Asail for Home
These days, I find, occupy little space in my diary. Nothing at all
happened out of the recurrent round of work and watches, beyond my
suffering from some sort of illness created by a too greedy indulgence
in succulent crayfish. We spent some active hours day by day in
“treacling up” the ship for the critical eyes of possible visitors;
and as the ship was steady and the conditions were good, time passed
pleasantly indeed. There was a genuine homeward-bound feeling about
everything. We had done most of our work—unexciting and unromantic
maybe, but useful from the scientific point of view; we had surveyed
certain hardly known lands and seas; and we felt we deserved some
few of the ameliorations of an ordinary world.
Certain rumoured reefs were supposed to lie in our track, and very
assiduously we worked with the sounding machine to verify these
potential dangers to shipping; but no evidence was forthcoming. Two
thousand fathoms gave us no bottom, and a reef buried deeper than
that below the sea’s surface wasn’t likely to do much harm to passing
ships.
After a delightful period of calms and smooth seas the wind breezed
up again, and the _Quest_, awaking like a startled horse from long
sleep, renewed her old-time vigour and enthusiasm. The wind was fairly
ahead, and with engines going their hardest we could make but little
more than a knot an hour. A dreary passage promised, but after a while
the wind freed, and under sail, with engines stopped, we ramped along
in heartening style. But on June 9 a real tragedy occurred—Query lost
the number of his mess. During the voyage he had got very cunning
in the tricks of the ship and had developed excellent sea-legs, so
that we never felt very much concern about him even when the _Quest_
was playing her most fantastic tricks. I was assisting Dell to skin
and cut up a Tristan da Cunha sheep—a very scraggy brute, with only
about enough flesh on its bones to form a decent meal for one healthy
Scout. Query, who always followed the work of the ship with sagacious
interest, was absorbedly watching our gory toil when the ship gave a
sickening lurch, and the poor dog, before he could brace himself into
a state of readiness, slipped, clawing and scrabbling, clean over
the side. I heard Jimmy crying out, and running to the poop saw Query
bravely swimming in our direction; he was fully fifty yards astern.
Then, as I looked, my heart aching for him, a big wave hit him and
shut him from view. It was impossible to do anything for him. Had he
been a man his fate must have been the same, for we were running hard
before a gale, and to heave-to might easily have spelt our complete
destruction; to lower a boat was impossible. Poor Query! His loss was
felt very keenly by every man aboard, for there is something in the
atmosphere of a ship that makes a man keen on pets, and Query was a
great pet, well loved by all. I have known many dogs, but never one
with so lovable a disposition as his. And so of all the medley of
animals carried by the ship during her voyage only one solitary cat
remained.
On June 17 we got into wireless touch with Cape Town—by telephone,
so please you—and heard all the news that had happened during our
prolonged absence from the busy world that makes the news. It was
like coming back into life after a Rip van Winkle existence. We
heard of the ascent of Mount Everest, the sinking of the _Egypt_—the
big ship lost, while our puny cockleshell survived more hazardous
days than had ever befallen the liner!—and all the sporting news
worth while. At noon we faintly discerned flat-topped Table Mountain
ahead. The sea was smooth; we were sailing under ideal conditions;
a strong elation was ours. We planned our adventures amongst men of
our own kind; wondered whether the Cape Town girls were pretty; hoped
they’d secure a good grip on our tow-rope and that they’d pull their
hardest; and generally indulged in fantastic daydreams, as is the way
of sailormen the world over, though steam has done its best to kill
romance. We celebrated this day of days by an uproarious concert in
the ward-room, and all of us, I think, went rather mad.
Going on deck at midnight was a sheer delight; a wonderful sight
presented itself. The night was perfect—still, serene; and a big
silver moon shining gloriously on the vast expanse of Table Bay vied
with the glowing lights in the distance. The ship was just creeping
along in order to make her anchorage at daylight. Round our quietly
moving bows, in the luminous wake as well, hundreds and hundreds of
phosphorescent fish were playing recklessly, shooting like shafts of
vivid light through the water, and the soft-sounding “wash-wash” of
their breaking surface, a sound which blended so perfectly with the
low seething rustle of the broken water of our progress as to seem
like fairy music.
A great reception awaited us in the morning. Dense crowds packed the
quays, and many boatloads of enthusiastic people followed in our wake
as we trudged up the harbour. As we steamed to moorings off Robben
Island I thought gratefully of the wonderful experience I had had;
and although I was very sorry it was almost over, yet within my heart
I was glad indeed to be here, for I know of no more splendid emotion
than the home-coming after a great adventure. We had tried and we
had achieved; but sorrow underlay the joy, too, for this reception
was Sir Ernest Shackleton’s triumph, and he was not there to share it.
During the following days the people of Cape Town gave us generous
greeting and unstinted hospitality. We spent a memorable week-end at
Bonnivale, the estate of Mr. Rigg, situated about 200 miles from Cape
Town—no distance at all in a country of staggering distances—and had
grateful experience of the honest Scottish hospitality of Mrs. A. H.
Smithers, of St. James’s, who received us royally at her home, allowing
us to come and go precisely as we pleased. Wherever I personally went
the Scouts were kindness itself to me, and my great regret was that
I had not sufficient time wherein to see as much of them as I could
have wished. For I owed my great adventure to the fact that I was a
Scout, and gratitude to the organization that gave me my chance must
always be uppermost in my heart.
It would be utterly impossible for me to write of the many
distinguished, generous people we had the honour to meet, of the
countless functions we attended or of the impressive, interesting
sights we saw. What with lunches, dinners, dances, motor drives and the
like, Jack was ashore with a vengeance and thoroughly enjoying himself;
whilst, considering the people—thousands of them, literally—whom we
had to conduct over the ship, it is a marvel to me how we managed
to get a full day into every twenty-four hours. Every day was a
red-letter day on its own account; and I must always remember our
stay as a truly wonderful month.
Toward the close of our stay we moved down to the Naval Dockyard at
Simon’s Town to refit; but Commander Wild, prostrated by a severe
attack of influenza, was unfortunately unable to accompany us there.
Thus, after much delight, we left Table Bay on July 13 very hurriedly,
and once more faced the elements. Not very trying on this occasion,
however, for the weather was beautifully fine; though, thanks to
our high living when ashore, certain of us began to realize that
seasickness, a thing forgotten, was still a real affair. Nevertheless,
across a sea as smooth as glass we pursued our way, until South Africa
dropped below the horizon and our visit was nothing but a golden
memory—a memory that set one longing to be possessed of wings, to
fly back and continue the prolonged farewell.
Once fairly at sea, I learned to my keen regret that we were homeward
bound—definitely homeward bound. I say “with regret” advisedly, for I
had looked forward joyously to cruising amongst new seas, of seeing
great new lands—Australia, New Zealand, and the romantic, colourful
islands of the South Pacific. Still a journey of considerable interest
was in prospect, and many a day would pass before we loomed in sight
of English shores.
It was like yachting—yachting _de luxe_—as we steamed along placid
seas, under broiling suns and cloudless skies. Pleasant travelling
this, but we of the _Quest_, hardened to bad weather, occasionally
found the lazy times a trifle boring. Not unduly so, mark you. We did
not precisely pray for big gales and high seas, for we had had our
share, and more than our share, maybe, of such happenings of ocean
travel; but even lazy loafing about the decks with a book can grow
monotonous, and a gale certainly provides excitement and the element
of the unexpected.
Without any event of outstanding importance, following a placid
round of commonplace duties, living on the fat of the land, since
there was now no pronounced need to conserve our stores, cleaning
ship diligently, fishing for albatross, taking occasional soundings
and dredgings, we reached St. Helena and anchored off Jamestown. It
is a pretty little town, which straggles picturesquely for a long
way up the bottom of an acute-sided valley. The island itself is a
mountainous mass, intersected in every direction by deep valleys, those
opening to the sea in our direction being of a very regular V-shape.
An exceedingly fertile land, its chief industry is the growing of
flax. The natives are black, some being rather less so than others,
and white people are few and far between.
Mr. Douglas and I rode across the island to inspect some dykes he had
heard about, and on the way stopped at Napoleon’s last abiding-place,
his lonely home during his tragic banishment. We saw his tomb only
from the distance, having no time for a closer inspection. The roads
we negotiated were uniformly good, but at a certain point on the far
side of the island, in order to reach our destination, we had to alight
and lead our sturdy animals down the rough side of an extremely steep
hill. At the bottom Mr. Douglas stopped and purchased some exquisitely
dainty lace at a native cottage. St. Helena rather specializes in
lace of delicate fashioning; its manufacture is an industry of some
importance.
The dykes were situated beside a ruined Dutch fort which once guarded
a small cove, and I wondered what feature of history this stronghold
illustrated, but was able to secure no worth-while information on the
subject. A few shattered cannon, crumbling to nothingness under the
influence of the sea air, still remained—grim relics of a forgotten
era in colonization. We stayed in the vicinity for an hour, Mr.
Douglas taking many photographs and gathering various geological
specimens. The country hereabouts was rocky and barren and not at
all inviting. Having satisfied our lust for information so far as
possible, we returned; it was already dark when we clattered into
Jamestown. After months at sea, and to a man untutored in the art,
riding was a painful business at best, and I was so sore by the
time we sighted our destination that I could not sit in the saddle,
but, jockey-wise, rode in the stirrups alone. Counting everything,
I think my performance wasn’t so bad—I only fell off once; but then,
as I said, anyone who could exist aboard the _Quest_ when she was up
to her tricks could sit anything, even a drunken giraffe. Next day
brought its penalty of adventuring: I was so sore that if there had
been a mantelpiece aboard the ship I’d have eaten my breakfast from
it. Lacking so unusual a table, I suffered in stoic silence, mentally
anathematizing all horses; but the smart soon disappeared, helped by
activities aboard.
The weather at this time was blazing hot, so hot that even to wind
up one’s watch was an exertion to be seriously considered for long
half-hours at a stretch before completing the operation. Sweat ran
from us in rivers, for we were all carrying flesh as a result of lush
feeding on the passage from Cape Town.
My general impression of St. Helena was that it was a derelict island;
its glory had departed. Its name rings down through the aisles of
history, and will probably never be forgotten, for here the Corsican
Ogre was housed in safety after peace was given to a war-ridden world;
but it is its name that matters and not the place itself. However,
I was very glad to have seen it, and it was easy to picture the
ambitious Man of Destiny eating out his heart in a galling captivity,
reflecting on the glories and triumphs that once were his.
We departed for Ascension Island the night Mr. Douglas and I returned
from our equine gymnastics, and spent a fairly lazy time on the
passage, for the heat was against arduous exertion. During these days
the dominant feature of the seascape—a placid plain of shining water
for the most part—was the enormous swarms of flying-fish that dashed
away from the warning of our thrusting bow and scattered wildly in
every direction, rising foolishly into the air until their wings
dried, then plopping and pattering back into their native element,
to become easy prey, one supposes, to the voracious bonitos who are
their natural enemies. We found amusement in endeavouring to coax the
last lonely albatross that had accompanied us northward to continue
its journey; but an uncanny instinct prevented it from venturing. It
is said these birds will never under any conditions cross the Line,
and this fellow seemed a living proof of the fact.
In the afternoon of August 1 we sighted the sharp peak of Ascension
Island—where the turtles come from—and after dark we came to anchor a
few hundred yards from the naval barracks. I went below into the hold
to find some clean clothes, and the Chief, entering the ward-room,
fell down through the open hatch. Under normal conditions he would
have expressed his feelings with such words as occurred to him at the
moment, and I should have wilted under his torrential profanity; but
the homeward-bound feeling was evidently strongly within him, for he
maintained a silence that was more pregnant than many words. He made
a game struggle against his natural feelings and won—all credit to him.
During the war there was on Ascension a big wireless station, with a
coaling station for our patrolling cruisers also; and the garrison
of marines is still maintained, probably in readiness for the next
war, or it may be that they have been forgotten. Anyhow, there the
garrison still is, and also the Eastern Telegraph Company have a
cable station on the island; so no doubt the two groups keep each
other company.
Ascension lies very near the Equator, and is naturally hot. With the
exception of St. Paul’s Rocks it is, I think, the hottest place I
have so far struck. It is an amazing contrast to St. Helena; utterly
barren of vegetation except, strangely enough, on the very summit of
the peak, which is 3,000 feet high or thereabouts, there is a single
farm, which supplies the garrison with fresh meat and vegetables. For
the rest the island is nothing but a monotonous series of huge red
mounds of ashes and piles of clinker, due to the one-time extraordinary
volcanic action here. There still remain some two dozen perfectly
discernible volcanic craters, any one of which appeared ready to
start into immediate eruption.
Early on the morning of arrival I accompanied Mr. Douglas ashore, clad
weirdly in his garments for the most part, for hard work had taken a
bitter toll of mine. We walked for a little while along the road that
leads to the farm on the ultimate peak, and then struck off towards
a hill known as Dark Slope Crater. The geologist had learned that
there was some ejected granite to be found there, and was curious to
investigate.
Our way led us across many piles of clinker, which emitted a strangely
musical tinkle when we set foot on them. It was intensely hot; the
scorched cinders struck through our boot soles as if they were merely
paper. They say at Aden that there is only a single thickness of
brown paper between them and the nether regions; the same remark
applies to Ascension. On top of the crater we ate our modest lunch
and inspected the crater itself—extinct, though suggestive. At the
bottom was a yellow, sun-dried area like the bottom of a pond in a
severe drought. Mr. Douglas took samples of this dried mud, thinking
it to be fuller’s earth, and no doubt dreamt of uncountable riches;
he also got samples of the granite he sought. Having satisfied our
hunger for the unusual, we entered Wideawake Valley, called by this
unexpected name because it teems with millions of wideawake birds.
When I say millions I mean millions; there is no exaggeration. It was
nesting time, and the noise as we walked through amongst the sitting
mothers was deafening, whilst the air was literally darkened by the
wheeling, startled birds, who pecked gallantly at our headgear in
the endeavour to beat off our innocent intrusion. Unfortunately they
were in the right of it, for so thickly were the nests strewn on the
open ground that we trampled eggs and so on into a hideous omelette
in our progress, without in the least wishing to do anything of the
sort.
From this yelling tornado of ornithological resentment we made a
detour, the general direction being toward the peak road. Ascending a
dried-up creek we came upon a beautiful specimen of a lava flow. The
flow was in the act of rounding a bend, and was so good an example
that Mr. Douglas took photographs and measurements. Ascension is,
indeed, a rare spot for a geologist. Farther on I picked up half a
volcanic “bomb,” and a piece which might have been a “teardrop.” Mr.
Douglas took samples from many striking dykes, one running for half
a mile down the side of a hill. Every foot of the journey brought
some new surprise, something of keen interest. A large mass of grey
rock—trachyte, I think it is called—was weathered into fantastic
shapes. We also found ejected gneiss, and the presence of this,
together with the granite, supports the theory that Ascension is
connected, under water, with the main African continent.
Presently we gained the peak road at “God-be-thanked Well,” a most
appropriate name, for I was dying for a drink, as were unquestionably
those who originally named the well. A long draught of cool water
bred feelings of profound thankfulness in our souls.
At length, with what seemed at least a hundredweight each of rock
specimens slung on our backs, we arrived at the station, racing
the swiftly falling darkness during the last lap of the journey, to
discover that a mail-boat was in the harbour. Whilst awaiting the
arrival of our boat it was interesting to watch the marines working
by the light of acetylene flares; and there was superior joy in
realizing our own immediate immunity from labour of this trying sort.
Next day, securing shore leave again, I dressed myself appropriately
to the consuming heat that threatened, and Mr. Douglas and I pushed
off for the land. When aboard ship for a long time even a naked rock
promises a relief from cramped surroundings, and we welcomed these
shore excursions very cordially. We started at once up the hot, dusty
road to the peak, halting three miles inland at God-be-thanked Well
for a relished drink and an equally enjoyed smoke. As the gradient
began to steepen we encountered sparse vegetation—thin-growing grass
and cactus plants, palms and casuarinas—which vegetation culminates
in the fertile farmland of the peak. About two and a half miles from
the actual summit we left the road and climbed a steep grassy ridge,
but frequently crossed the main thoroughfare, which ascended in a
series of remarkable bends. Emerging on the road at one of these
bends we met a fine old gentleman in khaki shorts, with a horse and
a little daughter. He was very tall, with silver-grey hair and a
fresh countenance. This was Mr. Cronk, who runs the peak farm. With
astonishing generosity he lent me his mare, which promptly bolted up
the hill as I set foot in the stirrup, being exceptionally spirited
from long confinement in the stable. Nor did she slacken speed,
notwithstanding the steepness of the way, until she drew up with a
clatter at the stable door. She gave me a hazardous passage, for every
time she swung round a bend I was nearly off, retaining my seat only
by dint of my sailor’s grip.
At the farm we bathed and were entertained most regally, afterwards
making our way round the left slope of the mountain, along a path
cut with no little skill by Mr. Cronk. On the way Mr. Douglas poked
his stick into what seemed very like an ordinary rabbit burrow, and a
huge land-crab immediately emerged, ready for battle. He presented a
most ferocious front, but decided that the odds against him were too
heavy, so promptly retreated. We saw many more of these unsightly,
nightmarish brutes. We made a thorough inspection of the country
surrounding the peak, saw many strange sights, and returned to the
farm, where Mr. Cronk served us with an excellent dinner; and then
to bed. How deliciously inviting a landsman’s bed can be!
The following morning, in clear sunshine, with a swift, cool breeze
to temper the heat, we set forth again. Mr. Douglas promptly occupying
himself with photography, secured some amazing views. The vistas were
beyond description, and well worth recording permanently. One gazed
on a scene which, except for the dirty yellow-white of the scattered
patches of withered grass, had but little variation in colour. The
dominant features were the bright red of the conical hills and craters
and the darker brown of the piles of clinkers; and the impression
conveyed was that one stared out over the raw world as it must have
been almost immediately after the creation. Growing on the distant
lower slopes were palms, casuarinas and green grass, and on the peak
itself was an extensive vegetation of conifers, greener grass and
bamboos, these last being on the very summit, sheltering a small pool
made by Mr. Cronk.
After a breakfast to treasure in memory through many years—never
were such delicious cold chicken, such sweet eggs, such vegetables
and fruit!—we listened to our worthy host’s pleadings that we should
inspect a bridge of his own fashioning, and followed him along through
tunnels and arches and cuttings, balancing ourselves on precarious
ledges with sheer drops on the one side that terminated thousands of
feet below, until we reached the bridge, which spanned a small gully
and was composed of steel piping, cemented smoothly over and giving
the impression that it had existed from time immemorial and would
continue to endure for ever—a striking piece of work.
Those who gave the place-names to this island were evidently obsessed
with a belief that the entire country owed its origin to Plutonic
ingenuity. There’s the Devil’s Punch Bowl, there’s the Devil’s Riding
School—this latter a peculiar crater, perfectly circular and looking
from above precisely like a giant target that has fallen over on its
back. There would seem to have been successive volcanic eruptions
here, and the resultant deposits are laid out in concentric circles
of varying colour, quite conveying the idea of the conventional target.
The flaming sun took toll of us during the return journey. My face,
back, neck, arms and legs were baked bright scarlet when I boarded the
ship at five o’clock, just before she weighed anchor; and in some way
I’d picked up a temperature, too, which resulted in my being ordered
to my bunk for the night.
But the temperature did not long endure; in the morning I wakened
quite normal, to find the _Quest_ in open water and practising
her rolling evolutions with gusto. Beyond a few blisters and much
smarting, my sunburn failed to trouble me. From Ascension we brought
the beginnings of a menagerie—sailors must have pets of some sort—and
in addition to a monkey and a canary we boasted quite a flock of
young turtles, as proof we had visited Turtleopolis. We tended these
fellows carefully, changing their water frequently and feeding them
regularly on salt pork. This Saturday night, as had been our custom
throughout, we drank the old navy toast of “Sweethearts and Wives,”
to which the inevitable joker solemnly added, “May they never meet!”
an amendment as customary as the toast itself. We then turned on the
faithful gramophone, suffering by this time from much hard usage,
but still determined to do its best and producing quite decent music.
Next day we cleaned ship, and, with the wind dying down into puffs,
encountered heavy rain, which gave us all the joy of baths. This being
Sunday I took opportunity for a “sailor’s pleasure,” and turned out my
bunk, which, from its peculiar situation just below the companion-hatch
into the wardroom, seemed to be the harbouring-place of every oddment
in the ship. The sum total of these accumulations is interesting.
Listen: Sea-water, sea-boots, enamel plates and other eating gear,
soup, salt pork and tinned fruit, and a sample of every article of
food ever consumed aboard.
August 8 we crossed the Line again in blazing heat. During the
uneventful days of the passage to St. Vincent we exerted ourselves
faithfully in cleaning ship, washing her inside and out, up aloft
and down below. She shone like silver as a result of our exertions,
but we wondered what would happen to her when the coaling began.
Still, aboard ship the hands must be kept employed, otherwise they
might grumble and slack and grow discontented. When there’s no other
employment for them they clean ship and go on cleaning. Then the
coaling crowd come aboard and take a diabolical delight in smothering
her with foulness. Still, no bones are broken, so no one is any the
worse.
The hours spent at the wheel during these fine-weather days were
enjoyable in the extreme. With the sun shining across the easily
rolling sea in a broad dazzling beam, and a cool north-north-east
wind blowing gently six points or so on the starboard bow, the heat
of the day is delightfully counteracted and sailing conditions are
perfect. During such hours a man is allowed to think—those deep
thoughts which cannot be put into so many prosaic words, but which
lift the soul gloriously out of itself and teach one the majesty of
God. One drifts aimlessly from subject to obscure subject, lost in
a hazy dreamland of introspection, until——
“Hallo! What might you be trying to do with her? Write your name with
the —— —— ship?” comes from the officer of the watch, and you spring
to alertness and stare aghast at the loops and twists of the bubbling
wake.
In due course we reached St. Vincent, and found it and the adjacent
islands in even a sorrier plight than when we visited them on the
outward journey, for the drought had spread to the neighbouring
islands, and as they supply St. Vincent itself with cereals and
vegetables and water, a condition nearly approaching famine existed.
Throughout the day of our arrival we were surrounded by bumboats in
charge of extremely ragged boatmen, who endeavoured to tempt us into
buying their trifling variety of fruits. Certain of these enthusiasts
varied their hours by diving for the chunks of coal which fell
overboard from our coaling, and they inevitably secured their loot. We
coaled ship, smothered ourselves in grime, bathed, and finally left
St. Vincent on Sunday, August 20, in a whirl of excitement, firing
rockets lavishly, and sent on our way by much cheering from women
and children who had massed in a high place to see the last of us.
Placid workful conditions continued until, on September 3, we reached
San Miguel of the Western Isles and anchored there. A very pretty
picture this island presents from the sea, reminding one greatly
of our own northern land—green fields, much vegetation, and regular
walls. Going ashore here, I enjoyed a Portuguese Sunday—the busiest,
most careless day of the week, apparently, for the cafés were all
wide open and doing a roaring trade, and the streets were thronged
with islanders dressed in their best, determined on enjoyment. A
very different scene from Tristan da Cunha, let’s say! I enjoyed this
colourful scene immensely, it was such relief from the monotones which
had been our experience for so many months. But all things have an
end, and on Monday, September 4, we weighed anchor and headed out
upon the final lap of the homeward trail. After certain sunny days
we ran into screaming hard weather, with a fortunate fair wind that
bade the _Quest_ do her best—an order she obeyed, both as to speed and
rolling. Her firm intention seemed to be to leave us with poignant
memories of her activities in this direction. But we endured, and
we blessed her for carrying us so far so worthily; and now that the
hazards are past I retain nothing but the tenderest recollections of
what we used to call in our wrath “that perishing old wash-tub of a
rolling son of a gun.”
And so the closing stage of the memorable voyage approached. Long
before there was even the remotest hope of our sighting England
we commenced our packing, three parts of which had to be promptly
unpacked; and then we painted the weird assortment of boxes which
contained our accumulated possessions, and hoped they would look a
little less disreputable than they actually did. Late on the evening
of September 15 we crept into Plymouth Sound and dropped our anchor—an
anxious anchor that had repeatedly tried to break loose from its
moorings on the homeward trip—in Cawsand Bay. We were home—home from
the great adventure!
On September 17, the anniversary of the day on which she had left St.
Katharine’s Dock a year before, the _Quest_ was finally berthed and
our work was done. Here in her resting-place I said farewell to the
many staunch friends I had made and to the stout, plucky, wonderful
ship that I had grown to look upon as a second home.
And now I can hardly believe that it was all true. Yet it _was_
true—gloriously so. I, too, have seen and known and learnt; I, too,
have companioned with the great souls who help to make our island
history. Sir Ernest Shackleton, Commander Frank Wild and the others,
all great of heart and fearless of soul, had been my shipmates and
my friends.
It was a memorable year indeed, and for all time I know I must carry
with me a vision of tumbling waves by day and phosphorescent breakers
in the darkness; the grind and bellow of the closing pack, the rush
and roar of broken waters at the growlers’ feet; the hushed noises
of the seals as they come to the surface in the still water of the
pack; and always shall I see in mind’s-eye the glory of the Antarctic
night.
And most poignant yet inspiring of all my memories there is that of
the lonely cross outlined against the whirling drive of the South
Georgian sleet, the sign which remains to tell of the great spirit
that led us forth into the Frozen South and died, yet lives again,
as a magnet to draw the brave away from the sleek comforts of life
into that outer world of daring where men may gaze in awe upon the
wonders of the Lord.
INDEX
Adelie penguin, a solitary, 160
Albacore, a shoal of, 55
Albatrosses, fishing for, 183, 191
flight of, 80, 88
Antarctic Circle, weather in the, 139
Antarctic exploration, Commander Wild on, 172
Argles, Mr., 155, 156, 157, 190
a series of accidents, 157, 221
catches a penguin, 163
Ascension Island, 231
intense heat of, 231 _et seq._
Aurora Australis, a glimpse of the, 158
Bergs (_see_ Icebergs)
Billiards at Gritviken, 194
Binney, Mr., and his dog, 194
Bird-covered bergs, 118, 119
Bird Island, 191
Bird-shooting, 207, 210
Biscuit-pie, recipe for, 221
Bonnivale, a week-end at, 227
Bull-fight, a Portuguese, 34
Bull-fights, Spanish, 37
Bullock-cars, 42
Burlings reef, 29
Butterfly-hunting at St. Vincent, 52
Campbell, Captain Gordon, war work of, 14
Cape Saunders, a survey of, 188
Cape Town, welcome at, 227
Cape Valentine, 174
Cape Verde Islands, impressions of, 49, 51
_Carl_ (whaler), 108
Carr, Major, accident to, 82
as barber, 154
in a football match, 169
meteorological experiments of, 40, 62, 64, 66, 109, 178, 215
studies manœuvres of an albatross, 81
Christmas in Southern Seas, 82 _et seq._
Clerk Rocks, volcanic eruptions on, 116
Coal-sifting, 59
Coal-trimming, 15, 18, 47, 79, 155
Coaling at Port Olaf Harbour, 190
Cod-fishing in South Georgia, 188
Compass adjustment, experiences of, 11, 15
Cook, Captain, discovers South Georgia, 97
Cornwallis Island, 175
Crabs on St. Paul’s Rocks, 62, 64
Cronk, Mr., and his farm at Ascension Island, 234
Cumberland Bay, 196
Deer-hunting in South Georgia, 109
Dell, Mr., as coal-trimmer, 155
asked to carry on, 102
electrician of _Quest_, 62, 64, 97, 122
injured in a gale, 90
skins a sheep, 225
Divers, light-fingered, 50
Donkey riding at St Vincent, 51, 52
Douglas, Mr., 206, 208, 215
and a defective harpoon, 143
and Sir E. Shackleton’s grave, 194
as footballer, 169
buys lace at St. Helena, 229
geological researches of, 44, 52, 233
rejoins _Quest_, 109
replaces _Quest’s_ cook in the galley, 45
scientific observations in South Georgia, 77
surveys St. Paul’s Rocks, 62, 64
Eastern Telegraph Company, cable station on Ascension Island, 231
Edinburgh, Tristan da Cunha, 212
Elephant Island, in sight, 174
weather of, 178
why so named, 177
_Endurance_ expedition, 171, 174, 175
Eriksen, Mr., 62
harpoons a giant porpoise, 58
returns home, 72
_Expedition Topics_ and its editor, 123, 126
Falmouth Bay, Tristan da Cunha, 210
Firemen (ship’s), and their duties, 15
Fishing in South Georgia, 188, 191, 193
Flensing, 99, 177, 188
Floating ice, risk of navigation amongst, 120
Flying-fish, 63, 230
Football on the ice, 166, 168, 170
Funchal, bullock-cars of, 42
steep streets of, 43
Gales in Southern Seas, 88 _et seq._, 127, 130, 151, 157, 164, 173
Glacier ice, dangers of, 177
Glass, John, agility of, 207
welcomes _Quest_ holiday-makers, 212
Glass, John, first settler at Tristan da Cunha, 203
“God-be-thanked Well,” Ascension Island, 233, 234
Gough Island, 214
a derelict hut on, 216
exploration work on, 215 _et seq._
landing on, 215
Green (cook of _Quest_), 31, 86, 91, 128
accident to, 44
and Worsley’s birthday feast, 151
Green, Henry, a Tristan da Cunha inhabitant, 204
Gritviken, harbour of, 98
Shackleton’s grave at, 186, 194, 195
the British quarters at, 101
“Growlers,” definition of, 96
“Gubbins Alley,” why so called, 198
Gulls, Skua, 113
Gymnastics extraordinary, 111
Hansen, Mr., manager of whaling station at Leith, 110, 111, 186
Horn sailing-ship, a famous, 60
Housing problem, the, how solved at Tristan da Cunha, 203
Hussey, Captain, 62, 64, 83, 102
and the death of Sir E. Shackleton, 104, 186
meteorological experiments of, 40
Ice and wind, a rough time with, 177 _et seq._
Ice, football on the, 166, 168, 170
Icebergs, 117
beauty of, 95
capsized, 97, 125
source of, 96
tabular, 115
“Ice-blink,” 96
Ice-water, and how obtained, 147, 154
Inaccessible Island, 199
a landing on, 209
Jamestown, 229
Jeffrey, Mr., 62, 124, 152
an accident to, 76, 102
and an albatross, 183
as ice-catcher, 160
convalescence of, 118
rocket-fire by, disturbs penguins, 119
Kelvin sounder, the, 113, 114, 183
Kerr, Mr., engineer, 143
Killer whales, 133, 135, 165
Kipling, Rudyard, his understanding of the sea, 71, 82, 122
Lace-buying at St. Helena, 229
_La France_ becalmed, 60
wrecked off New Caledonia, 61
Land-crabs, 235
Larsen Harbour, and its cliffs, 115
Leith Harbour, South Georgia, 186, 187, 193
Lifeboats, daily overhaul of, 126
Lisbon, a remarkable cinema exhibition in, 32
_Quest_ overhauled in, 33
the Pena Palace, 31, 38
Locomotion, primitive, 204
London’s farewell to _Quest_, 6
Lysaght, Mr., a farewell dinner to, 50
embarks on _Quest_, 15
popularity of, 44
returns to England, 53
Macklin, Dr., 62, 178, 179
an urgent message to, 75
billiard-playing at Gritviken, 194
plays football on the ice, 169
seamanship of, 90
Tristan islanders’ offer to, 201
Macleod, 131, 156
and a refractory squaresail, 149
and a wireless installation, 211
and Sir E. Shackleton’s cairn, 194, 195
as instructor in seamanship, 161
averts a disaster, 198
Madeira, first sight of, 40
flora of, 42
remarkable atmosphere of, 41
sight-seeing in, 42
Mailbags delivered at Tristan da Cunha, 201
_Mal de mer_, and its terrors, 19 _et seq._, 39, 173
Marr, Scout, alone on Gough Island, 220
as butcher, 134
as helmsman in a gale, 88
as lamp-trimmer: Sir E. Shackleton’s hints, 25
Christmas Day on _Quest_, 84
experiences miseries of _mal de mer_, 19 _et seq._, 39, 173
first day among pack-ice, 133
first meeting with Shackleton, 2
football on the ice, 163, 169, 170
fraternizes with Lisbon Scouts, 38
his wages increased, 49
joins _Quest_, 4
meets brother Scouts at Plymouth, 14
on the sick list, 150
presents Sir R. Baden Powell’s flag to Tristan Scouts, 205
reaches home, 239
selected for _Quest_ expedition, 1
Shackleton and, 55, 56, 66, 97
sight-seeing in Madeira and St. Vincent, 42, 51
Mason, a martyr to seasickness, 39, 40
leaves _Quest_, 41
McIlroy, Dr., a game of billiards at Gritviken, 194
and Shackleton’s cairn 195
tends Worsley, 124
Meteorological experiments, and how conducted, 66
Mice-hunting on Gough Island, 218
Middle Island, 208
Mirages, Antarctic, 162, 163, 174, 181
Monte Video, Shackleton’s body taken to, 105, 180
Moon-blindness, 57
Mooney, Scout Norman E., his duties, 10
joins _Quest_, 4
leaves _Quest_, 41
selected for _Quest_ expedition, 1
suffers from seasickness, 19, 21, 28, 39
welcomed by Portuguese Scouts, 38
Motor rides in Lisbon, 33
Mountaineering on Inaccessible Island, 210
Naisbitt (cook’s mate), edits _Expedition Topics_, 123
falls overboard, 220
falls through the ice, 166
fashions a tobacco-pipe, 219
plays football on the ice, 169
Napoleon I at St. Helena, 229, 230
Nautilus, first sight of a, 80
Navigation among floating ice, dangers of, 120
_Neko_ enters Leith Harbour, 189
Nelson, Admiral, his tendency to seasickness, 20
New Year’s Day (1922), 94
Nightingale Island, 206
Octopus, a baby, 211
Oil on troubled waters, 91
Oompah (_see_ Young)
Pack-ice, 153
colour effects of, 141, 142, 158
_Quest’s_ entry into, 131
the helmsman’s difficulties in, 132
Pagoda Rock, 125
Pancake ice, 110
Parcels, unaddressed, 213
Parr, Mr., addresses Scout officers, 14
“Peggying,” definition of, 111
in a gale, 130
Penguin, a, witnesses football on the ice, 166
Penguin-chasing and its humour, 163
Penguin hunting in South Georgia, 114
Penguins, 95, 163
and how they resented rocket-fire, 119
_Perth_ at Stromness, 189, 190
Petrels, photographing, 113
Phosphorescent fish, 226
Pig, a, Query and, 196
Pilots, Portuguese, 30
Plymouth welcomes the _Quest_, 14, 15
Plymouth Sound, _Quest_ anchors in, on her return home, 239
Polar exploration ships, accommodation on, 4
Porpoise, a shoal of, 58
Portugal, first sight of, 29
Portuguese bull-fight, a, 34
“Portuguese man-o’-war,” a, 80
Portuguese Sunday, a, 230
Prince Olaf Harbour, 190, 192, 193
_Professor Gruvel_, Sir E. Shackleton’s body conveyed on, 105
Pumping, the rigours of, 122, 145
Query (wolf-hound puppy), and a killer whale, 161
and a penguin, 163, 166
and a pig, 196
embarks on _Quest_, 15
his cold bath, 176
his curiosity regarding pack-ice, 132
how he fared during a gale, 129
loss of, 225
_Quest_, a blaze aboard, and its cause, 143
a description of, 12
a nigger volunteer for, 101
a rough time with ice and wind, 177 _et seq._
alfresco meals on, 46
amongst floating ice, 120
anchors in Funchal Harbour, 41
arrives home, 239
_en route_ for Cape Verde, 44
engine trouble, 28, 40, 47, 55, 71, 79, 92
first impressions of, 3, 4
hemmed in by ice, 134, 141, 165
her wireless installations, 13
leaves Lisbon, 39
London’s good-bye to, 6 _et seq._
makes for Elephant Island, 171
narrow escapes of, 120, 121
Plymouth’s welcome to, 14
runs into ice, 95 _et seq._
Sir E. Shackleton’s cabin, 48
top speed of, 22
Revolutions, and how fostered, 68
Rigg, Mr., entertains crew of _Quest_, 227
Rio de Janeiro, 67
a month at, 72
beauty of, 68, 73
departure from, 76
past and present, 68, 69
_Quest_ in quarantine at, 69
“Rio Doctor,” the, 74
Rogers, Rev Martyn, and his wireless station, 211
and the Scout movement, 205
Ross (stoker), 169
Rowett, John Quiller, a dinner to officers and crew of _Quest_, 15
author’s tribute to, 5
bids farewell to _Quest_, 16
finances _Quest_ expedition, 4, 13
prearranges Christmas fare, 83
sends wreath for Shackleton’s funeral, 187
Royal Bay, 196
Saddle-soreness, an experience of, 230
Sailing-ships, mysteries of, 19
St. Helena, 228
geological researches at, 232
natives of, 229
St. Paul’s Rocks, a call at, 61
St Vincent, and its harbour, 50
_Quest_ at, 238
San Miguel, 238
Scouts, a troop at Tristan da Cunha, 205
Brazilian, 74
Plymouth, 14
Portuguese, 38
Scurvy, and how it is encouraged, 137
Sea-birds of St. Paul’s Rocks, 63
Sea-elephants, a school of, 112
flensing, 177
harems of, 178
Sea-leopard, a discreet, 145
fate of a sleeping, 168
first sight of a, 137
Sea-leopards, pugnacity of, 176
Seasickness, reflections on, and remedies for, 19
Seal-hunting, 153
Seal-shooting, 134
Seals, schools of, 112, 136
shot and flayed on the ice, 137, 143
Shackleton, Lady, her wishes as to funeral of her husband, 105,
186, 187
Shackleton, Sir Ernest, a dictum of, 156
a motto of, 45
a pen-picture of, 2
and author, 55, 56, 66, 97
death of, 102
his cabin on _Quest_, 48
his makeshift berth, 93
his thought for his men, 77, 94
hints on common-sense sailorizing by, 25, 26
inspects candidates for _Quest_ adventure, 1
last resting-place of, 186, 194, 195
sudden indisposition of, 75
talks of a previous expedition, 97, 98
Shark-fishing, 208
Sheerness, _Quest_ at, 9
Shetlanders as barbers, 111
Ships, essential discipline of, 7 _et seq._
Simon’s Town, _Quest_ at, 227
Skua gulls as food, 115
Sleep as recreation, 23
Smithers, Mrs. A. H., hospitality of, 227
Snow petrels, 155
Sounding under difficulties, 183, 184
Soundings, fruitless, 121, 122, 125
old and new method of, 113, 192
South American ports, rules as to entry and leaving, 67
South Georgia, discovery of, 97
kindness of Norwegians of, 110, 111
_Quest_ at, 98 _et seq._, 186 _et seq._
Shackleton buried in, 186
the administration of, 101
typical weather of, 102, 106, 109, 184, 188, 193
South Sandwich Islands, 118 _et seq._
_Southern Isles_, 190
Spanish bull-fights, 37
Stars of tropical skies, 46
Stenhouse, Mr., his farewell to _Quest_, 16
Steering, reflections on, 21
Stoker, first experiences as, 15
Stores, shifting, 7
Stream-ice encountered, 131
Stromness whaling station, 189
Sugar-cane groves in Madeira, 42
Sugar Loaf, the, 67
ascent of, 73
Table Bay, _Quest_ at, 226
Tobacco-pipe, an unusual, 220
Tree parasites, 217
Tristan da Cunha, a spell on, 198 _et seq._
first sight of, 199
graveyard at, 202
islanders of, 199, 200, 213
Turtleopolis (_see_ Ascension Island)
Tussock grass, rank growth of, 207, 210
Vao d’Assucar (_see_ Sugar Loaf)
Volcanic islands, 119, 120
Water, fresh, need for conserving, 57, 87
Waterfalls, 210, 214
Water-sky, a, and its cause, 139
Watts (of _Quest_), and a wireless aerial, 211
plays football on the ice, 169
Wearing a ship, method of, 148
Weddell Sea ice, 163
Western Telegraph Company as hosts, 43, 53
Whalers and whaling, past and present, 99 _et seq._
Whales, a school of, 153
process of flensing, 99, 177, 188
Whaling stations, 98, 188 _et seq._
Wideawake Valley, Ascension Island, 232
Wild, Frank (Commander), an attack of influenza, 227
and a runaway boat, 124
averts a disaster to _Quest_, 120
birthday celebrations, 190
contracts a chill, 178
imparts news of death of Sir E. Shackleton, 102
on Antarctic exploration, 172
plays football on the ice, 169
seal-shooting by, 134
seamanship of, 125
shoots a porpoise, 59
takes command of _Quest_, 103, 106 _et seq._
Wilkins, Mr., a narrow escape from death, 180
as photographer, 45, 64, 112 _et seq._, 141, 153
bird-shooting on Nightingale Island, 207
butterfly-hunting at St. Vincent, 52
rejoins _Quest_, 108
scientific observations in South Georgia, 77, 109
shoots an Emperor penguin, 137
studies manœuvres of an albatross, 81
Wilson’s Island, 74
Wireless in Tristan da Cunha, 211
_Woodville_ at Stromness, 189, 190
Worsley, Captain, accident to, 124
and the _Endurance_ expedition, 175
as mimic, 160
birthday celebrations on _Quest_, 151
sailing master of _Quest_, 16, 24
seamanship of, 90
unfailing courage of, 128
“Young ice,” 110
Young, stoker of _Quest_ (“Oompah”), 169, 190, 211
Zavodovski, island of, 118
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