We Make for Elephant Island
During the middle watch commencing at midnight of March 5 it froze
hard, but the pack was more open, and, after running north for some
time, we altered course and made more to the westward, Commander
Wild’s idea being to skirt the pack as far as possible. We entered
the ice again in the morning. During the previous few days remarkably
little animal life had greeted our eyes; there was practically
nothing to break the awful, monotonous desolation; but on this day
we saw a single Adelie penguin, dignifiedly in command of a solitary
hummock—looking for all the world, so old-timers said, like the
skipper of an old-world windjammer—one of the kind who wore a frock
coat and tall hat: a gaff-topsail hat, as they used to call them—even
when rounding Cape Horn in a rip-snorter—loftily conning his ship
through the smother and haloed in his own enormous dignity. Desirous
of disturbing this colossal equanimity—and I have seen honest Kirk
elders on a Sabbath morning who looked frivolous by comparison—we
made rude remarks to the bird, who treated us with lofty disdain,
and beyond showing a supercilious interest—as a pretty waitress in
a café might show to a chafing client—took no further notice of us,
until Captain Worsley, who is rather clever at mimicry, gave a loud
“caa-aa,” which started Master Penguin’s hoops and lifted him from his
god-like aloofness. He took to flight with all speed, casting scared
glances backwards as he went, as if he thought the special Antarctic
devil were after him. Still laughing at the ludicrous spectacle,
we tied up to a large floe and iced ship, an operation occupying
the greater part of the afternoon, and causing us much amusement by
reason of Jeffrey’s agility. He offered to catch any ice that was
thrown to him, and we were resolved to beat him—much, I fear, being
thrown at him. Nevertheless, he held his own pretty well, spite of
the thunderous fusillade with which he was assailed.
Query ventured on to the floe on this occasion and betrayed great
interest in a killer whale that was swimming about near at hand.
He barked himself hoarse at the monster without causing it any
perturbation; but of a sudden, as if bored by his exhibition of
ill-feeling, the killer rose quite close to the floe and “blew” for
all the world like a Bowery tough spitting disdain, whereupon Query
tucked tail between his quarters and bolted like a scared rabbit.
The following day was marked by an increase in the cold and a
tightening of the ice. I spent the day in proper sailorizing work,
under the excellent tutelage of old Mac; helping him to repair the
mizen tack and secure the gaff. He was a very capable instructor, and
from him I learnt how to perform most intricate tricks of seamanship—he
was always patient and ready to answer questions, and I look on him
to this day as my sea-daddy. He had a way of imparting information
that left a definite impression in the mind, and many a University
professor might have benefited by adopting his plan. Coming to very
heavy pack we had to interrupt our westward course and once more to
head away to the nor’ard, where we passed large bergs.
Sunrise of extraordinary beauty heralded yet another day. Beautiful
though the dawning was we considered it pessimistically, for a
fair dawn down in these latitudes so often portends a foul day: our
prognostications were fulfilled, for by eight o’clock it was blowing
and snowing to beat the band. The day grew dull and ominous by
contrast with the early brightness; and away on the horizon, owing
to the unnatural refraction, strange black shapes appeared like
towering mountains and frowning coast-line. It required much mental
concentration to avoid giving a false alarm of land, so vivid was the
impression conveyed by this Antarctic mirage. Darkness closing in on
top of the flurry made it dangerous to proceed, and the _Quest_ was
accordingly hove-to for the night.
I was called to keep the middle watch, and as I had evidently convinced
the after-guard that I was beginning to understand my job, charge of
the ship was given to me during this watch; I was left alone on the
lookout. Orders were left with me by Mr. Wilkins to call Mr. Jeffrey
at once if the ship drifted too near the ice. The ship was hove-to
in a large pool and it was still blowing with considerable violence
from the south-west. There was not a soul to talk to or to borrow
confidence from, and all around and about me was that vast cold
wilderness of ice. The loneliness was a sort of wall that seemed to
shut me off from all my kind. A salutary lesson in man’s minuteness
as compared with gigantic natural forces!
We drifted slowly across the pool, and I, feeling that we might come
to harm by hitting heavy ice, called Mr. Jeffrey at a quarter to one.
He promptly came on the bridge—his presence sent a warm glow clean
through me, and my sighs of relief must have ascended to highest
heaven. But there was really no cause for alarm, for at one o’clock
we came slowly alongside the ice, as if we had been warped into dock,
and lay snugly alongside as though in a peaceful harbour. But at
2 a.m. I called Dell and got below—where even sleeping berth-mates
seemed genial companions.
Way was got on the ship again during the morning watch, and we
proceeded through fairly heavy pack which was open in places and
dotted with big bergs. The temperature fell considerably at midday,
and when on lookout at the masthead, the cut of the wind was bitingly
fierce. In the afternoon the floes were larger still and hummocky,
and small groups of penguins mounted solemn guard on many of them.
The sun shone at intervals through a very hazy sky, and the refraction
was even more pronounced than ever, the most astonishingly fantastic
shapes appearing on the horizon and sparkling with a silvery light
in the sun. Once again we hove-to for the night.
Followed a strenuous day with Dr. Macklin and Naisbitt, tallying and
restowing stores, which was not a bad job for cold weather. Outboard
the outlook was not inviting: the floes being large and heavy—old
Weddell Sea ice, they said it was—and the intervening water frozen
over thinly with young ice, which naturally delayed our by no means
considerable speed still more. The temperature had dropped to 9 F.
At 10 a.m. a noisy commotion on deck fetched us up into the open
like corks popping out of a bottle, curiosity overcoming our sense of
duty. We found several of the more active-minded of the crew chasing
penguins round and round a big floe. The game was a pure farce, the
birds stolidly refusing to leave their harbourage, and showing a
clever readiness in dodging their pursuers, twisting this way and
that like professional footballers, until Argles started playing
footer, too. He hurled himself full-stretch at one penguin, tackled
it low in approved Rugby style, and fetched it down, squawking and
vociferous as a fishwife. The catch was brought aboard alive, and
Query displayed canine curiosity in its quaintness, but the penguin
was a match for the dog, and once again he had to retreat with his
tail between his legs.
At eight p.m. the bosun and I took a sounding; it was intensely cold,
and by the time we had wound in the last fathom I found myself frozen
to the rail. The cold also burst the water-jacket of the paraffin
engine that ran the main dynamo, so it became necessary to start
the spare dynamo in the engine-room, to run which there was a small
steam-engine.
Throughout the night we lay to in rapidly freezing ice, and the
skipper grew concerned, for the outlook displeased him greatly. To
be frozen in hard and fast would be fatal, consequently just enough
way to prevent this happening was maintained on the ship; and then,
at 4.30, a full head of steam was raised and an attempt made to get
clear. But though we backed and rammed and stopped, and backed and
rammed again, making a furious bobbery all the time, the ship, shaking
fore and aft at the impact of her bows on the thickening ice and the
harsh grind and rattle of the broken stuff filling the air, we made
paltry progress, advancing a bare mile during the entire morning
watch. To burn coal at that rate without any commensurate progress
was foreign to our best interests, so we gave up the attempt and lay
to alongside a convenient floe, there to await the pleasure of the
elements, and whistle for a favouring breeze. That breeze coming,
we drifted to the northward with the ice, which during the forenoon
gradually opened. So precious was our coal becoming now that the
small quantity required to run the steam-driven dynamo could not be
spared, and as the paraffin-run dynamo was out of action, I busied
myself in filling and trimming lamps for the ship.
When I went on watch at midnight it was still blowing very strongly
from the south. The mere words convey no adequate impression of what
an Antarctic gale is like; but if you imagine a northerly blizzard
blowing its hardest and then magnify all the unrest and bitter
discomfort and annoying insistence of the driving sleet and noisy wind
by about a hundred, you may gain some idea of the real thing. We were
fast frozen into the ice, which every now and then bore against our
sides with an impressive and somewhat alarming squeaking sound that
was very weird, underrunning the main diapason roar of the storm as
it did.
The gale was not long-lived; with the flush of dawn the wind subsided,
and the morning broke beautifully clear and calm. All hands turned to
after breakfast to ice ship—and there was ice enough and to spare, for
even the young ice that had recently formed was now thicker and whiter
and older looking, and seemed to be merging into the main pack. Certain
of us busied ourselves in squaring off the decks—ridding them of snow,
coiling down ropes fairly and stowing away loose gear; and whilst we
were so employed a big killer came up close alongside, breaking the
ice as he came. These killers are particularly evil-looking brutes,
and the nearer view of them you get, the nastier they seem. It must
have been a killer that swallowed Jonah—this fellow seemed almost
capable of swallowing the _Quest_.
In assisting Mr. Douglas and Mr. Jeffrey to make magnetic observations
on the floe during the rest of the morning, working in the hold with
Dr. Macklin after lunch and then pumping out the always filling bilges
with old Mac, putting a harbour-stow on the topsail and so on, time
did not hang very heavily on my hands. My leisure time I spent in
heaving chunks of ice along the floe for the edification and amusement
of Query, who never tired of chasing the fragments and took a keen
delight in the vigorous exercise. Then, at night, a sounding was taken;
but after the lead touched bottom the steam winding-engine gave out
and we had to leave our cast on the sea’s bed until the necessary
repairs were effected; and then, as a gigantic red moon came slowly
sailing up the sky, we sat back and watched the lovely picture it
made of the spectral ice that was all about.
Being now, as it were, in dock, regular watches were abandoned: all
hands turned to at eight o’clock and continued working until 1 p.m.,
after which their time was more or less their own for purposes of
recreation, with one man standing a two-hour watch during the night,
like an ordinary anchor watch aboard an ordinary sea-going ship.
The ice was now thickening rapidly; the temperature having dropped
to 5 F., but despite this, the water rose steadily in our hold, and
first thing in the forenoon Mac, Dell and myself pumped out the ship.
Various duties, such as preparing the oil stoves for the boats—very
necessary precautions remember, for the threat of being nipped and
sunk was very real—overhauling the lamp-room and trimming the lamps
occupied my day; but before dinner we younger ones climbed overside
and had a rousing game of football on the ice. A lone, lorn penguin,
interested in that queerly curious way these birds adopt towards
happenings beyond their normal experience, slithered near and begged
to be enrolled in our company. Quite unabashed, it held its own against
all our tacklings and charges; and when Query took a hand in the game,
it chased him incontinently all over the floe—a most comical sight.
It was what the Yankees would call _some_ football. Penguins and dogs
do not usually figure in a Cup Final, nor do the players fall through
the ice, as Naisbitt did, at places where floes imperfectly joined up
with one another. But it was invigorating exercise enough, and after
the close confinement of shipboard, very welcome to men who looked
on exercise as a religious rite. We managed to pull Naisbitt out,
and he was really none the worse for his adventure. Our football was
composed of tied-together gunny-sacks that had held ship’s bread.
Whilst we played others worked; Kerr, for instance, repaired the
burst water-jacket of the dynamo engine, so that we were able to run
it again and get a light that at least made darkness visible below.
I slept like a log that night, and found myself reluctant to turn
out when I was called at 6 a.m., but needs must; and when I got to
the bridge I saw the outlook was more promising. The ice was slacker,
its nip on our sides less pronounced and the floes were beginning to
come apart—a welcome sign. The run of a growing swell caused them to
bend visibly, and there was much groaning and snapping, so that one
might easily have thought the ice a great living monster that was
trying to burst its bonds. Throughout the day, with a slightly higher
temperature, the ice opened up more and more. We lost our sounding
lead, though—the wire parted owing to the strain—and we had to resign
ourselves to the fact with such equanimity as we could command. By
evening we lay in a pool of open water, the nip was gone, and we
looked forward hopefully to getting under way again on the morrow.
But our hopes proved to be nothing more than ropes of sand; the
following day, although the pack was distinguishably thinning, it
was still far too close for us to go ahead. A strong gale bellowed
furiously from the north-west, but, being from the northerly quarter,
it was actually warmer than usual—though its force was so great that
the impression conveyed to the senses was that the temperature was
falling. In the forenoon Dell rigged up the dredging machine and for
Mr. Wilkins’s benefit let out 3,300 metres of wire, with dredge and
deep-sea thermometer attached. It required the whole afternoon to get
it inboard again, with the steam-winch fussing away, very certainly,
no doubt, but also very slowly—so slowly, indeed, that after a while,
becoming exasperated, we man-handled it and made better progress. It
was pretty ticklish work, for the dredge wire was constantly being
fouled by small floes, and Mr. Douglas out-Blondined Blondin by his
dexterity in balancing himself on the wobbling floes and keeping
the wire clear with an extended boat-hook. The result justified the
exertion, for the dredge contained fifty-seven specimens of quartzite,
tuffs and so on; but there was no living matter in the haul, though
the rocks were plentifully threaded with worm-cells.
Next day, thanks to a falling thermometer, the ice had thickened, and
the floes were compacted once more into a solid mass. Some of these
floes, scattered here and there like gaunt icy islands in a sea of ice,
were very big, with noticeable hummocks uprearing from the main mass.
As a strong southerly wind was blowing, which was favourable to our
purpose, we got busy and set topsail and staysail. Seen from outboard
we must have looked much more like an ice-yacht than a sea-going ship,
I fancy; but under the weight of this canvas we edged a very slow
and very difficult way to the north. Our movement was actually with
the ice rather than from it—we were acting as motive power to the
entire ice-field. Although the ship was officially under way, there
was no difficulty in slipping outboard and walking on the ice; and
Commander Wild and Captain Worsley, together with Watts, did this.
During their promenade they happened upon a large sea-leopard asleep,
and the skipper promptly killed it, bringing its head triumphantly
back to Mr. Wilkins as spoil of war.
Many of us went for walks during the forenoon, and I took several
photographs of the _Quest_ in her icebound condition. She drifted into
a pool of open water during the afternoon, and the skipper and Dr.
Macklin went out on the floe with a line to pull her alongside, because
we desired to play football again. We found a large, convenient floe
and had a hectic game, beating the other side 7-4. It is astonishing
what a lot of confused exercise you can get out of football on the
ice—much more than during ordinary games, even on the muddiest days.
It’s a fine tonic for depression and ennui and lethargy, and the
various ills shipboard life is apt to breed. You have to exert yourself
terrifically to make any real headway, and the ball, weighing about
a ton when thoroughly sodden, needs the driving force of a steam ram
behind it to move it at all. Our side was composed of Dr. Macklin,
Mr. Douglas, the skipper, Naisbitt (cook’s mate) and myself. Our
opponents were the Chief, the Second, Ross and Young (stokers), Major
Carr and Watts.
Turning from play to work, we set the squaresail at 6 p.m. and began
to move; but almost as we started we had to lower the canvas in a
hurry, to avoid what might have been a serious collision with a large
floe ahead, and our progress was stopped. In the event of opportunity
offering for getting under way during the night, I kept the binnacle
lights trimmed and ready for immediate use.
Another day came, to show no practical alteration in the
ice-conditions. The wind came away strongly from the S.S.E. and the
outlook was bad, for the sky showed no vestige of a “water-sky,” and
with a lowered temperature the ice was freezing more thickly than
ever. Very grim conditions again; but in the Antarctic you don’t
grouse about circumstances—you make the best of them, and thank your
lucky stars when each succeeding day finds your ship still afloat
and not crushed to flinders in the pack.
Whatever else we were doing, we were certainly making progress either
with the ice or through it. We had made about ninety miles since
working into our frozen dock, and that was something to be thankful
for.
After breakfast I went for a walk with Dr. Macklin and Major Carr.
There was a large berg in the distance which we wanted to inspect
at close quarters, and this appeared to be a promising opportunity.
But we could not get quite close up to it because of the scattered
character of the ice in its vicinity, though from our position we
could see it making its way through the pack, leaving a long lane of
clear water behind as it came. The _Quest_ bore up against the pack,
throwing broken ice from the bows as a ship throws up spray; and we
admired the spectacle—myself a little awestruck—never realizing that
Commander Wild was feeling the gravest anxiety aboard, fearing lest the
iceberg should charge the _Quest_ and damage her badly. Fortunately
the menace passed more than half a mile astern and then disappeared
over the northern horizon.
These movements of icebergs in the pack are caused by strong currents
under the ice which grip the vast submerged portions and urge the
giant masses relentlessly onward through everything that lies in
their path; and when, owing to the wind or other circumstances, the
pack is moving in an opposite direction you get a wonderful illusion
of uncontrolled speed and power charging blindly forward.
Getting back aboard, Dell and myself cleared the wire of the Kelvin
sounding machine. After a hearty lunch we enjoyed another game of
football with a more respectable ball this time—a ball composed of
a canvas bag stuffed with cotton waste, which didn’t take so much
out of our feet and shins. We found a perfectly flat floe whereon to
play, though owing to the swell causing the ice to bend and undulate
we got a new effect: it was like playing football on a rubber floor.
Throughout the night a sharp lookout was kept for bergs bearing
down upon us: a menace of the Polar wastes not often taken into
consideration, I fancy, by those who do not know the peculiarities
of those parts. Several such bergs were in the vicinity and one
crossed our bows rather too closely to be pleasant. The temperature
was rising during the night, and, in anticipation of a start, the
hands were turned to at 6 a.m., with instructions to ice ship. The
pack was now much more open, and the engines were gingerly started
at six bells—seven o’clock. Once more we were definitely under
way, forging ahead with innumerable stoppages and much wheel-work,
with “Hard a-port!” “Hard a-starboard!” “Midships!” flying from the
watch-officer’s mouth like machine-gun fire. Tediously we wound in
and out among the floes; but presently, coming to a clear lane of
water, sail was set, which quickened our speed, and by eleven o’clock
in the morning we were pretty nearly clear of the pack. During the
day I counted fifty-six bergs, most of them large.
With an overcast sky and a strong easterly wind blowing, another dawn
came. As the day continued the wind increased to a moderate gale.
Commander Wild had practically proved to his own satisfaction that
Ross’s “Appearance of land” was merely a flight of fancy, and he now
decided to make for Elephant Island—primarily to obtain blubber for
fuel. But apart from any material reason I think there is no doubt
that he was inspired by a longing to see again the place where he had
spent those famous four and a half months with the survivors of the
ill-fated _Endurance_ expedition. All aboard who had borne part and
lot in that memorable adventure were imbued with the same desire. We
headed to the westward and, with a stiff breeze to help us, bowled
along at a merry six knots—for us, real clipper speed. But at 5 p.m.
we came suddenly on very heavy pack and, dropping our squaresail with
alacrity in order to avoid disaster, eased down for the night. With the
morning we set sail again, amid extraordinary surroundings. The entire
ship was sheeted in ice: upperworks, bridge and deck-house appeared
to be determined to give an imitation of their environment. Ice was
everywhere: bulwarks like hummocks, monstrous icicles pendant from
every salient. The deck itself was overlaid with the frozen stuff; and
all tackles, ropes and hamper were grotesquely distorted; whilst the
rigging was simply solid. The _Quest_ was completely transmogrified,
like a fairy ship at first glance; but, owing to the freezing up,
anything but a ship of dreams when it came to handling her. To go
aloft meant breaking a way like pioneers—and, my! it _was_ cold. Mac
and I shovelled what seemed like half the frozen Antarctic overboard
during the morning watch, and even then the other half was still
aboard. Breaking off from this necessary task, we set the squaresail,
which seemed scared at the changed appearance of the ship, for it took
charge for several hectic minutes, slamming and banging—hammering its
blocks against the bulwarks as though determined to sink the _Quest_
out of hand. We philosophically decided that the sail was lending
a hand in clearing the ice from the upperworks, and I must say the
ice-splinters flew vigorously. Being under shell-fire was a small
matter by comparison. As a foot or so of water was sluicing across
the decks every time the ship rolled, work was not easy; but this
water was nothing to worry about, it was merely the _Quest’s_ happy
little way of acting up to her usual reputation, though she did not
lift big water over her rails. It was blowing hard and the cold was
terrific as the wind came away from the southward; indeed, I believe
that this day and the following—March 23 and 24—were about the worst
we had experienced. Certain of the old-timers wondered what on earth
had ever tempted them down again to the southern seas. Commander Wild
said that any man who went Antarctic exploring once was mad, if he
went twice he was an adjectived idiot, so that he himself—having made
five voyages—was competent to inhabit an asylum all to himself. He
said this with trimmings—not with flowers.
Conditions were more than a little unpleasant—quite enough to ruffle
the normally placid calm of our souls. Every minute some whipping wisp
of spindrift came slogging in our faces, and everything was saltily
damp. The only place where it was possible to be even moderately dry
was in one’s bunk; and the _Quest_ did her best to heave a man out
into the slopping water that flooded the floors below, even when
he coiled down in blanket-haven. Poor Query suffered a lot. Dogs
may be philosophers, but their philosophy deserts them under such
conditions as those we endured when working along the edge of the
pack. And although we were salted, pickled indeed, any amount of the
people—even the hardiest veterans—succumbed to _mal-de-mer_; or, as
this particular brand was even more atrocious than seasickness, let’s
call it _mal-de-Quest_.
Wearing ship at midnight under these conditions among Antarctic combers
was horrible. After a while we hove her to under a topsail, her head
pointed to the east; and under these circumstances she revelled in
dirtiness. Her rolls were jerky and fitful—so that, even below a
fellow felt as if he’d been dropped down a bottomless pit with a long
rope attached, which tautened at the unexpected moment and nearly
jerked the teeth up through the skull. Whilst wondering what it was
all about, another heave and lurch pitched him out of his bunk, and
so on.
But even the worst of gales do not endure for ever; and after a
while conditions improved. A great orgy of straightening up followed,
for everything was filthy and saturated. Then we sighted land from
aloft, what time the topsail was being made fast. After living in a
wilderness of ice and water for so long my heart warmed to that good
sight, for I had begun to wonder whether land really existed at all.
By seven o’clock on the morning of March 25, we had Elephant Island
on the starboard bow and Clarence Rocks to port. The summits of the
peaks were hidden by low clouds, but it was perfectly good land, and
heart-warming to a degree, even though snow-flurries frequently hid it
from sight. It was something stable in a whirling world of instability.
To the old-timers it was like sighting the Promised Land itself, I
fancy. Those who had been with Shackleton in the _Endurance_ expedition
spent all their spare time staring through binoculars at remembered
landmarks—swapping reminiscences and recollections. They shouted
and pointed at Cape Valentine, where the draggled survivors of that
unfortunate expedition landed after being two hard years adrift in
the ice desert, and where Shackleton, who had not slept for eight
days, coiled down on the shingle of the beach and slept for eighteen
hours without moving an eyelid. We others worked, getting rid of the
fresh accumulations of ice and taking running soundings as the ship
went forward. It was necessary to hack the purchase blocks clear of
their congealment before the rope would run over the sheaves. The
evening favoured us with an exceptional mirage—with vast icebergs
floating apparently in a sky of purest gold, and shoals of spouting
whales swimming in between them, most marvellous to behold. The
ensuing sunset was like something by Doré: both the islands in sight
seemed to be blazing with fire, and the sky was a flaming crimson,
awe-inspiring in its magnificence. I wished I could paint so that I
could have transferred that memorable sight to enduring canvas, for
my poor words entirely fail to give an adequate description of the
atmospheric miracle.
By four o’clock the following morning, when I went on the bridge, we
were coasting along the shore of Elephant Island, which we did not
approach too closely, for obvious reasons. And now our minds were
filled with the history of that desolate rock; it was the topic of
general conversation. They told of how Commander Wild had cheered
and brought nineteen men through four of the most difficult months
in all the terrible history of Antarctic navigation. They told of
how Shackleton, with Worsley and four other stalwarts, had made that
amazing passage from Elephant Island to South Georgia in an open
boat, and how subsequently the staunch-souled Boss had left no stone
unturned till he had brought his stranded comrades back from Elephant
Island to civilization. It was a narrative to warm the blood and to
make one glory in the pride of race, for it was an epic, no less,
told simply as it was, in curt expressions for the most part, without
gestures but modestly, in the way that Britons have when narrating
heroic deeds.
A high, precipitous coast met our gaze as the ship ploughed forward,
with high-soaring crags and a general machicolated effect that made
the whole place show as a gigantic mediæval fort; whilst between the
jutting crags showed frequent glaciers and glimpses of the towering
ice-cap that tops the island. A picture of stern majesty it showed
to our ice-wearied eyes. And, too, on the port beam was Cornwallis
Island, whilst on the bow were five smaller islands, as though whoever
threw the land down there had sprinkled a few handfuls extra for luck.
After breakfast the boatswain and myself re-marked the deep sea
leadline, and made a clearance forward to have everything in readiness
to let go our long-disused anchor at the appointed time. We rounded-to
in a small bay, some hundred yards or so from the sheer face of a
glacier end, and there dropped our hook and came to rest for a blissful
while. Blissful, I mean, by comparison with recent episodes; though
no doubt there are some who might count Elephant Island a curious
sort of a pleasure resort. But all things go by contrast, and to our
tired eyes the most romantic of South Sea Islands could hardly have
appeared more desirable.
Magnificent, lofty crags held us in on two sides; the scenery indeed
was so striking as to be almost overwhelming; and on the placid water
the _Quest_ floated like a swan. It was possible at last to lie down
without holding on, and for that blessed boon we returned heartfelt
thanks.
The party detailed to go ashore was lowering away a boat in
preparation, when Query, who had almost gone mad ever since land
was sighted and smelt, in his eagerness to get ashore overdid it and
dived overboard. We let the boat go by the run and secured him—almost
frozen, but really none the worse for his bath. Commander Wild went
away in charge of the boat, and to my great delight included me in the
party. Before we landed he shot a sea-leopard that showed pugnacious
symptoms. They can be very terrifying in the water, these evil-avised
brutes. We tied up to a big boulder right underneath the towering
blue face of the glacier, and whilst walking ashore it struck me how
crazy and rotten that ice-face looked. It seemed as if any minute
might fetch down a few hundred tons of it on top of the boat; but we
were used to ice by then, and didn’t worry.