Frank Wild Takes Command
Commander Wild had a vast load of trouble upon his capable shoulders.
The most serious, most dangerous part of the voyage was to be faced,
and the troubles that had dogged us throughout promised to continue
in latitudes where ports of refuge were unknown. However, since the
spirit of the genuine adventurer was his, he showed a bold face to
the hazards, and we who followed whither he led saw scant outward
evidence of his perturbation. All he said was that the trip promised
to be a somewhat risky one, but that it was up to us to keep the
Boss’s memory green by means of uncomplaining devotion to duty, and a
determination to see the matter through. He gave us the opportunity
of withdrawing, if we so desired; but never a faint-heart asked for
a passage home. It may be that national pride was involved, for it
would naturally have meant a great humiliation to betray, before
the Norwegian element there in South Georgia, a lack of desire to
continue; or it may be, as I prefer to think, that all hands were so
imbued with the idea of fulfilling Sir Ernest’s dreams that at any
cost they were prepared to continue, whatever the days might bring.
The day of the Boss’s departure ashore was wet and depressing, and
on the following day even the _Quest_ appeared to be restless and
unsettled, for she dragged her anchors, and it was necessary to work
her to a more secure holding-ground. The general run of things down
there in South Georgia is for constant heavy squalls to blow fiercely
off the land, and to lie there at anchor with any sense of security
you must have implicit faith in your ground-tackle and be constantly
on the _qui vive_. The least carelessness is liable to result in
your ship being driven ashore and hopelessly lost. We came to safer
moorings, and, since our time was short and nothing was to be gained
by protracted mourning, we set to work to ready the _Quest_ for the
coming hazards. Three Argentine Germans were employed to set up the
rigging, overhaul all lanyards and seizings, and, driven assiduously
by Jimmy Dell, our boatswain, they made excellent headway. For myself,
I endeavoured to forget my natural grief in downright hard work of
an unpoetical kind—attending to my below-decks duties for all I was
worth. I found the panacea effective enough. But even so one missed
the Boss’s quiet words of encouragement and his approval of duty done
to his liking; it needed a firm grip on one’s resolution to prevent
one from wondering what the ultimate issue of the venture might be.
There followed now a sequence of wet, depressing days—miserable
days, quite in harmony with our feelings. Pack ice drifted into the
harbour where we lay, and gradually solidified about the ship; the
mists drooped heavily over the hills, narrowing our horizons, and
throughout this time a thin, infinitely penetrating rain fell, which
was not permitted to interfere with our deck duties. My immediate
duty was a simple one: the rigging was being thoroughly served, and
I passed the spunyarn ball whilst other men, more competent than I,
did the actual work. If I thought that I was like the Hibernian who
carried bricks up a ladder whilst another man expended himself in
tiresome toil, that is my own affair.
High winds accompanied the misty rains, and the surrounding ice
lowered the temperature enormously. All hands were busy as could be;
such as were not employed on deck found plenty to do down below. The
boiler was due for its periodical scaling, the encrustations formed
inside the plates by reason of the corroding salts in the water had
to be removed, as their presence lessened our steaming powers. On
one of these indeterminate days, as I think I might call them, Mr.
Wilkins returned in a whaler after three weeks’ scientific work on
the island; and on the day following his return to the _Quest_ I was
up at an early hour to accompany him in the small whaler _Carl_ to
bring back Mr. Douglas, who had established a research camp on the
shore of a tiny bay some two hours’ journey away. It was necessary for
Wilkins and myself to serve as crew aboard the _Carl_, since the only
other people aboard were the skipper and a man who called himself the
engineer. Fortified by strong coffee and noble sandwiches, we set off
in good spirits, despite the considerable breeze that was blowing.
Although the wind blew a whole gale, the sea, thanks to the shelter
of the many islets and the greater shelter of the towering hills, was
smooth enough to rejoice the heart of even the most timorous tripper.
My experience as helmsman of the _Quest_ naturally fitted me—in my own
estimation—as qualified quartermaster for any ship afloat; so I took
the whaler’s wheel without the smallest trepidation. Ships differ,
however; they say they are like women in this respect. I wasn’t used
to a craft that literally leaped to answer the slightest touch on
the helm, and as a result I very nearly ran the Carl ashore on the
rocks; but our miss was as good as a mile, and once I’d got the hang
of things I managed better.
Without further mishap we reached Douglas’s little cove and dropped
anchor there. Not without difficulty, since a sea of kelp lay between
us and the shore. Wilkins and myself lowered the whaler’s boat and
pulled ashore, where Douglas came out to lend us a hand in beaching
the boat. Having collected him and his much gear, we transhipped the
lot to the _Carl_, and, lifting anchor, headed back for Gritviken,
which we reached without startling adventure by early afternoon. In
our absence the boiler had been scaled, refilled with fresh water,
and our small dynamo had also been repaired.
Next day we made an early start by heaving up anchor at 6 a.m. in
order to go alongside to secure an adequate supply of fresh water.
By contrast with previous days this January morning was bright, mild
and sunny. I came to the conclusion that the South Georgian climate
had taken our own unmistakable British climate as a model. It gave us
a thoroughly good imitation of an English June, I must say—frostbite
one day, sunstroke the next, with a sort of _olla podrida_ of all
sorts of changes, from crisp frost to sultry heat, in between. Mr.
Wilkins and Major Carr vanished on another mysterious expedition in
the _Carl_, and as at three o’clock our fresh-water tanks were filled,
we shifted ship to the opposite side of the bay, and an adventurous
party promptly proceeded ashore in search of deer. Commander Wild
succeeded in bringing one down at long range; but—alas for our hopes
of fresh venison!—an impassable river intervened between killer and
killed, and, as time did not permit the lengthy detour necessary, the
hunters returned more or less empty-handed, for sea-birds and seals
hardly count.
Commander Wild’s intention was to enter the Antarctic ice without
any delay, by reason of the lateness of the season. Pushing to the
eastward, and then striking south through the pack ice, he wished to
reach the Great Ice Barrier, and, having reached it, to turn westward
and comprehensively map out the whole coastline in the direction of
Coats Land, so long as the ice remained loose enough to permit of
an escape before the winter frosts solidified the whole mass. But as
the _Quest’s_ engine power and general structure made her ability to
deal with the ice something of a matter for conjecture, the plan was
subject to modifications. There was to be no sensational dash to the
South Pole; no attempt to outrival previous explorers’ daring; the main
idea of the expedition was purely scientific, with an underrunning
desire to verify certain theories of the past that had never been
definitely proved.
As the season was fast advancing, Commander Wild was most anxious,
consequent on our annoying delays, to get clear of South Georgia
and away southwards; and his haste was understandable when, the day
after watering the ship and moving into Leith Harbour, we wakened to
discover the surface of the bay covered with pancake ice. It is called
by this name because, instead of being one broad, continuous sheet,
it appears in a great number of large round pieces, ridiculously like
pancakes, which, as the temperature falls, freeze solidly together to
form a single sheet of what is known by Arctic and Antarctic experts
as “young ice.”
There was still much to be done: fresh clothing to be secured, fresh
stores and coal to be embarked. We of the crew were all fitted out
snugly with fur-lined leather caps, like those worn by flying men,
socks and mitts beyond the counting, stout ankle boots, much warm
underclothing, pea-jackets of weather-resisting quality, wind-proof
jackets—very necessary, these, considering what awaited us—stout
pants, blankets and warm coverlets. Every man’s wants were supplied
through the generous kindness of Mr. Hansen, the manager of the
whaling station at Leith; no trouble seemed too great so far as he
was concerned. The old-timers said that this outfit, which seemed
amazing to me, was nothing to the genuine Antarctic equipment which
was waiting for us at Cape Town, having been sent there by Sir Ernest
Shackleton before the expedition started; but it promised to suffice
us for one season, at all events. Mr. Hansen also fashioned for us
in his workshops ice anchors, hand harpoons, ice picks and ice axes;
and I must give the Norwegian population of South Georgia full marks
for the unvarying interest they showed in our preparations and the
ready help they gave under all circumstances.
After a morning’s “Peggying,” i.e. performing the general charwoman’s
duties of the ship, I went ashore with the cook in the surf-boat for a
load of fish and bread, and when we started off found some difficulty
in making headway. Our combined knowledge of handling small boats
was remarkable for its minuteness; the surf-boat spun about in giddy
circles, but the little cherub sitting up aloft had an eye open,
and we reached the _Quest_ in a manner that would have resulted in
our scalps being served up on the wardroom table had we been pukka
man-o’-warsmen, where style counts as well as results.
But even so, breathless as this adventure was, it was better than
“Peggying”! Some day I shall write a whole book about the Peggying
art; but space forbids a lengthy diatribe here.
After dinner that night we had guests aboard, a small party of
Shetlanders favouring us with a visit. We entertained them to the
best of our ability: music on the gramophone, mandolin, mouth-organ
and violin; for the _Quest_ was a musical ship in intention, whatever
the result might be in performance.
Gradually now we became equipped for our venture. The ship was coaled,
supplied with oil, her store-lockers were packed to bursting; the
friendly Shetlanders cut our hair! But, prior to setting forth, one day
was devoted to a shore excursion. Such as wished to study the whole
art of whale-flensing were at liberty so to do, for a ninety-foot
whale was being cut up on the slips; such as preferred to practise
gymnastics had their opportunity, too, for a blown-up whale was
tethered to our mooring-buoy, and a lot of fine, confused exercise
was obtainable by jumping off our rails on to the distended carcass,
which had the resilient qualities of india-rubber, and coming back
aboard by means of the rebound. For myself I accompanied the hunting
party in the capacity of assistant to Mr. Wilkins, who was determined
to secure a photographic record of the activities.
It was an interesting day for me. The first noteworthy thing that
greeted us was a regular school of young sea-elephants: square-faced
brutes with bulging nostrils and expressions that seemed to suggest
that each one was fitted with a very pungent mustard plaster on his
chest. They were lying half hidden amongst the tussock grass, through
which their sleek grey bodies were not easily distinguishable. Very
ferocious and awe-inspiring they showed; their grunts on our approach
might merely have been grunts of inquiry, but they sounded extremely
like grunts of rage. Halting, we threw small stones at them, after
the fashion of inquiring humanity, which caused them to rear angrily
upright on their hinder parts, snarl with wide-open mouths at us,
then, curving their backs in high disdain, they moved off towards
the water, their heads over their sleek shoulders, grunting—always
grunting. Sea-elephants really are one of the many tribes of seals,
and they get their particular name from the fact that the young
bulls are equipped with short trunks which give them a most ludicrous
appearance. They are the largest of all the seals, and some of them
weigh up to four or five tons apiece. Relying on the gallantry of
the bulls, the cow seals cluster together in “harems,” so-called, of
perhaps fifty strong; but their faith in their male protectors seems
doomed to disappointment, judging by the behaviour of the young bull
seals we disturbed.
The shooting-party went on their way, and I followed up the hill in
company with Wilkins, who was constantly securing some fresh snap
of interest. We stumbled across a great number of giant petrels,
sitting complacently with their young. So intent were they on their
nursery duties—it must either have been that or else an utter absence
of fear of man—that they refused to move an inch as we neared them,
contenting themselves with ear-piercing squawks and snappings of their
long bills. Wilkins in his turn did some snapping, too, securing very
excellent pictures of these interesting birds at close range. The
daring hunters meanwhile trudged after problematical deer, and found
none alive, but discovered the carcass of the one previously shot;
and for obvious reasons decided to leave it where it was.
Thoroughly fatigued by the unaccustomed exercise we returned to the
ship, and took her across the bay to Gritviken, where anchor was
dropped for the night. A short night enough it proved, for at 4 a.m.
all hands were called, to hoist and stow the surf-boat and get the
_Quest_ under way. Having got our anchors the engines were started,
and away we went, coasting along the forbidding shore, with the Kelvin
sounder going briskly, in order that existing charts might be verified
or corrected as to the varying depths of the water. It is a great
invention, this Kelvin sounder, and perfectly accurate soundings can
be taken to a depth of 300 fathoms or more whilst the ship is going
ahead at full speed. The Kelvin is a very great improvement on the
old sounding methods, when it was necessary to heave the ship to,
carry the lead forward, drop it, wait until the leadline paid out,
and then haul it in astern by hand; even then not knowing whether
your measurements were accurate to a fathom or two either way.
The Kelvin sounder, which owes its genesis to Lord Kelvin, is in
reality a simple affair; it depends for its accuracy on atmospheric
pressure. It consists of a sinker—merely a weighty chunk of shaped
lead—and a tube in which is slid a narrow glass tube coated internally
with a chemical substance, which the pressure alters in colouring.
The sinker is attached to tough wire capable of standing a terrific
strain, and this wire is wound about a drum worked by friction clutches
and friction brakes. When the sinker reaches bottom a slight pressure
on the winding handle checks the run of the wire, a little added
pressure puts the handles in action, and two men can comfortably
wind up the lead from the greatest depth. Once the sounding-tube is
brought aboard the glass tube is applied to a graduated gauge, and
the limit of the changed colouring of the contained pigment marks the
actual depth of water. The bottom of the sinker is hollowed slightly
and “armed” with tallow, which, impinging on the bottom, either
brings up a sample of sand, gravel or shell, or, if hard rock alone
is below, brings up an imprint which sufficiently shows the nature
of the bottom. The depth-reading, being measured purely by vertical
atmospheric pressure, is necessarily accurate, no matter how fast
the ship is going or how much wire has run out.
Presently we stopped, lowered the surf-boat and dispatched a crew
ashore to bring off Douglas and Carr, and, if possible, secure some
penguins for food, as our preserved stores required the most careful
shepherding, by reason of the lengthy cruise ahead of us. The doctor
and I, on landing, took sticks and proceeded up the hill as if for a
wager. The penguin can waddle along at a considerable pace on level
ground; but up a gradient he is clumsy and handicapped, and a man
can beat him easily. We were out for food, not sport, so we didn’t
believe in giving Master Penguin too many chances. In a very little
while we killed as many as were necessary for the larder, and this
without undue exertion, for the quaint fellows literally swarmed.
We collected our bag and retraced our steps, and found that Wilkins
had killed two Rock Hopper penguins, these for specimens, while for
the cook’s benefit he had shot several Skua gulls, which make really
excellent eating, being less fishy and oily than penguins and the like.
Returning aboard I skinned and cleaned the birds for Green, and by
the time the last stripped corpse was ready we were dropping anchor in
Larsen Harbour. This is a snug little bay—very suggestive of some of
the Norwegian fjords, I believe, having an extremely narrow entrance,
and the land all round and about rising in precipitous crags from
the placid water—sheer rock walls varying from a thousand to fifteen
hundred feet in height, in general effect somewhat overwhelming. It
makes an average-sized man feel more than insignificant to be brooded
over by these towering walls.
Just as we anchored, a wire was discovered fouling the propeller; but
the trouble was not serious, and “Old Mac” managed to set matters to
rights without any great difficulty.
Because of the indifferent holding for our anchors, it was necessary
for the anchor-watch to maintain a regular system of soundings, as
the danger of dragging ashore was not inconsiderable.
At 5 a.m. on Wednesday, January 18th, we got our ground-tackle and
steamed out between the frowning cliffs that guard the right little
tight little Larsen Harbour; and I, coming on deck just before
breakfast, was amazed and fascinated by the glorious beauty of the
innumerable tabular icebergs in our vicinity. They shone pure white and
dazzling in the glory of the sunlight, a truly wonderful spectacle, and
quite enough to give one a working impression of what the Antarctic
wastes really were. Furthermore, even at this early date I was able
to understand what is meant by the ice-lure—the queer fascination
which draws men from all the corners of the globe; which makes them
leave home, comfort and peace for the sheer sake of waging war with
the frozen wilderness.
As the skipper was anxious to secure absolutely correct bearings of
Clerk Rocks, whose charted position was somewhat open to doubt, we
headed that way; but the sunny conditions quickly gave way to thick
mist, and so we missed the rocks completely, which was a pity, as
it had been reported that recent volcanic eruptions had taken place
there, and the sight of an active volcano amongst drifting ice would
have been something worth seeing. Still, there was no time to waste
in hunting the rocks, for we were now embarked on the really difficult
part of our enterprise—the beating of the icy fastnesses of the South.
Every day, almost every hour, indeed, was of supreme value.