The Great Struggle Begins
We were now moving over a sea that was empty of bergs completely;
the floating outliers of the Great Barrier had gone north on their
summer journey; but at 10.30 a.m. on February 4, the sea then being
calm and a thin mist hanging over the horizon, a few small pieces of
ice were sighted ahead. Was this at last the pack-ice of which I had
heard so much from the old-timers? Yes; the mist lifted, and there,
unmistakably, were long white belts of ice fragments—stream-ice, as
it is called, the heralds of the heavier pack not far off. The _Quest_
entered loose pack at about noon, in latitude 65° 7′ south, longitude
15° 21′ east, and now it was necessary to take in all sail, because
the courses to be steered in order to avoid the heavier fragments of
ice were most erratic, and as often as not the ship was thrown wholly
aback as she turned and twisted along the narrowing channels.
Everyone was now in the highest of spirits. To enter the pack was
the goal we had set ourselves—one of the goals, at least; and we
were entered. Moreover, the ice had lessened the sea greatly; we
were moving along on an even keel; the wind had dropped almost to
nothing; and, too, so far as the veterans were concerned, this was
to all intents and purposes a home-coming. Especially noticeable
was this delight in old Macleod, an iceman to his finger-tips. He
paraded up and down the main deck ceaselessly, with his face wearing
as beatific a smile as ever human countenance carried, I warrant;
so that to me, an amateur, it was as though he himself had placed
the ice there for the general entertainment. Undoubtedly his mind
was soaring to unimaginable heights; his eyes shone, uplift radiated
from him—until he slipped on some loose ice on the planking and came
sprawling somewhat ludicrously down to the deck and the realities of
existence.
At two o’clock I took my trick at the wheel, and enjoyed two hours
of genuinely strenuous exercise. Dodging ice is a most fascinating
sport. Ordinarily a trick at the wheel is a dreary and eventless
matter enough, except when hard weather is running, but in the pack
the helmsman hasn’t a moment for cogitating on his woes, for the
officer of the watch, eagle-eyed and vigilant as they make them, is
everlastingly yelling: “Hard a-port; hard a-starboard! Give it to
her quickly—quickly! Hard over with her!” and so on, and the muscles
must follow the bidding of the brain simultaneously with the order
being received. It is very good exercise for the arms and chest,
far more invigorating than frowsting over a stove or snugging down
into blankets for warmth; and as you realize how dependent the ship
is for continued safety on your activity, you take a keen pride in
almost anticipating the orders, waiting for the next one with all
the eagerness of a terrier alert for a stick to be thrown.
The pack thickened as the day went by; the open lanes of water
between the congealed masses grew fewer and fewer. One or two seals,
lying prone on the ice-floes, lifted their heads and looked at us
with astonishment and supercilious disdain as we ploughed forward,
but betrayed otherwise no symptom of alarm. Over all was the solemn
mysterious stillness of the frozen wastes, broken only by the
crunching of the young ice our sheathed bow parted on its determined
progress. And somehow the nearness of the ice bred up a queer kind
of exhilaration; it created a sort of “do or die” feeling that is
not easily expressed in words. I fancy, though, judging by what the
veterans said, that it was very much the same effect as is produced
on old soldiers who smell powder—it recalls past victories and gives
promise of further achievement. These mysteries are beyond my ken;
I can only speak of what I experienced, and I know that my first day
amongst the ice left me tingling all over.
Even Query seemed to get a dose of the prevalent feeling; he could
not keep still for long at a time, but kept jumping to the bulwarks,
where, with forefeet propped, he stared out over the pack, his nostrils
distending, giving a curious whine every now and then, as though he,
too, wanted to join issue with the vast power that we were opposing.
Every now and then, too, in the open stretches of water, we sighted
whales—killer whales, as they are called—who occasionally, in search
of air, charged wildly upwards to break the newly formed ice with
their heads; it gave me quite a shock to see broken ice flying upwards
in a cloud, with water and spray mixed amongst it, and then, below
the flurry, to detect the heads and piggish little eyes of the whales
themselves, like weird denizens of the hither deeps who had appeared
to protest against our violation of their sanctuary.
During the morning watch of Sunday, February 5, I was kept at the
wheel for nearly the whole of the four-hour watch, as Mac, who usually
shared the duty with me, was otherwise employed in Peggying duties;
and, because of the vigorous exercise, I was quite ready for a rest
when eight bells sounded my release. As the wind was now favourable,
and as every added inch of headway counted, we set the topsail to
assist our hard-striving engines. After lunch we passed a very large
floe, on which, entirely indifferent to our approach, three seals
were basking lazily, and Commander Wild, who, like a careful leader,
realized that the success of the expedition depended on the health of
its members, decided that now was the hour to replenish our larder.
Consequently he shot all three of them, and their carcasses were
hoisted aboard by means of the yardarm tackle of the squaresail.
Certain of the old-timers at once set to work with vast enthusiasm,
and in three short minutes the quarry was flayed, the tidbits obtained
from the general bulk—brains, kidneys, liver, the heart and the back
steaks dissected from each seal, and the refuse thrown overboard. The
skins, with their two and a half inch thickness of blubber adhering,
I helped to cut up and convey to the bunkers, in readiness for use
as fuel for the boiler fires, since every unit of heat producing
material was now of extreme value.
This was my first experience of the gentle art of butchering. An
unlovely job, entirely lacking in romance, but very necessary, and
so not to be growled at.
During this Sunday the pack hourly grew thicker and the weather
became colder, but not unpleasantly so, and I found this crisp cold
much easier to bear than the wet, soggy cold of the lower latitudes.
Altogether the day was very pleasant, for the sun was shining
throughout and the sky quite clear of cloud. Daylight, too, lasted
all the twenty-four hours, even though the sun did disappear for
a little while. But I was getting hardened to the lack of night by
this time, just as I was getting hardened to all the other peculiar
features of exploring the vicinity of a Pole.
Coming on deck at four o’clock on the following morning, I discovered
the ship hemmed in with close pack-ice of a heavy kind. There were
very few visible areas of open water, but the lanes amongst the
ice had disappeared. It was still possible to make headway, and the
_Quest_ pushed slowly on, with a suggestion of purposeful striving
about her that was very good to see. It was as though she said: “In
spite of all disadvantages, and no matter what sort of bad luck I’ve
had in the past, I’m going through with the job now that I’ve started!”
Though from the deck it was impossible to see any open lanes, from the
crow’s nest it was different, and by dint of stationing a keen-eyed
lookout in that breezy eminence, who shouted out whenever an open
stretch of water showed, and indicated to those on the bridge in
which direction to steer, steady progress continued. The noteworthy
feature was the appearance of many more killer whales, who welcomed
us by breaking through the young ice with their backs, and as soon
as they reached open air, blowing with a very unpleasant noise and
then, as though playing a game of surprises, whisking from sight
like lightning. Ugly brutes they were; seafaring nightmares is the
best way of describing them. Having reached latitude 67° 8′ south,
we expected to get a sight of land at any time.
It was very astonishing to take the first trick of the middle watch
in broad daylight; but the lack of darkness was a godsend, as it
enabled us to pick our way in amongst the floes and so keep going
steadily. The sun was not above the horizon, but the light was quite
as clear as early afternoon of a winter’s day in Scotland. Of course,
the dazzling white surface of the ice itself helps a lot, and the
remarkable clearness of the air is another consideration when reckoning
up this curious visibility.
As the day wore on the floes began to pack much more closely together,
and the ice itself was increasing in thickness, so that we made only
indifferent headway; and at last, coming to an unusually heavy belt
of pack, we decided that it would be necessary to give up altogether.
To force a way through appeared impossible, but just ahead showed
a clear space of water, and it was determined to make an effort to
cut the frozen barrier that parted us from further progress. To get
through the five hundred yards that separated the _Quest_ from free
water took exactly two hours of steady thrusting. For long spaces
of time we would find ourselves jammed tightly between floes as high
as our bulwarks, where, with engines rattling away at full speed, we
failed to make an inch of headway. Then it was a case of stopping and
going astern, after which the ship was stopped again, engines opened
to full speed ahead, and like a ram we crunched into the solid mass
and bored a little way farther towards our goal, with the broken
ice grating and roaring and screaming along our sides in a crashing
chorus of spite. Then, as soon as we gained a trifling expanse of
open water, we were through it and up against the solidifying ice
once more, when the whole process had to be repeated.
While we were held up in this way great numbers of seals floundered
around us, apparently sucking at the ship’s sides for food, and we
thus had an exceptionally good opportunity of studying these mammals
at close quarters and under natural conditions. Their movements under
water, plainly visible from our rails, were surprisingly graceful
and extraordinary to a degree.
After infinite striving we gained a stretch of open water, but,
crossing it, we found the thickened pack on the farther side to be
even worse than what we had successfully negotiated, and Commander
Wild, coming on deck at four o’clock to take over the watch, went
immediately to the masthead, where, by personal observation, he
satisfied himself of the utter futility of attempting to proceed
farther in that direction. He decided then to turn away to the
eastward, in hope of discovering a lead that would carry us southward.
Course was accordingly altered and we trudged slowly on. It was
growing colder and colder; the real ice nip was in the air; but the
rigour was not at all unbearable.
Later in the day five seals were shot and flayed on the ice; their
fat proved a welcome addition to our bunkers, to say nothing of dainty
fare for our larder. The big risk in our kind of work is scurvy, close
quarters and a monotonous diet of preserved foods tending to encourage
this most dreaded of all shipboard diseases, so every opportunity of
feeding the crew on fresh meat was naturally taken. Like explorers
in more temperate zones, we were determined to live more or less on
the country. But as there were other considerations besides food,
Mr. Wilkins sighted, stalked and shot one lone, lorn Emperor penguin,
which he gleefully added to his growing collection.
Throughout the following morning the _Quest_ continued working to
north and east in search of an opening that would lead her to the
south. Here the pack was looser, and not infrequently the ship was
steaming quite gaily across lagoons or down wide, promising lanes,
with many seals and those ugly killer whales accompanying us. Worried
by reason of a possible shortage in our coal supply—all along it
was admitted the _Quest_ was too small for the task imposed upon
her—Commander Wild stopped the engines at noon and all plain sail
was made, under which, as the breeze was strong, we made excellent
progress even through the pack. During the afternoon, ambling along
quite pleasantly, we passed the first sea-leopard I had ever seen. It
was basking on a floe and seemed quite unconcerned at our appearance
in its native solitudes.
Watching as the _Quest_ edged her way through the pack under sail
alone was quite an interesting experience. She managed quite well,
and seemed to lean all her weight on the ice when it hampered her,
thrusting forward in a purposeful fashion; and it was quite possible
to realize why earlier Polar explorers had done so well before the
era of steam. But during the first watch we took in sail and got the
engines going again, and with a lookout constantly in the crow’s
nest to direct our devious twistings and turnings, we continued
throughout the night, with the occasional screech and bump of ice to
haunt our slumbers. This bumping was supplying us with extra work,
for it strained the ship’s timbers no little, and the pumps were our
principal recreation, the ship leaking considerably.
During the middle watch bigger gaps and wider lines showed to the
westward, so our course was accordingly altered; by 4 a.m. that
course, instead of N.E., was S.W. By way of a change from the recent
sparkling brilliance of the atmosphere, this morning was so thick that
we could not see very far; but being sent to the masthead lookout,
I saw, over the blanket of mist, free water both to the north and
the south. Thus throughout the day we steered a series of devious
courses in hunting open water; and up there I experienced the deep
sense of loneliness that attacks a man when perched up in the crow’s
nest, staring out across the illimitable wilderness of ice, veined
only slightly by the ever-shifting water lanes. The sight even of
just one seal was warming and heartening, as presenting a relief to
the everlasting brooding mystery of the frozen south. Furthermore,
sight of a basking seal gave us an added interest in life, for, if
at all possible, the fellow was promptly shot, not only with a desire
to replenish our larder, but also to eke out our supply of fuel.
All hands were very fit these days, in excellent spirits, and
possessed of appetites that would have created dismay in the soul
of a boarding-house keeper. The cessation of the ship’s wearisome,
exasperating rolling and pitching brightened our outlook, I think; it
is impossible to keep optimistic and joyous when you’re being hove
about like a parched pea on a hot shovel. We did not realize fully
how trying that incessant liveliness of the little ship was until it
ceased; but now our troubled souls were given a chance to forget the
galling fatigue, and so we laughed and rubbed our hands and decided
that the Antarctic wasn’t at all a bad health resort.
The weather was steadily growing colder, though not nearly so cold
as I had been led to believe it would be down here in the Antarctic
Circle. I had expected a frigidity that would freeze the eyelids to
the cheeks and the breath on the lips; but my experience of this
temperature was that it was more bearable than an average clammy
winter day in Scotland. On February 10 we had the greatest cold of
the voyage thus far, but we made no complaints about it, for once
more our bows were notched on the south point of the compass and we
were driving through heavy pack. No lanes were visible even from the
masthead, so all we could do was just to hack doggedly on, in a sort
of blind yet hopeful quest of some open passage as yet invisible.
Not that we always pushed on blindly, let it be understood. There
are certain indications by which men are led down here where fresh
instincts are created and the old familiar senses of sight and hearing
are given a temporary rest. Invariably where there is water, even
though it be beyond our range of vision and tucked away below the
horizon, the sky above is definitely darkened, as it were, by a faint
rain-cloud. This is known as a water-sky, and, I suppose, must be
due to reflection. Throughout the middle watch this day a shoal of
seals followed us—thankful to us, no doubt, for breaking the ice and
permitting them access to open air. At 2 a.m. Mr. Jeffrey ascended
to the masthead, and with a shout of delight announced open water
to the south-west, and towards this welcome clearance we joyfully
steered. As a change from previous mist, the dawn of this day was
wonderfully brilliant—a gorgeous display of natural colouring that
awed the senses and turned one’s thoughts upwards. Glorious sunshine
continued throughout the day; high spirits characterized all aboard;
the atmosphere was intoxicating. The nearest land, we found, was 2,160
fathoms away, less than three miles; but the direction was purely
vertical, and the distance was measured by our sounding machine. During
all this day we headed fairly south through encouragingly open water,
with countless killer whales, seals and Adelie penguins to companion
us. But our heartening progress was arrested towards evening by a
gradually thickening pack, and the bumping and scrunching recommenced
as we crashed along through virgin ice.
The ice thickened through the night; the morning found us in really
heavy pack, making practically no headway, and at two o’clock a
fresh sounding gave us a depth of 1,450 fathoms. This fairly rapid
shoaling seemed to indicate that land could not be far distant. In
order that our then position might be plotted down on the map the
following details may be useful: Noon position, February 11, latitude
(by observation) 68° 52′ south; longitude (observation) 16° 43′ east.
Run for previous twenty-four hours and course made good: S. 15 E,
5L miles. Temperature, 18° F. No colder, you will see, than many a
Scotch winter day; almost as cold, let us say, as an average English
summer!
[Illustration: The _Quest_ is frozen in.]
[Illustration: Forging Ahead Through Loose Pack Ice.]
[Illustration: In the Antarctic: The _Quest_ a mass of Frozen Spray.]
It appeared towards evening as if we could not under any circumstances
make much more progress, for floes of great weight were everywhere
about, packed so closely that it was a miracle we made any headway
whatsoever; for heavy floe ice seems at sight to be as invulnerable to
the attack of a ship’s bow as so much granite. However, we persisted,
and scratched and bored a little way farther. Through the night this
sort of work continued, an inch gained every now and then, and no
definite headway secured; and by morning—a beautiful clear, sunny,
typical Antarctic morning—the pack was to all intents and purposes
impenetrable. Through the four hours of the morning watch I doubt if
we made more than a mile. As we were only expending our valuable fuel
to no definite purpose, the ship was stopped at about 8 a.m.—literally
frozen in.
With the phlegm of the explorer, who comes to accept all circumstances
without repining, we put out a Jacob’s ladder, and tumbled out on to
the ice for a welcome leg-stretching; and it was good to see Query’s
delight at finding freedom from the narrow confines of the ship. He was
like a mad thing—all over the place at once, up in the air, scooting
at our heels, dodging and larking like a born joker. He was coming
on well, growing to be a fine dog with a splendid coat. Afterwards
I helped Mr. Wilkins to photograph the most interesting details of
our surroundings.
The colour effects about here were rather amazing. Those who have
never seen pack-ice probably get an idea that it presents one long,
unbroken wilderness of staring whiteness to the gaze; but such an idea
is wrong, especially when the sun is shining. The sunset effects were
particularly wonderful, the ice taking to itself all the colours of
the rainbow. At noon it is golden, but with the sun lowering itself
down the long path of the western sky, the snow above the ice assumed
a delicate pale pink tinge, a veritable _Alpen-gluhe_, with every
protruding hummock throwing a mysterious shadow, whilst newly frozen
water was a vivid green and shining like a mirror. But the paradox
of the Antarctic is that the better the weather overhead the less
promising the chance of making headway. Clear weather predicates
tight pack, misty weather loose ice; so you can’t have it both ways.
Commander Wild was anxious about this time. The main thing he dreaded
was lest the _Quest_ should get properly frozen in, for she was not
of suitable construction for this ordeal, her shape being wrong to
resist the inevitable lateral pressures. We had visions of seeing
her cracked like a nutshell by the vicelike nip of the tightening
ice, and other visions of the ice parting and permitting her to drop
clean down to the floors of the Antarctic sea!
Fresh soundings were taken when we returned to the ship, and rapid
shoaling was indicated. A series of magnetic observations were also
made by Mr. Jeffrey and Mr. Douglas, so that the day was not only
enjoyable but lucrative. But as nothing was to be gained by remaining
there we took advantage of a chance to break up the young ice, and
the ship was turned away to the north again, after much intricate
manœuvring, in search of an opening that would permit her to advance
farther to the south.
During the middle watch there was a further decrease of temperature,
nothing very alarming, but not particularly promising, as low
temperature naturally means heavier pack. We were then steaming in
a general N.N.E. direction through fairly heavy ice, broken here
and there by open water. Shortly after 3 a.m. the sky, over all its
vast dome, assumed a glorious pink radiance, which deepened in parts
to vivid purple and a most lovely blue. The water reflected these
colourings, and also the floes themselves to a certain extent, and
there we had a perfect picture of the South. The open water spaces
were strangely regular, and we appeared to be steaming through a
series of open docks with marble quays and pink-purple water; it
was for all the world like a dream city. About thirty yards away on
the port bow a tall berg glittered in the orange-gold glory of the
sunrise, like a stately cathedral. All the fairy tales in all the
world seemed possible when gazing at this earthly paradise; but...!
We were fetched back to the earth by a smell of burning that suggested
the extreme opposite of paradise. There was a big blaze at the base
of the funnel, which looked extremely alarming, and Mr. Jeffrey, who
had the watch, immediately called all hands, under the impression that
the bunkers were afire. Old Mac and myself drenched the flames with
buckets of water and fire-extinguishers, and found that the whole
blaze resulted from someone’s temporary carelessness in leaving a
coil of tarred rope too close to the funnel’s base. Maybe the glory
of the morning had a soothing effect on the troubled souls of those
who turned out in obedience to the alarm, for though very scantily
clad they did not even murmur a protest against the rude awakening.
In the afternoon we made the same course through open pack. Four
seals were shot and flayed at 6 p.m. The crow’s nest lookout reported
clearer water on the starboard bow away to the eastward, and course
was accordingly altered to reach the promised opening, which, when we
reached it, proved to be as free as it looked, and so we made good,
even progress for a while. Only for a while, however, for after an
inspiring burst of speed—unfortunately our bows were pointed in the
wrong direction—we were again held up.
The chief engineer, Mr. Kerr, had been busy lately in constructing
a harpoon for Mr. Douglas, and to-day he formally presented him with
the finished article, as if it were some newly discovered treasure.
To test this fearsome weapon Mr. Douglas took up a position on the
rail, as eager as Macduff himself for combat; and as there were
any number of crab-eaters swimming about, he let drive at one as
it came alongside. He aimed true to the mark; it was a wonderful
throw. However, it is better to draw a veil. Mr. Kerr’s enthusiasm
was greater than his constructive powers, for as the seal felt the
agonizing bite of the harpoon it gave a swirling leap and a quick
turn, and the famous harpoon bent double, dropped clear of the hide,
and the seal got away with a flick of its tail, almost as if it sent
an insolent message to the fabricator of the weapon that had caused
it torment.