a couple of

miles without ski, but over a longer distance there is no doubt as to

the advantage of the ski. We all hauled on the “taikle,” and so broke

Nelson’s rope away from the bottom, where it seemed to have frozen in.

Then dropping the “earth” wire of his telephone circuit into the water

I rang up Simpson in the hut, and heard him with great ease through

the bare aluminium surface wire.

Debenham and I climbed Inaccessible Isle to try and see the sun first.

We went up by the usual route, but had to kick steps in the thick snow

which now covered the gravel slopes. There is a magnificent windblown

gravel ridge on the lee side of Inaccessible Isle. The blizzards shoot

_up_ the southern face and drop their dust contents beyond the central

notch on the northern slope in the form of a long ridge about fifty

feet high.

[Illustration: The wind-ridge on Inaccessible Isle, with tracks 21·8·11]

We obtained a fine view of the western cwm valleys below Mount Lister

from this elevation (520 feet). To the north we could see a bright

glow over the Barne Glacier and good sun shadows on Mount Lister, the

first time for four months! But we did not see the sun’s disc at all.

The sun was due on August 22, so it was natural that a blizzard should

spoil all chances of seeing him! We took him on trust to the extent of

champagne at lunch, when Scott toasted Lieutenant Campbell’s birthday

also.

“A snorting blizzard; never saw such thick drift. It wet one, so that

one’s hands froze in no time. None went outside the hut.”

The table resembled a grocer’s shop from now on, for Birdie started

bagging provisions for the sledge journeys. Pemmican was taken out of

the tins, broken up, and bagged first, and then cocoa, butter, sugar,

in fact everything but biscuit, which was left in the 40-lb. tins as

sent to us.

“2.30 a.m. on the 24th.—It is now my night-watch, and I have finished

making the slides for my next lecture; I have read M. Beaucaire, had

two slices of toast, gone on the roof and cleaned out the blizzometer

tubes, and washed my feet. The sooner 3.30 arrives (and Nelson with

it) the better!

“In two months we shall be away on the veldt again. I have lots of

prints to make, and must continue my German and physiography; but I

have done about as much as I intended, and found the winter a very

pleasant and busy time. It is wonderful how exhilarating a fine day

is, though the last few days have been the limit.”

Next day it was still blizzing, with the temperature up to +11°! The

drift was lower, and Nelson managed to get out to his igloo on the

sea-ice.

Captain Scott asked Debenham and myself to map Cape Evans in

considerable detail; while Lieutenant Evans carried out the coast

survey and Wright obtained heights and ice-cliff data. As a result

Debenham and I were out with our plane tables fairly continuously in

the next few weeks and got to know almost every rock upon our little

promontory.

Wright and I climbed the Ramp in our anxiety to see if the sun was

still alive! but without avail. The clouds on Erebus were worthy of

note. During the day huge billows collected to the south below the

summit, and at 7 p.m. these disappeared, and the steam cloud (which

had hardly showed before) shot up several thousand feet and then

spread out as a banner to the _north_. This latter direction was

unusual, as the upper air currents usually went due _south_.

On our return we found that Simpson had seen the rim of the sun about

3 p.m. from Wind Vane Hill (at noon it was hidden by the Barne

Glacier), so that the meteorologist was the first to welcome His

Majesty’s return.

On the 24th I gave a lantern lecture on Polar and Temperate

Glaciation. As usual Ponting kindly made most of the lantern slides

and operated the lantern. Afterwards he showed us some of his

magnificent Swiss slides.

On the 26th I managed to improvise a satisfactory plane-table from a

telescope tripod and my drawing board. We had a spare sight-ruler, and

with this primitive instrument I successfully mapped my section of

Cape Evans.

We could always orient on far distant peaks, such as the Matterhorn,

fifty miles north-west; or Castle Rock, twelve miles south; and this

saved a lot of trouble with the usual “three-point resection” method.

I climbed up the Ramp and read “Bertram.” I could see the sun shining

on Inaccessible Isle, and even on Hut Point far to the south, but it

would need to get considerably higher before it illumined the Ramp.

Lieut. Evans was setting up signal flags on the prominent debris

cones, and we returned together _viâ_ the “Slippery Slopes,” Evans

justifying the name!

“Just before I reached the Hut I felt exactly like Peter Pan, and saw

that I had regained my shadow! I walked up to Wind Vane Hill, and

there was the old sun showing half his disc over Cape Barne Glacier!

About 2 p.m. I went out with the ‘mousetrap’ camera, and took some

photos to celebrate the event. I gave four seconds (with F. 45) on

snow banks, etc., lit by the low-lying sun. This was too much, I

believe, but the photos were fairly satisfactory and worth the trouble

considering when they were taken.”

Wilson reported some queer algæ deposits above Gully Bay, so we went

off to investigate them. There were two layers (about fifty feet above

the glacieret) in the soft kenyte gravel. I had little doubt that they

were lake algæ which had grown when the water was held in by a larger

ancestor of the present glacieret. Just to the west were beautiful

examples of these ice-dammed lakelets, with “Glenroy terraces” marking

various contours on their shores, just as in the historic Glenroy

region in Scotland. Only in these Antarctic specimens the ice dams are

still evident, whereas their absence in Scotland made the origin of

the Scotch terraces a puzzle for many years.

I have made frequent mention of the debris cones on the Ramp. Their

origin was often discussed by Scott, Wilson, Debenham, Wright, and

myself. Scott and Wilson believed they were dumped over at re-entrant

angles in a bygone ice-barrier wall. Debenham compared them to the

cones and hollows we had seen over in the western moraines and thought

they were due to the melting of submarine ice. Wright and I believed

them to be due to the weathering of huge erratics.

[Illustration:

LAKELETS OF CAPE EVANS, SEPT. 29, 1911.

Due to glacierets of drifted snow forming across small gulleys. (The

drifts are always blown to the north.) These ice dams explain the

formation of Glenroy Terraces, Scotland. The rugged outcrops of

Kenyte Lava run chiefly east and west. The Tunnel Berg in the

sea-ice appears to the west.

]

On the 27th Gran and I made the rather obvious test of cutting one

open. It was six feet high and lay just on the edge of the steep slope

of the Ramp, whence all debris would slip down the Ramp and save

cartage. The upper face was a friable dry gravel. We heaved out two

huge blocks the size of a man’s body and found them fitting into other

blocks of the same rock. We cleared away the top portion of one half,

and then came to a huge block evidently extending to the foot of the

cone and right through it. All this was frozen stiff into the kenyte

soil of the Ramp, and it was beyond our powers to shift it. However,

we had definitely proved that this symmetrical cone was solid, and was

piled around a core of kenyte blocks.

[Illustration: The Dissected Debris Cone, 28·8·11]

“I met the ‘Owner’ after lunch and introduced him to the ‘dissected

cone.’ He seemed to think it a strong argument in favour of our

long-held theory. Wilson basely hit back at me for upsetting his

argument with a caricature in the _South Polar Times_, which is here

reproduced.

“The difficulty in disposing of all the instruments needed by a

geological surveyor is also hinted at in the gear encrusting the queer

object on the debris cone.”

“_August 30._—A cold day, −33° with wind. Natheless, Deb and I went

out about noon plane-tabling. I had finished my stations and carted

the table about, filling in details. But it was mostly a ‘cabman’s war

dance,’ jumping and flapping one’s arms to keep warm. I found that a

great deal of the ice-sheet to the north was only six inches thick

over gravel, the latter appearing in the eddy gutters to the south of

every big boulder.

“It got too cold to work, but I swore I would stay out as long as

Debenham. Finally, at 1.15, I could stand it no longer, and made a

beeline for the Hut, finding he had returned a minute or two earlier!”

The next few days were similarly occupied. I made a pantograph (to

reduce or enlarge drawings), and so obtained a fairly accurate plot of

all the sections of our map. The result is given herewith.

One can readily see some method now in the queer physiographic

features of Cape Evans. It can be subdivided into several zones, which

may be tabulated as follows, proceeding inland (east) towards Erebus:—

1. Kenyte cliffs and ridges, of rock _in situ_ (about fifty feet above

sea-level and chiefly to the south and west of the Cape).

2. Low-lying plains with lakes about twenty feet above sea-level, due

to erosion and deposition from 1 (chiefly in the north-east of the

cape).

[Illustration:

A Peculiar Animal seated on the Top of a Debris Cone.

]

3. Glacierets and ice dams running north and south, and due chiefly to

drifts distributed by the southern blizzards. On the low cape and on

the Ramp also.

4. The continuous “Ramp”; a steep slope (30°) extending from “Low

Cliff” practically to Land’s End Cliff, i.e. about two miles. It

varies in height from 100 to 150 feet above sea-level. Partly composed

of rock _in situ_ and partly of moraine just uncovered by the

retreating glacier of Erebus.

[Illustration:

Physiographic features of Cape Evans, due largely to the retreat of

the Erebus Glacier.

]

5. The boulder-strewn plateau parallel to and east of the latter, and

about 150 to 200 feet high. It is largely ground-moraine, but contains

some ancient ice masses, and is affected by soil-creep or solifluxion.

6. A zone of large blocks (with ice between) which occurs chiefly in

the north-east, and merges into the Erebus Glacier. Both 5 and 6

contain numerous debris cones, which are especially large in the

south-east over Land’s End cliffs.

7. The continuous Erebus Glacier which extends uninterruptedly from

Cape Barne to Turk’s Head, and walls in Cape Evans to the east. There

is not much movement in it just behind the cape, for there is no ice

“wall” but a gradual merging of rock and ice.

My diary proceeds as follows:—

“_September 1._—I fear I must give this a miss. Titus Oates says, ‘You

were probably caulking and coughing, or blatting. But if the latter

you’d remember!’ (These rude words refer to a slight cough that

worried me at this time. ‘Caulking’ is sleeping, and ‘blatting’ is

arguing.) The Conservatives were evidently waking up, for I note one

of Atkinson’s remarks. Colonials go to London and murmur ceaselessly,

‘Change and decay, in all around I see, Except in me, O Lord, except

in me!’ This misquotation afforded the ‘True-Blues’ (Cherry, Birdie,

Titus, and Atch) great joy about twenty times a day. We Liberals

scorned to use such feeble wit in upholding our principles.”

The next lecture was one delivered by Birdie Bowers on the Evolution

of Polar Clothing. I took fairly full notes of this lecture, which

represented much reading on Birdie’s part in our extensive library of

Polar journals.

LECTURE ON “EVOLUTION OF POLAR CLOTHING”

BY BOWERS.

_September 1, 1911._

There are many fabrics which can be used, for instance, cotton is

very satisfactory for some purposes, as we see in our windproof

overalls. Fur was naturally first used, and Ross, on his magnetic

pole expedition, was the first to employ fur sleeping-bags. Weddell

found boots a great difficulty, and had to cut up all his gear to

make new ones. Some Arctic explorers used blanket squares (sixteen

inches across) instead of socks. One must be careful not to have

boot-soles too rigid, for this induces frostbite. It is curious that

the Eskimo garments leave the skin completely bare at back and knee.

[Illustration:

A book-plate illustrating Polar clothing.

]

Bird-skin clothes are very warm and very light. In one expedition

devices were painted on the backs of the white jackets to give the

men behind something dark to look at, and so minimize

snow-blindness.

With regard to mits, thumbless gloves are best for very cold

weather. Greely had gloves with two thumbs, so that they could be

used on either hand.

It is foolish to rub frostbites with snow, for the skin is chafed;

flannel or a bare warm hand, etc., is better. Wool absorbs

perspiration the best of all textures. White cotton does so to only

half the amount. So the latter evaporates quicker, and soon feels

chilly. Nansen says goat-hair socks attract the moisture. “Oh! as

you were!” No, I don’t mean that! (G. T.—I find I’ve omitted the

correction, however!) Personally, I think that an old sock makes an

excellent nose-nip!

Sverdrup used to use a double tent for warmth with good results. I

think we might modify the tent opening, and make the tent floorcloth

wider. If the sleeping-bags were provided with a separate hood, they

would not get so wet. On our midwinter trip we found that eiderdown

inner bags were no use after fourteen days. It was best to change

sides with the fur bags and scrape them. The hair inside was warmer,

but held the perspiration more.

The wind helmet should certainly be made fast to the blouse; and I

think lanyards fasten the bag-flaps much better than toggles. These

are the only improvements I can suggest in our clothing.

The seamen played six-handed euchre most evenings, while the two

Russians looked at illustrated papers and turned in somewhat early.

The mess deck used to read the books in the library, and especially

Debenham’s paper-backs. When I ran short I raided their small private

stock. I was assured by Taff Evans that one by Hichens “is no good,

for no one in the mess deck can read it!” Needless to say I did not

always agree with this stalwart board of navy critics.

On the 8th of September the second volume of _S. P. T._ appeared.

Cherry wrote the Editorial in the best style of the _Times_. Some

eighteen pages were devoted to a skit on life in the Hut, called the

“Bipes.” Its redeeming feature is a series of coloured illustrations

by Uncle Bill. In it I gave a somewhat garbled but recognizable view

of various personalities at headquarters. The tenants of the Diarist’s

Den (i.e. our cubicle) as well as the Conservative party (the

“Bunderlohg”) came in for their share of attention on the part of the

inquisitive rabbit; who is here supposed to observe the habits and

customs of the so-called Bipes.

Simpson contributed a gruesome account of the decline and fall of the

human race in the last days of the earth’s habitation. The only

panacea seemed to be certain elixirs to be obtained near Mount Erebus.

There was a beautifully illustrated rhyme dealing with the midwinter

party at Cape Crozier. I could never discover who was the writer

unless it was the Owner himself. Simpson’s career was described in a

semi-serious article, “Celebrities in Glass Houses.” There were two

poems called into being by the return of the sun, both due to

Australians. Some one, I suspect Nelson, wove Uncle Bill and myself

into a “nightmare interview.” There were some beautiful photo plates

by Ponting and three of Wilson’s inimitable Egyptian tablets; besides

various cartoons and silhouettes by Wilson and Lillie.

Guessing at the authors furnished considerable amusement. Even the

astute Nelson fell in! On p. 19 there is a plan of the hut showing

_inter alia_ the engine in one corner. Nelson made the rash statement

that Uncle Bill had drawn it the wrong way round. I immediately bet

him that Bill hadn’t. Nelson went over to the engine and came back

ready to stake his life on it! Then I told him that I had drawn the

plan; so that Bill couldn’t have made a mistake! He proceeded to say

that he would have put me down as the author of the “Bipes,” only I

was so unmercifully described therein; while Simpson amused me by

assuring me that Scott wrote the poem, “The Errant Sun.” I gave the

palm to Nelson’s poem on “Uncle Bill,” “You are old, Uncle William.”

Captain Scott was now preparing for a fortnight’s sledge-trip over to

the west. He proposed to Simpson that he should take this chance of

some sledging, and so the meteorology was left in my hands. Simpson

kindly coached me in the special minutiæ, and I started the records on

the 11th (before he left), so as to get into swing.

Nelson gave us a particularly well-illustrated lecture on the 11th on

Invertebrates generally.

He told us of the pleasant habit of the _hydra_ which turns itself

inside out, and converts its skin into a stomach lining, and _vice

versa_! He discussed the huge arthropod, remarkably like a flea (but

eight inches long), which Meares declared was found in a bunk in the

hut, though Ponting said he obtained it on the beach.

We envied the Pycnogonids (sea-spiders), which grow an extra pair of

legs in Antarctica, though they have only eight in less strenuous

latitudes. Two more limbs would help us so greatly in sledging! He

called on me to lecture on the corals, and I gave a brief account of

the biology of the forerunners of this family (the _Archeocyathinæ_),

which occur fossil on the Beardmore Glacier. I discussed Darwin’s and

Murray’s theories with special reference to my observations on the

coral reefs of the Great Barrier. Debenham instanced Funafuti—that

coral islet bored by Professor David to show the depth of a reef

formation. Birdie wanted to know why a sea anemone wasn’t a plant? And

some one thereupon asked Nelson if he could explain why a Birdie

wasn’t a cabbage? But this problem proved too difficult for the

lecturer.

Wilson with his usual kindness was now copying some of my western

sketches and turning them into splendid pen and ink drawings. He spent

many hours coaching me in drawing, but indeed he would always help any

one if it lay in his power. I think what touched some of us as much as

anything was his willingness to take the last and longest hour of any

one’s night-watch! He used to say, “I don’t mind getting up at seven;

I’ll get on with my painting. Just put a kettle on to boil, and wake

me, and then you can turn in!” I’m afraid I took advantage of this,

when my watch lasted through to the morning, though usually I shared

it with Nelson.

About this time Scott and Bowers spent their leisure in photographic

work. Ponting was untiring in coaching them, and the excellent results

obtained by these absolute tyros on the southern journey speaks well

for teacher and pupils. Bowers handed over the pony “Chinaman” to

Wright, who “gets run away with, with great regularity.” Cherry was

typing out those sections from the “Heart of the Antarctic” which

would help Scott in his southern journey.

On the 15th of September Captain Scott set out for a trip to the

Ferrar Glacier and thereabouts. They carried about 200 lbs. of food

for us to Butter Point, where we were to pick it up later. Nelson and

I helped them along for three miles, though the party, consisting of

Scott, Bowers, Simpson, and Taff Evans, needed us little. It was −40°

starting, but luckily there was no wind. A big shear crack about two

and a half miles out marked a permanent crack in the sea-ice extending

between Inaccessible Isle and Cape Royds. It had developed into a

fractured wall, as much as ten feet high in places, where the floes

ground together, and gave us some trouble. However, Nelson and I were

able to steady the sledge and guard the sledge-meter, and so they soon

negotiated it.

On the 17th of September we actually had a “fine bright sun, so that

films of snow melt on the black rock.” This is an interesting date,

for though the air temperature was only +7°—that is, twenty-five

degrees below freezing!—yet the radiant heat from the black rock

produced a little water.

Let us accompany the meteorologist, and see how a first-class weather

station is run at 77½° S. lat. The weather man has to rise about an

hour before the others. (It was pleasant to see Sunny Jim lying in his

bunk till 8.30 on the 14th—as he pathetically put it—for the first

time since he’d landed!) I find I am dressed five minutes too soon, so

I hit Wright with a book to get him up in time to check the

chronometers, which is his “pigeon”!

1. When I hear the automatic signal I have to fly around and mark all

the recording instruments to show exactly eight o’clock on their

charts.

2. I read the large standard barometer and its attached thermometer.

3. Change the chronograph papers and put ink on the pens, for the

blizzometer, thermograph, barograph, and wind velocity charts. (In all

these chronograph drums the “clock” part (carrying the paper) revolves

about the central axle—which is just the opposite of an ordinary

clock!)

4. Wind up the various chronograph clocks (once a week, on Monday).

Then I muffle myself in wind clothes and gloves, and collect the gear

for the outdoor apparatus.

A. A clock set to nearest half-minute.

B. Sunshine paper for the record burnt by the glass ball.

C. Tablet and pencil.

5. I stagger up to the top of Wind Vane Hill—a long operation and a

cold one in September, for it is not far from August, the coldest and

roughest month. At a definite minute I read the anemometer figures

alongside the anemometer cups.

6. Then I press four times on a button alongside, and this is

electrically transmitted to the record in the hut, and so gives a

datum each day on that record.

7. I walk across to the screen and read the three

thermometers—present, maximum, and minimum. Then I readjust the two

latter and read again.

8. By this time three minutes have elapsed, and I return a few paces

to the anemometer and read the latter figures again. (This gives the

revolutions in three minutes, and therefore the velocity per hour at

that time. This is another check on the automatic record.)

[Illustration: G.T. Robinson Anemometer]

9. Read the wind direction from the arrow on the hill, and note the

steam-cloud direction on Erebus.

[Illustration: Sunshine Recorder.]

10. Change the blue paper in the sunshine recorder and clean the glass

sphere. This is an awful job, for the frost crystals cling like glue

to the five-inch glass ball, and have to be melted off by rubbing with

the bare hands. A slow and painful job at −40°!

11. Read the outside thermometer at the south-east corner of the hut,

just below the anemometer tubes.

[Illustration:

A FINE STEAM CLOUD BLOWING SOUTH FROM EREBUS, SEPT. 19, 1911.

The illustration shows also the station on Wind Vane Hill. The

thermometer screen on the left, the flagstaff and the wind

instruments on the right. One anemometer is rotating; the other is

blocked (for the photo).

]

[Illustration:

A GLACIERET NEAR ISLAND LAKE (C. EVANS) DUE TO WINDBLOWN SNOW, SEPT.

23, 1911.

The blizzard builds and also prunes these small glaciers. In the

distance are the debris cones on the ramp and the south-west slopes

of Erebus.

]

Each morning at 8.15 I used to predict the weather, as I went out to

Wind Vane Hill. This was received with great joy by the mess deck.

Crean was especially congratulatory. I have explained my method—_i.e._

“that after four days’ calm it’s certain to blizz;” and it worked as

well as most weather rules. However, even when this standby failed,

Crean was always consoling. At last the other seamen got nettled. “Go

on, sir! he’s only kidding; he wants your long sea-boots when you

return!” It was “cupboard love,” I fear!

On Thursday (21st) I believe the wind was blowing seventy miles per

hour when I reached the screen. The temperature was pretty high (-7°),

but a wind that nearly blew me away soon robbed one of one’s bodily

heat. My fingers took about ten minutes to “come back,” and only by

degrees lost their dead feeling, though they did not reach the dead

white colour of bad frostbites.

The early morning sun was throwing fine earth shadows, which moved

round quite rapidly. Thus on the 24th, at 8 a.m., Erebus cast a shadow

right over the western mountains, while at 9 a.m. the shadow could be

seen to the south-west of Erebus itself.

Debenham had been doing long-distance geology! He fixed up a telescope

and trained it on the south slope of the crater of Erebus. He could

see hundreds of snow structures on the side, each representing the

vent of a “fumarole” from which steam was issuing. This side of Erebus

must resemble a gigantic pepper-box!

Inside the hut Day was doing some ingenious turning. His lathe was

certainly unique! Many of the hardwood rollers for the motor sledges

needed renewal. So he attached a block of hardwood to the flywheel

shaft of the oil-engine, and he sat on the floor and, using a box as a

tool-rest, he turned out rollers quite successfully, if not very

rapidly.

The morning of the 24th was quite clear, so I got my camera into

working order, only to find the sky clouding over for a blizzard so

soon as I ventured out, about noon. Ponting was lost for about two

hours in the thick fog in the evening. We fired off guns, and it

looked as if Atkinson’s mishap was to be repeated. However, luckily he

had a compass, and so got back to the hut quite safely in the end.

The weather was hopeless, and the coast survey party very sensibly

returned to await better conditions. The following scurrilous rhyme

pinned to Gran’s diary affected them not a whit:—

“Three bold explorers hied them forth

For to explore the plain;

Although so bold,

They found it cold,

So hied them home again!”

Next day was again gloomy and cold. It took me ten minutes to rub the

sunshine ball clean. The record for yesterday showed clearly the

sudden cessation of sunshine about noon, just when I was ready to use

my camera.

[Illustration: 27.9.11 My contribution to Polar Clothing! “Taylor’s

Patent Heel-tips”]

Every one was now busy with sledging outfit. Bernard Day and Cherry

each gave me thin gloves for my forthcoming theodolite work; Hooper

washed some of my clothes, and kindly sewed a huge pocket on the

jersey. One great improvement was to my socks. I sewed canvas

heel-tips to most of them, cut out of my specimen bags, of which I had

more than I required.

Clissold had boiled Oates’ famous home-made canvas breeches, and

scrubbed blubber out of them for an hour. He donned them with joy, and

they now hung in graceful folds in place of being as stiff as

stove-piping. Every one laughed when he was caught solemnly dancing to

the pianola in them!

The one great lack on our previous journey had been strong soles to

our boots. “Titus electrified us by saying that he had a stock of

hobnails. I offered him five pairs of socks for them, or anything he

liked. He enjoyed this hugely, and finally said, ‘Well, I’m interested

in a military magazine. If you’ll write a five-page article on

“Physiography for Soldiers,” you can have them!’ I agreed willingly;

but my visions of a boxful were unfulfilled. There were barely enough

for two soles.

“The western trippers returned early on the 29th. They had finished up

with a stiff day, doing twenty miles in very bad weather. They had got

across in two days and four hours. The depôt on Butter Point was

invisible, bar one tin! No staff or flag. They dumped our two cases on

top. (Birdie counsels taking an extra tank for biscuits.) The Owner

thinks the south tongue of the Ferrar is due to a tributary glacier,

but they didn’t go near it. Then up to the Cathedral Rocks. Here they

found an apparent movement of a foot in C. S. W.’s stakes. Of course

the glacier _must move_ to keep the end of the tongue stationary

(_i.e._ ablation replaced), but this is an important amount of

corroboration. Then they returned and coasted round to Dry Valley.

There is a huge ice-foot here, probably preserved by the sheltered

position of these cliffs. They climbed up the Kukri Hills near where

Evans and I put Station I., and saw the Taylor Glacier, etc., quite

well. Then across to Cape Bernacchi. Here they got some kenyte and

were much bucked, but we also got much of it further west in Dry

Valley. They marched about twenty miles north and saw a huge berg.

This had a stake on it, and ‘B. A. E. Expedition’ on a board. They

found it was our glacier tongue, which had drifted across to this

position, about seventy miles to the north-west! Beyond was Dunlop

Island, sixty feet high and half a mile long. Many rolled pebbles on

it and raised beaches. The Owner got a good specimen of granite,

showing rounded erosion above and angular below, where it was bedded

in the beach.

“Near here there was a cliff of schist-limestone with quartz veins,

and here the Owner got a strong vein of copper pyrites. The adjacent

limestone (or marble) they thought was quartz. This has a blackish

mineral in it, perhaps copper glance. Then they returned to Marble

Point and then in a beeline to the Hut. They were caught two days in a

blizzard and had an awful time getting up the tent. Sunny Jim was

nearly frostbitten holding up the poles.

“The Owner didn’t think we could retreat over the shore, for it

consisted of ice slopes with crevasses. But there are so many bergs

there that he was sure that an ice margin would form there quickly;

and he thought we could count on reaching Hut Point by April 1....”

(As will be seen later, the sea-ice broke up quite abnormally; and we

should not have got round till next spring if we had not retreated in

February over the ice slopes. Atkinson tried this journey in April,

just as Scott suggested, and found it impossible! which is but one

more illustration of the irrationality of Antarctic conditions.)

Now that the sun was back again, it was very enjoyable to tramp round

our headquarters and “snap” pictures with the camera. I realized more

than ever that a geologist is _always_ in a position to enjoy nature.

In civilized regions a botanist may run him close, but down south the

former would have a poor time, whereas there are always rocks or ice,

even in Antarctica. The snow ridges were most beautiful objects, all

lying on the northern (lee) side of various projections. For instance,

a great promontory of snow jutted out over the sea-ice from the

Northern Glacieret, and clearly marked the origin of the latter, as

consolidated snowdrift. A little further the sea-ice at low tide,

evidently bumped on to a great boulder, and the ice was cracked and

bent into a low dome, exactly as a granite boss is supposed by

geologists to crack the earth’s crust. Beyond this the snow cornice

due to blizzard drift was busy bridging the tide crack, and this

accretion from one side, gradually extending to the other, led to a

theory of crevasse-bridges, which explains the greater thickness in

the centre of such bridges.

The sculpturing of the kenyte boulders was most remarkable. Just

behind the hut was a quaint boulder, carved by wind and frost into

something resembling a Galapagos turtle! This we called the

Antarcticosaurus. On the Ramp to the east of this was another block

shaped like the power-shears used in machine shops for cutting iron

plate. In the same region were great blocks several feet across split

clean in half by the action of the frost.

[Illustration:

ICE-QUAKES IN THE SEA-ICE, SEPT. 23, 1911.

The ice has settled down with the tide on a huge boulder and so formed

radiating cracks, just as has happened in the earth’s crust. The ice

is six feet thick. In the distance is the fallen “Arch Berg” just

west of Cape Evans.

]

[Illustration:

THE TIDE CRACK AT THE NORTH-WEST CORNER OF CAPE EVANS, SEPT. 23, 1911.

On the right is the moving sea-ice, on the left the fixed ice-foot.

The blizzard “bridges” the crack by cornices built from the south.

The overhanging snow fills crevasses similarly, and thus arises the

wedge shape of the bridges—for these cornices are thickest in the

middle. Behind is Inaccessible Island with its windblown sand ridges

on the right.

]

Small lakes, debris cones in all stages, solifluction furrows, ice

dams, kenyte columns, wind-ridges, etc., etc., there was no end to the

interesting photos one could obtain now the sun was with us again.

Still it took a long time for him to illuminate the southern cliffs of

the Cape, for he would dip behind the mountains to the west for

several weeks to come, quite early in the afternoon.

On the 29th of September I tramped across to Tent Island, which lay

four miles south of Cape Evans. The island was approximately square

and about 800 yards along each side. The west side was fairly steep

and the island sloped gradually thence to the east. At the south was a

well-marked ice-foot, just like the one on which we camped in the

blizzard on Little Razorback. It is probably due to spray and snow

blown on to the windward face by the southern blizzards.

There were a number of small water-cut gullies furrowing the slopes.

The surface was quite peculiar. The kenyte gravel was so small and

uniform that it looked like a well-raked garden, and was like velvet

to walk on! I found a few small granite erratics, just as Oates had

prophesied. The latter had visited the isle a few days earlier, and

was delighted to hear that Debenham had missed the granite boulders

which Titus had seen! The geologist had been handicapped by a bad

light and some snowfall; but it may readily be imagined how little

that affected the cavalryman’s pride in his discovery!

The evidence of water erosion in the Antarctic was important. One

gully was quite 25 feet deep with a steep grade and was about 30 yards

wide. It ended in a fan which spread out over the ice-foot. I could

not climb down the latter, and so reached the sea-ice where I had

climbed up, further to the north.

I had a long talk with the Owner about my plans for the forthcoming

summer. He was much averse to our trying to return by the Piedmont

Glacier, probably because of the greatly increased risk of falling

into crevasses if your path lies _along_ their length (instead of

across them, as in traversing ordinary outlet glaciers). I think our

party were the first to do any considerable distance over such a

glacier, and I must confess that I would infinitely prefer to ascend a

_normal_ glacier for twice the distance.

In one important respect the environment of our hut was scientifically

more interesting than that of 1902 or 1907. We were only a few

minutes’ walk from the huge face of an important glacier. This meant

that many hours could be spent studying ice conditions, without being

at a dangerous distance from safety if a blizzard suddenly sprang up.

Almost every day Wright and myself prowled around High Cliff and the

vertical 150-foot face of the Barne Glacier.

As one walked north from the cape on to the sea-ice, the ice-covered

slopes of the Ramp (which we called Slippery Slopes) merged into the

ice of the Barne glacier. Just at the northern “root” of Cape Evans

was Low Cliff, a mass of kenyte _in situ_. Further north every few

hundred yards was a permanent snow ramp leading up to the glacier

surface 100 feet above. At High Cliff an outcrop of kenyte was exposed

below the ice mass, and a little further north was another lower

outcrop at sea-level. Between these two—and about a mile from the

hut—Gran worked hard to convert a snow slope into a suitable ski-run.

It looked a ferocious jump to the tyro, and ended in a jumble of

sea-ice blocks which usually upset even our champion ski-er! (_I_ did

not tackle this particular spot, having a desire to keep sound limbs

for the ensuing summer, but nothing ever harmed Gran, as far as we

could see!)

A stiff pull up the ski slope brought one to the top of the glacier.

Here the edge of the latter was closely corrugated by small thaw

streams, while the sun had etched out the face of the ice and left

great blocks of englacial kenyte projecting like the gargoyles of

Notre Dame. The silt bands and texture of the glacier hereabouts,

which was unusually rich in included debris, are well shown in the

accompanying photographs.

The last volume of _S.P.T._ for 1911 was now in preparation. The

editor honoured me with an order for another skit on the lines of the

Bipe research. So I wrote a second dealing with sledging trials,

purporting to be love-letters between a McCormick Skua and a Weddell

Seal. This was illustrated in similar style by Uncle Bill.

[Illustration:

HIGH CLIFF AND THE SOUTH END OF THE BARNE GLACIER, OCT. 21, 1911.

Ski Slope leads up to the glacier on the left. The debris cones show

up well on the right. The banded nature of the glacier ice shows

clearly to the right of High Cliff. The glacier and cliff are here

about 120 feet high. Erebus is 12 miles off.

]

[Illustration:

This is an original copy (reduced) of Bill’s poem showing the footnote

he added (in imitation of my earlier directions). Also showing his

corrections after Cherry’s criticism, thus giving the poem in its

first and also its final form.

]

One day when I was typing this copy on Cherry’s typewriter, Bill came

to me with a poem he had written. He asked me to type it so that

Cherry should not recognize his writing. He wanted it to be perfectly

anonymous, for he knew anything of Bill’s would go in from our

admiration of the writer! I saw that he had copied my footnote (so as

to puzzle Cherry further) asking that an illustration be appended by

the artist on the staff!

(This poem is that forming the introduction to the second volume of

Scott’s Last Expedition.) A few days later Cherry brought me all the

MS. and was graciously pleased to compliment me on the lot—especially

the poem “Barrier Silence”! So I had to disclaim authorship—in spite

of the footnote. After some time I think he believed me, but he wanted

two lines cleared up a little and asked me to do it. I declined to

alter it, but said that evidently the author expected Bill (as artist)

to see the poem, and that I was sure that whatever he and Bill agreed

to would satisfy the author! Whereat I heard Bill chuckle, and later

it was returned to me emended as shown in the annexed facsimile.

Two explanations are perhaps helpful. The surface of the Barrier over

large areas often sinks suddenly to a slight degree when it is

disturbed by a sledge party, and this “shudder” has a very eerie

sound. The glare from the blinding surface affects the eyes much as

does a hot substance, and this is independent of the temperature.

Hence the remark, “Scorched and froze us through and through.”

Evans, Gran, and Forde had done a rapid and useful dash south to see

if the first depôts were in good order. They experienced awfully low

temperatures (below −70°!), but managed to dig out the cases at the

depôt, and restore them to a more noticeable position. It must have

been an awful job, and there was evidence of this after their return.

Forde awoke next morning to find three of his fingers black, and one

was soon attacked with gangrene! For months his right hand was bound

up, and he was unable to use it fully right through our western

journey next summer.

The geologists had to be very active, and make the most of the next

week or two to study the numerous problems confronting us in the

vicinity of Cape Evans. The sunlight made it possible to go longer

distances, and I examined Inaccessible Island, Turk’s Head, Tent

Island, Glacier Tongue, and Cape Royds in greater detail than I had

been able to do before. Thus on the 4th October I tramped six miles

south to join the survey party at Turk’s Head.

Captain Scott had brought down a bicycle—given by a New Zealand

firm—on representations from Day and myself. I had ridden many miles

over snow in France, and thought it would be useful for short trips

round headquarters on the sea-ice. I got it out this day, but could

not find the pump, and so did not use the bicycle.

I reached Turk’s Head about noon, and found the survey tent; but the

party were four hundred feet up on top of Turk’s Head. I could just

see Debenham on the summit, and got a photograph with his figure on

the skyline.

It was tolerably easy to climb up the north-east gully, and so attain

the cup-shaped hollow on the summit, which enclosed a small frozen

tarn. Wonderful crags bounded the Bluff to the south. Great pinnacles

and couloirs etched out of the basic lava cliffs, due to the biting

breath of the southern blizzard. At the head of the bay, to the north,

were steep ice-falls. These moulded themselves round slender jagged

pinnacles of rock, which one would expect to have been eroded with

great ease by almost any type of glacier.

We marched back to the survey tent in a cove two miles north, and ate

the currant cake which I had provided for lunch. Great ice-falls came

into the cove, and a huge cave was formed where they shot over the

cliff. It was thirty feet high, and went a long way into the glacier.

The sea-ice near the tent was ridged into pressure waves eight feet

high by the thrust of this glacier. I heard that they had altered in

shape while the party had been there. It was amazing to me to find so

little trace of polishing or planation under this huge glacier. We

returned close to another low outcrop called the “Slipper,” and

closely examined it. There was practically no sign of glacial action

on the rock surface just below the ice. Of course kenyte is somewhat

friable, and we occasionally found coarse bruised grooves marked on

the side of a boulder, but never any definite striæ or polishing.

Perhaps the most interesting event of the day was that we heard a

mysterious tinkle in the corner of the hut. This was Meares ringing up

headquarters from the Old Discovery Hut some fifteen miles south! He

took a roll of bare aluminum wire on the dog sledge, and just unrolled

it as he sped off to Hut Point—surely the most primitive and simplest

method of telephone-laying extant! I rang him up and asked him to keep

a look-out for my geological hammer, and then proceeded to beat Wright

at chess.

On the 8th I had a very unpleasant experience, largely owing to my own

foolhardiness. I obtained permission from Captain Scott to go off to

Turk’s Head, and said I hoped to be back by 4 p.m. He said, “Well, you

must return by dinner-time.” It was a fine, clear day; I had found the

bicycle pump, and was keen to make some use of the bicycle. I set off

boldly “to the admiration of those engaged in mending the tide gauge.

But it went stiffly, even through fairly hard snow, and I realised it

was not going to be much of a help. I had to walk half of the first

two miles, and seriously thought of leaving the bicycle at east base,

but hoped that the surface would improve. It was so hard that my boots

hardly sank in the snow, but the wheels cut a two-inch rut, while the

freewheel was of the roller type, and slipped when I put on extra

pressure. I pushed on to Glacier Tongue and had to walk half the eight

miles, and found it very tiring.”

The tongue was most interesting. In outline it somewhat resembled an

Aztec sword, where jagged bits of obsidian are inserted fairly close

together along the edge. Here the ice edge consisted of alternate

promontories and bays—owing to the sea-water occupying the troughs of

the undulating glacier. I thankfully left the bicycle here, and

climbed into the tongue. I was very stiff, and had apparently strained

my leg with unwonted exercise.

There seemed to be a very interesting cliff outcrop at the northern

root of the tongue, and I decided to visit it. It looked about half a

mile off, but the deceptive distances proved my undoing. After a rapid

walk of half an hour I only arrived at the outer zone of pressure ice

at the head of the bay. I could see that it was an interesting

spot—where the glacier capped a rock outcrop—but I dared not go

further. So I turned back, and was pretty done up when I reached the

bicycle again. It was now 3.30, and I had had nothing to eat since

8.30, and had still seven miles to do. I rested for a few minutes and

then began to feel anxious, for I got very cold. So I plugged on a

mile or so till I couldn’t walk any further, and had to rest again.

This time I felt myself chilling rapidly, and was in a quandary. I was

too knocked up to walk, and it was too cold for me to stop. “Then I

saw some one trying to climb up Turk’s Head about two miles away. I

couldn’t make him hear, and pushed on to try and intercept his return.

I didn’t get a return signal for an awful time, till he was just

passing me. It was Wright, without his glasses. He hadn’t heard me at

first, but was finally attracted by the motions of an apparently crazy

seal!” We plodded on slowly and got within a mile of the hut when I

knocked out completely. He pushed on to bring out a sledge, and found

the hut in a state of excitement; for Clissold had been brought in

nearly unconscious only a short time before.

[Illustration: The waved edge of Glacier Tongue 8–10–11]

After a short rest I managed to reach the hut unassisted, and food and

sleep made me practically all right. Poor Clissold had fallen thirty

feet off an iceberg, and was confined to his bunk for several weeks in

consequence.

I made a vow that the first bicycle ride in the Antarctic should be

_my_ last, and have every intention of keeping that vow.

On the 11th Debenham and I explored Tent Island again. As I was taking

a photograph at the south-east corner, I heard a queer noise which I

traced to a seal hole about a yard long. Inside this was a big seal

trying to get out, but with little success. I thought at first he was

trying to rub away the ice with his snout bristles, but he was really

rasping right and left with his upper teeth—making horizontal grooves

in the ice, and gradually wearing it away. We watched him for a long

time from a few feet distance, which did not seem to worry him at all.

It made my teeth ache to see the energetic way he dug into the ice;

but after trying unsuccessfully to photo him I left without seeing

that he had made much progress. These seals were now appearing in some

numbers. We counted fourteen near Tent Island, and eight just north of

Inaccessible Island, as we returned to the hut.

[Illustration: The Seal’s method of rasping away the Ice 11–10–11]

On Sunday, 15th September, the third volume of _S.P.T._ was published.

It was in the same style as the preceding copies. There was a dramatic

account in blank verse of the _Terra Nova’s_ visit to South Trinidad,

which I attributed to Nelson (but was really by Mather). Meares wrote

an ode to Ponting in which my new word “to pont” (_i.e._ to spend a

deuce of a time posing in an uncomfortable position for a photograph)

was freely used. The Eastern Party was enshrined in a “Glass House”

this time, while Bill recorded on his Egyptian tablets the wanderings

of the Western trippers during September.

Bill’s illustrations to “The Ladies’ Page,” a record of Antarctic

fashions, were some of the best he had done; especially Madame Bowers

and Miss Jessie Debenham, coyly proposing to Titus Oates!

I have given the history of Wilson’s pathetic poem previously. We used

to talk a good deal about the advantages of “wireless,” and I tried to

embody the idea in a poem of sorts, which here follows, in which are

mentioned scenes familiar to various members, such as Oxford (Cherry);

Cambridge (Wilson, Wright, Nelson, Taylor); Ski-ing in Norway (Gran);

the Canadian muskeg (Wright); Australian Alps (Debenham, Taylor);

Japan (Ponting, Meares); India (Simpson, Oates, Bowers).

[Illustration: “Polar Wireless”]

I.

When the southern blizzard surges from the white plains of the

Barrier,

Covering all with deadly snow-wreaths, blotting out both land and

sea:

Can it break the magic cables linking us to every region

Where we spent our days of study, days of youth and revelry?

Half the world is our possession, nought can curb imagination,

Though we’re wrapped in folds of deerskin, camped amid a field of

ice,

By the blessed help of fancy, still we’re free to wander gaily

Through the wooded lanes of England—true explorer’s paradise.

II.

By the happy help of fancy we can leave the land of glaciers,

Hear the tolling from Tom Tower, or the chimes from Cambridge

arches,

Sense the thrill of ski-ers’ prowess on the slopes of Holmens Kol;

Once again can feel the tump-line as we cross the Muskeg Marshes;

We can change the Slopes of Terror to the sward of Kosciusko,

Where a thousand steers are grazing ’mid the tarns and green

moraines;

See the land of Cherry Blossom and the maidens of Japan,

Or the peaks of Himalaya hung above the Indian plains.

III.

Lightly fades the lonely igloo; merges in the college gray ...

In the firesides of Old England, thirteen thousand miles away.

Thus from Lonelands to the Homelands all our thoughts are speeding

forth,

Faster far than wire or wireless—on “stretched wings towards the

north.”[9]

_Cape Evans_, 27.10.11.

I had an interesting midnight walk early on the 15th October. “I had

no gloves on, and it was light enough to photograph. There was a

beautiful red sunset due south. To the north the bay ice was

pea-green, while Erebus shone out with purple shadows. I laid boundary

stones at the ice margins of both Skua and Island lakes, to determine

how quickly the ice ablated in the spring. That evening I caused a

sensation by having a shave, the first since leaving New Zealand.

Birdie, Simpson, and Cherry behaved most foolishly as a result. Day

did the deed!”

We found the Hut Point telephone useful for weather forecasting. For

instance, on the 16th Meares rang up at 11 a.m. to say that it was

blizzing (with force 9) from the south with a temperature of −16° F.

At this time, though only fifteen miles away, we were experiencing a

moderate north wind (force 3) with a temperature of −3° F. “As a

result Titus bet Teddy Evans that the blizzard would arrive before

noon. The wager was six cigarettes. No blizzard arrived at all, so

that Teddy won, but as he had given up smoking for some months he only

took one for Debenham!”

On the 17th Debenham and I went over to Shackleton’s hut to spend a

few days geologizing. We took a small sledge with about 100 lbs. load.

Soon we came to patches of bare sea-ice just leprous with blobs of

salty snow. I was chagrined to find we could hardly drag our light

sledge across. It augured badly for the 1200 lbs. we should have to

pull in a week or so! We saw Emperor penguin tracks, but no birds, and

reached the hut at 1 p.m. We ate some biscuits and then went out to

photograph the vicinity. Here the Erebus glacier is about three miles

to the east, so that Cape Royds is a very much larger area of exposed

rock than Cape Evans. We walked along Black Sand Beach—almost the only

beach I saw with rolled pebbles—and passed below quite a large glacier

emerging from a gully. It had a 30-foot face of banded ice with fine

snow cornices. I was surprised to see this, and climbed up to

determine what was its source of supply. Then I found it was “all

face” and no background. It was in fact merely a gigantic snowdrift

plastered on the face of a 50-foot rock-cliff, and proved that many of

our smaller glaciers were nothing but case-hardened snowdrifts which

had solidified _in situ_.

We returned to Shackleton’s hut, and I had a varied lunch off mock

turtle soup, mutton cutlets, and unlimited candied peel! We cleared up

the hut, which was in an awful mess, Deb arranging the stores and

mending the stove, while I swept up the floor.

“We made up a bit of fire with some coal we found in one corner and

turned into our bags. All next day it blew frightfully hard. There was

a huge iron boiler which we gradually thawed out and used for water,

but we used an enamel jug as a kettle. We made porridge and ate it

from huge wooden spoons. I read ‘The Truants’ (Mason) and half the

‘Botor Chaperon’ (Williamson). The hut groaned and creaked so that I

thought it would blow in sunder, but we were comfortable enough. We

hunted up some hypo, a large lamp, and 50 lbs. of carbide. I found a

useable pair of fingered gloves, which were just what I wanted for

instrument work.”

Next morning it was blowing hard, but there was less drift. We went

out to try a photo, and the blizzard blew my camera down and smashed

the frame. After lunch it “let up” somewhat, and we set off for Cape

Evans. We saw an Emperor penguin crouched behind a snowdrift. It was

the first of the season, and Debenham was anxious to get a photo. He

stalked the penguin with great care, to my secret glee, for I had

noticed before that it was stone dead!

Next day I packed my ditty bag with personal gear for the summer

journey. We were allowed 12 lbs. each. My choice was as follows:—

3 pairs _socks_, with Taylor’s patent heel-tips!

1 hat.

1 pair finger gloves.

1 diary, 1 Browning, 1 German grammar.

This totalled 7 lbs., and I decided to omit spare underclothing and

take a small eiderdown weighing 4½ lbs. It struck me that it would be

as comforting as Debenham’s 3 lbs. of tobacco, and last longer!

“In the afternoon we ‘ponted’ for a game of football for the

cinematograph. It was awfully good fun. The Owner was centre forward

(running to the north), and he arranged that his side should win, to

ensure an exciting picture! Atkinson was given space for a fine run

in. Unfortunately in trying to cleverly miss a collar I slipped, and

he fell over my feet. Titus was a sight, waddling after a man and then

falling flat. Half the people got confused with the Owner’s yells to

‘Keep the ball in the middle and up to the goal,’ so that many of our

side kicked it to their own goal! Crean truculently swore no one

should get a goal if he could help it, and spoilt all Atkinson’s

efforts, so that they scored nothing! Unfortunately Debenham strained

his knee defending goal, and has been on his back since. We shall

start west with Forde’s right arm useless and Debenham’s leg crocked!”

On the 21st Scott gave me my sledging orders. The method of our relief

by the ship seemed rather comic. We were first of all to find Granite

Harbour and then recognize a 500-foot bluff, photographed on page 154

in “The Voyage of the _Discovery_.” Here we were to await Captain

Pennell in mid-January. No one on the ship had seen Granite Harbour

either. As will be seen later, the harbour was a dozen miles wrong

longitude, and the only bluff which at all resembled the picture was

1650 high! We rendezvoused there as required, but our letters and flag

on the bluff remain undisturbed to this day!

Gran accompanied me for a walk two miles west to the great shear

crack, and there we spent some hours with pick and shovel cutting a

path through the upturned blocks of sea-ice, here 5 feet high.

Day started the motor sledges on the 23rd October. The motor party

consisted of Evans and Lashley with one motor sledge, and Day and

Hooper with the other. There was a fearful array of cameras carried by

Scott, Gran, Wright, and myself, while Ponting had a regular battery

(including a cinematograph) loaded on his “pantechnicon”! Two troubles

hampered the motors. The “pattens,” or wooden soles on the two tractor

belts, would not grip the surface unless it consisted of hard snow.

Just off the Cape was a belt of smooth sea-ice with a thin layer of

snow over it, and the belts churned rapidly over this without moving

the sledge forward. They got them past this by laying down sacks, etc.

Then the motors were air-cooled, and apparently this was not

sufficient to keep the cylinders from overheating, especially as the

sledges went much slower than the ordinary motor car, and so only a

small current of cold air flowed past the two front cylinders and less

past the two rear cylinders. Moreover, the carburettor would not work

satisfactorily when the engine was down to Antarctic temperatures, and

it was necessary to warm it with a blow lamp! After some delays and

readjustments they got the sledges well under weigh to Big Razorback

Island.

Nelson, Wright, and I decided to traverse the Barne Glacier (to the

north) and align the stakes which Nelson had planted in the preceding

February. We hoped to detect enough movement to give us the velocity

of the glacier.

The new canvas overshoes, with spiked aluminium soles, were a godsend

for slippery ice work, and we found them a wonderful help. Wright went

first, carrying a theodolite; then Nelson, with the food, and I had my

camera and an ice-axe. We were roped up, for we had to cross many

small crevasses. The stakes were generally made of barrel staves, and

only half of them had withstood the winter.

[Illustration:

BERNARD DAY ON THE MOTOR SLEDGE JUST BEFORE HE STARTED FOR THE SOUTH,

OCT. 23, 1911.

The engine is enclosed in a box to keep it warm, and the blow lamp was

to start the carburettor.

]

[Illustration:

THE START OF THE MOTOR SLEDGES, OCT., 1911.

Notice Evans swinging round the sledge and Day’s flag. To the left is

Ponting being towed as he cinematographs.

]

We soon reached the “nail-stake,” which showed the safe western route

to Shackleton’s Hut. The stakes here turned to the north and crossed a

wide gully, and then climbed up a steep shoulder with open crevasses,

which we had to negotiate by jumping. We reached the fixed moraines,

and while Wright set up the theodolite (and anathematized his frozen

fingers!) we discussed hot cocoa from a Thermos flask, and biscuits

and chocolate. The end stakes did not appear to have moved much, but

as we marched back on their line we found very perceptible evidence of

movement to the west. Fourteen inches at first, then 7, 12, 14, 15,

15, 22, and 16 feet respectively, till we again reached the

“nail-stake.” It was rather difficult aligning the stakes, owing to

the crevasses, but though some were ten feet wide they were all open

and so perfectly obvious and safe. “Nelson slipped in his felt boots,

but we could have walked up an ice wall in our new spiked crampons!”

The largest movement was in the ice valley, and though the maximum 22

feet was not certain, yet there was no doubt about the record of 15

feet. This was not nearly so much as recorded elsewhere for other

Antarctic glaciers; but it must be remembered that only the ten

_coldest_ months were involved in this test.

[Illustration:

Ice crampons, devised in the winter 1911.

]

On the 26th Captain Scott took two parties to see if he could assist

the motor party, who seemed to be held up near Glacier Tongue. We saw

no trace of them till near the Tongue. Here we saw a black object,

which, however, turned out to be a seal scratching himself, though I

had felt able to recognize a motor and its driver!