THE ICE
At about 4.0 P.M. on February 12th, having come to my decision, I
blew the steam whistle for the recall of all hands, who had thoroughly
enjoyed their day on the ice. Query had had a splendid time in spite
of having once or twice fallen through mushy holes into freezing
water, and he came back to the ship thoroughly tired from the unwonted
exercise.
[Illustration: COMMANDER WILD’S WATCH—McILROY, CARR, WILD, MACKLIN
_Photo: Wilkins_]
[Illustration: THE “BLACK” WATCH—ROSS, ARGLES, YOUNG, KERR, SMITH
_Photo: Wilkins_]
[Illustration: WORSLEY’S WATCH—DOUGLAS, WILKINS, WATTS, WORSLEY
_Photo: Wilkins_]
[Illustration: JEFFREY’S WATCH—McLEOD, MARR, JEFFREY, DELL
_Photo: Wilkins_]
We had some difficulty in getting under way, but once the ship
had gathered momentum she was able to push on through the new ice.
Navigation required the utmost watchfulness and care; we could not
afford to delay, for minutes totalled up, and the ice was increasing
hourly in thickness. Every stop added to the difficulties of getting
under way again. I must pay a high tribute to the unremitting energy
and unfailing resource of Worsley and Jeffrey at this critical period
as we forced our way from the closing grip of the pack. Macklin writes
in his diary:
The way in which the _Quest_ is made to push ahead and to dodge
and wriggle past the most awkward places is wonderful. Kerr is
excelling himself below—I hope he does not bust her up, for these
engines have given at one time and another a lot of trouble. It is
interesting to compare the different watches at work. Commander
Wild goes about the job quietly and steadily, without fuss or
shouting, and undoubtedly makes the best headway. Old Wuzzles
(Worsley) also goes ahead energetically, but to an accompaniment
of noise that might waken the dead, for which, perhaps, he is less
responsible than some members of his watch. Jeffrey also makes
surprisingly good headway, with a running commentary usually the
reverse of complimentary on all things frozen.
I was wakened at 4.0 on the following morning by McLeod, who shouted
in at my door, “One bell and the ship’s afire!” In a moment I was out
of bed and on deck, to find dense smoke and flame ascending from what
appeared to be the engine-room skylight. Rushing to the engine-room
door, I was met by Smith, who said that everything was all right below.
The flames were leaping up alongside the funnel. I went up on to the
bridge and shouted to the other members of my watch who had turned
out to get Pyrene extinguishers, of which we kept a number always
on hand. We squirted their contents vigorously into the midst of the
flames, and soon had them subdued, when I discovered that the cause
of the trouble lay in some cork fenders and coils of tarry rope which
had been placed against the funnel on the previous day. The flames
had spread to two large wooden sidelight boards and to some canvas
gear. Our portable hand-sounding machine was also involved, and was,
unfortunately, rendered almost useless. The fire, while it lasted, was
a brisk one, and had we been compelled to rely on the old hose system
for its extinction there is no doubt that it would have proved serious.
The rapidity with which we were able to control it speaks much for the
efficacy of the extinguishers in use, which were of the carbon-dioxide
producing type.
Having leapt straight from our bunks, we were exceedingly lightly
clothed, and, now that the excitement was over, we noticed the cold
atmosphere and scampered off to garb ourselves more warmly.
We continued vigorously pushing north all day. Numerous crab-eater
seals were seen, many of them on our direct route; but although I
was anxious to lay in a store of their blubber I did not stop. We saw
also a number of emperor penguins. Bird life, as I have said, had been
very scarce, and represented only by snow petrels, a number of which,
outlined in silvery whiteness against the blue of the sky as they
passed overhead on their way south, presented a very beautiful picture.
In the evening we passed by a floe on which five large seals lay
asleep, and I determined to stop for a short time and take them
up. There is no difficulty in killing and obtaining any number of
Antarctic seals, no matter how small the floe they are on, provided
one approaches them quietly and gets within a range at which they can
be picked off rapidly and with certainty one after the other. On this
occasion I gave the word to withhold fire till we were close alongside,
but Douglas, apparently unable to restrain his impetuosity, fired
too soon and succeeded in wounding one, which heaved itself about
frantically and startled the others to sudden wakefulness. To make
matters worse, Douglas continued firing, and some of them dived into
the sea. It is a characteristic of these seals that if wounded they
prefer to be on a floe, and all but one came back again, when they were
properly dispatched and hoisted aboard for removal of their blubber.
The moment they were aboard I set off again, scarcely waiting for the
men on the floe, who scrambled up as the ship was moving away.
There is a great difference between Arctic and Antarctic seals. In the
North the seal has always to be on the look out for the polar bear, and
when it comes ashore to sleep does so fitfully, frequently raising its
head to look about, and slipping back to the water on the least alarm.
Its enemies are above and not below water. The contrary holds in the
Antarctic, where the seals are vigorously preyed upon by the killers
and sea-leopards. On the surface, however, they have no enemies, and
although they take fright if approached quickly or noisily, one can,
by moving quietly, get so close to them that they can, if so desired,
be clubbed instead of shot. This clubbing should be done with a heavy
instrument, such as the loom of an oar, and the point to be aimed at
is the nose. If the blow is delivered accurately and with sufficient
weight, the seal is immediately rendered unconscious, after which
the jugular veins and the main arteries of the neck are severed with
a knife, without one of which at his belt no good sailor or explorer
goes anywhere. In any case the carcass of the seal should always be
thoroughly bled. Another useful instrument by which the animal can be
instantaneously killed is an Alpine ice-pick, the point being driven
by a smart downward tap through the vault of the skull. This has the
disadvantage of destroying the brain, which we always used for cooking,
and is, indeed, the greatest dainty provided by these animals. The
method of killing seals which we always adopted when we had plenty of
ammunition was to shoot them. I always aim at the neck, just behind the
skull, where many vital structures are brought into close relationship.
Death is instantaneous, bleeding takes place freely, and the brain is
not destroyed.
Macklin sustained a nasty cut during the flensing, running his hand off
the haft of the knife on to the blade. He rather prided himself on his
knives, on which he kept a razor edge, and on his flensing, and I think
he felt annoyed at his clumsiness, for it was with an almost shamefaced
air that he went to McIlroy to get his hand bound up.
The art of keeping a hunting-knife in really good order is one which
few people understand. A keen edge is essential for neat and rapid
work, yet I have seen many people hacking laboriously away with a
blade which would scarcely penetrate butter. I always carry a pocket
carborundum stone, and I carefully clean and sharpen my knife every
time I use it. Before using the stone it is important to see that
there is no blood or blubber remaining on the blade. After a heavy
day’s flensing it may take from half an hour to an hour to bring the
edge to perfection again, and I am always amused at the man who brings
something resembling a butcher’s steel and says: “You might just
sharpen that for me, will you?”
Another art is the making of a good leather sheath, for that is a thing
one cannot buy. It is careful and continued attention to small things
that makes for efficiency at this kind of work.
[Illustration: CHIPPING FROZEN SPRAY FROM THE GUNWALES
_Photo: Wilkins_]
[Illustration: THE _QUEST_ BESET NEAR ROSS’S APPEARANCE OF LAND
_Photo: Wilkins_]
It did not get completely dark at midnight. The increasing light in the
early morning produced a wonderful sunrise. Owing to the gradual upward
curve of the sun in these latitudes, the effects last for hours and
change slowly, contrasting strongly with the evanescent tropical skies,
where the sun rises abruptly above the horizon and in the evening falls
back so suddenly that there is no twilight. The sky to the eastward
was lit up with the most delicate and beautiful colours, which were
reflected on the surface of the floe. The old floes passed slowly from
pale pink to crimson and, as the sun came over the rim, to the palest
and most delicate heliotrope. The darker newly frozen ice changed from
bronze to light apple-green. To the westward a large golden moon was
poised in a cloudless sky, turning the floes to the palest of gold. No
words of mine can adequately convey the beauty of such a morning.
These days impressed themselves vividly in one’s memory, which has
the knack of picking out the brighter spots in the greyness of these
regions. I think it is impressions like these which, working perhaps
subconsciously, produce that haunting restlessness which makes one feel
suddenly, and without apparent cause, dissatisfied with civilization,
its veneer and artificiality, its restrictions and its ugliness.
Certain it is that few people who have travelled away from the beaten
track and spent long, unbroken periods face to face with Nature can
hope to escape the sudden feelings of restlessness and disquietude
which come upon one without warning and drive one to pacing up and
down, to face the rain on a gusty night, or do anything so long as
one can be alone for a while. I think that every living being has at
one time or another experienced that curious feeling—it is hard to
say of what exactly—a sort of wondering lostness that comes over one
in certain circumstances. In our own country one feels it on fine
nights in the gloaming, when everything is stilled and the silence
unbroken save by the full-throated song of some bird, which seems only
to accentuate it. One feels something of it even in the cities in the
quiet of a summer evening, with the smoke of countless chimneys winding
lazily upwards, but it is in the great untouched areas of the earth
that it makes its deepest impression and grips one with the greatest
intensity.
It has been my fortune to visit many parts of the world, and I can
recall wonderful evenings in many places which have created a deep
impression on me, but there particularly stand out in my mind’s eye
some of the long Antarctic autumn twilights too beautiful to describe.
I have seen the most materialistic and unimpressionable of men strung
to an absolute silence, scarcely daring to breathe, filled with
something intangible and inexplicable. The very sledge dogs stand stock
still, gazing intently into the farness, ears cocked, listening—for
what? Suddenly the spell is broken and with a deep breath one turns
again to work.
We pushed on and on throughout the 14th and made on the whole pretty
good headway. I stopped just long enough to let Worsley take a
sounding, depth 1,925 fathoms (lat. 68° 21´ S. and 16° 0´ E. long.).
With every hour the ice increased in thickness and the _Quest_ had all
she could do to push forward. Work at the wheel was strenuous, for in
the new ice the ship did not make a straight track, but swerved all
the time from side to side, and the helm had to be swung repeatedly in
either direction to check the deviation.
About midday we encountered heavy floe against which we made poor
headway, and I began to realize that it would be touch and go as to
whether we would get out or not. I sent for Kerr and told him to give
his engines all they would stand. He increased the pressure of steam,
and the ship began to make headway slowly but surely.
In the early afternoon the weather changed. McIlroy reported a rise of
temperature to 22° Fahr., and there was a swell, very faint but quite
noticeable. A skua gull and a giant petrel appeared. All these signs
were good, indicating a more open pack ahead of us and open water
within reasonable distance.
By 8.0 P.M. we were once more making good headway, and I went below, to
fall soundly asleep after my days of anxiety and broken rest.
Owing to the darkness we were compelled to heave to for two hours at
midnight, for with the northing we had made there was less daylight,
and one cannot distinguish in the dim light between rotten floes and
solid ones, which if rammed would fetch up the ship all standing and
possibly start the timbers and carry away a certain amount of gear.
The temperature had risen to 24° Fahr., but when I came on deck in the
early morning of the 15th the outlook was not good. The air was not
warm enough to prevent freezing of the ice, and from the mast-head I
saw heavy pack to the northward. There was one good sign, however, and
that was an increased northerly swell coming along in slow leisurely
rolls. It is a fine sight to see a huge field of ice rising and falling
in this manner.
We pushed energetically on and later in the day we entered loose open
pack. I had no doubt now that we were out of danger of being beset. It
was a relief to be able to relax a little after the constant effort of
the last fortnight.
Although we were now free from danger of being beset we had entered a
new set of conditions which were by no means a sinecure. The ice had
the effect of deadening swell, but the pieces of floe about the pack
edge were often thrown into violent motion and made to bump and grind
together by the action of the sea. By coming north also we were losing
daylight, and we had now from two to three hours of darkness to contend
with each day. Navigation under these circumstances required constant
care and watchfulness, so that I had still to maintain a pretty active
vigilance. For much of our journey about the northern limits of the
pack I was compelled for the sake of economy to shut off steam and
proceed under sail only, which gave me some idea of the difficulties
which Bellingshausen and Biscoe had to contend with, and enabled me
to appreciate their reticence to push deeply into the ice. To both
of these predecessors I must pay a tribute of the highest praise for
their determined and persevering work about this segment. In the whole
of my experience as a seaman I have never encountered a part of the
world where weather and sea conditions generally are so uncomfortable.
Periods of gale, with heavy swell and grinding floe, when the outlook
is obscured by driving wind and blinding snow squalls, alternate with
periods of calm, when fog settles in a dense pall of fine mist which
forms heavy rime on all spars and running gear, and freezing solid
interferes greatly with their working. It takes days for the huge
rollers to subside, and the floes grind and groan incessantly. I had
always the feeling that I could raise steam at short notice, but these
early explorers were dependent entirely on winds, which blow either too
hard or not hard enough, and never seem to strike the happy medium.
To John Biscoe, British seaman, the trip must have been one of long
continued struggle, for he was ill equipped, scurvy set in and he lost
the greater part of the crews of both his vessels. On his own ship, the
_Tula_, there were only three men able to stand when the ship reached
Hobart, and on the _Lively_ only three were _alive_ when she reached
Port Philip. His story, told baldly, makes enthralling reading for
those who can appreciate it.
We made good progress to the northward, the day’s run at noon on the
16th being estimated by Worsley at seventy-seven miles. We passed
through much open water with a strong easterly swell, but encountered
also several belts of heavy, closely packed ice consisting of old
floe which had undergone heavy pressure. Owing to the swell it was
impossible to avoid some severe bumps. Birds were about in large
numbers, including Antarctic petrels, giant petrels and terns. We
saw numerous killers, and witnessed a most interesting display by two
of them which were playing and disporting themselves on the surface,
flinging their huge bulks high into the air, and creating a tremendous
turmoil in the water. Crab-eaters were seen in numbers on the floes,
sometimes singly, often in bunches of five or six. We saw no penguins
or snow petrels. Worsley reported a single Mother Carey’s Chicken as
having been about. They all pointed to the proximity of open ocean, and
I expected that we should be clear of ice by next day.
A sounding taken in lat. 67° 07´ S. and 14° 29´ E. long. gave a depth
of 2,341 fathoms.
In the evening we again entered an area of heavy old floes, which moved
about and pressed together in the swell. Snow squalls and dim light
made the navigation of them a difficult matter, but by noon of the
following day we had got clear of pack and were in open water with a
clear sky to the northward. Numerous solitary pieces of floe and heavy
growlers were still dotted about. Growlers are heavy, solid pieces
of ice, grey or greenish-grey in colour, which float with their tops
just awash. They are consequently difficult to see, especially in poor
light, and a close watch has always to be kept for them.
Some of the floes carried passengers in the shape of crab-eater seals.
We saw a number of huge blue whales, which are recognized by their
large size, high vertical spout which opens out into a dense cloud
of spray, and the presence of a fin. Killers also were about in large
numbers.
In the early morning of the 18th we turned south again in another
attempt to push through to land or ice barrier. From the lateness of
the season we knew this must necessarily be the last attempt for this
year.
We had not proceeded many miles when we again encountered pack, which
compelled us to take a southwesterly direction, passing through a good
deal of brash, but keeping clear of heavy ice. The weather was thick
and snowy. Later we encountered some very old floes full of small
caves, and with well-defined necks where the sea had worn them away by
the continual wash, so that they resembled gigantic mushrooms growing
from the surface of the water.
Marr was taken ill at this time with sore throat and high temperature.
He said nothing of the condition himself and would have struggled
on had not Dell informed Macklin that he looked a bit sick. He is
a hardy youngster and showed his contempt for the cold by walking
about inadequately clothed. He had a vivid maroon-coloured muffler,
beautifully soft and warm. I once asked him if it was a present from
his best girl. “Yes,” he replied, “from my mother.” I threatened him
that if he appeared without this round his neck in future I would
pack him off to bed and keep him there. The doctors reported that his
condition was not serious, and a day or two in bed would put him right
again.
We continued in a southerly direction till the night of the 20th,
when we met heavy pack which compelled us to turn west. At noon on the
21st we were forced to come back in a north-westerly direction. In the
evening we skirted a line of ice running west-south-west, and on the
morning of the 22nd again entered open sea.
The 22nd was Worsley’s birthday. He had reached his fiftieth milestone,
but could easily have passed for ten years less. We celebrated the
occasion by an extra special spread at which, to the surprise and
(needless to say) delight, of nearly everyone, some bottles of beer
materialized. The _pièce de résistance_ was a large pink cake bearing
in sugar the inscription, “Wuzzles’ 21st.” He was called upon to cut
it himself, and was given a large steel chopper with which to do it.
Having performed a Maori war dance, he proceeded to cut it into slices.
It proved to be a bit hard, so he attempted to lift it to a better
position, to find, to his amazement, that he could scarcely budge it.
The cake turned out to be a 56-lb. sinker, which Green had covered
with sugar. However, a proper cake was forthcoming, and the evening was
spent merrily.
The _Quest_ was not a comfortable ship, and there was little to take
the mind from general routine and the business in hand. The continuous
struggle with the pack became after a time very exhausting, and
there was a chance also of its becoming something of an obsession.
Consequently, occasions such as birthdays, which provided a diversion
and helped to lift the men out of themselves, were of the greatest
value.
February 23rd was a dull grey day. We hoisted the squaresail at
daybreak and continued to run off before a strong easterly wind. With
sails set there was great difficulty in getting the wardroom stove to
burn, for both topsail and squaresail created a powerful and baffling
down draught for which we designed and made all sorts and shapes of
cowls, but without much success. The wardroom became filled with dense
acrid smoke, and the fire was generally allowed to go out when the
temperature fell so much that no one could use it to sit about, and
those taking their watch below were driven to their bunks. Wilkins
and Douglas in the forecastle had the same difficulty. Wilkins, ever
resourceful, built a cowl, but it fouled the sheet of the forestay sail
and was swept away. Nothing daunted, he built another, which met the
same fate. With exemplary patience he built a new one each time the
other was lost! We did our best to protect the cowls when setting or
taking in sail, but in heavy winds, when the squaresail was let go at
the run, it was almost impossible to do so.
Since the evening of the 21st we had made in a west to
west-south-westerly direction, but, seeing what appeared to be open
seas with sky to the horizon a deep black, I now turned south again.
Within an hour, however, we met with small pieces of ice, which became
more numerous as we proceeded. We then entered an area of sea full
of small round pieces, like snowballs, covered with a fine powdery
ice. Snow settling on this area gave it the appearance of a “sea of
milk.” The swell continued, but the surface was like oil, unbroken by
a single ripple. We passed from this into a belt where the surface was
just beginning to freeze, forming the thinnest possible film of ice.
The snow on this gave the impression of a grey sea. Visibility, owing
to the snow which fell quietly and continuously, was poor. The whole
outlook gave a curious impression of greyness, grey sea, grey sky, and
everything grey wherever one looked.
As we progressed still farther the filmy surface was replaced by
definite pancake formation. Amongst the pancakes were numerous heavy
old lumps, much water-worn at sea level, but heavy underneath with long
projecting tongues.
The night was cold and snowy and the decks became covered with a very
slippery slush on which, with the rolling of the ship, it was not easy
to keep a footing. We took in sail, a cold and unpleasant job because
all spars, sails and running gear had become coated with a thick
covering of ice.
Dinner that night was a cold business, and the dullness of the day and
general outlook had rather damped our spirits. Macklin writes on this
date:
Owing to the stove refusing to burn, the wardroom was cold, and
we gathered round the dinner-table feeling pretty miserable.
Green had prepared a big dish of hot potatoes in their jackets. I
placed the biggest I could find under my jersey and it warmed me
up finely. I kept moving it round so as to warm as much of my body
as possible, and finally ate it, warming also my inside. One has
to be economical these hard times.
As the light failed the ice began to thicken, and as the swell was
causing the floes to grind heavily together I lay to till daybreak. All
night long we heard the moaning and complaining of the grinding floes,
a number of which, with long underwater tongues, drifted down upon
us, causing the ship to take some very bad bumps. To economize our now
much-depleted coal I had given Kerr instructions to let the steam fall
off, and we had to be constantly sheeting home the topsail and pointing
the yards to get her to fall away from our unpleasant neighbours,
contact with which might prove dangerous.
The floes looked very weird in the darkness as they surged up on the
swell and fell back again into the trough of the sea, the water sucking
and gurgling amongst the cracks and chasms and making the most uncanny
noises.
At daybreak on the 24th steam was raised and we continued south,
pushing through pancake ice which contained many heavy floes. Seen from
aloft the pancake formation makes a most beautiful mosaic. Much of our
finest art is surpassed by Nature, and in these southern regions there
is much to attract those who have an artistic temperament.
The ice rapidly increased in thickness, and by noon we were again held
up by dense impenetrable pack in position lat. 68° 32´ S. and 0° 5´ E.
long. To the south the outlook was hopeless. I climbed to the crow’s
nest to scan the horizon to the southward, but saw only closely packed
and heavy ice stretching away to the horizon, whilst in the sky was a
strongly marked ice-blink. It was bitterly disappointing. There was no
alternative but to retrace our steps and work to the westward. I went
below, where once more I pulled out all the charts and examined again
the records of old explorers in these regions. I had a long talk with
Worsley and Kerr. The season was well advanced; the _Quest_ had neither
the driving power nor the amount of coal to enable me to batter hard at
heavy floe. As a matter of fact, I do not think that any ship, however
powerful, could have made any impression on the stuff to the south of
us. As far as finding land in this segment was concerned I felt that
we had shot our bolt. I was, however, determined to have another try,
and to make Cape Town my base, where I could overhaul and refit my
ship, where there was a big supply of good winter stores and equipment,
and where I could readjust the personnel. I intended to make the start
_early in the season_, and I felt confident that with the time to spare
to enable us to wait for the ice to move we should reach new land.
My intention was now to make as directly as possible for the charted
position of “Ross’s Appearance of Land,” the accuracy of which I hoped
either to verify or to disprove, and to take a series of soundings on
the spot. We should by that time be very short of coal and consequently
also in need of ballast. I determined, therefore, to call at Elephant
Island, where I felt sure we would find sea-elephants in sufficient
numbers to supply us with blubber as fuel. Blubber is by no means an
ideal form of fuel for the furnace, for it burns with a fierce, hot
flame and is very messy. Mixed judiciously with coal, however, I knew
it would materially help to spin out the supply. I hoped, also, to be
able to take aboard a quantity of sand or shingle as ballast. From
there I proposed proceeding to Deception Island to coal, and thence
return to South Georgia.
At this point I must mention that which is not a pleasant subject, but
one which should not be glossed over, because it indicates what is
a most important feature in the preparation for a polar expedition:
the choice of personnel. It is a matter which requires the greatest
possible care, for one discordant or unadaptable spirit can do a vast
amount of harm in infecting others.
There can be no doubt that since leaving South Georgia we had had
a very wearing time and one which tried the temper and patience
of all hands. It must be admitted that before leaving England the
arrangements for the comfort of the personnel had in some directions
been overlooked, and long-continued discomfort is bound sooner or
later to have an effect upon the temper. Life on board ship entails
a certain amount of dull routine, providing at times an amount of
exhausting work but very little active exercise. We had experienced
long spells of bad weather, with a large proportion of dull, grey days
and little sunshine. I therefore expected and was prepared to find that
individuals would experience periods of irritability, and that things
would not always run as smoothly as might be desired. The personnel
had been selected from men of marked individual character, and in
order that a body of men of this type shall be able to live in absolute
harmony over a long period of time it is necessary that an outstanding
quality of each shall be a good “give and take” sporting spirit. The
effect of one or two selfish and discordant natures can easily be
understood. There was surprisingly little friction amongst the various
members of the expedition, which is due largely to the sound qualities
of the nucleus of old, tried men.
I began to be aware, however, about this time of an amount of
dissatisfaction and grumbling occurring in both the forward and
after-messes that I did not like. Men who sat at table with me and to
a certain extent enjoyed my confidence discussed and freely criticized
expedition affairs with members of the after-mess. Of this I had ample
confirmation. Some of those thus employed were officers who from their
position on the ship should have been my most loyal supporters. In
the after-mess also I was surprised to find that the men affected were
those in whom I had placed the most implicit trust. It was a condition
of things that required prompt measures. I assembled each mess in turn,
and going straight to the point told them that further continuance
would be met with the most drastic treatment. I pointed out that
although I would at all times welcome suggestions from the officers and
scientific staff, and would consider any reasonable complaints, I could
consider no selfish or individual interests, and my own decision must
be final and end discussion of the matter.
I was glad to notice an immediate improvement.
On February 25th we passed through a lot of loose ice, and in the
evening entered a patch of heavy, old, deeply stained diatomaceous
floes. Scores of crab-eater seals lay asleep on them in batches of five
or six. Passing close to one piece on which six were lying in a clump,
I laid the ship alongside and with my heavy rifle shot them all. I sent
Macklin, with Douglas and Argles, on to the floe to secure them, which
is best done by passing a strop round the body and tightening it close
up under the flippers. Having fixed up a block and tackle we hauled
them aboard—an awkward job on account of the swell in which the _Quest_
rolled heavily. In the subsequent flensing Douglas jabbed his knee, the
knife penetrating the joint. The wound itself was small, but Macklin
insisted on absolute rest until he could be sure that there was no
infection. Carr also cut his finger. These accidents were largely due
to the movement of the ship, which rendered the operation a difficult
one. Two inexperienced men wielding their knives on the same seal are a
source of danger to each other, for with the sweeping strokes employed
there is the chance of a mutilating cut. I always insisted in cases
like this that only one man at a time should have a knife in his hand.
Watts succeeded in getting Greenwich time by wireless from Rio de
Janeiro, which enabled us to check our chronometers. Long-distance
messages were not easily obtained owing to bad atmospheric conditions,
which produce loud noises in the ear-pieces.
By February 28th, as a result of our depleted bunkers, the ship was
very light and ill-ballasted. I told Worsley to remove from the decks
all heavy gear and place it below, for which purpose I arranged to
clear the coal from the forward part of the bunkers and put it aft into
the side pockets. I divided the men into two working parties, one to go
down in the morning, consisting of McIlroy, Marr, Macklin and Dell, and
one to work in the afternoon, of Wilkins, Carr, McLeod and Watts. So
much vigour did the morning party put into this work, however, that at
lunch-time there was little for the others to do beyond stow the gear
from above.
March 1st was another fine day, and we took full advantage of it to
hang up the spare sails to dry prior to placing them below. All hands
seized the opportunity to put out blankets and bedding for an airing.
The deck clearance made a wonderful improvement to the ship.
Unfortunately, it made it necessary that we should have the gear up
again when we coaled at Deception Island.
Worsley obtained a sounding of 2,762 fathoms in position lat. 65° 22´
S. and 10° 17´ W. long.
In the late afternoon we passed a very curious berg composed of a solid
mass with a long, upright tooth-like portion separated from it on the
surface by ten or twenty yards of water. Perched on it were several
Antarctic petrels and one solitary ringed penguin. How the latter ever
attained its position is a mystery, for the sides of the berg were
steep and precipitous.
On Saturday, March 4th, there was a strong north-east to easterly wind,
with heavy swell, and the motion of the _Quest_ was simply awful, so
bad, indeed, that in spite of our long time at sea several of the party
were sea-sick. Macklin writes under this date:
It has been impossible to stand without holding firmly to some
support, and movement about the ship can only be accomplished
by sudden jerks and starts, with hurried gropings for something
to catch hold of. A wet, snowy slush on the deck does not help
matters. Argles was thrown off his feet and, crashing across the
deck, fetched up on the other side against a bucket, severely
bruising face, chest and hands. Meals are a screaming comedy or
a tragedy, as you like to take them; everything placed on the
table promptly charges for the scuppers, and fiddles are almost
useless. McIlroy, “Kraskie,” Kerr and myself were sitting on a
wooden bench, secured to the floor, holding on to plates and
spoons, and endeavouring to guide some food into our mouths.
Suddenly, during a particularly violent roll, the bench was torn
from its fastenings, and we were thrown backwards into the lee
of the wardroom, intimately mixed with knives, forks, plates and
treacle dough. During the evening watch Commander Wild was talking
to Mick and myself on the bridge when suddenly he shot away
into the darkness, and a few moments later sounds the reverse of
complimentary were heard issuing from the end of the bridge-house.
Ross brought some tea a few minutes later, apologizing for having
spilled much of it _en route_. He, too, suddenly disappeared in
darkness, and when he next materialized there was less tea than
ever, but it was a good effort his getting it there at all. When
I went below I saw Wuzzles trying to work out his calculations
on the wardroom table, with first a book, then a pencil or a
ruler shooting suddenly to the floor. The _Quest_ is a little
“she-devil,” lively as they are made. She has many uncomplimentary
things said of her, and deserves all of them.
On March 5th we passed within sight of several large and beautiful
bergs emerging from the Weddell Sea, the mouth of which we were now
crossing, and met with heavier floes than we had hitherto encountered.
On the 9th we ran into broad belts of heavy ice. I took this chance of
“watering” ship, placing her alongside a floe with some solid pieces
of blue ice. Owing to the swell the ship would not lie comfortably, and
so, taking with me Macklin, Carr and Douglas, I went off to secure her
fore and aft. We broke up and passed aboard a considerable quantity
of fresh ice. The men thoroughly enjoy a job of this nature and make
a great joke of it. On this occasion they broke the ice into fragments
of convenient weight and threw them at Jeffrey, who had undertaken to
catch them all, subjecting him to a regular fusillade from which it was
all he could do to defend himself. On the floe there was a seal which
had come up to sleep, and we took this also. While this work was going
on, Worsley took a sounding, finding in position lat. 66° 5´ S. and 38°
16´ W. long., 2,521 fathoms.
Query came on to the floe, where he took a tremendous interest in a
killer which was swimming about. The killer rose close to the floe and
“blew” with such a blast that Query tucked in his tail and ran for dear
life—much to our amusement.
On Friday, March 10th, we encountered still heavier belts, and were
compelled to take a north-easterly direction. In the evening it turned
much colder, the temperature dropping to 17° Fahr.
A number of Adelie penguins were seen on the floe. Seals were scarce,
only one being seen. Snow and Antarctic petrels flew about the ship in
considerable numbers.
During the night we continued to push in a north-easterly direction,
meeting very heavy broken-up old Weddell Sea floe. The temperature rose
again to 24° Fahr. A strong easterly wind was blowing, with snow, which
made it difficult to see far in any direction.
Water was again reported in the hold to the level of the kelson, and
required three hours’ additional pumping to reduce.
At 6.0 P.M. the snow thickened so much that we could see nothing,
and so lay to for the night. All about we heard the cries of Adelie
penguins. The wind and snow continued all night, but at 4.30 A.M. on
the 12th we started off again, pushing through thick pack composed of
heavy old Weddell Sea floe with the water in between freezing solidly,
making headway difficult. Often during this period I bemoaned to myself
the low driving power of the _Quest_. With the onset of darkness we
again lay to. During the night Marr, who was now a trustworthy seaman,
was on the look out. He makes the following entry in his diary: “There
was no one to talk to and all round lay that vast cold wilderness
of ice. Never in my life have I felt so lonely....” This is indeed
a feeling which one gets frequently in these regions, especially at
night—a great sense of loneliness such as I have never felt elsewhere.
On Monday, March 13th, the temperature dropped during the night to 8°
Fahr., and the sea froze solidly about the ship. In the strong wind,
with jib and mizen set, there was just enough way to keep the ship
from being beset. About 4.0 A.M., however, she did become fast, but
as soon as daylight came in we got up steam and proceeded as rapidly
as possible. The skies cleared beautifully, but the sea continued to
freeze so swiftly and solidly that we had the greatest difficulty in
getting ahead, and many times we had to back off into our own water
to get up sufficient impetus to break through. How we got the _Quest_
along at all I cannot understand.
The outlook was very bad. Worsley and I spent long hours aloft
searching for signs of land in the direction of “Ross’s Appearance,”
but though it was a beautifully clear day, we could see no indication
of it. Ahead of us the ice stretched thick and solid as far as we
could see. Headway became more and more difficult, and soon I saw that
it would be useless to attempt to push on. A sounding showed 2,331
fathoms of water in lat. 64° 11´ S. and 46° 4´ W. long., which did
not indicate the proximity of land. Owing to the low driving power of
the ship I could make no impression through the ice ahead, nor could I
afford the coal for prolonged ramming. It seemed to me that we were in
imminent danger of being beset, and I decided that we must push north
in the hope of meeting more open pack. I had to give up all thought
of attempting to return to “Ross’s Appearance,” because I was now
desperately short of fuel, and unless we could get blubber at Elephant
Island we should be in a bad way.
About us during the day were numerous Adelie penguins, occurring in
twos and threes, and in a few larger clusters of forty or more. None
of the floes bearing the large clusters were accessible to the ship,
or I would have taken them up, for their skins burn well. Crab-eaters
were scarce. Seeing two on a floe, with about a dozen penguins, we lay
alongside. Argles jumped off to try and catch one, but in the soft snow
the penguin had the advantage, and Argles’ efforts were very amusing
to the rest of us. He is an active fellow, however, and was at last
successful, bringing a squawking young Adelie in his arms to the ship,
where Query paid it marked attention. We killed the rest of them, also
the seals, and put them aboard the ship. Owing to the darkness, we lay
to at night in rapidly freezing ice with the outlook as regards escape
not at all promising, and at 4.30 the next morning we raised full
pressure of steam and attempted to get away. After two hours of hard
ramming we had made so little headway that I gave up the attempt and
lay to alongside a floe. By breakfast it had become apparent that we
were fast, hard frozen in. The temperature had dropped to 6.5° Fahr.
It blew hard all day. Birds with the exception of a few snow petrels
disappeared early. Macklin says of these birds:
I always regard the snow petrel as symbolic of the Spirit of the
Pack, for they are never entirely absent, in fair weather or
foul. Even in winter when all is dark one can hear the gentle
“whisp-whisp” of their wings as they fly close. Their pure
white bodies with jet black beak and legs give them a beautiful
appearance when seen at a distance, but when gathered about a
piece of offal at closer range, there is something unpleasant and
almost evil in their appearance, with their sinister curved beaks,
hard bright eyes and pock-toed waddling gait. They are seen at
their best on a bright clear day with a background of blue sky.
Like the pack they can give an attractive impression or a most
unpleasant one.
Killers were about during the day.
We were still solidly frozen in on the 15th. A fairly strong westerly
wind blew with a temperature of 8.5° Fahr. The day was bright and
clear, and Jeffrey and Douglas took theodolite and dip circle on to
the floe for observations, which were impossible on a moving deck.
In the morning I put all hands to cleaning up the ship and pumping
her dry, a process which took two hours daily. Whilst engaged in this
a killer appeared in a small lead which had formed on the port bow,
and continued to swim slowly backwards and forwards, affording us
an excellent close view. His motion through the water was a marvel
of graceful movement, but in other respects he was an ugly looking
monster, with slightly underhung jaw and a small wicked eye which gave
him a very evil appearance. His back and flanks were covered with large
brown-coloured patches, probably parasitic. I called Marr’s attention
to him; he remarked that it did not make him feel inclined to fall
overboard.
At noon Worsley got an observation of the sun and worked out a position
which showed a drift of eighteen miles in direction N. 43° E. This was
very encouraging, for I knew that if it continued we should not be long
in reaching a point at which the floe would begin to open up and give
us a chance to get away. A sounding gave 2,321 fathoms in lat. 63° 51´
S. and 45° 13´ W. long. The steam pipe of the sounding machine froze,
so that Dell was unable to get in the wire, which was left all night in
the hope of getting it in next morning. By daylight, however, the ship
had altered her position relative to the hole in the ice by about fifty
yards and the wire was as taut as a harp string. I made an effort to
clear it with an ice-axe, but did not succeed in doing so. This single
sounding wire held the weight of the ship, maintaining it and the floe
in the same relative positions for forty-eight hours before finally
parting. It was not subjected to any jerking strain, but this test says
much for its strength.
We remained frozen in till March 21st. At times I felt very anxious,
for with the lateness of the season, failing light and shortage of
coal, I realized that our position might turn out to be a very awkward
one. Indeed things looked so bad on the sixth day that I made up my
mind that we might remain a long time before breaking free, and told
Macklin, in dealing with the issue of stores and equipment, to have in
mind the possibility of wintering. I had taken care to provision the
ship with a view to this eventuality, but it would have necessitated
the most rigid economy and a much more monotonous dietary than we
had hitherto enjoyed, for it must be remembered that the bulk of our
equipment was awaiting us in Cape Town. I did not, however, mention the
possibility to the men, for they seemed quite to enjoy the break from
routine, and I did not wish their minds to be occupied with any sort
of gloomy forebodings. I encouraged them to amuse themselves in any way
they could by taking walks out over the floes and by playing football.
They were not slow to avail themselves of the opportunity. On one
occasion I watched Douglas, Argles, Carr and Macklin earnestly engaged
in a strange pastime, which more resembled a free fight than anything,
and consisted of flinging themselves at one another and grappling and
wrestling fiercely in the snow. At the finish they all bore marks of
the contest, Douglas with an eye that threatened closure within a few
days. They informed me that they had been playing _American_ football,
and said they enjoyed it!
“Soccer” was the favourite game. I frequently joined in, as did
Worsley, whose fiftieth birthday we had celebrated a short while
before, but who was by no means the least active. The games were marked
by many amusing incidents. On one occasion Naisbitt while chasing the
ball sank suddenly from view through a hole in the ice, from which he
was promptly rescued, soon to be covered with a coating of icicles. On
another day we were visited by a small Adelie penguin which spotted us
from a floe some distance away, and came running as fast as his short
legs would carry him to join in the game. What he thought of it all I
do not know, but he insisted on taking an active part, neglecting the
ball and fiercely attacking with beak and flippers any man who came
near. Query took a great interest in the visitor, but was fiercely
repulsed when he showed too marked an inquisitiveness. In the ordinary
way too inquisitive penguins pay for their temerity with their lives
and go to swell the larder, but this little fellow showed such pluck
and sportiveness that we let him go free. He waddled off to join his
companions, to whom, no doubt, he would spin the most marvellous yarn.
In honour of our two Irishmen, Jeffrey and McIlroy, we celebrated
St. Patrick’s Day with a specially good dinner, for which Green had
produced some shamrock-shaped scones tied up with green ribbon. I was
also able to produce some cigars and a bottle which we cracked for the
occasion.
On the 18th Worsley and Wilkins put down a dredge with reversing
thermometer attached. At first steam was used for heaving up, but this
proving very slow we fell back on man power. It was hard work, but
the men, as they always do on these occasions, threw themselves into
it with a will, and we soon brought it to the surface. We obtained
fifty-seven specimens of quartzite, tuffs, etc. There was no living
matter, but the rocks were filled with worm cells.
The next day we were closely invested by dense pack, composed of heavy
old pressure floes. On one was a huge sea-leopard which I shot with
my heavy rifle. With the assistance of Worsley, Douglas and Watts
I brought it in to the ship, where Wilkins claimed head and skin as
specimens.
Later in the day I went with a party composed of Worsley, McIlroy,
Kerr, Carr and Macklin to look at a berg, distant four or five miles
from the ship. It was a bright morning and we much enjoyed the walk.
The ice was very treacherous, and we had to proceed carefully from floe
to floe, making many wide detours.
On the morning of the 20th the outlook was bad, for we were closely
beset on all sides, and the clouds to the north showed no signs
of “water sky.” The temperature was 10° Fahr., and the new ice was
freezing more thickly than ever. Macklin, Carr and Marr set off to
visit a large berg which appeared on the horizon. They thought they
were making wonderfully good progress till it became evident that
the berg was moving rapidly towards them, charging heavily through
the floe, throwing aside fragments which lay in its path and leaving
a wide lane of open water behind it. I watched it anxiously as,
travelling at from two to three miles an hour, it approached the ship,
and I feared that we might be involved in pressure as a result of the
displacement of floes about it. To my relief, however, it passed about
three-quarters of a mile astern of us and finally disappeared over the
horizon to the northward. There was something awe-inspiring about this
huge structure as it moved inexorable and undeviating on its path,
relentlessly crushing and pushing aside the smaller structures which
sought to impede its progress.
In the evening there was a marked change in the weather. The
temperature rose to 14.5° Fahr., and the day became more dull and grey.
From the crow’s nest I could see a distinct water sky to the northward.
[Illustration: ROWETT ISLAND, OFF CAPE LOOKOUT, ELEPHANT ISLAND
_Photo: Wilkins_]
[Illustration: THE KENT “CLEAR-VIEW” SCREEN
_Photo: Sport & General_]
[Illustration: APPROACHING CAPE LOOKOUT
_Photo: Wilkins_]
I was up at daybreak on March 21st and climbed to the mast-head to scan
carefully the horizon to the northward for signs of opening up of the
ice. There was a heavy black water sky, and as daylight increased I
could distinguish fairly open and easily navigable pack. Unfortunately,
between us and it were three miles of dense heavy floe solidly cemented
by a foot of new ice. An irregular line of weakness ran through the
heavy floe towards the now open pack, about half a mile distant from
the ship. I thought that if I could cut my way into this a hard and
determined effort might succeed in getting us free or at any rate into
a more favourable position for escape should the ice about us begin to
open up. I had to consider very carefully whether to make the effort or
not, for the coal supply was such that we could not afford a day’s hard
steaming with no tangible result.
Accompanied by Macklin I walked across the ice to examine this line
of weakness more closely. It did not look promising and I cogitated
for some time as to what to do. While we were walking back a crack
opened in the new ice ahead of the ship. It presented a chance and I
determined to take it. I gave orders for all hands to stand to, and
told Kerr to get up full pressure of steam so that at any minute he
could give the engines every ounce they would stand. He accomplished
this very quickly, but before I had time to get under way a large,
solid, heavy floe had turned across our bows and was completely
blocking the lead. The full pressure of the engines could make no
impression. I sent Macklin over the side with an ice anchor, and put
all hands to warping her ahead. After a long effort we effected a
turning movement of the floe, and the _Quest_, being able to insert her
bow as a wedge, slowly but surely forced her way into the lead.
After some hard ramming and pushing at the floes we reached the line of
weakness, to find that the most difficult part of our work lay before
us. For a long time, in spite of tremendous efforts, we made little
headway. We persisted, however, and after several hours of hard ramming
and squeezing our way between heavy floes we won at last into loose
pack, and soon after into comparatively open water. It was a great
relief to me to get away. Had we remained frozen in till mid-winter and
the ship been involved in heavy pressure our position would have been
a precarious one, for there would have been little daylight to enable
us to see what was happening, and there would have been long hours of
darkness in which to contend with the heaving pack.
Throughout the whole period that we were navigating about the pack
edge, I was constantly made to feel how extremely fortunate we were to
have escaped unscathed from the ice after the loss of the _Endurance_.
That we got away at all is truly marvellous, for not once in a dozen
times could a frail ship’s boat win free under similar circumstances
where the floes, coming together, must have cracked her like an
eggshell.
For a while I continued north, entering all the time a more and more
open sea dotted all about with bergs and large solitary pieces of floe.
The day after leaving the pack we encountered heavy swell, which caused
the _Quest_, with her empty bunkers, to pitch and roll in the most
uncomfortable manner. Decks, rails and running gear became iced up with
sprays which broke over her gunwale and froze solidly, necessitating
the greatest care in moving about.
At night I could not distinguish white horses from growlers, and so
took in sail and lay to. I sent McLeod and Macklin aloft to take
in the topsail, which they found an unpleasant job on account of
the treacherous condition of the rigging, which was ice-covered and
slippery, and the jerky movement of the ship.
We continued on at daybreak encountering a few bergs but no floe ice.
There was a heavy swell from the east-south-east, and though the wind
seemed to have dropped a little squalls of great violence continued
to pass over us. On this day we reached the maximum of discomfort, and
though the men maintained their cheerfulness I see now from some of the
diaries that it must have cost an effort:
It has been another unpleasant day with all the discomforts of
yesterday accentuated, the ship rolling just as heavily and all
gear more thickly coated with ice, which is hanging in festoons
and stalactites from every possible place. Sprays have been
flying over all day and everything in the ship is damp. There is
no comfort anywhere except in one’s bunk, and even there it is
all one can do to prevent being thrown out. On the bridge to-day
Commander Wild remarked: “The man who comes down here for the
sake of experience is mad; the man who comes twice is beyond all
hope; while as for the man who comes five times (himself)——” Words
failed him.
Poor Query is utterly miserable; he cannot get a minute’s rest
anywhere. Nor can any of us. Yesterday I caught my thumb in the
jackstay, and it is so swollen and tender that to touch anything
gives me agony. This beastly motion makes me sea-sick—I am full of
sorrows to-day. We are getting near to Elephant Island, the home
of all foul winds that blow—what crazy impulse sent me again to
these abandoned regions? (writes Macklin).
Indeed at this stage of the voyage it took all our fortitude to keep up
our spirits. We again hove to for the night, and the gale increasing in
violence we lay to all next day.
It moderated about midnight of the 24th, and we set off under topsail
only in the direction of Elephant and Clarence Islands.
[Illustration: LOADING SEA-ELEPHANTS’ BLUBBER AT CAPE LOOKOUT, ELEPHANT
ISLAND
_Photo: Wilkins_]
[Illustration: SOMNOLENT CONTENT
A Sea-elephant on Elephant Island
_Photo: Wilkins_]
[Illustration: RINGED PENGUINS AND A PADDY BIRD (_CHIONIS ALBA_)
_Photo: Wilkins_]