RIO TO SOUTH GEORGIA
Sir Ernest Shackleton lost no time in going ashore to make arrangements
for the necessary work, and set it going with the least possible delay.
Messrs. Wilson, Sons & Co. were appointed agents, and their engineer,
Mr. Howard, came aboard the same day. In addition, a consulting
engineer was employed to make a report on the condition of the engines.
The crank-shaft was badly out of alignment, and from this had resulted
all the other disabilities which had so continuously cropped up during
the voyage. It was considered also that the heavy four-bladed propeller
was too great a strain for the small engines, and that a lighter
two-bladed propeller, giving of a greater number of revolutions, would
prove more satisfactory. The scarfed topmast, which had been badly
strained, required renewing, for which purpose it would be necessary to
take out the foremast.
It was decided also, whilst this work was in process, to recaulk and
tar the hull.
On the second day we moved across the harbour to Wilson’s Island,
where the ship was emptied of all stores and equipment, which were
placed for the time being in a large covered lighter. A large floating
crane, of which we were allowed the use by courtesy of the Brazilian
Government, was placed alongside, and the foremast taken out and placed
in the sheds. This completed, the ship was placed on the slips and
the work proceeded rapidly, the firm concentrating their resources to
get us ready for sea in the shortest possible time. Mr. Howard worked
unceasingly on our behalf, and we received at all times the greatest
help from all responsible members of the firm.
Sir Ernest Shackleton decided during the early part of the voyage that
the living accommodation, which had been adequate for his original
scheme, was insufficient for a programme which entailed prolonged
periods aboard ship, and planned an addition to the deck-house. The
existing structure was carried forward to within a few feet of the
foremast and the new portion made two feet broader on each side.
This meant enclosing the main hatch, but the difficulty was overcome
by building another hatch in the roof of the deck-house and cutting
the coamings of the original hatch flush with the deck. Although an
uncomfortable arrangement in many ways, it had the advantage that
Macklin could open it up at any time he wished to go below independent
of weather conditions, for under the old arrangement the getting up of
stores was limited to fine weather, there being no other access to the
hold than through the hatch, rendering the work in other conditions
very dangerous.
Whilst this work was in progress it was impossible to live aboard,
and a number of the British residents offered to billet the different
members of the expedition in their houses. To Mr. and Mrs. Causer,
Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd, the Secretary of the British Club, and the members
of the Leopoldina Chacara I must take this opportunity of offering my
most sincere thanks for their kindness and hospitality. Thanks are due,
not only to these “godparents” (as we called them), but to others too
numerous to mention, from the British Minister downwards, from all of
whom we received the greatest hospitality and who took a keen interest
in our project.
In spite of all the energy employed in getting the _Quest_ ready for
sea, it became apparent that it would take fully four weeks to complete
the work. The delays caused through repairs since leaving England had
now amounted to six weeks. It would be quite impossible to carry out
the programme and reach Cape Town in time to enter the ice this season.
It was this factor which caused Sir Ernest to decide to abandon, or
postpone, the first part of the programme and make direct for South
Georgia. Unfortunately, much of our scientific apparatus, stores and
nearly all the special winter equipment, clothing, sledges, etc., had
been sent to Cape Town, which was to have been our base of operations.
Sir Ernest decided, however, that much of the foodstuff necessary
to make up the deficiencies could be obtained locally, and hoped to
get sledges, dogs and winter clothing at South Georgia. The German
_Deutschland_ expedition, under Filchner, had been abandoned there,
and when we visited the island in 1914 we found that the whole of the
equipment had been carefully stored and was in excellent condition.
Sir Ernest hoped that much of this would still be available. Previous
to this, in the belief that we should still be carrying on the full
programme, the aeroplane had been sent on to the Cape by mail steamer,
and we should therefore be compelled to do without it at the time when
it would be of the greatest value. At the end of the month most of
the essential work had been completed, but there was still much that
required doing. Mr. Howard was anxious that we should delay another
week to enable him to put in the necessary finishing touches, but
already we were late, and the Boss decided that further delay was
impossible.
The new addition to the deck-house, intended as a forward messroom,
was a mere unfinished shell. Four bunks were hastily and roughly
knocked up, and we left with no other furniture than a plain deal
table, which was built round a central stanchion, and two benches.
I may say here of the work put in for us at Rio by Messrs. Wilson &
Sons that it was all good and reliable, and withstood all the usage
to which it was subjected, and Kerr never again had any trouble with
the engines beyond minor adjustments. Mr. Howard had done all that was
possible short of building new engines, which he maintained was what
we required, making no secret of his opinion that the present ones
were unsuitable for the work to be undertaken. There was nothing for
it, however, but to go forward, and Sir Ernest, though fully alive to
the _Quest’s_ disabilities, determined to do the best possible under
the circumstances. He had that peculiar nature which shows at its best
under difficulties. He was the most undefeated and unconquerable man
I have ever known. His whole life had been spent in forcing his way
against what to most people must have seemed unsurmountable obstacles.
Yet he had always triumphed, and I, who knew him, felt no doubt that he
would carry this expedition through to a successful conclusion. Yet,
if the reader will but cast his mind over the part of this book which
he has read and think of how, since the inception of the expedition,
one difficulty after another had risen to baulk the enterprise, and how
on board the ship one thing after another had gone wrong and required
repair, he will agree that the Boss might well have thrown in his hand
and retired from the unequal struggle. But nothing could have been more
foreign to his mind—each obstacle but strengthened his resolve to carry
on, and we who served with him never for one moment felt distrust or
doubt that under his leadership all would go well.
Whilst at Rio a change was made in the personnel. Eriksen returned
home, and three new men were taken on: Young and Argles as stokers, and
Naisbitt as cook’s mate.
We left Wilson’s wharf on December 17th, and lay at anchor for the
night in a small bay on the Nictheroy side, close to the entrance to
the harbour. In the morning we made a final complete stowage, lashing
securely all the loose articles on deck and getting the ship trimmed
ready for sea. Whilst we were engaged in this an urgent message was
sent by motor boat for Dr. Macklin to go to Sir Ernest, who had slept
ashore as the guest of the Leopoldina Chacara, and who had been taken
suddenly ill. Macklin went off at once, but on arrival found him fully
recovered, saying that he had merely felt a slight faintness and had
really sent for him to know whether the stores were complete. That
this attack had a greater significance than was appreciated at the time
later events showed.
We set off on December 18th. Sir Ernest, who had naturally worried a
good deal over the continual troubles which cropped up, became once
more his old cheery self, looking forward to a respite from further
alarms regarding the welfare of the ship.
[Illustration: LANDING THE SHORE PARTY AT ST. PAUL’S ROCKS
_Photo: Wilkins_]
[Illustration: THE WHITE-CAPPED NODDY (_ANOUS STOLIDUS_) ON ST.
PAUL’S ROCKS
_Photo: Wilkins_]
[Illustration: THE BOOBY (_SULA LEUCOGASTRA_)
_Photo: Wilkins_]
On the day of sailing Jeffrey suffered an injury to his leg which
Macklin pronounced serious, and ordered three weeks’ complete rest
in bed, to which Jeffrey, being an active man, none too willingly
assented. As a matter of fact, as a result of this injury he was
incapacitated for nearly six weeks. Sir Ernest kept his watch.
The first few days at sea were fine and pleasantly cool. The old system
of watches was altered, the men taking their turns at the wheel in
rotation, following alphabetical order. For the day’s work they were
called at 7.0 A.M. and knocked off at 5.0 P.M. The messes were divided.
Sir Ernest, myself, Hussey, McIlroy, Worsley, Macklin, Kerr, Jeffrey,
Carr and Douglas messed in the new wardroom forward, and Smith took
charge of the after messroom, with Dell, McLeod, Marr, Young, Argles
and Watts. Green and Naisbitt messed in the galley.
Three of the bunks in the forward messroom were occupied by McIlroy,
Kerr and Carr, the fourth being used as a locker for their personal
gear.
Although we had increased the accommodation, it was still far from
being commodious, and the bare, unfinished condition of the new
quarters offered little comfort. “Roddy” Carr was appointed to make
some cupboards and shelves, and his work, though a bit rough and
ready, answered its purpose well, which was the main thing. Hussey
congratulated him on his new appointment as joiner, calling him
thereafter “Roddy Carr-penter,” which I can assure my readers is the
least of the atrocious puns which we endured from him. Always a cheery
soul, his very presence was worth much to us on the trip, for it is the
small jest which goes farthest and still sparkles when the more subtle
wit has fallen flat.
On December 22nd we saw our first albatross, a fine “Wanderer” which
attached itself to the ship and followed us on our way South. We saw
also a “Portuguese man-o’-war.” The two form a combination rarely seen
in the same latitude (30° 47´ S.).
The albatross has a wonderful flight, and our flying experts, Carr
and Wilkins, watched the bird as it soared and dipped and “banked” and
“stalled” and performed numerous evolutions, for each of which they had
a technical or a slang expression.
I had the 4.0-8.0 A.M. watch on December 24th, during which the wind
blew up wet and misty and came ahead. The Boss gave instructions to
call the hands to take in sail. Whilst the square-sail was being taken
in a corner carrying a heavy block and shackle was whipped across the
deck, catching Carr a violent blow in the face. He was badly stunned,
but picked himself up, with hand to face, blood flowing freely from
between his fingers. When examined, it was found that his nose was
broken. After some trouble the surgeons replaced the bones in position,
but Carr, standing in front of a looking-glass, attempted to improve
the work, with the result that the operation had to be carried out a
second time, with pertinent remarks from Hussey as to the effects upon
his personal appearance if further interfered with.
Later in the day the mist cleared and the sun came out. In the evening
we were able to set sail again.
[Illustration: COMMANDER WORSLEY SUPERINTENDING WORK IN THE RIGGING AT
RIO DE JANEIRO
_Photo: Dr. Macklin_]
[Illustration: THE _QUEST_ IN GRITVIKEN HARBOUR. MORANEN FIORD AND THE
ALLARDYCE RANGE BEHIND
_Photo: Wilkins_]
This being Christmas Eve, we sat after supper and talked of the various
Christmases we had spent. Each man pictured the Christmas he would like
to spend to-morrow if he got the chance. It is funny how we cling,
in spite of long years of disillusionment, to the mind-pictures of
our childhood, and conjure up visions of a snow-covered countryside,
with robins, holly trees, waits, and all the things that go into the
Christmas card. We forget the warm, wet, miserable Christmas days; and
perhaps it is just as well.
Our position, situated as we were in the midst of a waste of stormy
waters, was not an ideal one, but we looked forward to celebrating
Christmas in a cheery way. Mr. and Mrs. Rowett had sent us as a parting
gift a big box of Christmas fare, which included such delicacies as
turkeys, hams, plum puddings, and muscatels and raisins. The evening
was fine, and in spite of sundry croakings from Hussey, our weather
prophet, we anticipated a cheery Christmas dinner.
During the night it became apparent that a gale was brewing, and
Hussey’s prediction seemed to be only too correct, for by Christmas
morning the _Quest_ was heaving and pitching and behaving in such a
lively manner that we saw that any attempt at festivity on this day
would be futile. At breakfast-time it was almost impossible to keep
anything on the table; cups, plates and crockery generally were thrown
about, and the fiddles proved useless to keep them in position. We
therefore put away Mrs. Rowett’s delicacies for a more favourable
occasion. Green had a hard and trying time in his galley. The Boss told
him not to bother about serving a decent lunch, but to serve out each
man with a good thick bully-beef sandwich. This we ate in the shelter
of the alleyways, well braced against the roll of the ship. It was a
pleasant surprise when Green was able to produce some hot cocoa, which
from its taste I suspected to have been made from engine-room water. It
was, however, hot and wet and comforting to our chilled bodies.
For our Christmas dinner we had a thick stew, which was not bad. Two
bottles also materialized, one of rum and one of whisky. Each man was
allowed a tot of whichever he preferred. Rum, being the stronger, was
generally selected. The Boss gave us the toast of “Our good friends,
John and Ellie Rowett,” which we drank enthusiastically. Afterwards the
Boss asked each man where he had spent the last Christmas, and it was
interesting to find how much scattered over the globe we had been. The
Boss was in London, McIlroy and myself were in Central Africa, Worsley
in Iceland, Macklin in Singapore, Jeffrey in New York, Kerr in Hamburg,
Carr in Lithuania, McLeod in Mauritius, Naisbitt in Rio, and Young in
Cape Town. Green was wandering somewhere round the East as steward of
a tramp steamer, and of all of us only the Boss, Hussey and Marr, the
Boy Scout, seemed to have spent theirs at home.
During the day we were visited by numbers of sea birds which seemed
to be in no way perturbed by the high winds: albatross, whale birds,
Mother Carey’s chickens, Cape pigeons and a Cape hen. It was cheering
to see them again, these old friends of ours, and to watch their flight
as they sailed cleverly from the shelter of one wave to another, rarely
meeting the full force of the gale.
On the 26th the weather had abated somewhat, though a strong wind
continued to blow from the west. The temperature dropped to 60° F.,
making the air quite chilly, and we were glad to don heavier clothing.
Kerr came to me with a report that the forward water tank was empty.
He had sounded several times, and had gone below to tap the sides,
the tank yielding a hollow note, so that there was no doubt about it.
The small after tank, which had been freely used since leaving Rio de
Janeiro, was also nearly empty, so that there was very little fresh
water left on the ship. It was necessary to report this to Sir Ernest,
though I did not like doing so, for I knew that the former troubles had
caused him much worry, and he was now in hopes that he had heard the
last of them. Though he took the news, which was serious enough, in
all calmness, I could see that it caused him some uneasiness. We had
to economize rigidly in the use of what water was left, using it for
cooking and drinking purposes only, and making the best use we could of
sea water for washing and cleaning. There was a small exhaust tank in
the engine-room, which collected the steam after it had passed through
the cylinders. The amount of water from this source was small, and
tasted somewhat oily, but it helped to eke out the supply. Kerr removed
the tank lid and made a search from inside for the site of the leak,
which proved fortunately to be not in the walls of the tank itself but
at the junction with the feed pipe.
During the night of the 27th-28th the wind again freshened. I had the
middle watch. By 2.0 A.M. a furious gale was blowing from the W.N.W.
Rapidly rising seas came along in quick succession with big curling
tops, and breaking with a roar ran along our rails with a venomous
hiss. The wind was on our starboard quarter, and under topsail and
square-sail we made good speed before it. The ship’s log registered
nine knots. With each drive forward of the big seas the ship overran
her engines, ultimately compelling us to shut off steam. We were making
such good headway that I was loath to heave-to, and we continued to
rush along in a smother of foam and spray, veering and twisting to
such an extent that the man at the wheel had all his work cut out to
maintain a course and prevent her from broaching-to. I was afraid that
some of the gear might carry away, and strained continuously into the
darkness ahead. There was, however, something about the leap and swing
of the ship as she tore along that caused our spirits to rise and
created a tremendous feeling of uplift.
I was relieved at 4.0 A.M. by Worsley, who carried on for another two
hours. At 6.0 A.M. the seas had risen to such an extent that Sir Ernest
decided to heave-to, and all hands were called to take in sail. Putting
the ship straight before the wind we let go the square-sail with a run,
all hands rushing forward to gather up the canvas and stow it securely.
Dell, jumping to assist another man, got his foot caught in a coil of
rope, which, running out at high speed, threw him violently off his
feet, causing an injury from which he took months to recover. We let
go the topsail sheets and started to clew up, the wind causing the sail
to flap with loud reports and bending the yard like a bow. Worsley and
Macklin clambered aloft to take it in and pass the gaskets which secure
it to the yard.
The gale increased in violence. I was agreeably surprised with the
_Quest’s_ behaviour, for she lay-to much more comfortably than I had
expected, and took comparatively little water over her sides. There
was enough, however, to make things uncomfortable, for it filled the
waist of the ship, flooded the cabins, and sweeping along the alleyways
entered the galley and extinguished the fires. Green stuck valiantly to
his post and managed at each meal-time to serve us out some good solid
sandwiches and, what was of especial value under the circumstances,
a good hot drink, which sent a warm glow through our arteries and put
new life into us. We considerably reduced the amount of water coming
on board by placing a series of oil bags over the bow, which subdued
the seas in a manner scarcely credible except to those who watched its
effect upon them, as with breaking tops they rushed angrily upon us,
suddenly to lose all their sting and slip harmless under our keel. With
regard to the use of oil bags, if they are to be used at all, it is
necessary to let the oil run freely, though not necessarily wastefully.
Small driblets are valueless and not worth the trouble of putting over
the side.
The next day there was still a strong sea running, but it was merely
the aftermath of the gale, which lost its sting about midnight. In
the morning the sun came out and brightened things up considerably.
Later in the day we were able to set sail and proceed on our way.
Our friendly sea-birds, which had disappeared during the worst of the
storm, returned and followed in our wake.
We had not long been under way when Sir Ernest approached, saying
quietly: “Wild, you came to me with bad news the other day; I have some
news for you.”
“Good or bad?” I asked.
“Bad,” he replied; “worse than yours; bad enough perhaps to stop the
expedition.”
He then told me that Kerr, who had been the harbinger of so much evil
tidings, had again to report the discovery of a most serious condition.
Whilst cleaning fires he had discovered a leak in the furnace from
which the water bubbled out and ran in a thin stream down the sides. He
was unable to state definitely the exact condition, which could not be
examined until our arrival in South Georgia, as it required that the
fires should be drawn to enable him to creep bodily into the furnace.
He explained that it might be a small matter which could be repaired,
or it might prove to be so serious that the boiler could not be used
further. In spite of the quiet way in which Sir Ernest took this news,
and the calm which he outwardly exhibited, I think it proved to be a
pretty severe blow and the cause of a good deal of worry.
Indeed, all this recurrence of trouble from below decks, in departments
which he personally had not been able to supervise, must have proved
very trying. From the very first inception of the expedition he had had
difficulties innumerable which might well have broken the spirit of a
lesser man.
For the present Kerr was instructed to keep a watchful eye on the
condition and, unless it appeared to be getting worse, to carry on
under reduced pressure.
The wind again blew up to a moderate gale from the westward on December
30th, much less severe, however, than the last one, though with very
violent squalls. We ran off before it, making good speed, and though
the rising seas rushed down upon our stern as if to poop us, the
_Quest_ rose to let them pass frothing and sizzling, but harmless,
under our counter.
Towards evening, however, both wind and sea had increased, and Sir
Ernest decided to take in sail and heave-to. Much water came on board
and found its way into Sir Ernest’s cabin and my own, the doors of
which opened on to the waist of the ship. The bunks were sodden,
so much so that Sir Ernest left his and made up a bed on one of the
benches in the wardroom, refusing to deprive any other man of his bunk.
During the long spell of bad weather he had spent nearly the whole time
on the bridge, and though I repeatedly suggested to him that he should
lie down and rest, he would not do so. On this particular night he took
Worsley’s watch as well as his own, so that Worsley’s rest might not
be disturbed. He was always doing little things like this for other
people.
About this time I began to feel a little bit uneasy, for it seemed to
me that he was doing too much and subjecting himself to too great a
strain.
Macklin’s diary shows that he had the wheel during the second
dog-watch, and was relieved at 8.0 P.M. by Sir Ernest, who told him to
lash the wheel and go to bed.
Macklin noticed, however, that the Boss was looking tired and ill,
and urged him to call Worsley (whose real watch it was) and turn in
himself. The Boss would not hear of it, saying:
“You boys are tired and need all the sleep you can get.”
The diary says:
He was looking so tired that I offered with some diffidence, for
I am not a trained seaman, to stay on myself, saying that on the
least sign of anything untoward happening I would blow a whistle.
Somehow or other a long conversation ensued, in which he told me
many things. He said:
“If this crack in the furnace proves serious I may have to abandon
the expedition—my reputation will stand it—but I am not beaten;
John Rowett understands me, and will trust me to make the best of
things, even if I have to get a new ship.”
He reverted to his original northern scheme, saying:
“The _Quest_ would have been suitable for that; in the Davis
Strait, even if we lost her, we should have had no difficulty in
reaching land, where we could subsist on game and carry on without
her.”
So ended the Old Year. New Year’s Day brought us a calm sea with long
oily swell, and over all a drenching mist. Being a Sunday little work
was done, and all hands were allowed a rest after the somewhat trying
days we had just experienced.
With the new year Sir Ernest Shackleton again commenced to write in his
journal, which I insert verbatim.
_January 1st, 1922._
Rest and calm after the storm. The year has begun kindly for us;
it is curious how a certain date becomes a factor and a milestone
in one’s life. Christmas Day in a raging gale seemed out of
place. I dared not venture to hope that to-day would be as it was.
Anxiety has been probing deeply into me, for until the very end
of the year things have gone awry. Engines unreliable; furnace
cracked; water short; heavy gales; all that physically can go
wrong, but the spirit of all on board is sound and good.
There are two points in the adventures of a diver,
One when a beggar he prepares to plunge,
One when a prince he rises with his pearl.
_January 2nd, 1922._
Another wonderful day, fine, clear, a slight head wind, but
cheerful for us after these last days of stress and strain. At 1
P.M. we passed our first berg. The old familiar sight aroused in
me memories that the strenuous years had deadened. Blue caverns
shone with sky-glow snatched from heaven itself, green spurs
showed beneath the water.
And bergs mast high
Came sailing by,
As green as emerald.
Ah me! the years that have gone since in the pride of young
manhood I first went forth to the fight. I grow old and tired, but
must always lead on.
_January 3rd, 1922._
Another beautiful day; fortune seems to attend us this New
Year, but so anxious have I been, when things are going well, I
wonder what internal difficulty will be sprung upon me. All day
long a light wind and clear sky was our happy portion. I find
a difficulty in settling down to write—I am so much on the _qui
vive_; I pray that the furnace will hold out.
Thankful that I can
Be crossed and thwarted as a man.
_January 4th, 1922._
At last, after sixteen days of turmoil and anxiety, on a peaceful
sunshiny day, we came to anchor in Gritviken. How familiar the
coast seemed as we passed down: we saw with full interest the
places we struggled over after the boat journey. Now we must speed
all we can, but the prospect is not too bright, for labour is
scarce. The old familiar smell of dead whale permeates everything.
It is a strange and curious place.
Douglas and Wilkins are at different ends of the island. A
wonderful evening.
In the darkening twilight I saw a lone star hover
Gem-like above the bay.
These were the last words written by Sir Ernest Shackleton.
I continue my own narrative.
Early in the morning of Wednesday, January 4th, we sighted Wallis
Island, and soon after the main island of South Georgia opened into
view, with its snow-clad rocky slopes and big glaciers running to the
sea. With fair wind and in smooth water we passed along the coast.
Sir Ernest at sight of the island had completely thrown off his
despondency, became once more his active self, and stood with Worsley
and myself on the bridge, picking out through binoculars, with almost
boyish excitement, the old familiar features, and recognizing places
with such words as, “Look, there’s the glacier we descended!” or,
“There, do you see, coming into view, the slope where we lit the Primus
and cooked our meal?” He kept his spirits throughout the day, and it
was with the greatest pleasure that I recognized once more the old
buoyant, optimistic Boss.
The day cleared beautifully, and we entered Cumberland Bay in bright
sunshine, with not a ripple on the surface of the water. How familiar
it all seemed as we rounded the point and entered Gritviken Harbour,
with the little station nestling at the foot of the three big peaks,
the spars of the _Tijuca_, the small whalers along the pier; all
exactly as we had left them seven years before. The Boss, looking
across at the slopes above our “dog-lines,” remarked, “The Cross has
gone from the hillside!”[5]
The poles which had been set up by us to mark the north and south
direction were still standing; we were informed that they were used
regularly by the whalers in adjusting their compasses.
We passed the spit with the little Argentine meteorological station,
behind which lay the house of the Government officials, and dropped
anchor in the _Endurance’s_ old anchorage.
One familiar landmark was missing—the little hospital hut in which
I had lived with McIlroy, Macklin, Hussey, Crean and Marston, the
dog-drivers of the last expedition. We found later that it had been
moved from its old site close to the “dog-lines” to a more central
position amongst the huts of the station.
Mr. Jacobsen, the manager, an old friend of ours, came aboard, and
shortly afterwards returned to the shore with Sir Ernest, who was full
of vigour and energy.
I had the boat lowered and went ashore with McIlroy, Hussey, Carr,
Macklin and some others to look about our old quarters.
The season was now midsummer, the snow had disappeared from the lower
slopes, and with the bright sunshine and warmth the place had a very
different aspect from what it had when we were here in 1914, much
earlier in the season. In other respects there was little change, and
we recognized amongst the workers at the station a number with whom we
had been familiar; in particular, one of the flensers, a hard-bitten
individual who was standing with spiked sea-boots on a huge whale
carcass, assisting the stripping process by deft cuts here and there
with his long-handled knife.
We visited our old hut in its new situation. It was now being used as
a hospital again, and a young Danish doctor was in charge. We passed
along to its old site beside the stream, which runs clear and icy cold
straight from the snows. There was much less volume of water than when
we were here before, but the little basin we had cut out as a bathing
place was still there. Here, with the others, I used to take a morning
dip. That was in the days of my hardihood. Macklin used to lie down in
it, and stand in the snow to dry himself.
We went on to the “dog-lines,” passing _en route_ the little cemetery,
which we glanced at casually enough. The stakes to which we had secured
the tethering lines were still standing as we had left them, as were
also the boards with which we had made a flooring for the tent. We
climbed the hill to a lake, on the frozen surface of which we used to
exercise the dogs—it was now a sheet of open water. We sat down on the
banks, enjoying the lovely sunshine, and watched the countless skua
gulls and terns which, attracted by the unwonted visitors, flew close
down over our heads. The younger spirits, full of exuberance, and
revelling in the change from the confinement of the ship, threw stones
at them, and tempted Query, who had accompanied us, to retrieve pieces
of wood from the lake.
On our way back we were accosted by an incongruous figure—a coal-black
nigger, on whose head was perched a bowler hat many sizes too small. He
addressed us with a marked American twang:
“Say, you boys from the _Quest_, you goin’ to the South Pole, ain’t
you? Wal, guess I’m comin’ along with ya!”
[Illustration: THE WHALING STATION AT GRITVIKEN
_Photo: Wilkins_]
[Illustration: SUNSET ON THE SLOPES OF SOUTH GEORGIA
_Photo: Wilkins_]
We guessed he wasn’t, and passed on. We learned from Mr. Jacobsen that
he was a stowaway from St. Vincent, who was a perfect nuisance to them,
and who was being sent away at the earliest opportunity.
This being the first time we had been on an even keel since leaving
Rio de Janeiro, we had dinner in comfort and spent a cheery evening,
the Boss being full of jokes. At the finish he rose, saying, “To-morrow
we’ll keep Christmas.” I went on deck with him, and we discussed a few
details of work. He went to his cabin to turn in. I arranged for an
“anchor watch” to be kept, and also turned in early for a good sound
sleep.