ELEPHANT ISLAND
The wind hauling ahead about 6.30 A.M. on March 25th we took in sail
and under steam proceeded south-west by south in the direction of
Clarence Island. We got a sight of it at 7.35 A.M., but snow flurries
obscured it again. About midday the weather cleared when both it
and Elephant Island showed up distinctly. It is hard to describe the
memories which these two islands revived for those of us who took part
in the _Endurance_ expedition. Readers of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s
“South” will find a description of our arrival and landing—the
first landing to be made on Elephant Island. We stood gazing through
binoculars picking out old familiar landmarks, each one reminiscent
of some incident that came rushing back to the memory. There was
Cornwallis Island, the shape of which was so familiar, and beyond it
Cape Valentine, where we landed eight years ago, a haggard, worn-out
and bedraggled party, rejoicing at the sight of firm, solid land, the
first we had seen for nearly two years. We had just spent eight days
and nights in the boats battling with ice, darkness and storm, toiling
unceasingly at the oars with brief spells of the most fitful slumber.
There our old Boss, whose indomitable will had overcome every obstacle
and surmounted each difficulty as it arose, lay down on the shingle and
had his first sleep for eight days—slept for eighteen hours without a
wink!
In the distance we could see Castle Rock, unmistakable from its
peculiar shape, and beyond it we knew lay Cape Wild, though invisible
just now. There I wintered with my party while the Boss went for
help, living hand to mouth on penguins, limpets and seaweed. From a
sentimental point of view this was the place I wished to visit more
than any other, but I knew only too well that it did not provide a good
anchorage, and I was anxious while the weather was favourable to find a
suitable place for ballasting the ship and obtaining sea-elephants for
their blubber. We therefore set course to pass between the two islands
and along the south-eastern side of Elephant Island.
As evening approached there was a wonderful mirage. Looking to the
south-west we saw a number of large icebergs poised high above the
horizon in a sky of the purest gold, whilst all about and in between
them were numerous whales spouting. These mirages are by no means
uncommon in these latitudes, but this was by far the most extraordinary
I have ever seen in any part of the world, and certainly the most
beautiful. Later on the sun sank with a peculiar effect—both Clarence
and Elephant Islands seemed to be afire, a rosy glare rising from each
of them to the sky. Over Cape Wild lay a reddish-golden glow and the
whole appearance of the island was beautiful, giving an impression of
the most peaceful calm. Any ship passing the island on that evening
would have carried away a very wrong idea of the place, and I am sure
that many of our party who had listened to our unqualified, or perhaps
I should say much qualified, descriptions of our sojourn here must have
thought we were rather drawing the long bow. However, they were soon to
learn differently.
During the night we had kept a safe margin between ourselves and the
shore, but with the advent of daylight we stood in more closely and
kept a sharp look out for possible anchorages and suitable spots for
our purpose. We saw none on this side of the island, which presents
nothing but steep mountainous rocks and sheer glacier faces. As we
approached Cape Lookout at the southwestern end of the island we saw
a small spit lying between two high rocks. The wind was blowing from
the west-north-west and this seemed to offer a shelter. We approached
cautiously, sounding continuously with the hand lead. As we drew near
I looked carefully through binoculars for signs of sea-elephants.
Penguins were present in large numbers, but I saw no sign of larger
game, and I was not altogether pleased with the place as an anchorage.
I therefore decided to turn round Cape Lookout and look for a better
place on the western coast. Once round, however, we met strong head
winds against which we could make little headway, and the coast did not
promise anything better, so we returned to the spit and came to anchor
in five fathoms. The surf boat was lowered and I went ashore with
Wilkins, McIlroy, Macklin, Carr, Kerr and Douglas. As we approached
the spit I saw several seals and sea-elephants ashore, but they did not
seem to be in sufficient numbers for my purpose. There was little surf
on the beach and landing proved easy. Wilkins and Douglas went off on
their respective jobs, and I landed Macklin and Kerr with instructions
to reconnoitre and look for seals and sea-elephants, but on no account
to scare away those which were present. I went back with McIlroy and
Carr to the ship to bring off more hands. On the return trip I landed
on a narrow strip of beach overhung by a large glacier which abutted
on the north-west end of the spit, and with McIlroy and some others
walked along it to where the sea-elephants lay. This is a practice I do
not often adopt, for one never knows at what moment these glaciers may
calve, sending down masses of many tons’ weight on to the beach below.
However, nothing happened and we crossed safely.
The landing-place in its essential features closely resembles Cape
Wild, being composed of a narrow low-lying spit connecting the main
island with an outstanding rock. This, again, is separated from another
higher outlying rock by a channel through which the seas surge with
some force. At the inner end of the spit is a high shoulder of rock
which bounds the glacier on this side, whilst on the far side of it is
another similar shoulder. The main part of the island seems to be much
more accessible than it is at Cape Wild, but the place seemed to be
no more suitable as a site for a permanent camp, for there were signs
that the spit is at times sea swept, and it is equally unsheltered from
strong winds.
Penguins were present in large numbers. There were two varieties,
ringed and gentoo, which had segregated into two camps, the ringed
occupying the outer rock whilst the gentoos collected together on
the inner buttress. The former, which derive their name from a thin
but clearly defined ring round the throat, are quaint, deliberate
little animals which show not the least fear of man. They are the most
wonderful climbers and form their rookeries in the most inaccessible
places, often on the faces of steep and precipitous rocks where the
footing is very precarious. After coming in from their fishing it
often takes them hours to reach their final positions, but they show
extraordinary patience and perseverance as they hop from ledge to ledge
and from one small foothold to another. They are often to be seen on
the slopes of large icebergs out at sea. The gentoo is a larger, more
brightly coloured bird, with orange beak and legs, and has a small
white patch over each eye which gives it a curiously inane expression.
It is more shy of man than any other of the Antarctic penguins, and
when chased can travel at quite good speed and dodge cleverly. As
we came up a number of both kinds were stalking slowly and solemnly
along the beach. Amongst them moved little pigeon-like paddy birds
(_Chionis alba_) which look very pretty at a distance, but at close
vision are seen to have very ugly heads and beaks. They darted about
with little quick steps and, like the penguins, watched us curiously,
no doubt wondering what strange new creatures we might be. Dominican
gulls, skuas and Cape pigeons flew all about the place, and numbers
of blue-eyed shags perched on rocks close to the sea or, with necks
outstretched and stiff as ramrods, flew with an intent air to their
fishing in the bay.
I walked across the spit to find a beach on the other side leading
down to a small bay. My mind was immediately set at rest regarding
our blubber requirements, for, lying about in the shelter of rocks
and large pieces of stranded glacier ice, were a number of seals and
sea-elephants, including three enormous bulls, each of which weighed
many tons, whilst on a strip of beach on the far side of the little bay
was a large harem of cows. I shot those on the spit and set all hands
to the flensing. I have a mind-picture of my men: McIlroy, Kerr, Carr
and Macklin busily plying their knives, arms bare to the shoulders and
red with blood. Soon the place resembled a shambles. I loathed having
to slaughter all these creatures, but the matter was one of the direst
necessity, and I had to put aside any feelings of sentiment. I have
never at any time countenanced the unnecessary taking of life, and
whenever it has been necessary to kill I have always insisted that it
should be done in the most humane way possible, and that steps would be
taken to ensure that no wounded animal should escape.
The blubber was removed in large strips from the carcasses, and a party
led by Jeffrey dragged it over the beach to the edge of the water.
Another party secured it to lines and towed it out to the ship.
Whilst the flensing was in process a curious incident occurred. I had
given orders for a dozen penguins to be killed. One gentoo, in taking
flight, had splashed through a small pool of blood and came out with
white waistcoat dyed a vivid red. He went to rejoin his fellows on the
hill, but they, failing to recognize him in his new colourings, pecked
at him so viciously that he at last drew away and went off, to stand
disconsolate and solitary at the head of the beach. Some little while
later Watts, who had not witnessed the incident, suddenly exclaimed
with much excitement, “Look, there’s a new species of penguin! Quick!
Somebody help me to catch him!” Taking pity on the penguin’s outcast
condition I drove him into the sea, from which he returned clean and
white, once more a normal penguin. This time his friends received him
without comment.
[Illustration: SHACKLETON’S LAST ANCHORAGE
_Photo: Wilkins_]
[Illustration: McLEOD AND MARR CLEARING UP AFTER A BLIZZARD
_Photo: Dr. Macklin_]
[Illustration: SUGAR TOP MOUNTAIN—PART OF THE ALLARDYCE RANGE, SOUTH
GEORGIA
Photo: Wilkins]
I pushed on energetically with the work, for I feared a change of
weather, my previous sojourn here having taught me never under any
circumstances to trust Elephant Island. In the late afternoon the
wind came round to the south-east, and a swell began to come into the
anchorage. I kept the men at it as long as possible, but at last such
a surf started running on to the beach that I was compelled to take
them from the flensing and put all hands to getting the blubber aboard.
Before leaving I took off also a load of glacier ice for melting
down to water. It was as well that I stopped the work when I did, for
the surf increased so rapidly that we had the greatest difficulty in
getting away the last few boatloads, and in assisting to push out from
the shore I got soaked to the waist with the icy cold water. Some hours
elapsed before I was able to change into dry clothes and my legs became
absolutely benumbed.
On returning to the ship I found that Worsley was growing very uneasy
and was anxious to get away before darkness set in, so as soon as the
boat was up we heaved anchor and proceeded out to sea.
Just as we were leaving the glacier fired a salute in the form of an
enormous mass of ice, which fell with a reverberating crash on to the
narrow beach below and, entering the sea, caused a large wave to come
out towards us. I was glad that it had not happened earlier in the day
whilst we were walking underneath it. This was the source of the pieces
which we collected from the spit. Some of them are of great bulk and
weight, and, with the erratic boulders which also are of great size,
give an indication of the force of gales which blow in these regions,
and show clearly that at certain seasons of the year the spit is so
sea-swept as to be untenable by any temporary structure which might
be set up there. These pieces of ice, except when salt encrusted, are
crystal clear in appearance, and when melted down form the purest of
water. When we were living at Cape Wild we used to be very fastidious
about our ice. It was the one thing about which we could afford to be
particular.
During the night of the 26-27th we kept well out from the coast to
avoid outlying rocks, of which we had seen a number when we rounded
Cape Lookout. When morning broke we stood up for the north-westerly
point of the island, keeping a close look out for Table Bay or any
other harbour which would afford a good anchorage. The reports of
whalers speak of a large bay in this locality with safe anchorage,
where the landing is good, where seals, sea-elephants, penguins and all
sorts of seabirds abound, and where tussock grass grows luxuriantly.
It was a common expression amongst the marooned party at Cape Wild to
say: “If we could only reach Table Bay!” We talked of the things we
would do _when_ we got there. I remember that one man (Greenstreet[9])
had sketched an elaborate plan which made all our mouths water. He was
going to kill a seal and, having removed its entrails, fill it up with
penguins similarly prepared. The seal was to be covered with stones and
a blubber fire kindled on the top. The cooking was to last a whole day,
at the end of which we were to eat not the seal but the penguins, which
had thus lost none of their own juices but received those of the seal
as well. Can you not imagine us sitting with tightened belts listening
to the proposal, with our mouths watering at the very prospect?
We were never able to make the attempt to get there, and it is perhaps
as well that we did not do so, for on this occasion we saw no signs
of anything resembling the paradise we had so fondly pictured. There
are places at the north-west end of the island where a landing could
be effected, but the coastline is composed largely of rocky bluffs and
sheer glacier faces, some of them of immense size.
We started, therefore, to cruise in a north-easterly direction, and
sighted a narrow beach some miles in length running along the foot of
steep mountains. On the beach were several harems of sea-elephants,
each containing as many as forty cows. Jeffrey, Wilkins and Douglas
wished to go ashore to carry on their scientific work, and I thought
this a good chance to get some more blubber. I had contracted a chill
as a result of my prolonged soaking in the cold water, so I sent
Macklin ashore with McLeod, Marr and Young to deposit the scientists
and bring off in addition to the blubber some meat for cooking. I gave
Macklin a revolver with which to dispatch the seals, and he took with
him also a B.S.A. airgun in the hope of obtaining some paddy birds,
which make very dainty fare.
Shortly after midday I noticed a change in the weather and with the
steam whistle signalled to the party to return. This they did, bringing
a small but useful addition to our supply of blubber and some paddies.
We killed in all nine sea-elephants and about the same number of
seals. There were many hundreds which we did not molest. I found on
my return to England that a report had been published in which it was
suggested that we had slaughtered all the sea-elephants on Elephant
Island. As a result some alarm was felt by the directors of the Natural
History Museum at South Kensington that these animals were in danger of
extinction, and without any reference to me a protest was published to
that effect.
I can only repeat what I have already said: that I have always set
my face against unnecessary killing. In all the expeditions in which
I have taken part I have never seen a case of wanton destruction of
any animal. I believe that amongst explorers as a class there is much
greater sympathy for animal life generally, and especially for those
types which they have known in the natural state, than exists amongst
those who know them only as stuffed specimens. I may add, however, that
had it been a matter of saving the life of any one member of my party
I would unhesitatingly have ordered the slaughter of every sea-elephant
I could find. Without wishing to labour the point I think the following
taken from Macklin’s journal may be of interest:
I do not know how to explain the attraction of this life ... it
is certainly more primitive ... one meets Nature on more familiar
terms and learns to love her and all her works. One feels drawn
into much closer companionship with the lower animals, though
I am not sure that the word “lower” is always correct.... I
have no doubt that what I have written is so much Greek to the
town-dwellers. One cannot explain—these things are “felt” and
are not to be learned from a book.... The English natural history
museums are such hopeless failures; at any rate, in so far as they
attempt to instil a love of Nature. They are so gloomy, and the
stuffed, unnatural creatures in glass cases are to me positively
revolting. I believe every healthy boy gets the same impression
and comes from them into the fresh air with a feeling of “escape.”
This surely is bad.
My first visit to the Natural History Museum of New York
brought me a revelation. The building itself is a bright,
well-lighted place and contains things of the most absorbing
interest beautifully set up. In the hall the whole history of
polar exploration is set out on two immense half-globes; there
is the sledge taken by Peary to the North Pole and the one used
by Amundsen in his race for the South Pole. The specimens are
wonderful and the setting of them is the work of artists who
know their job, for everything is lifelike and natural. In a
snow-covered forest glade there are timber wolves on the prowl
after game, flamingoes stand amongst the reeds in a swamp where
the muddy ripples seem almost to move, one can gaze into tree-tops
and see monkeys on the swing from branch to branch, reptiles swarm
about a pool of water in a tropical forest, and there are other
examples too numerous to mention. It is a place where boys stand
fascinated, and one to which they return again and again....
Space forbids the full entry, though much of which he writes is
interesting and very true, for once wedded to Nature there is no
divorce—separate from her you may and hide yourself amongst the
flesh-pots of London, but the wild will keep calling and calling for
ever in your ears. You cannot escape the “little voices.”
They’re calling from the wilderness, the vast and god-like spaces,
The stark and sullen solitudes that sentinel the Pole.
I now set off along the coast in the direction of Cape Wild, and about
4.0 P.M. came in sight of the large rock lying at the end of the spit.
We picked out many old familiar marks about the place. The weather was
looking very unsettled and I decided not to attempt a nearer approach
before darkness, but to lie off for the night. Just before dusk the
wind increased, blowing up strongly from direction north-west by west,
and many nasty willy-waughs came gustily down the glaciers from the
hills. Worsley suggested spending the night under the shelter of Seal
Rocks, to which I assented, and we crept up under their lee, feeling
our way carefully with the hand lead, finally coming to anchor in eight
fathoms.
Seal Rocks is the name given to a group of very barren islets lying
about a mile from the northern coast of Elephant Island. They are
covered on the northern side with lichen, the only form of vegetable
life which exists in these regions. They are the resting-place of a
number of seabirds, and penguins go there after their fishing to sleep
and digest their food. Our berth was by no means a comfortable one,
for the rocks are not large and give a very imperfect shelter from the
winds, whilst in addition there are round about them a number of small
ledges and submerged rocks, the proximity of which caused me no little
anxiety. I was very anxious, however, to revisit Cape Wild, as were
all those who had wintered with me there, and I hoped that the weather
might moderate by daybreak.
I was feeling a little feverish as a result of my chill and turned in
early, having arranged that a careful watch was to be kept, and having
given instructions to be called in the event of anything untoward
happening. Macklin relieved Jeffrey at midnight, the latter telling
him that both wind and sea were increasing, and advising him to call me
at once should he get the least bit uneasy. This he did at about 12.30
A.M., to say that we seemed to be dragging anchor and asking me to come
on deck. I got up at once. The wind had come round to the south-west,
so that we were no longer in a lee and the sea had risen considerably.
The rocks showed up indistinctly as black masses against scudding
clouds. I perceived that we could not stay there any longer, so at once
called out the hands and rang the engine-room telegraph for full steam
in the boilers.
We started to get up anchor right away, but as we shortened cable the
ship began to drag more rapidly, and as there was little sea room I
began to fear that we might foul some of the rocks or ledges before we
could get clear. I kept her going ahead with the engines, but to add to
the awkwardness of the situation the cable fouled in the chain locker,
so that the incoming links would not enter the spurling pipes but,
piling on deck, jammed the winch. I ordered Macklin and Carr to jump
below, taking with them a heavy maul and a chain hook to break open the
chain locker and free the cable. Worsley had by this time joined me on
the bridge, and we had some anxious moments as we waited for the signal
that all was clear, peering through the darkness to where a seething
line of breakers indicated sunken rocks and reefs. From the darkness
we heard the weird “jackass” call of the gentoo penguin, like a wild
lament for a ship in peril—fitting properly the stormy environment.
At last the cable was freed, we brought home the anchor and were able
to steam away without damage from our unpleasant neighbours. All the
time the wind rose. For a while I steamed east, hoping to be able to
hang on, for I was loath to give up the landing at Cape Wild and we
were not yet properly ballasted. In a short time, however, the gale had
increased to hurricane force and such a steep sea started running that
I could think of nothing but the safety of the ship, and so ran away
before the storm.
Dawn broke on a stormy scene, and our last view of Elephant Island,
seen through the driving spume astern of us, was a very different one
from the calm and beautiful appearance with which we were greeted on
the day of our arrival. I had hoped with the coming of light to be able
to get under the lee of Elephant Island, but to have attempted to put
our now light and unballasted ship across these seas would have been
fatal.
I had to make up my mind at once as to what course to adopt. We had in
the bunkers sufficient coal for one day’s steaming which, mixed with
sea-elephant blubber, might be made to spin out three or four days.
To beat back to Elephant Island was therefore out of the question.
My chief object in making for Deception Island had been to obtain the
coal necessary to take the ship to South Georgia, and, even under the
most favourable circumstances, I should have had against me the strong
current which runs out of Bransfield Strait. The hurricane, though
driving me away from the desired landing at Cape Wild, was fair for
South Georgia, and under single topsail, with fires banked and the
engines stopped, we were making better progress than the _Quest_ had
ever accomplished before. McIlroy reported that he could see no sign
of change of wind for some days, though a falling off in force might
be expected. This was just what we required. I decided, therefore, to
make direct for South Georgia under sail, reserving the fuel to enable
me to steam round the island and take the ship into harbour. I called
all hands to set the squaresail, which was coiled in a frozen mass
on the top of the deck-house. This was covered with a thick, smooth
coating of ice on which no one could keep a footing. We were compelled
to clamber up the stays and seize the right moment to let go so that
the roll would shoot us across to the foresail gaff, to which we clung
desperately with one hand while we used the other to free the sail. The
_Quest_ rolled and pitched in the liveliest manner. Wilkins, in casting
off a frozen lashing, lost his grip and I saw a form shoot to leeward
and disappear. A voice behind me shouted in my ear, “Wilkie’s gone!”
and indeed there seemed no doubt that he had fallen overboard. No
attempt to pick him up was possible, for no boat could have pulled back
into these enormous breaking seas, and in any case to have broached
the ship to would have meant losing the masts and probably the ship
as well. It was with tremendous relief that I saw Wilkins appear some
minutes after and go to the halliards. He told me later that he had
shouted that he was all right, but the sound of his voice was swept
away by the violent wind. He had grabbed the backstay and fallen to the
deck, fortunately without damage.
We swigged home the squaresail and felt the ship lurch and stagger
under its influence, but it increased our speed and enabled us to put
the miles behind us. We tore through the water, which bore down on our
stern as though to overwhelm us and passed sizzling and hissing along
our sides. We were swept continually. One heavy sea, coming over our
stern, fell with a smash on the poop, carried away the after-scuttle,
broke the skylights and filled the after-cabin with several feet of
water. Dell, McLeod and Marr immediately set to to repair the damage
with temporary structures, which would at least be watertight. Dell
and McLeod were required for another job, and Marr carried on alone.
The work was difficult and extremely unpleasant. The seas kept coming
over the stern, compelling him to grab some support to prevent being
swept forward with the wash. He was soaked from head to foot, the water
freezing and casing him in a solid suit of ice. I kept a watchful
eye on him. He stuck gamely to his work and made an excellent job
of it. If he is a product of Boy Scout training it says much for the
organization. I warn Sir Robert Baden-Powell that he will find himself
hard put to it to “skin alive” this hefty young seaman.[10]
We continued running all day and kept the sail on throughout the night.
On March 29th the wind abated a little, but it still continued to
blow a full gale. The seas had not gone down and the _Quest_ was
thrown about like a plaything of the ocean, so that the man at the
wheel had his work cut out to maintain the course and prevent her from
broaching-to. I hung on, however, for we were making good progress in
the right direction and saving coal.
We had irrevocably cut ourselves off from any chance of seeing our old
winter quarters at Cape Wild, which was a great disappointment to us
all, especially to McIlroy, who in the excitement of the rescue had
left behind his diary. It was wrapped up in an oilskin covering and he
had great hopes of recovering it. One writer says in his diary:
This is a great disappointment, but one meets many in this kind of
work, and it is no good making a moan about them.... I would like
to have got there all the same (he adds irrelevantly).
The rest of the run to South Georgia was not marked by any outstanding
incident. On the 30th we saw a school of piebald porpoises, and
Worsley reported seeing a “blackfish” about four feet in length,
which leapt several times out of the water. Numerous birds tailed in
our wake, increasing daily in numbers till we reached South Georgia.
The winds dropped a little, but continued to blow freshly from the
west-south-west on to our port quarter, enabling us to set all sail.
The noon observation on the 31st showed a run of 197 miles. This was
the _Quest’s_ record, and was made without use of the engines. On
the same day we were struck by an enormous breaking sea which almost
broached us to and half filling the foresail dropped in a deluge on the
deck-house, pouring in through the ventilators and flooding the cabins
and wardroom. Much of it found its way through the main hatch, which is
in the wardroom, and wetted many things in the hold. As we approached
South Georgia we noticed about the ship a number of small seabirds
somewhat resembling puffins, with short tail feathers and a very quick
movement of the wings in flight. Worsley recognized them as “the same
little flippity-flip-flop short-tailed birds that flew round the boat
and annoyed the Boss so much,” referring to Sir Ernest Shackleton’s
historic boat journey from Elephant Island to South Georgia during the
last expedition.
On April 3rd we were in the vicinity of South Georgia and expected to
make a landfall about dark. Worsley, who had not been able for some
days to get an observation of the sun, was unable to pick up the island
and we lay off all night. A number of soundings was taken. A large
school of whales surrounded the ship and we could hear their “blowing”
all about.
April 4th was also thick and hazy, and Worsley made a traversing cruise
looking for the island, the proximity of which was indicated by the
presence of birds, which we saw in hundreds with many young ones.
In the afternoon the fog cleared and we caught sight of land, which
we made for under steam. Night coming on, however, we stood off till
daybreak.
At dawn on the 5th we recognized Anenkov Island, and decided to make
for Leith Harbour round the north end of South Georgia.
During the afternoon we saw several steam whalers, a welcome sight
after having had the world to ourselves for so long. At night there was
a fine sunset, and outlined against the rosy horizon to the westward
these little steamers made a very pretty picture.
We entered Leith Harbour at daybreak on April 6th and moored to the
buoy. Scarcely had we made fast when we saw the motor-boat coming off
with the familiar figure of Mr. Hansen and another smaller one wearing
a white yachting cap. It proved to be Hussey, whom I had imagined back
in England long before this. Mr. Hansen gave us a most cordial welcome,
and I learned from Hussey all the news he had to tell.