South Georgia Again
At six o’clock next morning, all sail being then taken in and the
ship proceeding under engines alone, boilers fed with blubber, we
entered Leith Harbour, and anchored with both anchors as a precaution
against the violent squalls that strike down from the hills.
Almost as the cables ceased their rumbling, a motor-launch was
alongside bearing Mr. Hansen, of the whaling station, and Mr. Hussey,
who had been appointed guard of honour to our well-loved leader. Mr.
Hussey gave us all the news, which we were very greedy to hear. He had
taken Sir Ernest Shackleton’s body to Monte Video, with the intention
of escorting it home to England for a great public funeral, such as
a man of our Boss’s heroism deserved, but Lady Shackleton had sent
word that she desired the remains to be laid in an even more fitting
resting-place—in South Georgia, the gateway to the Antarctic which he
had by right of conquest made his own; the spot closely associated
with one of the greatest of his many great exploits—that memorable
journey in the dead of winter across the glaciers and rocky heights
of the island, of which the whole world knows.
And so, over in the old pathetic graveyard of Gritviken, he was buried
simply, the Shetland whalemen carrying the coffin, with no funereal
pomp and circumstance, and the bareheaded Norwegian sea-fighters
following him respectfully to his last resting-place. It was what he
would have wished.
When the rocky grave was filled in, a simple wooden cross was erected,
and on its arms Mr. Hussey placed the wreaths brought from Monte Video
on behalf of Lady Shackleton, Mr. and Mrs. Rowett and the members
of the _Quest_ expedition. So the restless soul found rest at last;
but his memory must endure, for Sir Ernest Shackleton was brave, not
with the sudden hot courage of battle, but with the quiet, determined
bravery that lasts through terrible, tedious days, when hope drifts
sullenly away and leaves bleak despair.
But though his labours were ended, ours were not; much of his original
programme remained to be carried out, and in order that this might be
done, work was resumed with vigour under Commander Wild. Accordingly,
after hearing Mr. Hussey’s news, all hands turned-to to clear the
bunkers of the gear that had been stowed there aforetime; and whether
it was the hard work or the change from recent ice surroundings, I
know that, for one, I found the weather quite sultry and overpowering.
Really it was very cold, but we began to wonder where we could lay
our hands on tropical clothing, by reason of the thickening of our
blood.
The general view of Leith Harbour gave me the idea of a smooth lake
surrounded on all sides by abruptly rising hills. Short, precipitous
glaciers come down at short intervals towards the shore; the lower
steeps are splashed with snow, whilst the raw earth shows abundantly,
though here and there is a heartening patch of green. The greater
heights are eternally snowbound, and as often as not veiled in mist
and thick clouds; and there is practically no flat land whatsoever;
the whole island seems to stand on end, with the exception of a few
acres at the far end of the harbour where the noisome whaling station
lies.
Peaceful days followed, during which we worked hard and played as
hard. Some of our party went fishing, and returned with great catches
of coarse fish which compared unfavourably with the toothsome spoil
of our northern waters. We played football; overhauled the ship fore
and aft, aloft and below; entertained the Shetlanders with impromptu
musical evenings, and generally joyed in a return to moving life. The
weather was Scottish in its changeableness: sunny days alternating
with bleak misty days, so that it was almost possible at times to
believe that one was back at home and the happenings, at the best,
but a vivid dream.
Whaling proceeded with great activity during this present stay of ours
in South Georgia; whales were constantly being towed in and flensed,
and the white smoke from the trying-works hung constantly over the
busy station, whilst the reek of rendering oil was appalling. Fishing,
in which sport I indulged frequently, proved an easy occupation,
especially amongst the thick kelp which everywhere clings to the
coast. All that was necessary was to drop over a hook with a piece of
fat blubber attached, and a second or so later came a tug, and there
was a fat fish. So greedy were these rock cod that often they would
bolt the bare hook and not trouble us to rebait.
By way of a change from sport, I blacked down the rigging with tar
and made a filthy mess of things in the process, smearing as much
of the delectable mixture on myself as on the rigging, I think, and
earning a severe choking-off for dropping tar on our immaculate—or
nearly immaculate—decks.
Bridge in the evenings, with music, honest work, plenty of play, and
there you have the record of our South Georgian days. One pleasant
break, however, came when I was ordered away in the whaler with Mr.
Douglas, Mr. Wilkins, Major Carr and Mr. Jeffrey, for a survey of Cape
Saunders at the entrance to the harbour. We were towed by a greasy
old motor-launch which the Norwegians employ for towing the whales
about the harbour, but it gave us headway enough for our purpose. A
heavy sea was running, however, and this made it impossible for us
to land on the cape itself, so we turned back and got ashore a mile
farther inland where the going was easier on account of a bit of smooth
beach. Having landed—it was very hot clambering up the rocks—we took
observations enough to satisfy the most critical of surveyors, then
returned, but the weather having become worse during our activities,
we got a thorough drenching before we regained the ship.
On Easter Saturday, April 15, we left Leith Harbour. The battered
old _Neko_, a disreputable packet, entered harbour from Deception
Island, her holds crammed to bursting with oil barrels, and, thanks
to our wireless, we gave her G.M.T. as we steamed past her, for
which she was very grateful as her chronometers had not been rated
for long enough. It was cold as we steamed down the harbour; and the
mountains, from which much of the snow had departed, were covered
with drift. We were bound for the Stromness whaling station, which
lies at the end of another arm of the bay; and on arriving there
we went alongside the Norwegian steamer _Perth_. Our manœuvres must
have seemed clumsy to her crew, for a sudden gust of wind drove us
down aboard her with such force that our bowsprit fouled one of her
boat-davits and snapped like a match; so that next morning Dell and
myself were early at work repairing the damage, stripping the broken
spar of its tangle of foot-ropes, guys and outhauls, and the like.
Here at Stromness we had fresh relays of visitors, both from the shore
and the British steamer _Woodville_, which lay there; they wondered
how we’d managed to win clear of the pack ice down farther south.
Most of our after-guard went aboard the _Woodville_, where they were
royally treated; but as the cook had departed on a holiday I helped
Jimmy Argles and Oompah—a South African, whose real name was Young—to
prepare lunch for the forrard party.
During the night following this day of carnival the wind increased
to hurricane force again, and I was roused at 4 a.m. by the skipper
yelling for a cork fender. His cries were almost drowned by a great
crashing and rending; but the noise was the worst part of the business.
We were rolling and churning against the _Perth_, thanks to the
pressure of two whalers which lay outside us, but after they’d cleared
out, the worst of our troubles were over. At ten o’clock we gave the
_Woodville_ a salute with our ensign and moved off, housing our boats
in readiness for the rough weather that was only to be expected.
Out in the open we washed down, and as our hose was somewhat the “waur
o’ the wear” we all got a satisfactory drenching, as a reminder that
we were seamen and not shore-fellows. We entered Prince Olaf Harbour
during the afternoon, where we tied up to a buoy. There is another
whaling station here, and the backing of the great pinnacle rocks
is very fine indeed. At 4 p.m. we went alongside the tank steamer
_Southern Isles_ and made fast for the night, during which the rain
sluiced down in miniature Niagaras. Still, the rain laid the dust
somewhat, which was a good thing, for our particular job next morning
was to coal ship, and that as everyone knows is an uncleanly operation.
From after breakfast until 5 p.m. we were hard at it: taking aboard
53 tons in that time. Argles, Young, Ross and myself shovelled on
deck; three Portuguese trimmers from St. Vincent did the trimming
below. To-day was Commander Wild’s birthday, and so, once we were
bathed and presentable, we had a great dinner by way of celebration.
After dinner he came down aft, where we drank his health generously,
Jimmy Dell proposing a genuine sailor’s toast, “Long may your big
jib draw,” and the night died away in song and story, in preparation
for another muling day at coaling, which became hard work on account
of the bright sun and considerable heat. But by noon we’d bunkered
ninety tons in all—our quota; and after squaring up the decks and
washing down I went fishing with Mr. Jeffrey and the skipper of the
_Southern Isles_. During the day a large number of whales were brought
in, and their swollen pink carcasses surrounded us on every hand,
whilst their effluvia—phew! Whales and still more whales continued to
arrive during the night, giving promise of a plentiful oil supply;
and some of the whalers that entered were towing six whales apiece,
each one as big as the ship itself.
But we cleared out of the immediate vicinity of the whales after
breakfast and lay off Bird Island, a small, pleasantly green piece
of land, where was plenty of tussock grass. Here we anchored, and
whilst letting go the port anchor a joining shackle fouled in the
compressor and broke short off like a carrot, so that we lost a good
anchor and fifteen fathoms of cable. Mr. Wilkins and a few others
went ashore in search of albatrosses, with which mighty birds the
place was literally alive, many of them wheeling splendidly overhead
or hovering like watchful hawks, whilst others squatted peacefully
on the little hillocks which are their nests; though certain less
peaceful members of the community squabbled fiercely, squawking like
fishwives all the time, with their huge wings outspread to their
utmost span. From a distance their uproar sounded precisely like the
indignation of a world full of young pigs all being led to slaughter
at one time.
Young albatrosses are good eating, and we killed some to replenish
our larder. It was Commander Wild’s intention to remain here at Bird
Island—well named—for several days in order to carry out an exhaustive
survey, but the weather was not fair enough to permit our lying there,
so we put back to Prince Olaf Harbour, there to await more favourable
weather.
With good weather we got under way, housed the surf-boat, and steamed
out into a moderate sea. We headed towards the bank at the north-west
of the island, where we took exhaustive soundings, and the _Quest_, as
though glad to be free from smooth water, gave an excellent display
of liveliness. Lord! how we grew to loathe her dirty movements! It
is easy enough to write of them in retrospect, but whilst they were
happening our wearied bones and aching muscles caused loud protest
in real deep-water curses, such as would have joyed the soul of the
old-time Paddy Westers who went down to the sea in ships in a day
when seafaring was seafaring.
The decks were thoroughly awash before very long, whole water piling
methodically aboard at every roll and pitch; but spite of all this,
having reached the bank, soundings commenced, and every hour, day
and night, the machines were busy.
Maybe a brief description of the whole art of taking comprehensive
soundings may appeal to the more scientifically minded of my readers.
The skipper sets the ship on a definite course, and along this course
we are steered steadily, with the lead constantly going, the depths
ranging from one hundred to two hundred fathoms, until we fail to
find bottom at three hundred. Knowing then that the ship is no longer
above the bank, course is altered until soundings are picked up
again; and so, by dint of a series of criss-crosses over the sea, the
exact size, depth and relative shape of the bank is quite accurately
learnt. Sounding is a delightful job, especially when you turn out
for it during a cold, bleak, windy middle watch. The proceedings being
illuminated by a flaring hurricane lamp, away goes the lead, one man
“feeling” the wire as it whines over the lead, until there comes a
sudden slackening of tension, whereupon the feeler cries, “Bottom,”
and another man applies the brake, not suddenly for fear of mishap,
but gently, collecting the strain by degrees. Then it is necessary to
wind in the wire and weights by hand; and at “three hundred fathoms
and no bottom,” on a deck that is as nearly vertical as ever a ship’s
deck could be, with the ship curvetting friskily and water cascading
aboard, it is excellent exercise. Watches of this kind can become
very long and dreary.
It took three full days and nights of steady work to get an accurate
charting of the bank, but when Commander Wild was satisfied that the
work was thoroughly done we made back to Prince Olaf, and, anchoring
there, had lunch in placid waters, greatly to our contentment of
spirit. Our prayers of thankfulness went up high, they were so
fervently uttered.
We remained at Prince Olaf for one clear day, spent chiefly in violent
political arguments amongst our very mixed ship’s company; and then
returned to Leith Harbour in heavy snow squalls, which covered the
entire coast with glittering white. Fierce blizzards blinded us as
we entered the harbour; and as the steam whistle lanyard carried
away and I had to repair it, I found that my idea about the warmth
of these latitudes was all wrong; it was cold—cold!
So strong was the wind that three attempts were necessary before
we moored to the buoy. The winter now being properly set in, South
Georgia looked a God-forsaken place enough to sadden any watching eyes.
On Friday, April 28, a general holiday was decreed for all hands.
Fishing was attempted, but returning to the ship the boat was caught
in a blizzard that necessitated a hard, cold pull; and the rest of
the day was gorgeously spent in my bunk, delightfully reading and
sleeping—with, perhaps, more sleeping than reading.
In Leith Harbour we rigged a new bowsprit to replace the one carried
away and replenished our stores, and on May 2 left for Gritviken
in very squally weather, the launch pulling us clear and the people
ashore firing a salute of rockets. The last thing I heard as we moved
off were the cheers of the honest Shetlanders. Outside the weather
was glorious, and Mr. Wilkins put down his dredge, bringing up some
beautiful samples of maritime life. Arriving at Gritviken at 1 p.m. we
anchored with our big spare anchor, which required the entire ship’s
company, together with half a dozen tackles and Portuguese windlasses
to get overside. In the evening I went ashore with Commander Wild,
Dr. Macklin and Dr. McIlroy to the magistrate’s house for a game of
billiards. The magistrate, Mr. Binney, owned a remarkable dog, whose
favourite diet appeared to be cigarette ash.
On May 3 a great work was commenced—our offering to our dead and
revered leader. A great cairn was to be built on top of a high, noble
bluff, commanding a magnificent view of the bay; and accordingly a
large party put ashore, armed with shovels and picks, and, borrowing
a couple of sledges from the magistrate, proceeded to the summit of
the bluff. Mac commenced at once to dig out foundations; and as there
were no suitable stones at hand, we others climbed a steep slope and
quarried out the side of a hill a quarter of a mile away. Despite
the labour this entailed we all worked with a will, for there was
a definite feeling in all that Shackleton himself was directing our
efforts as of old. His spirit seemed to hover over us, and we exulted
in our tribute.
Mr. Douglas attempted to blast the rock nearer the side of the cairn,
but had no success; so we continued our work all day, bringing the
stones down the hill on the sledges, and by evening the cairn was
three feet high.
Immediately after breakfast next day we went ashore again to continue
our labours. Young ice had formed overnight on the water, and pulling
the boat was no easy task. In order to expedite our work we lashed
boxes on the sledges to increase their carrying capacity, but Dr.
Macklin’s sledge came to grief at the foot of the slope and he had
perforce to return to the magistrate’s for another. Up and down we went
as hard as we could go, and in the course of the forenoon transported
about ten tons of rock. Mac made an excellent job of the building,
and whilst we ashore toiled hard, the engineers aboard fashioned a
noble cross, and this was erected on the summit of the cairn in the
afternoon.
On the day following the finishing touches were put to the cairn,
and a brass plate was cemented in, bearing just a simple inscription,
which said more than whole volumes, maybe:
SIR ERNEST SHACKLETON,
Explorer,
Died here January 5, 1922.
Erected by his comrades.
It was evening when this work was done, and in the waning light we
gazed on the completed cairn standing out dark against the snow, and
felt how grand and beautiful was its setting. How fitting it was for
a monument to Shackleton! The dying sun made a lovely picture on the
smooth frozen waters of the bay and enhanced the exquisite beauty of
the white mountains beyond. We turned away and walked slowly homewards,
not speaking much, because he seemed to be very near.
We left Gritviken on May 7—a Sunday—and steamed across to Cumberland
Bay. On the way we passed Sir Ernest’s cairn, and the ship’s company
stood to attention facing it in salute. The skipper afterwards remarked
to me on the excellence of the selected site. It promised to stand
there as a perpetual landmark to all who entered the bay. Gradually
was lifted the inevitable pall of sadness that had clung about the
_Quest_ after our sorrowful labours.
At Gritviken we had secured a live black and white pig, and an instant
hostility arose between this porker and Query; it was very amusing to
watch their antics. Commander Wild went ashore with a hunting party
and presently returned with four large deer, a welcome prospect of
venison. They were skinned and cleaned and lashed up in the rigging.
Next day, after landing the magistrate’s dog, which had somehow been
left aboard, we steamed along the coast towards Royal Bay, where the
German Antarctic Expedition of 1892-3 had wintered, and here, shortly
after 2 p.m., we dropped anchor quite close to a great glacier that was
rotten with crevasses. Great masses of ice kept constantly tumbling
down with a continual rumbling, and as they entered the water they
sent out waves towards us like the wash of a giant ship proceeding
at full speed. The whole bay was covered with growlers and smaller
fragments of ice. The surveying party promptly went ashore, and I
accompanied them. A biggish surf was running, and the shore was very
steep and very stony. Youthful enthusiasm prompting me to leap ashore
with the painter, a roller promptly took me off my feet, carried me
under the boat, threw me up on the beach and effectively drenched me.
I returned aboard, changed and went fishing, which was a more peaceful
pursuit. Then the survey party was collected without mishap and taken
off aboard, the boat was hoisted in and secured, for the last time
our anchor was hoisted from the South Georgian bottom, and we set out
on our journey to what is almost the last, loneliest sentinel of the
British Empire, Tristan d’Achuna, or Tristan da Cunha; the spelling is
optional, I believe. We kept a course along the moon-path, in order
to avoid the growlers; and before I turned in at midnight I took a
last long look at shimmering, moon-bathed peaks of the stern island
that now meant so much to me.