A Rough Time with Ice and Wind
Elephant Island deserves its name: not because of its shape, but
because of the innumerable sea-elephants that litter its shores.
Furthermore, there were penguins by brigades and divisions, and skua
gulls and long-legged, ungainly “paddy” birds. Commander Wild shot
nine elephants, one of them being a huge bull measuring over fifteen
feet in length.
As our principal reason for visiting the island at all was the desire
to renew our fuel supply, we promptly set to work to flense the kill,
cutting up the blubber and dragging it over the foreshore to the
waiting boat. Another party presently came on shore to carry on in
our stead what time we returned to the _Quest_ for a meal. Returning,
Mac and I were detailed to ferry the boat from shore to ship and ship
to shore, whilst Commander Wild ran the hunting and flensing parties,
and was so eager in his share of the work that as often as not he
was up to his waist in the icy water.
Whilst we worked at this unsavoury, messy, but very necessary job,
the scientific staff busied themselves with observations of one kind
and another.
After a most strenuous day, soaked in oil and icy water, tired out
but rejoicing, we regained the ship late in the afternoon, the last
boat bringing a big load of penguins, paddies and seal-meat, together
with rocks for the geologists. My intuition concerning the rotten
state of the glacier face was well-founded, for as we were hoisting
the boat aboard a vast chunk of the glacier broke off and fell with
a stupendous roar, sending a regular tidal wave racing out towards
us. Fortunately we were too far away to be overwhelmed; but if the
boat had been under that falling mass—however, she wasn’t!
We should have stayed there longer and added to our fuel supply,
but, the surf increasing very rapidly and growing to threatening
proportions, Commander Wild was anxious to get away before darkness
set in; so accordingly we got up anchor at 6 p.m. and made our way
round the coast, the _Quest_ as nimble as ever as soon as the full
weight of the swells got her. We kept at sea, in open water, all
through the night, standing on and off from the land, and the morning
came bright and sunny, which was, so Dr. Macklin said, unusual round
about Elephant Island, where perpetual mists and storms represented
the experiences of adventurers. At 11 a.m. we anchored again near a
narrow beach, several miles in length, which ran along the foot of
high cliffs. From the ship we saw several harems of sea-elephants,
with thirty or forty cows in each. A party promptly went ashore to
secure more blubber, and the work of the previous day was resumed
in all its necessary messiness. Many elephants were closely huddled
together in groups on the sand; there were also some crab-eating seals
and paddies. Major Carr, evidently feeling the need of exercise,
climbed a long way up the rocks, and coming to loose screes, sent
down avalanches of pebbles, much to the discomposure of poor Query,
who happened to be in the way; while Dr. Macklin, who was following,
had to scramble for shelter to an overhanging boulder which saved him
from danger. A certain, though not the required, amount of blubber
was obtained. Commander Wild remained aboard the _Quest_, having
contracted a severe chill through his previous day’s exertions. We were
still busy at the job when the roaring of the steam whistle recalled
the shore-party. An ominous change of weather was taking place, and
the ship’s position promised to be precarious; consequently we were
quickly up-anchored and made our way to the lee of some high rocks not
far distant, where we again dropped the hook for the night. By nine
o’clock it was blowing hard, and by two in the morning a hurricane
was raging, coming away for all it was worth from the south-west,
so that the rocks which had previously sheltered us were now of no
avail. Dr. Macklin had charge of the watch, and so alarmed was he by
the weather conditions that he roused Commander Wild, who still was
not at all well, telling him that we were dragging our anchor and
generally in a rather parlous plight.
All hands were promptly called, and turned out into the roaring frenzy
of that appalling night. Word had been sent to the engine-room for
instant full steam on the boilers, and immediately the hands turned
out the cable was hove short. The _Quest_ promptly began to drag more
insistently than before, and the outlook was alarming. Rocks to leeward
showed very menacing in the darkness, fast-scudding clouds racing
behind them and giving them the aspect of moving monsters intent on
our destruction. As if to increase their menace, something went wrong
with the cables; they wouldn’t go down through the spurling gates, but
piled up on deck, hampering us. The winch was jammed, but Macklin and
Carr went below and cut the bulkhead of the cable locker adrift with
axes, giving the chain more room, and eventually the crisis passed,
though the weird wailing of the penguins ashore, for all the world
like a premature lament over our doom, and the crashing thunder of
the near-by breakers, caused us an apprehension that was anything
but pleasant. A very high sea was running, and there was nothing to
do but count discretion the better part of valour by turning tail to
the storm, running away before it for all we were worth. Otherwise
we stood a remarkably good chance of going to ruin on the pitiless
rocks. Once clear of immediate danger, and possessing, as we did, only
enough coal for one day’s steaming, though the blubber we had secured
promised to eke out that meagre supply, we set the topsail, and under
it ran like the wind itself, beating all our previous speed records
as we hurled from crest to bellowing crest, roaring down sickeningly
into the troughs, soaring high and very high, and screaming with the
fury of our speed.
By eight o’clock, when next I came on deck, the wind seemed to be
increasing, and the _Quest_, racing before it, seemed of no more
account than a chip of driftwood. She was heavily listed to starboard,
and as her continued existence seemed something of a problem, all
hands were summoned to trim ship and shift all movable stores from
the boats, top-hamper from the decks, to down below in the empty
port bunker. It was wild work, carried out in a wind that was blowing
something like a hundred miles an hour; but the ties of common funk
bound us all closely together, and the labour went forward with a
swing.
Commander Wild had determined to take advantage of the gale to make
straightway to South Georgia. According to the evidence of the weather
experts, no change in the direction of the wind was likely for some
days, and as it was fair for South Georgia, where coal could be
obtained, it was decided to make the best of it. Wilkins was almost
swept overboard when setting sail; everyone thought he had gone,
indeed, but he cheerily announced his continued presence in the land
of living, and carried on with his job.
Wild work? I assure you it was wild. To stand without holding on was
an impossibility, whole water deluged us, and it was simply a case of
keeping the _Quest_ ahead of the enormous following seas, which rolled
up, gathered weight, towered high to a level with our gaff, and then
fell with the clamour of sundering worlds in our yeasty wake. The
ship was like a scared horse bolting with a bit in its teeth, urged
on by the stinging blows on her quarter. Occasionally those blows
were punishingly heavy—for about noon a heavy sea pooped us, stove in
the after wardroom scuttle, and flooded the entire after-part. Under
a lash of spray and occasionally a deluge of whole water, I repaired
the damage as well as possible, by means of planks and a tarpaulin
cover; and then went below, where everything was floating about in a
state of confusion; my own bunk came in for the lion’s share of the
initial dollop. The water that had drenched me froze after a while and
turned me into a very good representation of an iceberg; but that was
only a small part of the trouble. It was indeed a case of “one hand
for myself and one for the ship”; and working with one hand whilst
clinging like a monkey with the other was an exciting experience.
But all things come to an end sooner or later; and after we’d
squared up the major part of the damage, the wind lessened during
the afternoon, though we were unable to dream of beating back to
Elephant Island, as the wind set straight from it, and the course had
to be continued towards South Georgia. This was hard lines on the
old _Endurance_ hands, for they had set their hearts on revisiting
their old haunts and fighting their battles o’er again.
I say the wind lessened, but even so it continued a vigorous gale,
though the worst of the weight was out of it, and we were able to set
more canvas to keep us ahead of the run of the seas. The following
day broke fine, and with a brilliant sun shining its happiest
on our ice-coated fabric we presented a wonderful spectacle. The
ice taking on all the prismatic colours, the effect was well-nigh
dazzling—unbelievable, indeed. The _Quest_ became a flaming jewel as
she hurled herself across the white-veined plain of the tumultuous
seas.
We crowded on sail for all we were worth, and setting the big,
unhandy squaresail, which was frozen stiff, was excellent exercise
and caused some lively gymnastics. Both watches were required to
clear and set the foresail; under it the ship streaked along with
energetic purpose and left a white, yeasty wake astern. With the wind
increasing again it was no great while before we were making a level
7½ knots per hour—unbelievable speed for the old tub, which caused
her to give herself all the airs and graces of a China clipper. It
was invigorating, because, although the log only recorded 7½ knots,
the fuss that was made was quite equivalent to forty; and by dint
of exercise of a bit of imagination it was quite easy to pretend we
were breaking all previous ocean records.
Big seas overtook us frequently, however, striking savage blows at
us, as if the Antarctic were thoroughly angry at our having escaped
its clutches and were determined to beat us even yet. On the night
of March 30, at about eleven o’clock, a whacking big fellow overtook
us, and we thought we were for the Locker, because we were literally
smothered; but we won clear, and after shortening sail ran with
greater steadiness though less speed.
During the following forenoon watch our ship reeled off thirty-one
knots in the four hours, nearly eight knots per hour. Good going, this;
it looked as if the South Georgians had got a grip on the towrope and
were hauling us thither hand over hand. Because of the steady swing
of the seas, which here run clean round the world without meeting
any untoward obstacles, the motion of the _Quest_, though vigorous,
was uniform and easy.
[Illustration: The wake of Loose Ice as seen from the Crow’s Nest.
(Capt. Worsley is on the ladder.)]
[Illustration: A Close-up View of the Pack.]
[Illustration: Entering the Pack.]
[Illustration: Collecting Ice for replenishing the Water Tanks.]
On April 1, under similar weather conditions which were growing so
familiar that even the capsizing of a tin of syrup in a locker created
no more than a passing anathema, Mr. Jeffrey made an April fool of an
albatross by catching it. Albatrosses possess an acquisitive nature,
and would probably thrive well in Aberdeen. The proper way of fishing
for them is to construct a small hollowed triangle out of sheet tin
or brass, lash strips of blubber or other highly scented provender
along the metal, and stream the bait temptingly astern at the end of
a stretch of fishing line. The albatross promptly swoops down for the
succulent morsel, and having got a grip of it with its mighty beak,
holds on. The drag of the line naturally jams the acute angle of the
triangle over the bird’s beak, so that even if it wanted to let go
it couldn’t; and it is, in the result, ignominiously drawn aboard,
where, once it has set its feet on the deck, it cannot rise. Then
you strangle the gentleman, so that his snowy, downy plumage shall
not be discoloured, and skin him, using his wing bones for pipe stems
and his beak and wings for trophies.
April 2 started well, but failed to fulfil its initial promise. The
wind was coming away in lessening puffs—somewhat tantalizing for the
helmsman—but in a while it freshened again with mist and rain, which
lessened our outlook considerably and caused some little concern,
for we were expecting to sight land and had no desire to overrun
our reckoning, with no bunker fuel to help us to steam back against
a wind that was always fresh and sometimes strong. Since eyesight
was not much use under these conditions, sounding was taken with the
Kelvin machine, but no bottom was discoverable! and as the log line
fouled the wire after the cast was taken, I got an extra hour’s work
in clearing the ghastly tangle. A spinning log line and a spinning
sounding line together can make a twist that seems invulnerable to
human effort; but a bit of that patience taught to the Scouts helped,
and the tangle was gradually reduced.
At four in the afternoon the heavier canvas was furled lest we ran
too far, and the last of the ice left our decks about the same time,
thawed by the persistent rain and the increasing temperature. All
the diligent scrubbing with sand and canvas in the world could not
have left our planking whiter than had the scouring of the friendly
ice. Just as well the ice was gone, for the rolling and pitching were
awful, so that we kept our feet only with supreme difficulty.
Because of the weather and the speed we were making, the skipper
decided to get the ship hove-to after dinner, rounded her to on the
port tack, and sounded constantly without finding bottom. Navigation
under these circumstances is no easy matter, and I was glad I was
not responsible for the safety of the ship.
Alternating running and heaving-to, with the sounding machine
constantly at work, except when it broke down—as it sometimes did—we
went on, until at eight o’clock on April 4 the sun appeared and a
clear horizon showed, so that it was quite possible to get chronometer
sights and double altitudes, by means of which our position on
the watery waste was definitely fixed. That comforted everybody;
and by way of added solace, shortly before 1 p.m. land was sighted
again—the snow-capped peaks of South Georgia showing plainly on our
starboard bow. Throughout a drizzling afternoon, with a strong wind
blowing—typical South Georgian weather, observe, for the bit of
sunshine was soon only a memory—we crowded on every possible ounce
of steam and tried to gain harbour, but because of the short, high
head-sea that was running we made little if any progress. At six p.m.
it became necessary to keep the _Quest_ off with staysail and mizen
set; and all that was then to be seen of the island was a blanket of
thick, impenetrable mist, with the occasional ends of giant glaciers
and the irregularities of the coastline showing.
A lot of bergs were floating about in our neighbourhood, and during
the night the ship was kept under steam in order to make her handier
in dodging these floating masses; but at 8 a.m. we set every inch
of canvas the vessel would carry and headed up towards the land. By
about three in the afternoon we were fairly close in, and it was a
great pleasure to look on green grass again, though by reason of its
sparseness it was almost possible to count the blades.
South Georgia hadn’t altered much during our absence; the only change
was that, winter coming on, there was more snow on the hills and
a general suggestion of greater bleakness. And now, for the first
time in many months, we saw shipping again: whalers leaving harbour
or making for it. Other human beings besides ourselves existed, and
the knowledge warmed our hearts. Absent yourself from your kind for
months at a stretch, and even an African bushman seems a friend.
But we couldn’t make harbour yet, and were compelled to dodge the bergs
and idle about off the land because the wind had fallen light, except
for frequent willie-waughs coming gustily down from the ravines of the
island, throughout the beautiful, moonlit night, which was as much
a poem as that famous sunset I mentioned before, though the colours
to-night were silver and grey, rather than crimson and gold. A big
iceberg, lit up by a noble moon, looks like an enchanted castle; and
as you watch it you find yourself thinking of long-drowned Camelot
and the wonders of the Round Table.