SAFE ABOARD
As we were all thoroughly exhausted and had reached a spot from which
we could get a good view of the ocean beyond Drygalski Barrier, we
camped at 10.30 P.M. on that evening (February 3) a little over a mile
away from our depot.
During that day we had two of the most satisfying meals we had eaten
for a very long time; a soupy mincemeat of penguin for lunch, and
plenty of seal for dinner.
And after the second meal Mawson and I turned into the sleeping-bag,
leaving Mackay to take the first of our four-hour watches on the
look-out for the _Nimrod_. During his watch he walked up to the depot
and dug out our biscuit tin, which had served us as a blubber lamp and
cooker, together with the cut-down paraffin tin which we had used as a
frying-pan, and carried them to the tent.
Then he cooked some penguin meat and regaled himself with dainty
morsels from the savoury dish, and when he called me at 4 A.M. I found
that he had thoughtfully put into the frying-pan about two pounds of
penguin's breast for me to toy with during my watch.
During the afternoon of the 4th we discussed our future plans, and
decided that we had better at once move the tent up to our old depot,
where it would be a conspicuous object from the sea, and where, too, we
could command a more extensive view of the ocean.
[Illustration: A view of the Hut in the Summer. Meteorological Station
can be seen on the extreme right. (_See page 60_)]
We also talked about what it would be best to do if the Nimrod did
not appear, and determined that we ought to tackle the journey to Hut
Point, keeping ourselves alive on the way, as best we might, with
seal-meat.
While, however, Mackay thought we ought to start in a few days, Mawson
and I, on the other hand, thought that we should wait where we were
until late in February. From whatever point of view we looked at it,
our lot was not a happy one.
Dispirited, indeed, by forebodings of much toil and trouble, we were
just preparing to set our weary limbs in motion to pack up and trek
up to the depot, when--Bang! went something, seemingly close to the
door of our tent. The sound thrilled us; in another instant the air
reverberated with a big boom, much louder than the first sound.
Mawson was the first to give tongue, roaring out, "A gun from the
ship!" and dived for the tent door. As the latter was narrow there was
for the moment some congestion of traffic. I dashed my head forwards,
only in time to receive a few kicks from the departing Mawson. Just as
I was recovering my equilibrium, Mackay made a wild charge, rode me
down, and trampled over my prostrate body.
When at last I got started, Mawson had got a lead of a hundred and
Mackay of about fifty yards. "Bring something to wave," Mawson shouted,
and rushing back to the tent I seized Mackay's ruck-sack.
And then as I ran forward again, what a sight met my gaze! Not a
quarter of a mile away was the dear old Nimrod, steaming straight
towards us up the inlet, and at the sight of the three of us hastening
frantically to meet the ship, hearty ringing cheers burst forth from
all on board.
It would be hard, indeed, for anyone who has never been situated as
we had been, to realise the sudden revulsion of our feelings, or to
understand how those cheers stirred every fibre within us. In a moment,
as dramatic as it was heavenly, we seemed to have passed from death
into life.
My first feelings were of intense joy and relief, then of fervent
gratitude to the kind Providence which had so mercifully led our
friends to our deliverance.
Suddenly, however, a shout from Mackay called me back to earth:
"Mawson's fallen into a deep crevasse--look out, it's just in front of
you," he called, and I saw him kneeling near the edge of a small oblong
hole in the névé.
"Are you all right, Mawson?" he asked, and from the depth came up the
welcome word, "Yes."
Mackay then told me that Mawson was about twenty feet down the
crevasse, and we decided to try to pull him up with the sledge harness
and hurried back to get it. Our combined strength, however, was not
enough to pull him up, and as there was a danger of the snow lid at
the surface falling in on Mawson unless it was strengthened with some
planking, we gave up our attempt, I remaining at the crevasse while
Mackay hurried off for help to the Nimrod.
"Mawson has fallen down a crevasse, and we got to the Magnetic Pole,"
Mackay called out, and almost in less time than it takes to write it
officers and sailors were swarming over the bows of the _Nimrod_ and
dropping on to the ice barrier.
I called to Mawson that help was at hand, and he replied that he was
quite comfortable, for although there was seawater at the bottom of
the crevasse, he was able to sustain himself a couple of feet above it
on the small ledge that had stopped his fall.
Meanwhile, the rescue party, headed by J. K. Davis, the first officer
of the _Nimrod_, had arrived, and when the crevasse had been bridged
with a piece of sawn timber, Davis, with the thoroughness which
characterised all his work, promptly had himself lowered down the
crevasse. And presently Mawson, with only his back slightly bruised
from this fall, and then Davis were safely on the top.
What a joyous grasping of hands and hearty all-round welcoming
followed, and foremost among those old friends who greeted us was
Captain Evans who had commanded the _Koonya_, and who was then
in command of the _Nimrod_, a fact which gave us the greatest
satisfaction. Quickly he assured me of the good health of my wife
and family, and while willing hands packed up our sledge and other
belongings, Captain Evans walked with us to the rope ladder hanging
over the bows of the _Nimrod_.
Quickly as all this had taken place, Mackay had already found time to
secure a pipe and some tobacco from one of our crew, and was pulling
away to his heart's content.
After our one hundred and twenty-two days of hard toil over the sea ice
of the coast, and the great snow desert of the Hinterland, the little
ship seemed to us as luxurious as an ocean liner. Pleasantly the buzz
of our friends' voices--giving us all the news--blended itself with the
gentle fizzing of steam from the _Nimrod's_ boiler, and surely since
the days of John Gilpin "were never folk so glad" as were we three.
Afternoon tea came first and then the joy of reading the home letters,
and finding good news in them. Later we three had a novel experience,
the first real wash for over four months, and after diligent scrubbing
bits of our real selves began to show through the covering of seal-oil
and soot.
Of course we over-ate ourselves at dinner, but all the same we were
ready to partake liberally of hot cocoa and biscuits before we turned
in at 10 P.M.
Under Providence we felt we owed our lives to the thorough search,
sound judgment and fine seamanship of Captain Evans, and the devotion
to duty of his officers and crew.
My last thought in the twilight that comes between wakefulness and
sleep is expressed in the words of our favourite record on the
gramophone, "So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still will lead
me on."