Preparations were made on October 28 for the main eastern summer

journey, the object of which was to survey as much coast-line as

possible and at the same time to carry on geological work, surveying and

magnetics. The party was to consist of Kennedy, Watson and myself.

Jones, Dovers and Hoadley were to start on the main western journey on

November 2. I arranged that Harrisson and Moyes should remain at the

Hut, the latter to carry on meteorological work, and Harrisson biology

and sketching. Later, Harrisson proposed to accompany me as far as the

Hippo depot, bringing the dogs and providing a supporting party. At

first I did not like the idea, as he would have to travel one hundred

miles alone, but he showed me that he could erect a tent by himself

and, as summer and better weather were in sight, I agreed that he should

come.

Each party was taking fourteen weeks' provisions, and I had an

additional four weeks' supply for Harrisson and the dogs. My total load

came to nine hundred and seventy pounds; the dogs pulling four hundred

pounds with the assistance of one man and three of us dragging five

hundred and seventy pounds.

CHAPTER XXI THE WESTERN BASE--BLOCKED ON THE SHELF-ICE

by F. Wild

We started away on the main eastern journey with a spurt of eleven miles

on a calm and cloudless day, intending to follow our former track over

the shelf-ice to the Hippo Nunatak. The surface varied; soft patches

putting a steady brake on the ardour of the first, fresh hours of

marching.

In the afternoon, it was only necessary to wear a shirt, singlet, heavy

pyjama trousers, finnesko and socks, and even then one perspired freely.

The temperature stood at 17 degrees F. The dogs pulled their load well,

requiring help only over loose snow.

The evening of Friday November 1, 1912, saw us past Masson Island

and about ten miles from the mainland. All day there had been a chill

easterly breeze, the temperature being well below zero. The sky was hazy

with cirro-stratus and a fine halo "ringed" the sun.

Looking out from the tent in the morning we saw that the clouds were

dense and lowering, but the breezes were light and variable until 5

P.M., when an east-north-east wind arose, bringing snow in its train.

Travelling through foggy drift, we could just ascertain that the Bay

of Winds had opened up on the right. The day's march was a good one of

sixteen miles thirty-five yards.

The Bay of Winds did not belie its name. Throughout November 3 the

wind veered about in gusts and after lunch settled down to a hard

south-easter.

We had made a good start; more than sixty-two miles in a little over

four days. The camp was half-way across the Bay of Winds, with the

Alligator Nunatak six miles off on the "starboard bow" and the Rock of

the Avalanches seventeen miles straight ahead. Passing glimpses were

caught of the Hippo twenty-four miles distant.

On November 5, after a day's blizzard, there was much accumulated snow

to shovel away from tents and sledges. Finding the hauling very

arduous, we headed in for the land to find a better surface, passing the

Alligator Nunatak close on its southern side.

At noon on the 6th, the sledges were running parallel to the Rock of

the Avalanches, three miles away, and soon afterwards we came to a large

boulder; one of four in a line from the rock-cliffs, from which they had

been evidently transported, as they were composed of the same gneiss.

The Hippo was close at hand at four o'clock and, on nearing the

shattered ice about the depot, we released the dogs and pulled the

sledge ourselves. On being freed, they galloped over to the rock and

were absent for over an hour. When they returned, Amundsen's head was

daubed with egg-yolk, as we thought. This was most probable as scores of

snow petrels were flying about the rocks.

A nasty shock was awaiting us at the depot. The sledge, which had been

left on end, two feet buried in hard snow and with a mound six feet high

built round it, had been blown completely away. The stays, secured to

foodbags, were both broken; one food-bag weighing sixty-eight pounds

having been lifted ten feet. This was a very serious loss as the total

load to be carried now amounted to one thousand one hundred and eighty

pounds, which was too great a weight to be supported by one sledge.

It appeared, then, that the only thing to do was to include Harrisson in

the party, so that we could have his sledge. This would facilitate our

progress considerably, but against that was the fact that Moyes would be

left alone at the Base under the belief that Harrisson had perished.

A gale was blowing on the 7th, but as we were partly under the lee of

the Hippo, it was only felt in gusts. A visit was made to the Nunatak;

Harrisson to examine the birds, Watson for geology and photography,

while I climbed to the summit with the field-glasses to look for

the missing sledge. Kennedy remained at the camp to take a series of

magnetic observations.

There were hundreds of snow petrels pairing off, but no eggs were seen

in any of the nest-crevices. They were so tame that it was quite easy

to catch them, but they had a habit of ejecting their partially digested

food, a yellow oily mess, straight at one. This was the stuff we had

thought was egg-yolk on Amundsen's head the previous night.

Upon returning to camp, the search for the sledge was continued. After

prospecting with a spade in possible snow-drifts and crevasse-lids, we

walked out fanwise, in the direction of the prevailing wind, but with no

result. I decided, therefore, to take Harrisson with me. I was extremely

sorry for Moyes, but it could not be helped.

On the way back towards the land to the south, we found that the surface

had improved in the morning's gale. Camp was finally pitched on a slope

close to the high land.

The coast, from the Base to this spot--Delay Point--runs almost due east

and west and with no deep indentations except the Bay of Winds. To the

west, the slope from the inland plateau is fairly gradual and therefore

not badly broken, but still farther west it is much steeper, coming

down from two thousand feet in a very short distance, over tumbling

ice-fields and frozen cascades. Several outcrops of dark rock lay to the

east, one of them only two miles away.

The wind-velocity fluctuated between sixty and eighty miles per hour,

keeping us securely penned. Harrisson and Kennedy, after battling their

way to our tent for a meal, used the second primus and cooker, brought

for Harrisson, in their own tent. All we could do was to smoke and

listen to the fierce squalls and lashing drift. I had brought nothing to

read on the trip, making up the weight in tobacco. Watson had Palgrave's

'Golden Lyrics', Kennedy, an engineer's hand-book, and Harrisson, a

portion of the 'Reign of Mary Tudor'. There was a tiny pack of patience

cards, but they were in the instrument-box on the sledge and none of us

cared to face the gale to get them.

The wind, on the 10th, saw fit to moderate to half a gale; the drift

creeping low and thick over the ground; the land visible above it.

Donning burberrys, we made an excursion to the rocks ahead. Two miles

and a climb of six hundred feet were rather exhausting in the strong

wind. There were about eighty acres of rock exposed on the edge of the

ice-cap, mainly composed of mica schists and some granite; the whole

extensively weathered. A line of moraine ran from the rocks away in an

east-north-east direction.

Most of the next day was broken by a heavy gale and, since the prospect

ahead was nothing but bare, rough ice, we passed the day in making

everything ready for a start and repaired a torn tent. The rent was made

by Amundsen, who dragged up the ice-axe to which he was tethered and, in

running round the tent, drove the point of the axe through it, narrowly

missing Kennedy's head inside.

Tuesday November 12 was an interesting day. The greater part of the

track was over rippled, level ice, thrown into many billows, through

devious pressure-hummocks and between the inevitable crevasses. The

coast was a kaleidoscope of sable rocks, blue cascades, and fissured

ice-falls. Fifteen miles ahead stood an island twenty miles long, rising

in bare peaks and dark knolls. This was eventually named David Island.

The dogs were working very well and, if only a little additional food

could be procured for them, I knew they could be kept alive. Zip broke

loose one night and ate one of my socks which was hanging on the sledge

to dry; it probably tasted of seal blubber from the boots. Switzerland,

too, was rather a bother, eating his harness whenever he had a chance.

On the 14th, a depot was formed, consisting of one week's provisions

and oil; the bags being buried and a mound erected with a flag on top.

Kennedy took a round of angles to determine its position.

At the end of two snowy days, after we had avoided many ugly crevasses,

our course in an east-south-east line pointed to a narrow strait between

David Island and the mainland. On the southern side of the former, there

was a heaped line of pressure-ice, caused by the flow from a narrow

bay being stopped by the Island. After lunch, on the 16th, there was an

hour's good travelling and then we suddenly pulled into a half-mile of

broken surface--the confluence of the slowly moving land-ice and of the

more rapidly moving ice from a valley on our right, from which issued

Reid Glacier. It was impossible to steer the dogs through it with a

load, so we lightened the loads on both sledges and then made several

journeys backwards and forwards over the more broken areas, allowing the

dogs to run loose. The crevasses ran tortuously in every direction

and falls into them were not uncommon. One large lid fell in just as a

sledge had cleared it, leaving a hole twelve feet wide, and at least a

hundred feet deep. Once over this zone, the sledges were worked along

the slope leading to the mainland where we were continually worried by

their slipping sideways.

Ahead was a vast sea of crushed ice, tossed and piled in every

direction. On the northern horizon rose what we concluded to be a

flat-topped, castellated berg. Ten days later, it resolved itself into a

tract of heavy pressure ridges.

Camping after nine and a half miles, we were surprised, on moving

east in the morning, to sight clearly the point--Cape Gerlache--of

a peninsula running inland to the southwest. A glacier from the

hinterland, pushing out from its valley, had broken up the shelf-ice on

which we were travelling to such an extent that nothing without wings

could cross it. Our object was to map in the coastline as far east as

possible, and the problem, now, was whether to go north or south. From

our position the former looked the best, the tumbled shelf-ice appearing

to smooth out sufficiently, about ten miles away, to afford a passage

east, while, to the south, we scanned the Denman Glacier, as it was

named, rolling in magnificent cascades, twelve miles in breadth, from a

height of more than three thousand feet. To get round the head of this

ice-stream would mean travelling inland for at least thirty miles.

So north we went, getting back to our old surface over a heavy "cross

sea," honeycombed with pits and chasms; many of them with no visible

bottom. There was half a mile to safety, but the area had to be crossed

five times; the load on the twelve-foot sledge being so much, that half

the weight was taken off and the empty sledges brought back for the

other half. Last of all came the dogs' sledge. Kennedy remarked during

the afternoon that he felt like a fly walking on wire-netting.

The camp was pitched in a line of pressure, with wide crevasses and

"hell-holes" within a few yards on every side. Altogether the day's

march had been a miserable four miles. On several occasions, during the

night, while in this disturbed area, sounds of movement were distinctly

heard; cracks like rifle shots and others similar to distant heavy guns,

accompanied by a weird, moaning noise as of the glacier moving over

rocks.

November 18 was a fine, bright day: temperature 8 degrees to 20 degrees

F. Until lunch, the course was mainly north for more than five miles.

Then I went with Watson to trace out a road through a difficult area

in front. At this point, there broke on us a most rugged and wonderful

vision of ice-scenery.

The Denman Glacier moving much more rapidly than the Shackleton Shelf,

tore through the latter and, in doing so, shattered both its own sides

and also a considerable area of the larger ice-sheet. At the actual

point of contact was what might be referred to as gigantic bergschrund:

an enormous chasm over one thousand feet wide and from three hundred

feet to four hundred feet deep, in the bottom of which crevasses

appeared to go down for ever. The sides were splintered and crumpled,

glittering in the sunlight with a million sparklets of light. Towering

above were titanic blocks of carven ice. The whole was the wildest,

maddest and yet the grandest thing imaginable.

The turmoil continued to the north, so I resolved to reconnoitre

westward and see if a passage were visible from the crest of David

Island.

The excursion was postponed till next day, when Kennedy, Watson and I

roped up and commenced to thread a tangled belt of crevasses. The island

was three and a half miles from the camp, exposing a bare ridge and a

jutting bluff, nine hundred feet high--Watson Bluff. At the Bluff the

rock was almost all gneiss, very much worn by the action of ice. The

face to the summit was so steep and coarsely weathered that we took

risks in climbing it. Moss and lichens grew luxuriantly and scores of

snow petrels hovered around, but no eggs were seen.

Owing to an overcast sky, the view was not a great deal more

enlightening than that which we had had from below. The Denman

Glacier swept down for forty miles from over three thousand feet above

sea-level. For twenty miles to the east torn ice-masses lay distorted in

confusion, and beyond that, probably sixty miles distant, were several

large stretches of bare rock-like islands.

On November 20, a strong north-east wind blew, with falling snow.

Nothing could be seen but a white blanket, above, below and all around;

so, with sudden death lurking in the bottomless crevasses on every hand,

we stayed in camp.

A blizzard of great violence blew for two days and the tent occupied by

Kennedy and myself threatened to collapse. We stowed all our gear in the

sleeping-bags or in a hole from which snow had been dug for cooking.

By the second day we had become extremely tired of lying down. One

consolation was that our lips, which were very sore from exposure to the

sun and wind, had now a chance of healing.

Next afternoon, the gale moderated sufficiently for us to go once more

to David Island, in clearer weather, to see the outlook from the bluff.

This time the sun was shining on the mainland and on the extension of

the glacier past the bluff to the north. The distant southern slopes

were seamed with a pattern of crevasses up to a height of three thousand

feet. To the north, although the way was certainly impassable for twelve

miles, it appeared to become smoother beyond that limit. We decided to

try and cross in that direction.

We persevered on the 24th over many lines of pressure-ice and then

camped near an especially rough patch. Watson had the worst fall on that

day, going down ten feet vertically into a crevasse before his harness

stopped him. After supper, we went to locate a trail ahead, and were

greatly surprised to find salt water in some of the cracks. It meant

that in two days our descent had been considerable, since the great

bergschrund farther south was well over three hundred feet in depth and

no water had appeared in its depths.

A few extracts from the diary recall a situation which daily became more

serious and involved:

"Monday, November 25. A beautiful day so far as the weather and scenery

are concerned but a very hard one. We have been amongst 'Pressure,' with

a capital P, all day, hauling up and lowering the sledges with an alpine

rope and twisting and turning in all directions, with waves and hills,

monuments, statues, and fairy palaces all around us, from a few feet to

over three hundred feet in height. It is impossible to see more than a

few hundred yards ahead at any time, so we go on for a bit, then climb a

peak or mound, choose a route and struggle on for another short stage.

"We have all suffered from the sun to-day; Kennedy has caught it worst,

his lips, cheeks, nose and forehead are all blistered. He has auburn

hair and the tender skin which frequently goes with it....

"Tuesday, November 26. Another very hard day's work. The first half-mile

took three hours to cover; in several places we had to cut roads with

ice-axes and shovels and also to build a bridge across a water-lead. At

1 P.M. we had done just one mile. I never saw or dreamt of anything

so gloriously beautiful as some of the stuff we have come through this

morning. After lunch the country changed entirely. In place of the

confused jumble and crush we have had, we got on to neve slopes;

huge billows, half a mile to a mile from crest to crest, meshed with

crevasses...

"We all had falls into these during the day: Harrisson dropping fifteen

feet. I received rather a nasty squeeze through falling into a hole

whilst going downhill, the sledge running on to me before I could get

clear, and pinning me down. So far as we can see, the same kind of

country continues, and one cannot help thinking about having to return

through this infernal mess. The day's distance--only one thousand and

fifty yards.

"Wednesday, November 27. When I wrote last night about coming back,

I little thought it would be so soon. We turn back to-morrow for the

simple reason that we cannot go on any farther.

"In the morning, for nearly a mile along a valley running south-east,

the travelling was almost good; then our troubles commenced again.

"Several times we had to resort to hand-hauling with the alpine rope

through acres of pitfalls. The bridges of those which were covered were

generally very rotten, except the wide ones. Just before lunch we had

a very stiff uphill pull and then a drop into a large basin,

three-quarters of a mile in diameter.

"The afternoon was spent in vain searching for a road.... On every side

are huge waves split in every direction by crevasses up to two hundred

feet in width. The general trend of the main crevasses is north and

south....

"I have, therefore, decided to go back and if possible follow the road

we came by, then proceed south on to the inland ice-cap and find out the

source of this chaos. If we are able to get round it and proceed east,

so much the better; but at any rate, we shall be doing something and

getting somewhere. We could push through farther east from here, but it

would be by lowering the gear piecemeal into chasms fifty to one hundred

feet deep, and hauling it up on the other side; each crevasse taking

at least two hours to negotiate. For such slow progress I don't feel

justified in risking the lives of the party."

Snow fell for four days, at times thickly, unaccompanied by wind. It was

useless to stir in our precarious position. Being a little in hand in

the ration of biscuits, we fed the dogs on our food, their own having

run out. I was anxious to keep them alive until we were out of the

pressure-ice.

From this, our turning-point out on the shelf-ice, the trail lay over

eighteen inches of soft snow on December 3, our former tracks, of

course, having been entirely obliterated. The bridged crevasses were now

entirely hidden and many weak lids were found.

At 9 A.M. Harrisson, Watson and I roped up to mark a course over a very

bad place, leaving Kennedy with the dogs. We had only gone about one

hundred yards when I got a very heavy jerk on the rope and, on looking

round, found that Watson had disappeared. He weighs two hundred pounds

in his clothes and the crevasse into which he had fallen was fifteen

feet wide. He had broken through on the far side and the rope, cutting

through the bridge, stopped in the middle so that he could not reach the

sides to help himself in any way. Kennedy brought another rope over and

threw it down to Watson and we were then able to haul him up, but it was

twenty minutes before he was out. He reappeared smiling, and, except for

a bruise on the shin and the loss of a glove, was no worse for the fall.

At 2.30 P.M. we were all dead-beat, camping with one mile one thousand

seven hundred yards on the meter. One-third of this distance was relay

work and, in several places, standing pulls with the alpine rope. The

course was a series of Z's, S's, and hairpin turns, the longest straight

stretch one hundred and fifty yards, and the whole knee-deep in soft

snow, the sledges sinking to the cross-bars.

The 4th was a repetition of the previous day--a terribly hard two and

a half miles. We all had "hangman's drops" into crevasses. One

snow-bridge, ten feet wide, fell in as the meter following the

twelve-foot sledge was going over behind it.

The 5th was a day of wind, scurrying snow and bad light. Harrisson

went out to feed the dogs in the morning and broke through the lid of a

crevasse, but fortunately caught the side and climbed out.

The diary again:

"Friday, December 6. Still bad light and a little snowfall, but we

were off at ten o'clock. I was leading and fell into at least a dozen

crevasses, but had to be hauled out of one only. At 1.30 P.M. we arrived

at the open lead we had crossed on the outward journey and found the

same place. There had been much movement since then and we had to make

a bridge, cutting away projections in some places and filling up the

sea-water channels with snow and ice. Then Harrisson crossed with the

aid of two bamboo poles, and hauled me over on a sledge. Harrisson and I

on one side and Kennedy and Watson on the other then hauled the sledges

backwards and forwards, lightly loaded one way and empty the other,

until all was across. The shelf-ice is without doubt afloat, if the

presence of sea-water and diatomaceous stains on the ice is of any

account. We camped to-night in the same place as on the evening of

November 25, so with luck we should be out of this mess to-morrow.

Switzerland had to be killed as I cannot afford any more biscuit.

Amundsen ate his flesh without hesitation, but Zip refused it."

Sure enough, two days sufficed to bring us under the bluff on David

Island. As the tents were being pitched, a skua gull flew down. I snared

him with a line, using dog's flesh for bait and we had stewed skua for

dinner. It was excellent.

While I was cooking the others climbed up the rocks and brought back

eight snow petrels and five eggs, with the news that many more birds

were nesting. After supper we all went out and secured sixty eggs and

fifty-eight birds. It seemed a fearful crime to kill these beautiful,

pure white creatures, but it meant fourteen days' life for the dogs end

longer marches for us.

Fresh breeze, light snow and a bad light on the 9th; we remained in

camp. Two more skuas were snared for the evening's dinner. The snow

petrels' eggs were almost as large as hens' eggs and very good to eat

when fresh. Many of them had been under the birds rather too long, but

although they did not look so nice, there was little difference in the

taste. I was very glad to get this fresh food, as we had lived on tinned

meat most of the year and there was always the danger of scurvy.

The light was too changeable to make a satisfactory start until the

evening of December 11, when we managed to dodge through four and a

half miles of broken ice, reaching the mainland close to our position

on November 16, and camping for lunch at midnight. In front was a clear

mile on a peninsula and then the way led across Robinson Bay, seven

miles wide, fed by the Northcliffe Glacier.

Another night march was commenced at 8 P.M. The day had been cloudless

and the sun very warm, softening the surface, but at the time of

starting it was hardening rapidly. Crossing the peninsula we resolved to

head across Robinson Bay as the glacier's surface was still torn up. We

ended with a fine march of twelve miles one thousand two hundred yards.

The fine weather continued and we managed to cross three and a half

miles of heavy sastrugi, pressure-ridges and crevasses, attaining the

first slopes of the mainland at 10 P.M. on December 14. The discovery of

two nunataks springing out of the piedmont glacier to the south, lured

us on.

The first rock--Possession Nunataks--loomed ahead, two hundred feet

above, up a slope of half a mile. Here a depot of provisions and spare

gear was made, sufficient to take us back to the Hippo. The rock was

found by Watson to be gneiss, rich in mica, felspar and garnets. We

lunched in this place and resumed our march at midnight.

The second nunatak was on the course; a sharp peak in the south,

hidden by the contour of the uprising ridges. In four miles we steadily

ascended eight hundred feet. While we were engaged pitching camp, a Cape

pigeon flew overhead.

There were advantages in travelling at night. The surface was firmer,

our eyes were relieved from the intense glare and our faces no longer

blistered. On the other hand, there were disadvantages. The skirt of the

tent used to get very wet through the snow thawing on it in the midday

sun, and froze solid when packed up; the floor-cloths and sleeping-bags,

also, never had a chance of drying and set to the same icy hardness.

When we had mounted higher I intended to return to work by day.

It was not till the altitude was three thousand feet that we came

in sight of the far peak to the south. We were then pulling again in

daylight. The ice-falls of the Denman Glacier on the left were still

seen descending from the plateau, while down on the plain we saw that

the zone of disrupted ice, into which the short and intricate track of

our northern attempt had been won, extended for quite thirty miles.

The surface then softened in a most amazing fashion and hauling became

a slow, dogged strain with frequent spells. A little over four miles

was the most we could do on the 18th, and on the 19th the loads were

dragging in a deluge of dry, flour-like snow. A long halt was made at

lunch to repair a badly torn tent.

The peak ahead was named Mount Barr-Smith. It was fronted by a steep

rise which we determined to climb next day. On the eastern margin of the

Denman Glacier were several nunataks and higher, rising ground.

Following a twenty-four hours' blizzard, the sky was overcast, with the

usual dim light filtering through a mist of snow. We set off to scale

the mountain, taking the dip-circle with us. The horizon was so obscured

that it was useless to take a round of angles. Fifteen miles south of

Mount Barr-Smith, and a little higher there was another peak, to be

subsequently called Mount Strathcona; also several intervening outcrops.

Not a distinct range of mountains as we had hoped. The Denman Glacier

sweeps round these projecting rocks from the south-west, and the general

flow of the ice-sheet is thereby concentrated within the neck bounded by

the two peaks and the higher land to the east. Propelled by the immense

forces of the hinterland, this stream of ice is squeezed down through

a steep valley at an accelerated speed, and, meeting the slower moving

Shackleton Shelf, rends it from top to bottom and presses onward. Thus

chaos, icequake, and ruin.

Our tramp to Mount Barr-Smith was through eighteen inches of soft snow,

in many places a full two feet deep. Hard enough for walking, we knew

from experience what it was like for sledging. There was only sufficient

food for another week and the surface was so abominably heavy that in

that time, not allowing for blizzards, it would have been impossible to

travel as far as we could see from the summit of Mount Barr-Smith, while

four miles a day was the most that could have been done. Our attempt to

make east by rounding the Denman Glacier to the south had been foiled,

but by turning back at that point, we stood a chance of saving our two

remaining dogs, who had worked so well that they really deserved to

live.

Sunday December 22 broke with a fresh breeze and surface drift; overhead

a clear sky. We went back to Mount Barr-Smith, Kennedy taking an

observation for latitude, Watson making a geological survey and

collecting specimens, Harrisson sketching. The rocks at the summit were

granites, gneisses and schists. The latitude worked out at 67 degrees

10.4' S., and we were a little more than one hundred and twenty miles in

an air-line from the hut.

In the next two days, downhill, we "bullocked" through eleven miles,

reaching a point where the depot at Possession Nunataks was only sixteen

miles away. The surface snow was very sticky in places, clogging the

runners badly, so that they had to be scraped every half-mile. Stewed

skua was the feature of our Christmas Eve supper.

From the diary:

"Christmas Day, Wednesday. Turned out and got away at 8 A.M., doing nine

miles before lunch down a steep descent. The sun was very hot, and after

lunch the surface became sticky, but at 5 P.M. we reached the depot,

having done fifteen miles one hundred yards and descended two thousand

three hundred feet.

"I am afraid I shall have to go back to travelling by night, as the snow

is so very soft down here during the day; not soft in the same way as

the freshly fallen powdery stuff we had on the hills, but half-thawed

and wet, freezing at night into a splendid surface for the runners.

The shade temperature at 5.30 P.M. to-day was 29 degrees F., and a

thermometer laid in the sun on the dark rocks went up to 87 degrees F.

"Some time ago, a plum-pudding was found in one of our food-bags,

put there, I believe, by Moyes. We ate it to-night in addition to the

ordinary ration, and, with a small taste of spirits from the medical

store, managed to get up quite a festive feeling. After dinner the Union

Jack and Australian Ensign were hoisted on the rocks and I formally took

possession of the land in the name of the Expedition, for King George V.

and the Australian Commonwealth."

Queen Mary Land is the name which, by gracious sanction, was eventually

affixed to that area of new land.

Night marches commenced at 1 A.M. on December 27. The sail was hoisted

for the first time and the fresh breeze was of great assistance. We

were once more down on the low peninsula and on its highest point, two

hundred feet above the shelf-ice, Kennedy took a round of angles.

Along the margin of the shelf the crevasses were innumerable and, as the

sun was hot and the snow soft and mushy, we pitched camp about six miles

from the bluff on David Island.

At 6 A.M. on the 28th we rounded the bluff and camped under its leeward

face. After lunch there was a hunt for snow petrels. Fifty-six were

caught and the eggs, which all contained chicks, were given to the dogs.

It was my intention to touch at all the rocks on the mainland on the way

home, as time and weather permitted. Under a light easterly breeze we

scudded along with sail set and passed close to several outcrops. Watson

examined them, finding gneiss and granite principally, one type being

an exceptionally coarse granite, very much weathered. A mile of bad

crevasses caused some delay; one of the dogs having a fall of twelve

feet into one abyss.

Next day, the Hippo hove in sight and we found the depoted food in good

condition. The course had been over high pressure-waves and in some

places we had to diverge on account of crevasses and--fresh water! Many

of the hollows contained water from thawed snow, and in others there was

a treacherous crust which hid a slushy pool. The march of eighteen miles

landed us just north of the Avalanche Rocks.

While we were erecting the tents there were several snow-slips, and

Watson, Kennedy and I walked landwards after supper to try for a "snap"

of one in the act of falling, but they refused to oblige us. It was

found that one or more avalanches had thrown blocks of ice, weighing

at least twenty tons, two hundred yards past the hole in which we spent

five days on the depot journey. They had, therefore, travelled six

hundred yards from the cliff.

The Alligator Nunatak was explored on January 2, 1913. It was found to

be half a mile long, four hundred feet high and four hundred and fifty

feet in width, and, like most of the rock we had seen, mainly gneiss.

There was half a gale blowing on the 4th and though the wind was abeam,

the sail was reefed and we moved quickly. The dogs ran loose, their feet

being very sore from pulling on rough, nobbly ice. The day's run was the

record up to that time--twenty-two miles. Our camp was in the vicinity

of two small nunataks discovered in August 1912. We reckoned to be at

the Base in two days and wondered how poor Moyes was faring.

Early on the 5th, the last piece of broken country fell behind, and one

sledge being rigged with full sail, the second sledge was taken in tow.

Both dogs had bleeding feet and were released, running alongside. During

the halt for lunch a sail was raised on the dogs' sledge, using tent

poles as a mast, a floor-cloth for a sail, an ice-axe for an upper

yard and a bamboo for a lower yard. Getting under way we found that the

lighter sledge overran ours; so we cast off and Harrisson took the light

sledge, the sail working so well that he rode on top of the load most

of the time. Later in the afternoon the wind increased so much that the

dogs' sledge was dismasted and taken in tow once more, the sail on the

forward sledge being ample for our purpose.

At 4 P.M. we had done twenty miles, and, everybody feeling fresh, I

decided to try and reach "The Grottoes," fifteen miles away. The wind

increasing to a gale with hurtling drift, the sail was reefed, and even

then was more than enough to push along both sledges. Two of us made

fast behind and maintained a continual brake to stop them running away.

At 9 P.M. the gale became so strong that we struck sail and camped.

Altogether, the day's run was thirty-five miles.

An hour's march next morning, and, through the glasses, we saw the mast

and soon afterwards the hut. Just before reaching home, we struck up

a song, and in a few seconds Moyes came running out. When he saw there

were four of us, he stood on his head.

As we expected, Moyes had never thought of Harrisson coming with me and

had quite given him up as dead. When a month had elapsed--the time for

which Harrisson had food--Moyes packed a sledge with provisions for

Harrisson, himself and the dogs and went out for six days. Then,

recognizing the futility of searching for any one in that white waste of

nothingness, he returned. He looked well, after his lonely nine weeks,

but said that it was the worst time he had ever had in his life. Moyes

reported that the Western party were delayed in starting by bad weather

until November 7.

The total distance sledged during our main summer eastern journey was

two hundred and thirty-seven miles, including thirty-two of relay work,

but none of the many reconnoitring miles. Out of seventy days, there

were twenty-eight on which the weather was adverse. On the spring depot

journey the travelling had been so easy that I fully expected to go four

hundred or five hundred miles eastward in the summer. It was therefore,

a great disappointment to be blocked as we were.

CHAPTER XXII THE WESTERN BASE--LINKING UP WITH KAISER WILHELM II LAND

by Dr. S. E. Jones

On our return from the Western Depot journey towards the end of October

1912, we found preparations completed for the long western trip, towards

Gaussberg in Kaiser Wilhelm II Land, which was discovered by the German

Antarctic Expedition of 1902. The departure was delayed for several

days, but came at last on November 7, Moyes bidding us adieu and wishing

us good luck.

The party consisted of Dovers (surveyor), Hoadley (geologist), and

myself (surgeon). We were hauling one sledge with rations for nine

weeks. Our course, which was almost due south lay over the glacier shelf

practically parallel to the sea-cliffs. The surface was good, and we

covered eleven miles by nightfall, reaching a point some two or three

miles from the rising land slopes. As the high land was approached

closer, the surface of the glacier-shelf, which farther north was

practically level, became undulating and broken by pressure-ridges and

crevasses. These, however, offered no obstacle to sledging.

Proceeding in the morning and finding that an ascent of the slopes ahead

was rendered impracticable by wide patches of ice, we turned more to

the west and steered for Junction Corner. Upon our arrival there, it was

discovered that several bergs lay frozen within the floe close to where

the seaward wall of the glacier-shelf joined that of the land ice-sheet.

Some of these bergs were old and rotten, but one seemed to have broken

away quite recently.

From the same place we could see several black points ahead; our course

was altered towards them, almost due westward, about halt a mile from

the sea-cliffs. They proved to be rocks, six in number, forming a

moraine. As it was then half-past five, we camped in order that Hoadley

might examine them. There had been a halo visible all day, with mock

suns in the evening.

In the morning a high wind was blowing. Everything went well for a

little over a mile, when we found ourselves running across a steep

slope. The wind having increased and being abeam, the sledge was driven

to leeward when on a smooth surface, and when amongst soft sastrugi,

which occurred in patches, was capsized. Accordingly camp was pitched.

The next day being less boisterous, a start was made at 9 A.M. There was

still a strong beam wind, however, which carried the sledge downhill,

with the result that for one forward step two had to be taken to the

right. We were more fortunate in the afternoon and reached the depot

laid on the earlier journey at 5.30 A.M. From this position we had a

fine view of the Helen Glacier running out of a bay which opened up

ahead.

Having picked up the depot next morning, we were disappointed to find

that we should have to commence relay work. There were then two sledges

with rations for thirteen weeks; the total weight amounting to one

thousand two hundred pounds. By making an even division between the two

sledges the work was rendered easy but slow. When we camped at 6 P.M.,

five and a half miles had been covered. The surface was good, but a

strong beam wind hindered us while approaching the head of Depot Bay.

The ice-cap to the west appeared to be very broken, and it seemed

inevitable that we should have to ascend to a considerable altitude

towards the south-west to find a good travelling surface.

In the morning we were delayed by heavy wind, but left camp at ten

o'clock after spending an hour digging out the sledges and tent. At

lunch time the sun became quite obscured and each of us had many falls

stumbling over the invisible sastrugi. At five o'clock the weather

became so thick that camp was pitched. Hoadley complained of

snow-blindness and all were suffering with cracked lips; there was

consequently a big demand for hazeline cream in the evening.

On Wednesday November 13, we started early, and, finding a good firm

track over a gently rising plateau, made fair progress. At three o'clock

a gale sprang up suddenly; and fortunately the sledges were only a

quarter of a mile apart as we were relaying them in stages up the rising

plateau. The tent was pitched hurriedly, though with difficulty, on

account of the high wind and drift. The distance for the day was four

miles one thousand five hundred yards, the last mile and a half being

downhill into a valley at the head of the bay. The morainic boulders

visible from the camp at the depot were now obscured behind a point to

the west of Depot Bay.

The next sixty hours were spent in sleeping-bags, a heavy snowstorm

making it impossible to move. Owing to the comparatively high

temperature, 20 degrees to 26 degrees F., the snow melted readily on

the lee side of the tent, and, the water running through, things became

uncomfortably wet inside. At midday of the 16th, however, we were able

to go out, and, after spending two and a half hours digging out the tent

and sledges, we made a start, travelling two and three-quarter miles on

a south-westerly course.

During the morning of the 17th a slight descent was negotiated, but in

the afternoon came the ascent of the slopes on the western side of Depot

Bay. The ice-cap here was very badly crevassed, and spiked boots had to

be worn in hauling the sledges up the steep neve slopes. In the latter

part of the afternoon a course was made more to the west, and about the

same time the south-east wind freshened and we travelled for a couple of

hours through thick drift. The night's camp was situated approximately

at the eastern edge of the Helen Glacier. The portion of the ice-cap

which contributes to the glacier below is marked off from the general

icy surface on either side by a series of falls and cascades. These

appeared quite impassable near sea-level, but we hoped to find a smooth

passage at an altitude of about one thousand feet.

A start was made at 7 A.M. The surface consisted of ice and neve and

was badly broken by pressure-mounds, ten to twenty feet high, and by

numerous crevasses old and recent; many with sunken or fallen bridges.

While crossing a narrow crevasse, about forty feet of the bridge

collapsed lengthwise under the leading man, letting him fall to the full

extent of his harness rope. Hoadley and myself had passed over the same

spot, unsuspecting and unroped, a few minutes previously, while looking

for a safe track. We were now nearing the approximate western edge

of the Helen Glacier, and the broken condition of the ice evidently

indicated considerable movement. Later in the morning a more southerly

course was kept over an improving surface.

At midday Dovers took observations of the sun and found the latitude

to be 66 degrees 47' S. Owing to the heat of the sun the fat in

the pemmican had been melting in the food-bags, so after lunch the

provisions were repacked and the pemmican was put in the centre of the

large tanks. In the afternoon we hoisted the sail, and by evening had

done four miles. From our camp the eye could range across the Helen

Glacier eastward to the shelf-ice of "The Grottoes." Far away in the

north-west was a wide expanse of open water, while a multitude of bergs

lay scattered along the coast to the west of the Helen Glacier.

The next day was gloriously bright, with a breeze just strong enough to

make hauling pleasant. Erecting a sail, we made an attempt to haul both

sledges, but found that they were too heavy. It was soon discovered that

a considerable detour would have to be made to cross the broken ice on

the western edge of the Helen Glacier. By keeping to the saddles and

valleys as much as possible and working to the south, we were able to

avoid the rougher country, but at 4 P.M. we arrived at what at first

appeared an impasse.

At this point three great crevassed ridges united to form the ice-falls

on the western side of the glacier. The point of confluence was the only

place that appeared to offer any hope of a passage, and, as we did not

want to retrace our steps, we decided to attempt it. The whole surface

was a network of huge crevasses, some open, the majority from fifty to

one hundred feet or more in width. After many devious turns, a patch of

snow between two large abysses was reached. As the ice in front seemed

even more broken than that behind, camp was pitched. After tea a search

was made for a way out, and it was found that by travelling along a

narrow, knife-edge ridge of ice and neve, with an open crevasse on each

side, a good surface could be reached within a mile of the camp. This

ridge had a gradient of one in ten, and, unfortunately, also sloped down

towards one of the open crevasses.

During the next four days a heavy blizzard raged. There was a tremendous

snowfall accompanied by a gale of wind, and, after the second day, the

snow was piled four feet high round the tent, completely burying the

sledges and by its pressure greatly reducing the space inside the tent.

On the 23rd, the fourth day, we dug out the floor, lowering the level

of the tent about two feet, and this made things more comfortable. While

digging, a crack in the ice was disclosed running across the floor,

and from this came a considerable draught. By midday the weather had

improved sufficiently to allow us to move.

The sledge and tent were excavated from beneath a great mass of soft

snow; the new level of the snow's surface being four to five feet above

that on which the camp had been made four days earlier. The wind having

fallen, we went ahead with the sledges. While crossing the ridge of ice

which led into the valley below, one man hauled the sledges while the

other two prevented them from sliding sideways downhill into the open

crevasse. That afternoon we noticed very fine iridescent colouring in

cirro-cumulus clouds as they crossed the sun.

The next day gave us a pleasant surprise, there being a strong

breeze dead aft, while the travelling surface ahead looked distinctly

favourable. Sail was hoisted and the two sledges were coupled together.

The course for a short distance was downhill, and we had to run to keep

up with the sledges. The slopes on the far side of the valley we had

entered on the previous afternoon were not so formidable as they had

looked, for by lunch time six and a half miles had been covered. The

surface was good, with occasional long undulations. After lunch a turn

to the north was made for a short distance in order to come in touch

with the coastline. Then the march west was resumed by travelling

parallel to the shore at a distance of five to ten miles. At

halting-time the extreme western edge of Helen Glacier was passed, and

below lay young floe-ice, studded with numerous bergs.

In the morning, Dovers called attention to what appeared to be an

ice-covered island lying to the north-north-west, thirty to forty miles

away. We watched this carefully during the day, but found its form to

be constant. Through binoculars, icy patches and bluff points at the

eastern and western ends were distinguishable.**

** This was examined in detail from the 'Aurora' in January 1913 and

found to be an island, which was named Drygalski Island, for it is

evidently the ice-covered "high-land" observed by Professor Drygalski

(German Expedition, 1902) from his balloon.--ED.

As soon as camp was struck the march was resumed direct for what every

one thought was a rocky outcrop, though nearer approach proved it to

be merely the shady face of an open crevasse. The same course was

maintained and the ridge of ice that runs down to the western point of

Depot Bay was soon close at hand. From its crest we could see a group of

about a dozen rocky islands, the most distant being five miles off the

coast. All were surrounded by floe. Descending steeply from the ridge

into a valley which ran out to the sea-cliffs, we pitched camp for

lunch.

The meal completed, Hoadley and I descended to the edge of the glacier

in order to see if there were a passable route to the sea-ice. Crossing

wide areas of badly crevassed ice and neve during a descent of nine

hundred feet, we reached the sea-front about one and a half miles

from the camp. Below us there was a chaos of bergs and smaller debris,

resulting from the disintegration of the land-ice, which were frozen

into the floe and connected to one another by huge ramparts of snow.

Following a path downward with great difficulty, we approached a small

berg which was discovered to be rapidly thawing under the action of the

heat absorbed by a pile of stones and mud. The trickling of the falling

water made a pleasant relief in the otherwise intense silence. As it

seemed impossible to haul sledges through this jumble of ice and snow,

Hoadley suggested that he should walk across the floe and make a brief

geological examination of at least the largest islet. I therefore

returned to the camp and helped Dovers take observations for longitude

and magnetic variation.

Hoadley returned at 9 P.M. and reported that he had seen an immense

rookery of Emperor penguins near the largest islet, besides Adelie

penguins, silver-grey, Wilson and Antarctic petrels and skua gulls. He

also said that he thought it possible to take a sledge, lightly laden,

through the drifts below the brink of the glacier.

Accordingly in the morning the eleven-foot sledge was packed with

necessaries for a week's stay, although we intended to remain only for

a day in order to take photographs and search for specimens. Erecting

a depot flag to mark the big sledge, we broke camp at midday and soon

reached the sea-front. Our track then wound among the snow-drifts until

it emerged from the broken ice which was observed to border the land

ice-sheet for miles. The travelling became unexpectedly good for a time

over highly polished, green sea-ice, and thence on to snow, amid a

field of numerous small bergs. Many of these showed a marked degree

of ablation, and, in places, blocks of ice perched on eminences had

weathered into most grotesque forms. There were numerous streams of

thaw-water running from mud-covered bergs. Perspiring in the heat, we

more than once stopped to slake our thirst.

Approaching the largest rock--Haswell Island, as it was called later--we

saw more distinctly the immense numbers of Emperor penguins covering

several acres of floe. The birds extended in rows even on to the lower

slopes of several bergs. The sound of their cries coming across the

ice reminded one of the noise from a distant sports' ground during a

well-contested game. We camped at 5 P.M. on a snow-drift at the southern

end of the island. A large rookery of Adelie penguins on a long, low

rock, about a mile distant, soon made itself evident.

Although the stay was intended to occupy only about twenty-four hours,

we were compelled to remain five days on the island on account of a

snowstorm which continued for practically the whole of the time. This

did not prevent us from leaving the tent and wandering about; Hoadley

keen on the geology and Dovers surveying whenever the light was good

enough. The temperature of the rock was well above freezing-point

where it was exposed, and snow melted almost as soon as it fell. Our

sleeping-bags and gear soon became very wet, but we rejoiced in one

compensation, and that was a change in diet. It was agreed that five

Adelie penguins or ten Cape pigeons' eggs made a good tasty entree to

the monotonous ration.

The camp was situated on the largest of a group of about twelve small

islets, lying within five or six miles of the coast, on the lower slopes

of which several outcrops of rock could be observed. Haswell Island was

found to be roughly diamond-shaped; three-quarters of a mile in length,

the same in width, and about three hundred feet on the highest point.

It was surrounded by one season's floe, raised in pressure-ridges on

the eastern side. On the northern, southern, and especially the eastern

face, the rock was steep; on the western aspect, there was a more

gentle slope down to the floe, the rock being almost concealed by big

snow-drifts. There were signs of previous glaciation in the form of

erratics and many examples of polishing and grooving. The rock was very

rotten, and in many places, especially about the penguin rookeries,

there were collections of soil. Two deep gorges cut through the island

from north-west to south-east, in both of which there were small ponds

of fresh water.

The most marked feature was the wonderful abundance of bird life, for

almost all the birds frequenting the shores of the continent were found

nesting there. Adelie penguins were in greatest numbers. Besides

the large rookery on one of the smaller islets, there were numerous

rookeries of fifty to one hundred birds each on Haswell Island. In most

cases the penguins made their nests on the rock itself, but, failing

this, had actually settled on snow-drifts, where they presented a

peculiar sight, as the heat of their bodies having caused them to sink

in the snow, their heads alone were visible above the surface. One bird

was observed carrying an egg on the dorsal surface of his feet as the

Emperor penguins do. Feathers were scattered broadcast around each

rookery. These result from the numerous fights which occur and are also

partly derived from the bare patch of skin at the lower part of the

abdomen which provides the necessary heat for incubation when the bird

is sitting. Most of the birds had two eggs in a well-advanced stage

of incubation, and it was a difficult task to find a sufficient number

fresh enough for culinary purposes. Attached to each rookery was a pair

of skua gulls, who swooped down and quickly flew off with any eggs left

for a moment untended.

The Emperor penguins had their rookery on the floe, about a mile

from the island. The birds covered four to five acres, but there were

undoubted signs that a much larger area had been occupied. We estimated

the numbers to be seven thousand five hundred, the great majority being

young birds. These were well grown, most of them standing as high as the

shoulders of the adults. They were all very fat, covered by a grey down,

slightly darker on the dorsal than on the ventral surface, with dark

tails and a black, straight beak. The eyes were surrounded by a ring

of grey plumage, and this again by a black band which extended over the

skull to the root of the beak. Thus the markings on the young do not

correspond with those of the adults. A few of the larger chicks

had commenced to moult, the change of plumage being observed on the

flippers.

Daily we watched large numbers of adults departing from and returning

to the rookery. The direction in which they travelled was north, towards

open water, estimated to be twenty miles distant. Although more than

once the adults' return to the rookery was carefully noted, we never saw

the young birds being fed, old birds as they entered the rookery quietly

going to sleep.

Hoadley, on his first visit to the island, had seen Antarctic petrels

flying about, and a search revealed a large rookery of these on the

eastern side. The nesting-place of this species of petrel had never

before been discovered, and so we were all elated at the great find.

About three hundred birds were found sitting in the gullies and clefts,

as close together as they could crowd. They made no attempt to form

nests, merely laying their eggs on the shallow dirt. Each bird had one

egg about the same size as that of a domestic fowl. Incubation was far

advanced, and some difficulty was experienced in blowing the specimens

with a blow-pipe improvised from a quill. Neither the Antarctic nor

any other petrels offered any resistance when disturbed on their nests,

except by the expectoration of large quantities of a pink or green, oily

fluid.

The Cape pigeons had just commenced laying when we arrived at the

island. On the first day only two eggs were found, but, on the fourth

day after our arrival, forty were collected. These birds make a small

shallow nest with chips of stone.

The silver-grey or Southern Fulmar petrels were present in large

numbers, especially about the steep north-eastern side of the island.

Though they were mated, laying had scarcely commenced, as we found only

two eggs. They made small grottoes in the snow-drifts, and many pairs

were seen billing and cooing in such shelters.

The small Wilson petrels were found living in communities under slabs

of rock, and Hoadley one afternoon thought he heard some young birds

crying.

Skua gulls were present in considerable force, notably near the penguin

rookeries. They were breeding at the time, laying their eggs on the soil

near the summit of the island. The neighbourhood of a nest was always

betrayed by the behaviour of these birds who, when we intruded on them,

came swooping down as if to attack us.

Although many snow petrels were seen flying about, we found only one

with an egg. The nests were located in independent rocky niches but

never in rookeries.

Vegetable life existed in the form of algae, in the pools, lichens on

oversell rocks and mosses which grew luxuriantly, chiefly in the Adelie

penguin rookeries.

Weddell seals were plentiful about the island near the tide-cracks; two

of them with calves.

Though the continuous bad weather made photography impossible, Hoadley

was able to make a thorough geological examination of the locality. On

December 2 the clouds cleared sufficiently for photography, and after

securing some snapshots we prepared to move on the next day. Dovers

built a small cairn on the summit of the island and took angles to the

outlying rocks.

On the 3rd we packed our specimens and left for the mainland at 9.30

A.M., arriving at the land ice-cliffs at 2 P.M. The snow surface was

soft, even slushy in places, and the heat amongst the bergs along the

coast of the mainland was very oppressive. After we had dug out the

second sledge and re-arranged the loads, the hour was too late for

sledging, so Dovers took another observation in order to obtain the rate

of the half-chronometer watch. While on the island, we had examined the

coast to the west with glasses and concluded that the only way to get

westward was to ascend to a considerable altitude on the ice-cap,

which, as far as the eye could reach, descended to the sea-level in

long cascades and falls. We had expected to place a depot somewhere near

Haswell Island, but such procedure was now deemed inadvisable in view of

its distance from what would probably be our direct return route.

A start was made next day against an opposing wind, the sledges being

relayed up a steep hillside. Later on, however, a turn was made more

to the west, and it was then possible to haul both sledges at the same

time. The surface was soft, so that after every halt the runners had to

be cleared. The distance for the day was five and a half miles, and the

night's camp was at an altitude of about one thousand five hundred feet,

located just above the broken coastal ice.

During December 5 and 6 a snowstorm raged and confined us to our tent.

The high temperature caused the falling snow to melt as it touched the

tent, and, when the temperature fell, the cloth became thickly coated

with ice.

On the 7th the march was resumed, by skirting a small valley at an

approximate altitude of two thousand feet. The ice-cap ahead descended

in abrupt falls to the floe. Having a fair wind and a smooth surface, we

made good headway. In the afternoon we ran into a plexus of crevasses,

and the surface was traversed by high ridges. The snowbridges in many

cases were weak and several gave way while the sledge was crossing them.

A chasm about fifty feet deep and one hundred feet long was passed,

evidently portion of a crevasse, one side of which had been raised.

Later in the afternoon the surface became impassable and a detour to the

south was rendered necessary. This difficulty arose near the head of the

valley, in which situation the ice-cap fell in a series of precipitous

terraces for about one thousand feet.

At midday on the 8th we were compelled to continue the detour over a

badly crevassed surface, ascending most of the time. On that night, camp

was pitched again amongst crevasses. The sledge-meter showed only two

miles one thousand one hundred yards for the afternoon, relaying having

been necessary.

The sledges slipped along in the morning with a fresh breeze in their

favour. The sky was covered with rapidly scudding, cirro-cumulus clouds

which, by midday, quite obscured the sun, making surrounding objects and

even the snow at our feet indistinguishable. After continuing for four

and a half miles, we were forced to camp. In the afternoon a heavy

snowstorm commenced and persisted throughout the following day.

Though snow was still falling on the morning of the 11th, camp was

broken at 10 A.M., and we moved off rapidly with a strong wind. During

the morning the surface was gently undulating, but it mounted in a

gradual ascent until nightfall. In the latter part of the afternoon

the sun was clouded over, and steering had to be done by the aid of

the wind. To the north we had a fine view of Drygalski's "High

Land" (Drygalski Island), perceiving a distinct seaward ice-cliff of

considerable height.

As there were no prominences on the ice-cap that could be used for

surveying marks, Dovers had considerable difficulty in keeping

a reckoning of our course. The trouble was overcome by building

snow-mounds and taking back-angles to them with the prismatic compass.

At this juncture we were about ten miles from the shore and could see

open water some thirty miles to the north. Frozen fast within the floe

were great numbers of bergs.

We started off early on December 12 with the aid of a fair breeze over

a good surface, so that both sledges were easily hauled along together.

The course was almost due west, parallel to the coast. Open water came

within a few miles of the ice-cliffs, and, farther north, a heavy belt

of pack was observed. When the sun sank lower, the bergs on the northern

horizon were refracted up to such a degree that they appeared to be

hanging from the sky.

The aid rendered by the sail under the influence of a fair breeze was

well shown on the following day. In four hours, on a good surface, both

sledges were transported seven miles. When we moved off, the wind was

blowing at ten to fifteen miles an hour. By 10 A.M. the sky became

overcast and the wind freshened. Camp was pitched for lunch at 11 A.M.,

as we hoped that the weather would clear again later, but the wind

increased and snow began to fall heavily in the afternoon, so we did

not stir. The storm continued throughout the following day and it was

impossible to march until the 15th.

Continuing the ascent on the 16th out of a valley we had crossed on

the previous day, we halted on the top of a ridge within view of German

"territory"--a small, dark object bearing due west, evidently bare rock

and presumably Gaussberg. The course was altered accordingly towards

this object and everything went smoothly for ten miles. Then followed

an area where the ice fell steeply in waves to the sea, crossed by

crevasses which averaged fifty feet in width. The snow-bridges were

deeply concave, and the lower side of each chasm was raised into a ridge

five to ten feet high. Making fast the alpine rope on to the sledges,

one of us went ahead to test the bridge, and then the sledges, one at a

time, were rushed down into the trough and up on the other side. After

crossing ten or more crevasses in this fashion, we were forced to camp

by the approach of a rapidly moving fog driven before a strong westerly

wind. While camp was being prepared, it was discovered that a tin of

kerosene on the front sledge had been punctured causing the loss of a

gallon of fuel. Fortunately, we were well within our allowance, so the

accident was not serious. Soon after tea our attention was drawn to a

pattering on the tent like rain, caused by a fall of sago snow.

In the morning the weather was clearer, and we saw that it was

impossible to reach Gaussberg by a direct route. The ice ahead was cleft

and split in all directions, and, in places, vertical faces stood up

to a height of one hundred feet. The floe was littered with hundreds of

bergs, and in several localities there were black spots which resembled

small rocks, but it was impossible to approach close enough to be

certain. Retracing the way out of the broken ice, we steered in a

south-westerly direction, just above the line of serac and crevassed

ice. The coast here trended to the south-west, forming the eastern side

of Drygalski's Posadowsky Bay. The going was heavy, the surface being

covered by a layer of frost-crystals deposited during the night. A fog

came up again early in the afternoon and had quite surrounded us at

camping time. During the day there were fine clouds of ice-crystals in

the air, and at 8 P.M. a fog-bow was seen in the east.

Turning out in the morning we saw Gaussberg peeping over a ridge to the

west, but were still prevented from steering directly towards it by the

broken surface. When we had advanced ten miles, a heavy fog brought us

to a halt at 5 P.M.

On Friday the 20th, in spite of a sticky surface, thirteen miles

was covered on a west-south-west course. The ice-cap continued to be

undulating but free of crevasses. The altitude was between two thousand

five hundred and three thousand feet.

In the morning, after travelling two miles, we came in sight of

Gaussberg again and steered directly towards it. The surface was good

with a downward grade. At five and a quarter miles a depot was made of

the small sledge and most of the food, in expectation of a clear run

to the mountain. Not far ahead, however, were two broken-backed ridges

intersecting the course, and a detour had to be made to the south to

cross them higher up.

Midsummer's day, December 22, was spent in the tent, a move being

impossible on account of the high wind. In the afternoon we walked ahead

a short distance and reconnoitred six or seven crumpled ridges. Though

the barometer had been falling ominously for twenty-four hours, the bad

weather did not continue.

Gaussberg was reached in the afternoon, after our track had passed

through seventeen miles of dangerous country. For the first few miles

the surface consisted of a series of steep, buckled ice-ridges; later,

it was snow-covered, but at times literally cut into a network of

crevasses.

The only approach to Gaussberg from the plateau is from the south. To

the east and west there are magnificent ice-falls, the debris from which

litters the floe for miles around.

December 24 and Christmas Day were devoted to examining the mountain.

Dovers made a long series of observations for longitude, latitude

and magnetic variation, while Hoadley examined the rocks and took

photographs.

On the southern side, the ice-cap abuts against this extinct volcano at

an elevation of about four hundred feet above sea-level; the summit of

the mountain rises another eight hundred feet. On the north, the rock

descends to the floe. Gaussberg is pyramidal in shape, falling steeply,

from a ridge at the summit. The sides are covered with a loose rubble

of volcanic fragments, square yards of which commence to slide at the

slightest disturbance. This renders climbing difficult and accounts for

the large numbers of isolated blocks fringing the base.

At the summit two cairns were found, the bamboo poles which had

previously marked them having blown over. Further examination revealed

many other bamboos which had been used as marks, but no other record of

the visit of the German expedition, ten years before, was met. Bird life

was not plentiful, being limited to a few skuas, Wilson petrels and

snow petrels; the latter nesting under slabs of rock. There were large

quantities of moss where thaw-water had been running.

The ice and snow near the mountain showed evidences of marked thawing,

and we had difficulty in finding a favourable spot for our camp.

Christmas Day was gloriously fine, with just sufficient wind to

counteract the heat of the sun. At midday the Christmas "hamper" was

opened, and it was not long before the only sign of the plum-pudding was

the tin. In the afternoon we ascended the mountain and left a record in

a cairn at the top. By the route followed, Gaussberg was two hundred

and fifteen miles from "The Grottoes" but relay work had made the actual

distance covered three hundred miles.

We had been away from home seven weeks, and, though there was sufficient

food for an outward journey of another week, there was no indication

that the country would change. Further, from the summit of Gaussberg one

could see almost as far as could be marched in a week. Accordingly it

was decided to commence our return on the 26th, making a course almost

due east, thus cutting out numerous detours which had to be taken on the

outward journey.

We left the mountain on December 26, pursuing a course to the south

of our outward track so as to avoid some crevassed ridges. Ascending

steadily against a continuous headwind, we picked up the second sledge

at midday on the 28th.

Next day all the gear was transferred to one sledge and a course made

direct to the Helen Glacier; the other sledge being abandoned.

On December 31, after a day's blizzard, the surface was found to be

covered with sastrugi of soft snow eighteen inches to two feet in depth.

In crossing a wide crevasse, the sledge became bogged in the soft snow

of a drift which had a deceptive appearance of solidity. It took us

ten minutes to extricate ourselves, and, after this, crevasses were

negotiated at a run.

A violent blizzard raged during the following day--the first of the New

Year 1913. This proved to be a blessing, for it made the surface more

crisp and firm. In the morning the sun was obscured and nothing was

visible but the snow at our feet, so that steering was very difficult.

In the afternoon the sun broke through, a strong westerly wind sprang

up and we moved along at a good pace, covering more than thirteen miles

before camping.

On January 3 the track bordered on the edge of the plateau, the surface

being almost level, rising gently towards the south.

After a violent blizzard of three days' duration, which confined us in

the tent, we continued on the same course for four days, averaging about

eleven miles each day. The surface was good, but a strong south-easter

blew practically all the time and reduced our speed considerably.

At 10 A.M. on January 9, a fog-bank was observed in the east. This

rapidly approached, and in fifteen minutes was quite close. There was

now a splendid display of rings and arcs, caused apparently by minute

ice-crystals which filled the air without obscuring the sun or sky.

First an arc of prismatic colours appeared in the east, and in a few

seconds the sky seemed literally to be covered with other arcs. At first

they seemed to be scattered indiscriminately, but after a short time

several arcs joined and we could discern a symmetrical arrangement. The

sun was surrounded by a ring, the lower portion of which was broken by

an inverted arc; two other arcs were visible on either side. A large

ring appeared encircling the zenith, intersecting the first and passing

through the sun. Two pairs of arcs were also seen, one pair in

each ring. Excepting the arcs and ring about the zenith, which was

grayish-white against the blue sky, the arcs showed prismatic colouring.

The display lasted ten minutes and ended with the disappearance of the

ice-crystals.

[ILLUSTRATION IN TEXT]

The diagram shows the arrangement of the arcs:

S = Sun. Z = Zenith.

At A, B, C, mock suns could be seen.

From our camp on the night of January 10, broken country could be seen

ahead. To the north, open water was visible, and to the north-east the

Shackleton Shelf, so that we were nearing home at last. Here, a heavy

snowstorm delayed us for two and a half days, and it was not till the

afternoon of January 13 that we were able to move ahead.

The next day was dull, the sun being quite obscured; and the only check

upon the steering was the south-easterly wind. At midday the thermometer

registered 35 degrees F. in the shade, and the surface became quite

sticky. After tea we walked ahead for a couple of hundred yards to the

summit of a ridge where the full extent of the Helen Glacier was laid

before us. It was evident that our position was some miles north of

the true course, but, considering the absence of steering marks and the

constant overcast weather, we considered ourselves lucky in being so

close to it.

The bad weather continued and snow fell during the following day. On

the 16th the light was better, and we pushed into a strong wind which

freshened to the force of a moderate gale before we had travelled two

miles. Approaching a steep ascent we were compelled to camp. The morning

brought an improvement, and the crossing of the Helen Glacier was

commenced a mile or two above the outward course.

At midday on January 18, over treacherous ice, in the face of strong

winds, we were making good headway towards Junction Corner. Almost daily

for a fortnight a Wilson petrel had visited us, the only form of life

seen on the return journey.

On the 19th we were not able to move until 8.80 P.M., when the wind,

which had been blowing with the force of a gale, subsided. During the

afternoon a magnificent view of the Helen Glacier was obtained, and in

the west we could see Haswell Island and Drygalski Island.

Continuing on the same course, throughout the following day, we picked

up the hut with the binoculars at 5 P.M. There now came a quick descent

to Junction Corner.

On the lower levels there was clear evidence of thawing having occurred.

The firm surface of snow which had been present on the outward journey

was now converted into rough ice, over which we walked painfully in

finnesko. Neve and ice surfaces were covered with sharp spicules, and

the sides and bridges of crevasses were unmistakably thawed.

Leaving Junction Corner at 6 A.M., we steered a course for the hut,

running parallel to the edge of the glacier. At 3 P.M. the mast was

sighted, and, later, the hut itself. When within half a mile of "The

Grottoes" we saw three figures on the floe and guessed that the eastern

party had returned. In a few minutes greetings were heartily exchanged

and they had welcomed us home.

Instructions had been given that the Western Base should be in readiness

to embark on the 'Aurora' not later than January 30, 1913.

When Wild's party had arrived, preparations for departure were

immediately made. Geological and biological collections were packed,

stores were sorted out and cases containing personal gear were sledged

to the edge of the glacier.

Harrisson contrived a winch for sounding and fishing. Fourteen-gauge

copper wire was wound on it and, through a crack in the sea-ice a

quarter of a mile from the glacier, bottom was reached in two hundred

and sixty fathoms. As the water was too deep for dredging, Harrisson

manufactured cage-traps and secured some fish, a squid, and other

specimens.

At this time there was abundant evidence of life. Skua gulls frequently

flew about the hut, as well as Cape pigeons, Antarctic, snow, Wilson,

giant and silver-grey petrels. Out on the sea-ice, there were Adelie and

Emperor penguins; the latter moulting. Hundreds of seals were seen with

glasses on the edge of the floe, ten miles to the north.

On the whole, January was a very fine month. Some of the days seemed

really hot; the shade temperature on one occasion reaching 37 degrees

F., and, in several instances, 33 degrees F. It was quite a common

thing for a man to work outside in loose, light garments; in fact, with

nothing more than a singlet on the upper part of the body.

On January 26, while Kennedy took observations, Wild and the others went

for a walk towards the open water. The surface was very rough and broken

by leads, along which Weddell seals lay in great numbers. Three miles

of ice were found to have drifted out, reducing the northern expanse to

seven miles.

In view of the possibility of the 'Aurora' not relieving them, the party

went through their food-supplies, finding that these were sufficient for

another year, with the exception of meat. With regard to coal, two tons

of briquettes remained, which, augmented by good stock of seal-blubber,

would provide sufficient fuel.

Laying in a store of seals' flesh and blubber now became the principal

work, and every fine day saw a party out with a sledge. Unfortunately,

the nearest crack on the sea-ice was nearly two miles away, so that the

return journey, with a heavily laden sledge, was long and tedious. Two

holes were dug in the glacier near the hut, one for blubber and the

other for meat.

On January 31 six miles of sea-ice still remained, and, if the ship had

arrived to time, a good deal of sledging would have been required to

transport all the gear aboard.

In February, the weather altered for the worse, and there was not

a single fine day until the 20th. A strong east-southeast wind with

falling snow prevailed. As the days were shortening rapidly, all were

beginning to feel anxious about the 'Aurora'.

Wild erected a flagstaff on the highest ice-pinnacle near "The Grottoes"

and flew a large flag on it whenever the wind moderated. On the 16th, a

lamp-screen and reflector were fitted at the mast-head and each night

a hurricane lamp was placed there, which could be seen eight miles with

the naked eye.

On the 20th Dovers and Wild made a large signboard, taking it out to a

prominent point on the glacier, three and a half miles to the north. It

was lashed to a bamboo pole with a flag flying on it. The open water was

then only three miles distant.

Wild writes:

"The 22nd February was the anniversary of the day the 'Aurora' left us,

but the weather was very different. A heavy blizzard was raging, the

wind's velocity ranging up to eighty miles per hour. As it was Saturday,

we kept the usual routine, scrubbing out and cleaning up the hut. We

could not help speculating as to whether we should have to do it for

another whole year. But every one had great faith in 'good old Davis,'

and nobody was at all downhearted.

"When we 'turned out' on Sunday there was still a strong wind and drift,

but this died away to a light breeze before breakfast was over, and the

sun came out. I had a look round with the glasses and saw that the ice

had broken away beyond a limit of one and a half miles. As there was a

sledge, which Harrisson had been using for sounding, within a few yards

of the water's edge, Jones and I went off to bring it in. We had

gone less than half a mile when we saw what at first appeared to be a

penguin, standing on some pack-ice in the distance, but which we soon

saw was the mast-head of the 'Aurora'.

"It was evident that she could not be alongside for some time, so Jones

went back to the hut to tell the others to bring down a load of gear,

and I went on to meet the ship. Before the 'Aurora' had reached the fast

ice, all the party were down with two sledge loads, having covered the

mile and a half in record time.

"We were all anxious, of course, for news, and the first we received was

the sad account of the deaths of Ninnis and Mertz; then of the wonderful

march made by Dr. Mawson.

"Before closing, I should like to pay a tribute to the good-fellowship,

unfailing industry, enthusiasm and unswerving loyalty which

characterized my comrades. During the whole of the Expedition, whether

carrying out monotonous routine work at the Base or under the trying

conditions of sledging, all duties were performed with never-failing

good temper and perseverance.

"Should it ever be my lot to venture on a like expedition I hope to have

some, if not all, of the same party with me. But whether we meet again

or not, I shall always think of every man of them with the greatest

affection and respect."

CHAPTER XXIII A SECOND WINTER

During the first busy year in Adelie Land, when the Hut was full of

life and work, there were few moments for reflection. Yet, over the

speculative pipe at home after a successful day's labour on the wireless

masts, or out on the turbulent plateau when the hour of hoosh brought

the strenuous day to a close, more than one man was heard to say, "One

year in this country is enough for me." Still, in the early days, no one

could predict what would happen, and therefore a change in the perverse

climate was always considered probable. So great was the emulation, and

so keen were all to extend our geographical boundaries, that the year

sped away almost before the meagre opportunity came. With the cheery

support of numbers, we did not find it a difficult matter "to drive dull

care away."

Now there were only seven of us; we knew what was ahead; the weather had

already given ample proof of the early approach of winter; the field of

work which once stretched to the west, east and south had no longer the

mystery of the "unknown"; the Ship had gone and there was scant hope of

relief in March.

Against all this. There remained the Hut--a proven shelter from the

wind; and, most vital of all, there was abundant food for another year.

Every avenue of scientific work was not yet closed. Even the routine of

meteorological and magnetic work was adding in no slight degree to

the sum of human knowledge. Our short mile of rocks still held some

geological secrets, and there were biological discoveries yet to make. A

wireless telegraphic station had at last been established, and we could

confidently expect communication with the outside world at an early

date. These were some of the obvious assurances which no one had

the heart to think about at first; and then there was always our

comradeship, most enduring of all.

February, during 1912, was a tolerable month with a fair proportion of

sunny, moderately calm days. A year later, the first eight days of this

month were signalized by the blizzard in which the 'Aurora' had such a

perilous experience. While the winter began in 1912 with the advent of

March, now in 1913 it came on definitely in early February. Autumn was

a term which applied to a few brilliant days which would suddenly

intervene in the dense rack of drift-snow.

We set to work to make the Hut, if anything, safer and snugger. Bage put

finishing touches to the break-wind of rock and cases, and with Hodgeman

and McLean nailed battens of wood over a large sheet of canvas which had

been stretched across the windward side of the roof, overlapping rolls

of black paper, scraps of canvas and bagging, which were also battened

down to make the eastern and western faces more air-tight.

Before the Ship left us, the remaining coal briquettes had been dug out

of a bed of ice and carefully piled on a high point of the rocks. Round

them all the spare timber and broken cases were gathered to provide

sufficient fuel for the ensuing winter. The penguins' eggs, which had

been stored in boxes, were stacked together on the windward side of the

Hut, and a choice selection of steaks of seal and penguin for our own

use were at the storeman's disposal in the veranda.

Madigan, in addition to his meteorological duties, took charge of the

new sledging-dogs which had been presented by Captain Amundsen. A good

many seals had been already killed, and a big cache of meat and blubber

was made alongside the Hut to last throughout the winter.

Bickerton found many odd jobs to occupy his time in connexion with the

petrol-engine and the wireless installations. He was also busied with

the anemometer, which had broken down and needed a strong start for its

second year of usefulness.

Bage, following the parting instructions of Webb, became the owner of

the Magnetograph House and the Absolute Hut, continuing to keep the

magnetic records. As storeman, Bage looked after the food-supplies. The

canvas coverings had made the veranda drift-tight, so the storeman could

arrange his tins and cases on the shelves with some degree of comfort,

and the daily task of shovelling out snow was now at an end. Further,

Hodgeman and he built an annex out of spare timber to connect the

entrance veranda with the store. This replaced the old snow-tunnel

which had melted away, and, when completed and padded outside with old

mattresses, was facetiously styled the "North-West Passage." The only

thing which later arose to disturb the composure of the storeman was

the admission of the dogs to a compartment in the veranda on the eastern

side. His constant care then became a heap of mutton carcases which the

dogs in passing or during the occasional escapades from their shelter

were always eager to attack.

Hodgeman helped to change the appearance of the living-hut by cutting

the table in two and, since there was now plenty of room, by putting in

more shelves for a larder on which the storeman displayed his inviting

wares to the cook, who could think of nothing original for the next

meal.

McLean undertook the duties of ice-cutting and coal-carrying throughout

the year, kept the biological log and assisted in general observations.

He also sent off sealed messages in bottles, regularly, on the chance of

their being picked up on the high seas, thereby giving some indication

of the direction of currents.

Jeffryes was occupied regularly every night listening attentively for

wireless signals and calling at intervals. The continuous winds soon

caused many of the wire stays of the main wireless mast to become slack,

and these Jeffryes pulled taut on his daily rounds.

Looking back and forward, we could not but feel that the sledging

programme of the previous summer had been so comprehensive that the

broad features of the land were ascertained over a wide radius; beyond

what we, with our weakened resources of the second year, could reach.

The various observations we were carrying on were adding to the value of

the scientific results, but we could not help feeling disappointed that

our lot was not cast in a new and more clement region.

It was to be a dreary and difficult time for the five men who had

volunteered to remain behind in order to make a thorough search for

myself and comrades. They were men whom I had learned to appreciate

during the first year, and I now saw their sterling characters in a new

light. To Jeffryes all was fresh, and we envied him the novelties of

a new world, rough and inhospitable though it was. As for me, it was

sufficient to feel that

...He that tossed thee down into the Field,

He knows about it all--He knows, He knows.

On the night of February 15, Jeffryes suddenly surprised us with the

exciting intelligence that he had heard Macquarie Island send a coded

weather report to Hobart. The engine was immediately set going, but

though repeated attempts were made, no answer could be elicited. Each

night darkness was more pronounced and signals became more distinct,

until, on the 20th, our call reached Sawyer at Macquarie Island, who

immediately responded by saying "Good evening." The insulation of a

Leyden jar broke down at this point, and nothing more could be done

until it was remedied.

At last, on February 21, signals were exchanged, and by the 23rd a

message had been dispatched to Lord Denman, Governor-General of the

Commonwealth, acquainting him with our situation and the loss of our

comrades and, through him, one to his Majesty the King requesting his

royal permission to name a tract of newly discovered country to the

east, "King George V Land." Special messages were also sent to the

relatives of Lieutenant B. E. S. Ninnis and Dr. X. Mertz.

The first news received from the outside world was the bare statement

that Captain Scott and four of his companions had perished on their

journey to the South Pole. It was some time before we knew the tragic

details which came home, direct and poignant, to us in Adelie Land.

To Professor David a fuller account of our own calamity was sent and,

following this, many kind messages of sympathy and congratulation were

received from all over the world. On February 26 Lord Denman sent an

acknowledgment of our message to him, expressing his sorrow at the loss

of our two companions; and on March 7 his Majesty the King added his

gracious sympathy, with permission to affix the name, King George V

Land, to that part of the Antarctic continent lying between Adelie Land

and Oates Land.

On February 23 there was a spell of dead calm; heavy nimbus clouds and

fog lowering over sea and plateau. Fluffy grains of sago snow fell most

of the day, covering the dark rocks and the blue glacier. A heaving

swell came in from the north, and many seals landed within the boat

harbour, where a high tide lapped over the ice-foot. The bergs and

islands showed pale and shadowy as the snow ceased or the fog lifted.

Then the wind arose and blew hard from the east-south-east for a day,

swinging round with added force to its old quarter--south-by-east.

March began in earnest with much snow and monotonous days of wind. By

contrast, a few hours of sunny calm were appreciated to the full. The

face of the landscape changed; the rocky crevices filling flush with the

low mounds of snow which trailed along and off the ridges.

On March 16 every one was relieved to hear that the 'Aurora' had arrived

safely in Hobart, and that Wild and his party were all well. But the

news brought disappointment too, for we had always a lingering ray of

hope that there might be sufficient coal to bring the vessel back to

Adelie Land. Later on we learned that on account of the shortage of

funds the Ship was to be laid up at Hobart until the following summer.

In the meantime, Professors David and Masson were making every effort to

raise the necessary money. In this they were assisted by Captain Davis,

who went to London to obtain additional donations.

It was now a common thing for those of us who had gone to bed before

midnight to wake up in the morning and find that quite a budget of

wireless messages had been received. It took the place of a morning

paper and we made the most of the intelligence, discussing it from every

possible point of view. Jeffryes and Bickerton worked every night from 8

P.M. until 1 A.M., calling at short intervals and listening attentively

at the receiver. In fact, notes were kept of the intensity of

the signals, the presence of local atmospheric electrical

discharges--"static"--or intermittent sounds due to discharges from snow

particles--St. Elmo's fire--and, lastly, of interference in the

signals transmitted. The latter phenomenon should lead to interesting

deductions, for we had frequent evidence to show that the wireless waves

were greatly impeded or completely abolished during times of auroral

activity.

Listening at the wireless receiver must have been very tedious and

nerve-racking work, as so many adventitious sounds had to be neglected.

There was, first of all, the noise of the wind as it swept by the Hut;

then there was the occasional crackling of "St. Elmo's fire"; the dogs

in the veranda shelter were not always remarkable for their quietness;

while within the Hut it was impossible to avoid slight sounds which were

often sufficient to interrupt the sequence of a message. At times,

when the aurora was visible, signals would often die away, and the only

alternative was to wait until they recurred, meanwhile keeping up calls

at regular intervals in case the ether was not "blocked." So Jeffryes

would sometimes spend the whole evening trying to transmit a single

message, or, conversely, trying to receive one. By experience it was

found easier to transmit and receive wireless messages between certain

hours in the evening, while not infrequently, during the winter months,

a whole week would go by and nothing could be done. During such a period

auroral displays were usually of nightly occurrence. Then a "freak

night" would come along and business would be brisk at both terminals.

It was often possible for Jeffryes to "hear" Wellington, Sydney,

Melbourne and Hobart, and once he managed to communicate directly

with the last-named. Then there were numerous ships passing along the

southern shores of Australia or in the vicinity of New Zealand whose

"calls" were audible on "good nights." The warships were at times

particularly distinct, and occasionally the "chatter in the ether" was

so confusing that Sawyer, at Macquarie Island, would signal that he was

"jammed."

The "wireless" gave us another interest in life, and plenty of outside

occupation when the stays became loose or an accident occurred. It

served to relieve some of the tedium of that second year:

Day after day the same

Only a little worse.

On March 13 there was a tremendous fall of snow, and worst "pea-souper"

we had had during the previous year. Next day everything was deluged,

and right up the glacier there were two-foot drifts, despite a

sixty-mile wind.

It was very interesting to follow the changes which occurred from day to

day. First of all, under the flail of the incessant wind, a crust would

form on the surface of the snow of the type we knew as "piecrust,"

when out sledging. It was never strong enough to bear a man, but the

sledge-runners would clear it fairly well if the load were not too

heavy. Next day the crust would be etched, and small flakes and pellets

would be carried away until the snow was like fleece. Assuming that the

wind kept up (which it always did) long, shallow concavities would

now be scooped out as the "lobules" of the fleece were carried away

piecemeal. These concavities became deeper, hour by hour and day by day,

becoming at last the troughs between the crests of the snow-waves or

sastrugi. All this time the surface would be gradually hardening and, if

the sun chanced to shine for even a few hours every day, a shining glaze

would gradually form on the long, bevelled mounds. It was never a wise

thing to walk on these polished areas in finnesko and this fact was

always learnt by experience.

Above the Hut, where the icy slopes fell quickly to the sea, the snow

would lie for a few days at the very most, but, lower down, where the

glacier ran almost level for a short distance to the harbour ice, the

drifts would lie for months at the mercy of the wind, furrowed and cut

into miniature canyons; wearing away in fragments until the blue ice

showed once more, clear and wind-swept.

Towards the end of March the wind gave a few exhibitions of its power,

which did not augur well for the maximum periods of the winter. A few

diary jottings are enough to show this:

"March 23. During the previous night the wind steadily rose to an

eighty-mile 'touch' and upwards. It was one of those days when it is a

perpetual worry to be outside.

"March 24. Doing at least seventy miles per hour during the morning.

About 8 P.M. there was a temporary lull and a rise of.15 in the

barometer. Now, 9.30 P.M., it is going 'big guns.' The drift is fairly

thick and snow is probably falling.

"March 25. Much the same as yesterday.

"March 28. In a seventy-five-mile wind, Hodgeman had several fingers

frost-bitten this morning while attending to the anemograph.

"March 29. It was quite sunny when we opened the trap-door, though it

blew about sixty miles per hour with light drift.

"March 30. The wind is doing itself full justice. About 8 P.M. it ranged

between ninety-five and one hundred miles per hour, and now the whole

hut is tremulous and the stove-pipe vibrates so that the two large pots

on the stove rattle."

At the beginning of April, McLean laid the foundations of The Adelie

Blizzard which recorded our life for the next seven months. It was a

monthly publication, and contributions were invited from all on every

subject but the wind. Anything from light doggerel to heavy blank verse

was welcomed, and original articles, letters to the Editor, plays,

reviews on books and serial stories were accepted within the limits of

our supply of foolscap paper and type-writer ribbons.

_____________________________________________________

/ \

/ THE ADELIE BLIZZARD \

| |

| |

| / Registered at the General Plateau Office \

|/ \ |

| / for transmission by wind as a newspaper \ |

| / \ |

| -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- |

| |

| |

| ----CONTENTS---- |

| o-o-o-o- |

| |

| Editorial.............................. Page 1 |

| Southern Sledging Song................. " 2 |

| A Phantasm of the Snow................. " 3 |

| The Romance of Exploration |

| First Crossing of Greenland (Nansen). " 8 |

| Ode to Tobacco.......................... " 10 |

| Punch, the dinner epilogue.............. " 11 |

| To the Editor........................... " 12 |

| Scott's British Antarctic Expedition.... " 13 |

| Statics and Antarctics.................. " 14 |

| Wireless--the realization............... " 16 |

| Birth's, Deaths and Marriages........... " 17 |

| The Evolution of Women.................. " 18 |

| A Concise Narrative..................... " 21 |

| The Daylight Proposition................ " 23 |

| Meteorological and Magnetic Notes....... " 24 |

| Calendar Rhymes......................... " 25 |

| Answers to Correspondents............... " 26 |

| |

| o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- |

| |

| VOL-I--No. I April, 1913 |

| |

|__________________________________________________________|

[TEXT ILLUSTRATION]

It was the first Antarctic publication which could boast a real cable

column of news of the day. Extracts from the April number were read

after dinner one evening and excited much amusement. An "Ode to Tobacco"

was very popular, and seemed to voice the enthusiasm of our small

community, while "The Evolution of Women" introduced us to a

once-familiar subject. The Editor was later admitted by wireless to the

Journalists' Association (Sydney).

Many have asked the question, "What did you do to fill in the time

during the second year?"

The duties of cook and night-watchman came to each man once every week,

and meteorological and magnetic observations went on daily. Then we were

able to devote a good deal of time to working up the scientific work

accomplished during the sledging journeys. The wireless watches kept

two men well occupied, and in spare moments the chief recreation was

reading. There was a fine supply of illustrated journals and periodicals

which had arrived by the 'Aurora', and with papers like the 'Daily

Graphic', 'Illustrated London News', 'Sphere' and 'Punch', we tried to

make up the arrears of a year in exile. The "Encyclopaedia Britannica"

was a great boon, being always "the last word" in the settlement of a

debated point. Chess and cards were played on several occasions. Again,

whenever the weather gave the smallest opportunity, there were jobs

outside, digging for cases, attending to the wireless mast and, in the

spring, geological collecting and dredging. If the air was clear of

drift, and the wind not over fifty miles per hour, one could spend a

pleasant hour or more walking along the shore watching the birds and

noting the changes in "scenery" which were always occurring along our

short "selection" of rocks. During 1912 we had been able to study all

the typical features of our novel and beautiful environment, but 1913

was the period of "intensive cultivation" and we would have gladly

forgone much of it. Divine service was usually held on Sunday mornings,

but in place of it we sometimes sang hymns during the evening, or

arranged a programme of sacred selections on the gramophone. There was a

great loss in our singing volume after the previous year, which Hodgeman

endeavoured to remedy by striking up an accompaniment on the organ.

Cooking reached its acme, according to our standard, and each man became

remarkable for some particular dish. Bage was the exponent of steam

puddings of every variety, and Madigan could always be relied upon for

an unfailing batch of puff-pastry. Bickerton once started out with the

object of cooking a ginger pudding, and in an unguarded moment used

mixed spices instead of ginger. The result was rather appetizing, and

"mixed-spice pudding" was added to an original list. McLean specialized

in yeast waffles, having acquired the art of tossing pancakes. Jeffryes

had come on the scene with a limited experience, but his first milk

scones gained him a reputation which he managed to make good. Hodgeman

fell back on the cookery book before embarking on the task of preparing

dinner, but the end-product, so to speak, which might be invariably

expected for "sweets" was tapioca pudding. Penguin meat had always

been in favour. Now special care was devoted to seal meat, and, after

a while, mainly owing to the rather copious use of onion powder, no one

could say for certain which was which.

During the previous year, yeast had been cultivated successfully

from Russian stout. The experiments were continued, and all available

information was gathered from cookery books and the Encyclopaedia.

Russian stout, barley wine, apple rings, sugar, flour and mould from

potatoes were used in several mixtures and eventually fermentation was

started. Bread-making was the next difficulty, and various instructions

were tried in succession. The method of "trial and error" was at

last responsible for the first light spongy loaf, and then every

night-watchman cultivated the art and baked for the ensuing day.

On April 8 the snow had gathered deeply everywhere and we had some

exercise on skis. Several of the morainic areas were no longer visible,

and it was possible to run between the rocks for a considerable

distance. A fresh breeze came up during the afternoon and provided a

splendid impetus for some good slides. During the short calm, twenty-six

seals landed on the harbour-ice.

On the morning of the same day Mary gave birth to five pups in the

Transit House. The place was full of cracks, through which snow and wind

were always driving, and so we were not surprised when four of them were

found to have died. The survivor was named "Hoyle" (a cognomen for our

old friend Hurley) and his doings gave us a new fund of entertainment.

The other dogs had been penned in the veranda and in tolerable weather

were brought outside to be fed. Carrying an axe, Madigan usually went

down to the boat harbour, followed by the expectant pack, to where there

were several seal carcases. These lay immovably frozen to the ice, and

were cut about and hacked so that the meat in section reminded one of

the grain of a log of red gum, and it was certainly quite as hard. When

Madigan commenced to chop, the dogs would range themselves on the lee

side and "field" the flying chips.

On April 16 the last penguin was seen on a ledge overhanging an icy cove

to the east. Apparently its moulting time had not expired, but it was

certainly a very miserable bird, smothered in small icicles and snow and

partly exposed to a sixty-five mile wind with the temperature close to

-10 degrees F. Petrels were often seen flying along the foreshores and

no wind appeared to daunt them. It was certainly a remarkable thing to

witness a snow-petrel, small, light and fragile, making headway over the

sea in the face of an eighty-mile hurricane, fluttering down through the

spindrift to pick up a morsel of food which it had detected. Close to

the western cliffs there was a trail of brash-ice where many birds were

often observed feeding on Euphausia (crustaceans) in weather when it

scarcely seemed possible for any living creature to be abroad.

[TEXT ILLUSTRATION]

The meteorological chart for April 12, 1913, compiled by the

Commonwealth Meteorological Bureau

Mr. Hunt appends the following explanation: "A very intense cyclone

passing south of Macquarie Island, where the barometer fell on the 11th

from 29.49 at 9 A.M. to 29.13 at 6 P.M., and the next day to 28.34 at

9 A.M. and 27.91 at 6 P.M. At Adelie Land the barometer was not greatly

affected, but rose in sympathy with the passage of the 'low' from 28.70

to 28.90 during the twenty-four hours. The influence of this cyclone was

very wide and probably embraced both Adelie Land and Tasmania."

Throughout April news by wireless came in slowly and spasmodically, and

Jeffryes was becoming resigned to the eccentricities of the place. As

an example of the unfavourable conditions which sometimes prevailed: on

April 14 the wind was steady, in the nineties, with light drift and,

at times, the aurora would illumine the north-west sky. Still, during

"quiet" intervals, two messages came through and were acknowledged.

A coded weather report, which had priority over all other messages, was

sent out each night, and it is surprising how often Jeffryes managed to

transmit this important intelligence. On evenings when receiving was an

impossibility, owing to a continual stream of St. Elmo's fire, the three

code words for the barometric reading, the velocity and direction of

the wind were signalled repeatedly and, on the following night, perhaps,

Macquarie Island would acknowledge them. Of course we had to use new

signs for the higher wind velocities, as no provision had been made for

them in our meteorological code-book. The reports from Macquarie Island

and Adelie Land were communicated to Mr. Hunt of the Commonwealth

Weather Bureau and to Mr. Bates of the Dominion Meteorological Office,

who plotted them out for their daily weather forecasts.

It was very gratifying to learn that the Macquarie Island party to a man

had consented to remain at their lonely post and from Ainsworth,

their leader, I received a brief report of the work which had been

accomplished by each member. We all could appreciate the sacrifice they

were making. Then, too, an account was received of the great sledging

efforts which had been made by Wild and his men to the west. But it was

not till the end of the year that their adventurous story was related to

us in detail.

On the 23rd Lassie, one of the dogs, was badly wounded in a fight and

had to be shot. Quarrels amongst the dogs had to be quelled immediately,

otherwise they would probably mean the death of some unfortunate animal

which happened to be thrown down amongst the pack. Whenever a dog was

down, it was the way of these brutes to attack him irrespective of

whether they were friends or foes.

Among our dogs there were several groups whose members always consorted

together. Thus, George and Lassie were friends and, when the latter was

killed, George, who was naturally a miserable, downtrodden creature,

became a kind of pariah, morose and solitary and at war with all except

Peary and Fix, with whom he and Lassie had been associated in fights

against the rest. The other dogs lived together in some kind of harmony,

Jack and Amundsen standing out as particular chums, while the "pups," as

we called them--D'Urville, Ross and Wilkes ("Monkey")--were a trio born

in Adelie Land and, therefore, comrades in misfortune. Hoyle, as a pup,

was treated benevolently by all the others, and entered the fellowship

of the other three when he grew up. Among the rest, Mikkel stood out as

a good fighter, Colonel as the biggest dog and ringleader against the

Peary-Fix faction, Fram as a nervous intractable animal, and Mary as the

sole representative of the sex.

It was remarkable that Peary, Fix and George in their hatred of the

others, who were penned up in the dog shelter during bad weather, would

absent themselves for days on a snow ramp near the Magnetograph House,

where they were partly protected from the wind by rocks. George, from

being a mere associate of Peary and Fix, became more amiable as the

year went by, and at times it was quite pathetic to see his attempts at

friendliness.

We became very fond of the dogs despite their habit of howling at night

and their wolfish ferocity. They always gave one a welcome, in drift or

sunshine, and though ruled by the law of force, they had a few domestic

traits to make them civilized.

May was a dreaded month because it had been the period of worst wind and

drift during 1912. On this occasion the wind velocities over four

weeks were not so high and constant, though the snowfall was just as

persistent. On the 17th and 18th, however, there was an unexpected

"jump" to the nineties. The average over the first twenty-four hours

was eighty-three, and on the 18th it attained 93.7 miles per hour. One

terrific rise between 6.30 and 7.30 on the night of the 17th was shown

as one hundred and three miles on the anemometer--the record up to that

time.

Madigan was thrown over and had a hard fall on his arm, smashing a

bottle of the special ink which was used for the anemograph pen. Bage

related how he had sailed across the Magnetic Flat by sitting down

and raising his arms in the air. He was accompanied by Fix, Peary and

George, who were blown along the slippery surface for yards. McLean had

a "lively time" cutting ice and bringing in the big blocks. Often he

would slide away with a large piece, and "pull up" on a snow patch

twenty yards to leeward.

On the 22nd there were hours of gusts which came down like thunderbolts,

making us apprehensive for the safety of the wireless masts; we had

grown to trust the stability of the Hut. Every one who went outside came

back with a few experiences. Jeffryes was roughly handled through not

wearing crampons, and several cases of kerosene, firmly stacked on the

break-wind, were dislodged and thrown several yards.

Empire Day was celebrated in Adelie Land with a small display. At 2.30

P.M. the Union Jack was hoisted to the topmast and three cheers were

given for the King. The wind blew at fifty miles an hour with light

drift, temperature -3 degrees F. Empire greetings were sent to the

Colonial Secretary, London, and to Mr Fisher, Prime Minister of

Australia. These were warmly reciprocated a few days afterwards.

Preceded by a day of whirlies on the 7th and random gusts on the same

evening, the wind made a determined attack next morning and carried away

the top and part of the middle section of the main wireless mast. It

was a very unexpected event, lulled as we were into security by the fact

that May, the worst month, had passed. On examination it was found that

two of the topmast wire stays had chafed through, whilst another had

parted. At first it seemed a hopeless task to re-erect the mast, but

gradually ways and means were discussed, and we waited for the first

calm day to put the theories into execution.

Meanwhile, it was suggested that if a heavy kite were made and induced

to fly in the continuous winds, the aerial thus provided would be

sufficient to receive wireless messages. To this end, Bage and Bickerton

set to work, and the first invention was a Venesta-box kite which was

tried in a steady seventy-mile wind. Despite its weight,--at least ten

pounds --the kite rose immediately, steadied by guys on either side, and

then suddenly descended with a crash on to the glacier ice. After the

third fall the kite was too battered to be of any further use. Another

device, in which an empty carbide tin was employed, and still another,

making use of an old propeller, shared the same fate.

On the evening of the 19th a perfect coloured corona, three degrees

in diameter, was observed encircling the moon in a sky which lit up at

intervals with dancing auroral curtains. Coronae or "glories," which

closely invest the luminary, are due to diffraction owing to immense

numbers of very minute water or ice particles floating in the air

between the observer and the source of light. The larger the particles

the smaller the corona, so that by a measurement of the diameter of a

corona the size of the particles can be calculated. Earlier in the

year, a double corona had been seen when the moon was shining through

cirro-cumulus clouds. Haloes, on the other hand, are wide circles (or

arcs of circles) in the sky surrounding the sun or moon, and arising

from light-refraction in myriads of tiny ice-crystals suspended in

the atmosphere. They were very commonly noted in Adelie Land where the

conditions were so ideal for their production.

Midwinter's Day 1913! we had reached a turning-point in the season.

The Astronomer Royal told us that at eight o'clock on June 22 the sun

commenced to return, and every one took note of the fact. The sky was

overcast, the air surcharged with drifting snow, and the wind was forty

miles an hour--a representative day as far as the climate was concerned.

The cook made a special effort and the menu bore the following foreword:

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer....

On July 6 the wind moderated, and we set about repairing once more the

fortunes of the "wireless." The shattered topmast used to sway about

in the heavy winds, threatening to bring down the rest of the mast.

Bickerton, therefore, climbed up with a saw and cut it almost through

above the doubling. All hands then pulled hard, and the upper

part cracked off, the lower section being easily removed from the

cross-trees. The mast now looked "shipshape" and ready for future

improvements.

It was decided to use as a topmast the mast which had been formerly

employed to support the northern half of the aerial. So on the 29th this

was lowered and removed to the veranda to be fitted for erection.

Almost a fortnight now elapsed, during which the weather was

"impossible." In fact, the wind was frightful throughout the whole

month of July, surpassing all its previous records and wearing out our

much-tried patience. All that one could do was to work on and try grimly

to ignore it. On July 2 we noted: "Thick as a wall outside with an

eighty-five miler." And so it commenced and continued for a day,

subsiding slowly through the seventies to the fifties and then suddenly

redoubling in strength, rose to a climax about midnight on the 5th--one

hundred and sixteen miles an hour! For eight hours it maintained an

average of one hundred and seven miles an hour, and the timbers of

the Hut seemed to be jarred and wrenched as the wind throbbed in its

mightier gusts. These were the highest wind-velocities recorded during

our two years' residence in Adelie Land and are probably the highest

sustained velocities ever reported from a meteorological station.

With the exception of a few Antarctic and snow petrels flying over the

sea on the calmer days, no life had been seen round the Hut during June.

So it was with some surprise that we sighted a Weddell seal on July

9 attempting to land on the harbour-ice in a seventy-five-mile wind.

Several times it clambered over the edge and on turning broadside to the

wind was actually tumbled back into the water. Eventually it struggled

into the lee of some icy hummocks, but only remained there for a few

minutes, deciding that the water was much warmer.

On the 11th there was an exceptionally low barometer at 27.794

inches. At the same time the wind ran riot once more--two hundred and

ninety-eight miles in three hours. The highest barometric reading was

recorded on September 3, 30.4 inches, and the comparison indicates a

wide range for a station at sea-level.

To show how quickly conditions would change, it was almost calm next

morning, and all hands were in readiness to advance the wireless mast

another stage. Previously there had been three masts, one high one in

three lengths, and two smaller ones of one length each, between which

the aerial stretched; the "lead-in" wires being connected to the middle

of the aerial. This is known as an "umbrella aerial." Since we were

without one short mast it was resolved to erect a "directive" [capital

gamma gjc]-shaped aerial. The mainmast was to be in two instead of three

lengths, and we wondered if the aerial would be high enough. In any

case, it was so calm early on the 11th that we ventured to erect the

topmast and had hauled it half-way, when the wind swooped down from the

plateau, and there was just time to make fast the stays and the hauling

rope and to leave things "snug" for the next spell of bad weather.

In eight days another opportunity came, and this time the topmast was

hoisted, wedged and securely stayed. Bickerton had fixed a long bolt

through the middle of the topmast and just above it three additional

wire stays were to be placed. Another fine day and we reckoned to finish

the work.

From July 26 onwards the sky was cloudless for a week, and each day the

northern sun would rise a fraction of a degree higher. The wind was very

constant and of high velocity.

It was a grand sight to witness the sea in a hurricane on a driftless,

clear day. Crouched under a rock on Azimuth Hill, and looking across

to the west along the curving brink of the cliffs, one could watch the

water close inshore blacken under the lash of the wind, whiten into foam

farther off, and then disappear into the hurrying clouds of spray and

sea-smoke. Over the Mackellar Islets and the "Pianoforte Berg" columns

of spray would shoot up like geysers, and fly away in the mad race to

the north.

Early in July Jeffryes became ill, and for some weeks his symptoms were

such as to give every one much anxiety. His work on the wireless had

been assiduous at all times, and there is no doubt that the continual

and acute strain of sending and receiving messages under unprecedented

conditions was such that he eventually had a "nervous breakdown."

Unfortunately the weather was so atrocious, and the conditions under

which we were placed so peculiarly difficult, that nothing could be done

to brighten his prospects. McLean considered that as the spring returned

and it became possible to take more exercise outside, the nervous

exhaustion would pass off. In the meantime Jeffryes took a complete

rest, and slowly improved as the months went by, and our hopes of relief

came nearer. It was a great misfortune for our comrade, especially as it

was his first experience of such a climate, and he had applied himself

to work with enthusiasm and perhaps in an over-conscientious spirit.

July concluded its stormy career with the astonishing wind-average of

63.6 miles an hour. We were all relieved to see Friday, August 1, appear

on the modest calendar, which it was the particular pleasure of each

night-watchman to change. More light filtered day by day through the ice

on the kitchen window, midwinter lay behind, and we were ready to hail

the first signs of returning spring.

CHAPTER XXIV NEARING THE END

Seven men from all the world, back to town again,

Seven men from out of hell.

Kipling

It is wonderful how quickly the weeks seemed to pass. Situated as we

were, Time became quite an object of study to us and its imperceptible

drift was almost a reality, considering that each day was another step

towards liberty--freedom from the tyranny of the wind. In a sense, the

endless surge of the blizzard was a slow form of torture, and the subtle

effect it had on the mind was measurable in the delight with which one

greeted a calm, fine morning, or noted some insignificant fact which

bespoke the approach of a milder season. Thus in August, although the

weather was colder, there were the merest signs of thawing along the

edges of the snow packed against the rocky faces which looked towards

the sun; Weddell seals came back to the land, and the petrels would at

times appear in large flocks; all of which are very commonplace events

which any one might have expected, but at the time they had more than

their face value.

August 5 was undoubtedly a great day from our very provincial point of

view. On the 4th there had been a dense drift, during which the Hut

was buttressed round with soft snow which rose above the eaves and half

filled the entrance-veranda. The only way in which the night-watchman

could keep the hourly observations was to dig his way out frequently

with a shovel. In the early morning hours of the 5th the wind abated

and veered right round from south through east to north-east, from which

quarter it remained as a fresh breeze with falling snow. By 7 A.M.

the air was still, and outside there was a dead world of whiteness;

flocculent heaps of down rolling up to where glimpses of rock streaked

black near the skyline of the ridges, striated masses of livid cloud

overhead, and to the horizon the dark berg-strewn sea, over which the

snow birds fluttered.

We did not linger over the scenery, but set to work to hoist to the head

of the mainmast the aerial, which had been hurriedly put together. The

job occupied till lunch-time, and then a jury-mast was fixed to the

southern supporting mast, and by dusk the aerial hung in position.

Bickerton was the leading spirit in the work and subsequently steadied

the mainmast with eighteen wire stays, in the determination to make

it stable enough to weather the worst hurricane. The attempt was so

successful that in an ordinary fifty-mile "blow" the mast vibrated

slightly, and in higher winds exhibited the smallest degree of movement.

At eight o'clock that night, Jeffryes, who felt so benefited by his rest

that he was eager to commence operating once more, had soon "attuned"

his instrument to Macquarie Island, and in a few minutes communication

was reestablished.

We learned from the Governor-General, Lord Denman, that her Majesty the

Queen was "graciously pleased to consent to the name 'Queen Mary Land'

being given to newly discovered land." The message referred to the tract

of Antarctic coast which had been discovered and mapped by Wild and his

party to the west.

On August 6 Macquarie Island signalled that they had run short of

provisions. The message was rather a paradox: " Food done, but otherwise

all right." However, on August 11, we were reassured to hear that the

'Tutanekai', a New Zealand Government steamer, had been commissioned to

relieve the party, and that Sawyer through ill-health had been obliged

to return to Australia. A sealing-ship, the 'Rachel Cohen', after

battling for almost the whole month of July against gales, in an

endeavour to reach the island, with stores for our party and the

sealers, had returned damaged to port.

Marvellous to relate we had two calm days in succession, and on the 6th

the snow lay so deeply round the Hut that progression without skis was a

laborious flounder. The dogs plunged about in great glee, rolling in

the snow and "playing off" their surplus energy after being penned for a

long spell in the shelter.

On skis one could push up the first slopes of the glacier for a long

distance. Soft snow had settled two feet thick even on the steep icy

downfalls. The sea to the north was frozen into large cakes between

which ran a network of dark water "leads." With glasses we could make

out in the near distance five seals and two tall solitary figures which

were doubtless Emperor penguins. During the whole day nimbus clouds had

hung heavily from the sky, and snow had fallen in grains and star-like

crystals. Gradually the nimbus lightened, a rift appeared overhead,

and,the edges of the billowy cumulus were burnished in the light of the

low sun. The sea-horizon came sharply into sight through fading mist.

Bergs and islands, from being ghostly images, rose into sharp-featured

reality. The masts and Hut, with a dark riband of smoke floating from

the chimney, lay just below, and two of the men were walking out to the

harbour-ice where a seal had just landed, while round them scampered the

dogs in high spirits. That was sufficient to set us sliding downhill,

ploughing deep furrows through the soft drift and reaching the Hut in

quick time.

During August we were able to do more work outside, thus enlarging our

sphere of interest. Bage, who had been busy up till August 8 with his

daily magnetograph records, ran short of bromide papers and now had to

be contented with taking "quick runs" at intervals, especially when

the aurora was active. His astronomical observations had been very

disappointing owing to the continuous wind and drift. Still, in

September, which was marked by periods of fine weather, a few good star

observations were possible. Shafts were sunk in the sea-ice and up on

the glacier, just above the zone where the ice was loaded with stones

and debris--the lower moraine. The glacier shaft was dug to a depth of

twenty-four feet, and several erratics were met with embedded in the

ice. In this particular part the crystalline structure of the ice

resembled that of a gneiss, showing that it had flowed under pressure.

I was able to make measurements of ablation on the glacier, to take

observations of the temperature and salinity of the sea-water, and to

estimate the forward movement of the seaward cliffs of the ice-cap.

Geological collecting now became quite a popular diversion. With

a slight smattering of "gneiss," "felspar," "weathered limestone,"

"garnets," and "glacial markings" the amateurs went off and made many

finds on the moraines, and the specimens were cached in heaps, to be

later brought home by the dogs, some of which were receiving their first

lessons in sledge-pulling.

Rather belated, but none the less welcome, our midwinter wireless

greetings arrived on August 17 from many friends who could only

imagine how much they were appreciated, and from various members of the

Expedition who had spent the previous year in Adelie Land and who knew

the meaning of an Antarctic winter. A few evenings later, Macquarie

Islanders had their reward in the arrival of the 'Tutanekai' from New

Zealand with supplies of food, and, piecing together a few fragments of

evidence "dropped in the ether," we judged that they were having a night

of revelry.

The wind was in a fierce humour on the morning of August 16, mounting to

one hundred and five miles per hour between 9 and 10 A.M., and carrying

with it a very dense drift.

We were now in a position to sit down and generalize about the wind. It

is a tiresome thing to have it as the recurring insistent theme of our

story, but to have had it as the continual obstacle to our activity, the

opposing barrier to the simplest task, was even more tedious.