Transcriber’s Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
INTO THE FROZEN SOUTH
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
In the beginning it was the intention of Sir Ernest Shackleton to
give Scout Marr the benefit of his guiding hand in the writing of this
book; and indeed up to within a few days of the great explorer’s death,
he spent many moments in talking it over with Marr, and incidentally
gave valuable hints as together they went over the Scout’s notes of
his observations. In this way the framework of the book may be said
to have been laid down by Sir Ernest, and the earlier chapters bear
the impress of his kindly advice as well as the reinforcement of his
wide and wise experience.
From the sad moment of his death the narrative was continued by Scout
Marr, and then when the MS. was completed, the young author’s work
was given the valued editorial overlook of so experienced a writer
of the things of the sea as Captain Frank H. Shaw.
In this way the book grew into its present form, and may be considered
the more acceptable insomuch as it reflects the personality of the
“Boss,” and is, moreover, just one more instance of his comradely
spirit toward one on the threshold of life.
Into the Frozen South
By SCOUT MARR, of the Quest
Expedition With Twenty-nine Half-tone Illustrations
[Illustration]
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
1923
First Published, September 1923
Reprinted, October 1923
Reprinted, November 1923
Printed in Great Britain.
To
JOHN QUILLER ROWETT
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
1. HOPE REALIZED 1
2. LONDON’S GOOD-BYE 6
3. THE VOYAGE BEGINS 18
4. LISBON TO MADEIRA 33
5. EXPERIENCES AFLOAT 44
6. ON THE WAY TO RIO 55
7. CHRISTMAS IN SOUTHERN SEAS 71
8. WE RUN INTO ICE 93
9. THE GREAT BLOW FALLS 102
10. FRANK WILD TAKES COMMAND 106
11. ALL ICE WHERE EYE COULD SEE 117
12. THE GREAT STRUGGLE BEGINS 131
13. GOING DOGGEDLY ON 145
14. WE MAKE FOR ELEPHANT ISLAND 160
15. A ROUGH TIME WITH ICE AND WIND 177
16. SOUTH GEORGIA AGAIN 186
17. A SPELL ON TRISTAN DA CUNHA 198
18. AMONG THE ISLANDS 213
19. ASAIL FOR HOME 224
INDEX 241
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Raising the Union Jack given by King George V to the
_Quest_ (Scout Marr is hoisting the left Signal
Halyard) Frontispiece
FACING PAGE
Sir Ernest Shackleton and Mr. John Quiller Rowett 4
The _Quest’s_ Goodly Company of Adventurers 5
On the Way: The _Quest_ in the Trades 58
The Ship’s Pets:
Query, the wolfhound 59
Questie, the cat, on Marr’s Shoulder 59
South Georgian Whaling Station: At Work on Blue
Whales 94
Some Finny Spoil from St. Paul’s Rocks 94
Launching the Kite for Aerial Observation 94
Sir Ernest’s Cabin on the _Quest_ 94
Penguins at Home 94
Dead Whales in Prince Olaf Harbour 94
View from above a South Georgia Glacier 94
Cape Pigeons at South Georgia 95
Gentoo Penguins 95
The _Quest_ Narrowly Escapes an Iceberg 120
The Midnight Sun in the Land of Ice 120
Finding the Magnetic Dip: Jeffrey and Douglas at
Work 121
Taking the First Sounding in the Frozen South 121
The _Quest_ is Frozen In 140
Forging Ahead through Loose Pack Ice 141
In the Antarctic: The _Quest_ a Mass of Frozen
Spray 141
The Wake of Loose Ice as seen from the Crow’s Nest 182
A Close-up View of the Pack 182
Entering the Pack 183
Collecting Ice for Replenishing the Water Tanks 183
Scout Marr presents Sir Robert Baden-Powell’s
Flag to the Tristan da Cunha Troop 204
We go in Search of Fresh Food 205
The _Quest_ off Inaccessible Island 205
[Illustration: Raising the Union Jack given by King George V to
the _Quest_.
(Scout Marr is Hoisting the Left Signal Halyard.)
_Photo: Topical._]
INTO THE FROZEN SOUTH
CHAPTER I
Hope Realized
It was difficult to believe that I stood a fighting chance of being
chosen as one of that band of gallant adventurers bound for the Frozen
South. Hope ran high when it was made known to me that I was among the
ten candidates who were to be inspected by Sir Ernest Shackleton; but,
even so, my heart misgave me. True enough, we ten had been weeded out
of thousands who had applied, in response to the wide appeal published
in the early summer of 1921, for volunteer Scouts to accompany the
famous explorer on what promised to be an ideal adventure; but that
such good fortune as came would be mine was wellnigh incredible.
Yet the miracle happened. A dream grew into reality. Together with
Scout Norman E. Mooney, of the Orkney Islands, I was selected as one
of the crew of that famous _Quest_ which, driven by the compelling
determination of Sir Ernest Shackleton, was to attempt to penetrate
the Antarctic fastnesses, and to explore not only those icy wastes,
but also certain little-known islands in the sub-Antarctic seas.
Imagine how my heart leaped when the news was told! Here was romance
personified. I think that any youth of my age would have felt with
me that all the adventure books ever written were but tame affairs
as compared with what the future promised. We were to follow in
the footsteps of brave men who had dared much; of men who had died
because of their love of perilous adventure. Anything might happen;
imagination filled in the coming years with pictures that set the
mind alive with delight.
Oh, yes, it was good to be young and ambitious—and chosen! The doors
were to be closed for indefinite years on England—commonplace England,
as I thought it then—and our ship was to bear us, high of heart,
clear across the threshold of adventure.
Often and often had I thought how splendid it would be to visit those
wastes of snow and ice and furious seas. Like every other healthy
British lad, the hot blood of desire to achieve ran in my veins.
And here were my biggest dreams coming true. Fill in the blanks for
yourselves.
I was glad to think that my lot was to be cast amongst such tried
and proven men as Sir Ernest Shackleton and Mr. Frank Wild. Every
boy has his private heroes. Shackleton was one of mine. Moreover, I,
a landsman, was to learn the craft of the sea, and under the most
fascinating circumstances imaginable. I thought of Drake, Hawkins
and all those hardy adventurers of the past. I was one of them!
My first meeting with Sir Ernest Shackleton did nothing to lessen my
enthusiasm, for he satisfied my imagination most completely. Here was a
man to be followed anywhere—everywhere; a man whom it would be a great
thing to serve. A tall, broad man, with a strong, determined mouth,
a man whose smile gave confidence, whose voice seemed always to be
laughing at danger. A full-sized man, judged by any standard, though
his great shoulders carried a just perceptible bend, as token of the
heavy burden laid upon him by his gallant struggles and endeavours
of former years.
Naturally enough, when face to face with him this first time, I had
little to say. But he possessed the ability to size one up almost at
a glance.
“Why do you want to go?” he asked crisply.
“I want to _do_ something,” I said. It was a period when every
right-thinking boy felt he must do something to be worthy of the
sacrifices of Britain’s dead in the recently ended war. I wanted to say
all this, yet words failed to come; but Shackleton read right enough
and smiled. I was chosen, and even to this day I cannot understand
why. My lucky star had climbed into the zenith, I suppose.
There is really no need for me to record that I counted myself the
luckiest fellow on earth, nor to declare how strenuously I vowed
myself to loyal and helpful performance of all such duties as should
come my way. I wanted to be worthy of my companions. Here were men
who had flocked to a well-loved leader’s standard from all the ends
of the earth; and I was chosen to stand beside them!
Once the decision was made, the days were full of anticipation.
They seemed tedious and endless, because, being committed, I wanted
to tread the _Quest’s_ planking and feel that it was all really
true. There were so many things that might happen, so many chances
of misadventure. However, fortune stood my friend; the appointed
hour arrived. Not that those final farewells to loving friends were
pleasant, but high resolve made light of them. Others had dared the
long out trail that’s everlastingly new; and homesickness is no fatal
disease.
Nevertheless, let me be honest and say that my first sight of the
_Quest_ somewhat tarnished the gilt of the gingerbread. She seemed
so very tiny to be destined for so great an adventure—merely a minnow
amongst whales compared with other craft. Still, I doubt if any power
on earth could have tempted me to draw back.
Mooney and I joined ship on September 15, 1921, and I was allotted a
bunk in the little mess-room in the ship’s after-end. Cramped quarters
enough, make no mistake on that head. The _Quest_ was no leviathan,
and personal comfort was a thing that seemed to have been left out of
her controller’s calculations. So much for first impressions. If I
had had previous sea experience I might, at that first glance, have
counted my quarters almost luxurious. For in addition to the actual
sleeping-place, at least as roomy as a coffin, I was granted a locker
beneath for clothes and a shelf for the careful stowing of trifling
personal belongings. This was my stateroom de luxe. At first it seemed
so tiny, so stuffy, so generally uncomfortable, that I wondered how
any human being, not to mention a well-grown youth of my proportion,
could exist there; but the time was to come when I should consider
this corner of a seagoing ship the most desirable spot in all the
world for my seagoing requirements, and count the minutes until I
was able to fling myself full-length into that seven-by-two sleeping
shelf to sink into the dreamless slumber that rewards hard toil.
Aboard a Polar exploration ship there is scant room for luxury. Every
available inch of space must needs be crammed with gear that is to
further the expedition’s interests. The human side of things is apt
to be lost sight of by those who have the greater vision, and who
understand, as our leader understood, the amazing adaptability of
mankind.
[Illustration: Sir Ernest Shackleton and Mr. John Quiller Rowett.]
Not that Mooney and myself were called upon at once to “render down”
into these cramped quarters. Probably with an idea of tempering the
wind to the shorn lamb, Mr. John Quiller Rowett, who, by reason of
his personal admiration for Sir Ernest Shackleton, was responsible
for financing the expedition, took us under his comforting wing and
gave us a great time at his Sussex home, Ely Place, Frant.
[Illustration: The _Quest’s_ Goodly Company of Adventurers.]
In my opinion Mr. Rowett deserves a high place in the records of Polar
exploration. The bravest adventurers imaginable cannot fare forth in
quest of the unknown without monetary backing; born adventurers, by
reason of their very indomitableness, seldom have sufficient capital
to finance their expeditions. If the _Quest_ was to be a cannon ball
designed to thrust herself into the frozen fastnesses of the South,
Mr. Rowett unquestionably supplied the powder that fired her on that
lengthy journey. Expecting nothing in return for his very considerable
outlay, satisfied to know that he was helping a courageous man towards
the realization of his ambition, Mr. Rowett cheerfully provided the
major part of the funds for this, Shackleton’s last adventure, out
of considerations of personal friendship for our leader and in the
general interests of scientific research.