WINTER MONTHS
The month of March opened with a severe north-easterly gale. Five
Weddells and two crab-eaters were shot on the floe during the morning
of March 1, and the wind, with fine drifting snow, sprang up while the
carcasses were being brought in by sledging parties. The men were
compelled to abandon some of the blubber and meat, and they had a
struggle to get back to the ship over the rough ice in the teeth of the
storm. This gale continued until the 3rd, and all hands were employed
clearing out the ’tween decks, which was to be converted into a living-
and dining-room for officers and scientists. The carpenter erected in
this room the stove that had been intended for use in the shore hut,
and the quarters were made very snug. The dogs appeared indifferent to
the blizzard. They emerged occasionally from the drift to shake
themselves and bark, but were content most of the time to lie, curled
into tight balls, under the snow. One of the old dogs, Saint, died on
the night of the 2nd, and the doctors reported that the cause of death
was appendicitis.
When the gale cleared we found that the pack had been driven in from
the north-east and was now more firmly consolidated than before. A new
berg, probably fifteen miles in length, had appeared on the northern
horizon. The bergs within our circle of vision had all become familiar
objects, and we had names for some of them. Apparently they were all
drifting with the pack. The sighting of a new berg was of more than
passing interest, since in that comparatively shallow sea it would be
possible for a big berg to become stranded. Then the island of ice
would be a centre of tremendous pressure and disturbance amid the
drifting pack. We had seen something already of the smashing effect of
a contest between berg and floe, and had no wish to have the helpless
_Endurance_ involved in such a battle of giants. During the 3rd the
seal meat and blubber was re-stowed on hummocks around the ship. The
frozen masses had been sinking into the floe. Ice, though hard and
solid to the touch, is never firm against heavy weights. An article
left on the floe for any length of time is likely to sink into the
surface-ice. Then the salt water will percolate through and the article
will become frozen into the body of the floe.
Clear weather followed the gale, and we had a series of mock suns and
parhelia. Minus temperatures were the rule, 21° below zero Fahr. being
recorded on the 6th. We made mattresses for the dogs by stuffing sacks
with straw and rubbish, and most of the animals were glad to receive
this furnishing in their kennels. Some of them had suffered through the
snow melting with the heat of their bodies and then freezing solid. The
scientific members of the expedition were all busy by this time. The
meteorologist had got his recording station, containing anemometer,
barograph, and thermograph, rigged over the stern. The geologist was
making the best of what to him was an unhappy situation; but was not
altogether without material. The pebbles found in the penguins were
often of considerable interest, and some fragments of rock were brought
up from the sea floor with the sounding-lead and the drag-net. On the
7th Wordie and Worsley found some small pebbles, a piece of moss, a
perfect bivalve shell, and some dust on a berg fragment, and brought
their treasure-trove proudly to the ship. Clark was using the drag-net
frequently in the leads and secured good hauls of _plankton_, with
occasional specimens of greater scientific interest. Seals were not
plentiful, but our store of meat and blubber grew gradually. All hands
ate seal meat with relish and would not have cared to become dependent
on the ship’s tinned meat. We preferred the crab-eater to the Weddell,
which is a very sluggish beast. The crab-eater seemed cleaner and
healthier. The killer-whales were still with us. On the 8th we examined
a spot where the floe-ice had been smashed up by a blow from beneath,
delivered presumably by a large whale in search of a breathing-place.
The force that had been exercised was astonishing. Slabs of ice 3 ft.
thick, and weighing tons, had been tented upwards over a circular area
with a diameter of about 25 ft., and cracks radiated outwards for more
than 20 ft.
The quarters in the ’tween decks were completed by the 10th, and the
men took possession of the cubicles that had been built. The largest
cubicle contained Macklin, McIlroy, Hurley, and Hussey and it was named
“The Billabong.” Clark and Wordie lived opposite in a room called “Auld
Reekie.” Next came the abode of “The Nuts” or engineers, followed by
“The Sailors’ Rest,” inhabited by Cheetham and McNeish. “The Anchorage”
and “The Fumarole” were on the other side. The new quarters became
known as “The Ritz,” and meals were served there instead of in the ward
room. Breakfast was at 9 a.m., lunch at 1 p.m., tea at 4 p.m., and
dinner at 6 p.m. Wild, Marston, Crean, and Worsley established
themselves in cubicles in the wardroom, and by the middle of the month
all hands had settled down to the winter routine. I lived alone aft.
Worsley, Hurley, and Wordie made a journey to a big berg, called by us
the Rampart Berg, on the 11th. The distance out was 7½ miles, and the
party covered a total distance of about 17 miles. Hurley took some
photographs and Wordie came back rejoicing with a little dust and some
moss.
“Within a radius of one mile round the berg there is thin young ice,
strong enough to march over with care,” wrote Worsley. “The area of
dangerous pressure, as regards a ship, does not seem to extend for more
than a quarter of a mile from the berg. Here there are cracks and
constant slight movement, which becomes exciting to the traveller when
he feels a piece of ice gradually upending beneath his feet. Close to
the berg the pressure makes all sorts of quaint noises. We heard
tapping as from a hammer, grunts, groans and squeaks, electric trams
running, birds singing, kettles boiling noisily, and an occasional
swish as a large piece of ice, released from pressure, suddenly jumped
or turned over. We noticed all sorts of quaint effects, such as huge
bubbles or domes of ice, 40 ft. across and 4 or 5 ft. high. Large
sinuous pancake-sheets were spread over the floe in places, and in one
spot we counted five such sheets, each about 2½ in. thick, imbricated
under one another. They look as though made of barley-sugar and are
very slippery.”
The noon position on the 14th was lat. 76° 54´ S., long. 36° 10´ W. The
land was visible faintly to the south-east, distant about 36 miles. A
few small leads could be seen from the ship, but the ice was firm in
our neighbourhood. The drift of the _Endurance_ was still towards the
north-west.
[Illustration: The Rampart Berg]
[Illustration: A Bi-Weekly Performance: Scrubbing out the “Ritz”]
I had the boilers blown down on the 15th, and the consumption of 2 cwt.
of coal per day to keep the boilers from freezing then ceased. The
bunkers still contained 52 tons of coal, and the daily consumption in
the stoves was about 2½ cwt. There would not be much coal left for
steaming purposes in the spring, but I anticipated eking out the supply
with blubber. A moderate gale from the north-east on the 17th brought
fine, penetrating snow. The weather cleared in the evening, and a
beautiful crimson sunset held our eyes. At the same time the ice-cliffs
of the land were thrown up in the sky by mirage, with an apparent
reflection in open water, though the land itself could not be seen
definitely. The effect was repeated in an exaggerated form on the
following day, when the ice-cliffs were thrown up above the horizon in
double and treble parallel lines, some inverted. The mirage was due
probably to lanes of open water near the land. The water would be about
30° warmer than the air and would cause warmed strata to ascend. A
sounding gave 606 fathoms, with a bottom of glacial mud. Six days
later, on the 24th, the depth was 419 fathoms. We were drifting
steadily, and the constant movement, coupled with the appearance of
lanes near the land, convinced me that we must stay by the ship till
she got clear. I had considered the possibility of making a landing
across the ice in the spring, but the hazards of such an undertaking
would be too great.
The training of the dogs in sledge teams was making progress. The
orders used by the drivers were “Mush” (Go on), “Gee” (Right), “Haw”
(Left), and “Whoa” (Stop). These are the words that the Canadian
drivers long ago adopted, borrowing them originally from England. There
were many fights at first, until the dogs learned their positions and
their duties, but as days passed drivers and teams became efficient.
Each team had its leader, and efficiency depended largely on the
willingness and ability of this dog to punish skulking and
disobedience. We learned not to interfere unless the disciplinary
measures threatened to have a fatal termination. The drivers could sit
on the sledge and jog along at ease if they chose. But the prevailing
minus temperatures made riding unpopular, and the men preferred usually
to run or walk alongside the teams. We were still losing dogs through
sickness, due to stomach and intestinal worms.
Dredging for specimens at various depths was one of the duties during
these days. The dredge and several hundred fathoms of wire line made a
heavy load, far beyond the unaided strength of the scientists. On the
23rd, for example, we put down a 2 ft. dredge and 650 fathoms of wire.
The dredge was hove in four hours later and brought much glacial mud,
several pebbles and rock fragments, three sponges, some worms,
_brachiapods_, and _foraminiferæ_. The mud was troublesome. It was
heavy to lift, and as it froze rapidly when brought to the surface, the
recovery of the specimens embedded in it was difficult. A haul made on
the 26th brought a prize for the geologist in the form of a lump of
sandstone weighing 75 lbs., a piece of fossiliferous limestone, a
fragment of striated shale, sandstone-grit, and some pebbles. Hauling
in the dredge by hand was severe work, and on the 24th we used the
Girling tractor-motor, which brought in 500 fathoms of line in thirty
minutes, including stops. One stop was due to water having run over the
friction gear and frozen. It was a day or two later that we heard a
great yell from the floe and found Clark dancing about and shouting
Scottish war-cries. He had secured his first complete specimen of an
Antarctic fish, apparently a new species.
Mirages were frequent. Barrier-cliffs appeared all around us on the
29th, even in places where we knew there was deep water.
“Bergs and pack are thrown up in the sky and distorted into the most
fantastic shapes. They climb, trembling, upwards, spreading out into
long lines at different levels, then contract and fall down, leaving
nothing but an uncertain, wavering smudge which comes and goes.
Presently the smudge swells and grows, taking shape until it presents
the perfect inverted reflection of a berg on the horizon, the shadow
hovering over the substance. More smudges appear at different points on
the horizon. These spread out into long lines till they meet, and we
are girdled by lines of shining snow-cliffs, laved at their bases by
waters of illusion in which they appear to be faithfully reflected. So
the shadows come and go silently, melting away finally as the sun
declines to the west. We seem to be drifting helplessly in a strange
world of unreality. It is reassuring to feel the ship beneath one’s
feet and to look down at the familiar line of kennels and igloos on the
solid floe.”
The floe was not so solid as it appeared. We had reminders occasionally
that the greedy sea was very close, and that the floe was but a
treacherous friend, which might open suddenly beneath us. Towards the
end of the month I had our store of seal meat and blubber brought
aboard. The depth as recorded by a sounding on the last day of March
was 256 fathoms. The continuous shoaling from 606 fathoms in a drift of
39 miles N. 26° W. in thirty days was interesting. The sea shoaled as
we went north, either to east or to west, and the fact suggested that
the contour-lines ran east and west, roughly. Our total drift between
January 19, when the ship was frozen in, and March 31, a period of
seventy-one days, had been 95 miles in a N. 80° W. direction. The
icebergs around us had not changed their relative positions.
The sun sank lower in the sky, the temperatures became lower, and the
_Endurance_ felt the grip of the icy hand of winter. Two north-easterly
gales in the early part of April assisted to consolidate the pack. The
young ice was thickening rapidly, and though leads were visible
occasionally from the ship, no opening of a considerable size appeared
in our neighbourhood. In the early morning of April 1 we listened again
for the wireless signals from Port Stanley. The crew had lashed three
20-ft. rickers to the mast-heads in order to increase the spread of our
aerials, but still we failed to hear anything. The rickers had to come
down subsequently, since we found that the gear could not carry the
accumulating weight of rime. Soundings proved that the sea continued to
shoal as the _Endurance_ drifted to the north-west. The depth on April
2 was 262 fathoms, with a bottom of glacial mud. Four weeks later a
sounding gave 172 fathoms. The presence of grit in the bottom samples
towards the end of the month suggested that we were approaching land
again.
The month was not uneventful. During the night of the 3rd we heard the
ice grinding to the eastward, and in the morning we saw that young ice
was rafted 8 to 10 ft. high in places. This was the first murmur of the
danger that was to reach menacing proportions in later months. The ice
was heard grinding and creaking during the 4th and the ship vibrated
slightly. The movement of the floe was sufficiently pronounced to
interfere with the magnetic work. I gave orders that accumulations of
snow, ice, and rubbish alongside the _Endurance_ should be shovelled
away, so that in case of pressure there would be no weight against the
topsides to check the ship rising above the ice. All hands were busy
with pick and shovel during the day, and moved many tons of material.
Again, on the 9th, there were signs of pressure. Young ice was piled up
to a height of 11 ft. astern of the ship, and the old floe was cracked
in places. The movement was not serious, but I realized that it might
be the beginning of trouble for the Expedition. We brought certain
stores aboard and provided space on deck for the dogs in case they had
to be removed from the floe at short notice. We had run a 500-fathom
steel wire round the ship, snow-huts, and kennels, with a loop out to
the lead ahead, where the dredge was used. This wire was supported on
ice-pillars, and it served as a guide in bad weather when the view was
obscured by driving snow and a man might have lost himself altogether.
I had this wire cut in five places, since otherwise it might have been
dragged across our section of the floe with damaging effect in the
event of the ice splitting suddenly.
The dogs had been divided into six teams of nine dogs each. Wild,
Crean, Macklin, McIlroy, Marston, and Hurley each had charge of a team,
and were fully responsible for the exercising, training, and feeding of
their own dogs. They called in one of the surgeons when an animal was
sick. We were still losing some dogs through worms, and it was
unfortunate that the doctors had not the proper remedies. Worm-powders
were to have been provided by the expert Canadian dog-driver I had
engaged before sailing for the south, and when this man did not join
the Expedition the matter was overlooked. We had fifty-four dogs and
eight pups early in April, but several were ailing, and the number of
mature dogs was reduced to fifty by the end of the month. Our store of
seal meat amounted now to about 5000 lbs., and I calculated that we had
enough meat and blubber to feed the dogs for ninety days without
trenching upon the sledging rations. The teams were working well, often
with heavy loads. The biggest dog was Hercules, who tipped the beam at
86 lbs. Samson was 11 lbs. lighter, but he justified his name one day
by starting off at a smart pace with a sledge carrying 200 lbs. of
blubber and a driver.
[Illustration: Pylon Avenue]
[Illustration: The Long, Long Night]
A new berg that was going to give us some cause for anxiety made its
appearance on the 14th. It was a big berg, and we noticed as it lay on
the north-west horizon that it had a hummocky, crevassed appearance at
the east end. During the day this berg increased its apparent altitude
and changed its bearing slightly. Evidently it was aground and was
holding its position against the drifting pack. A sounding at 11 a.m.
gave 197 fathoms, with a hard stony or rocky bottom. During the next
twenty-four hours the _Endurance_ moved steadily towards the crevassed
berg, which doubled its altitude in that time. We could see from the
mast-head that the pack was piling and rafting against the mass of ice,
and it was easy to imagine what would be the fate of the ship if she
entered the area of disturbance. She would be crushed like an egg-shell
amid the shattering masses.
Worsley was in the crow’s-nest on the evening of the 15th, watching for
signs of land to the westward, and he reported an interesting
phenomenon. The sun set amid a glow of prismatic colours on a line of
clouds just above the horizon. A minute later Worsley saw a golden
glow, which expanded as he watched it, and presently the sun appeared
again and rose a semi-diameter clear above the western horizon. He
hailed Crean, who from a position on the floe 90 ft. below the
crow’s-nest also saw the re-born sun. A quarter of an hour later from
the deck Worsley saw the sun set a second time. This strange phenomenon
was due to mirage or refraction. We attributed it to an ice-crack to
the westward, where the band of open water had heated a stratum of air.
The drift of the pack was not constant, and during the succeeding days
the crevassed berg alternately advanced and receded as the _Endurance_
moved with the floe. On Sunday, April 18, it was only seven miles
distant from the ship.
“It is a large berg, about three-quarters of a mile long on the side
presented to us and probably well over 200 ft. high. It is heavily
crevassed, as though it once formed the serac portion of a glacier. Two
specially wide and deep chasms across it from south-east to north-west
give it the appearance of having broken its back on the shoal-ground.
Huge masses of pressure-ice are piled against its cliffs to a height of
about 60 ft., showing the stupendous force that is being brought to
bear upon it by the drifting pack. The berg must be very firmly
aground. We swing the arrow on the current-meter frequently and watch
with keen attention to see where it will come to rest. Will it point
straight for the berg, showing that our drift is in that direction? It
swings slowly round. It points to the north-east end of the berg, then
shifts slowly to the centre and seems to stop; but it moves again and
swings 20 degrees clear of our enemy to the south-west.... We notice
that two familiar bergs, the Rampart Berg and the Peak Berg, have moved
away from the ship. Probably they also have grounded or dragged on the
shoal.”
A strong drift to the westward during the night of the 18th relieved
our anxiety by carrying the _Endurance_ to the lee of the crevassed
berg, which passed out of our range of vision before the end of the
month.
We said good-bye to the sun on May 1 and entered the period of twilight
that would be followed by the darkness of midwinter. The sun by the aid
of refraction just cleared the horizon at noon and set shortly before 2
p.m. A fine aurora in the evening was dimmed by the full moon, which
had risen on April 27 and would not set again until May 6. The
disappearance of the sun is apt to be a depressing event in the polar
regions, where the long months of darkness involve mental as well as
physical strain. But the _Endurance’s_ company refused to abandon their
customary cheerfulness, and a concert in the evening made the Ritz a
scene of noisy merriment, in strange contrast with the cold, silent
world that lay outside. “One feels our helplessness as the long winter
night closes upon us. By this time, if fortune had smiled upon the
Expedition, we would have been comfortably and securely established in
a shore base, with depots laid to the south and plans made for the long
march in the spring and summer. Where will we make a landing now? It is
not easy to forecast the future. The ice may open in the spring, but by
that time we will be far to the north-west. I do not think we shall be
able to work back to Vahsel Bay. There are possible landing-places on
the western coast of the Weddell Sea, but can we reach any suitable
spot early enough to attempt the overland journey next year? Time alone
will tell. I do not think any member of the Expedition is disheartened
by our disappointment. All hands are cheery and busy, and will do their
best when the time for action comes. In the meantime we must wait.”
The ship’s position on Sunday, May 2, was lat. 75° 23´ S., long. 42°
14´ W. The temperature at noon was 5° below zero Fahr., and the sky was
overcast. A seal was sighted from the mast-head at lunch-time, and five
men, with two dog teams, set off after the prize. They had an
uncomfortable journey outward in the dim, diffused light, which cast no
shadows and so gave no warning of irregularities in the white surface.
It is a strange sensation to be running along on apparently smooth snow
and to fall suddenly into an unseen hollow, or bump against a ridge.
“After going out three miles to the eastward,” wrote Worsley in
describing this seal-hunt, “we range up and down but find nothing,
until from a hummock I fancy I see something apparently a mile away,
but probably little more than half that distance. I ran for it, found
the seal, and with a shout brought up the others at the double. The
seal was a big Weddell, over 10 ft. long and weighing more than 800
lbs. But Soldier, one of the team leaders, went for its throat without
a moment’s hesitation, and we had to beat off the dogs before we could
shoot the seal. We caught five or six gallons of blood in a tin for the
dogs, and let the teams have a drink of fresh blood from the seal. The
light was worse than ever on our return, and we arrived back in the
dark. Sir Ernest met us with a lantern and guided us into the lead
astern and thence to the ship.”
This was the first seal we had secured since March 19, and the meat and
blubber made a welcome addition to the stores.
Three emperor penguins made their appearance in a lead west of the ship
on May 3. They pushed their heads through the young ice while two of
the men were standing by the lead. The men imitated the emperor’s call
and walked slowly, penguin fashion, away from the lead. The birds in
succession made a magnificent leap 3 ft. clear from the water on to the
young ice. Thence they tobogganed to the bank and followed the men away
from the lead. Their retreat was soon cut off by a line of men.
“We walk up to them, talking loudly and assuming a threatening aspect.
Notwithstanding our bad manners, the three birds turn towards us,
bowing ceremoniously. Then, after a closer inspection, they conclude
that we are undesirable acquaintances and make off across the floe. We
head them off and finally shepherd them close to the ship, where the
frenzied barking of the dogs so frightens them that they make a
determined effort to break through the line. We seize them. One bird of
philosophic mien goes quietly, led by one flipper. The others show
fight, but all are imprisoned in an igloo for the night.... In the
afternoon we see five emperors in the western lead and capture one.
Kerr and Cheetham fight a valiant action with two large birds. Kerr
rushes at one, seizes it, and is promptly knocked down by the angered
penguin, which jumps on his chest before retiring. Cheetham comes to
Kerr’s assistance; and between them they seize another penguin, bind
his bill and lead him, muttering muffled protests, to the ship like an
inebriated old man between two policemen. He weighs 85 lbs., or 5 lbs.
less than the heaviest emperor captured previously. Kerr and Cheetham
insist that he is nothing to the big fellow who escaped them.”
This penguin’s stomach proved to be filled with freshly caught fish up
to 10 in. long. Some of the fish were of a coastal or littoral variety.
Two more emperors were captured on the following day, and, while Wordie
was leading one of them towards the ship, Wild came along with his
team. The dogs, uncontrollable in a moment, made a frantic rush for the
bird, and were almost upon him when their harness caught upon an
ice-pylon, which they had tried to pass on both sides at once. The
result was a seething tangle of dogs, traces, and men, and an
overturned sled, while the penguin, three yards away, nonchalantly and
indifferently surveyed the disturbance. He had never seen anything of
the kind before and had no idea at all that the strange disorder might
concern him. Several cracks had opened in the neighbourhood of the
ship, and the emperor penguins, fat and glossy of plumage, were
appearing in considerable numbers. We secured nine of them on May 6, an
important addition to our supply of fresh food.
The sun, which had made “positively his last appearance” seven days
earlier, surprised us by lifting more than half its disk above the
horizon on May 8. A glow on the northern horizon resolved itself into
the sun at 11 a.m. that day. A quarter of an hour later the
unseasonable visitor disappeared again, only to rise again at 11.40
a.m., set at 1 p.m., rise at 1.10 p.m., and set lingeringly at 1.20
p.m. These curious phenomena were due to refraction, which amounted to
2° 37´ at 1.20 p.m. The temperature was 15° below zero Fahr. and we
calculated that the refraction was 2° above normal. In other words, the
sun was visible 120 miles farther south than the refraction tables gave
it any right to be. The navigating officer naturally was aggrieved. He
had informed all hands on May 1 that they would not see the sun again
for seventy days, and now had to endure the jeers of friends who
affected to believe that his observations were inaccurate by a few
degrees.
The _Endurance_ was drifting north-north-east under the influence of a
succession of westerly and south-westerly breezes. The ship’s head, at
the same time, swung gradually to the left, indicating that the floe in
which she was held was turning. During the night of the 14th a very
pronounced swing occurred, and when daylight came at noon on the 15th
we observed a large lead running from the north-west horizon towards
the ship till it struck the western lead, circling ahead of the ship,
then continuing to the south-south-east. A lead astern connected with
this new lead on either side of the _Endurance_, thus separating our
floe completely from the main body of the pack. A blizzard from the
south-east swept down during the 16th. At 1 p.m. the blizzard lulled
for five minutes; then the wind jumped round to the opposite quarter
and the barometer rose suddenly. The centre of a cyclonic movement had
passed over us, and the compass recorded an extraordinarily rapid swing
of the floe. I could see nothing through the mist and snow, and I
thought it possible that a magnetic storm or a patch of local magnetic
attraction had caused the compass, and not the floe, to swing, Our floe
was now about 2½ miles long north and south and 3 miles wide east and
west.
The month of May passed with few incidents of importance. Hurley, our
handy man, installed our small electric-lighting plant and placed
lights for occasional use in the observatory, the meteorological
station, and various other points. We could not afford to use the
electric lamps freely. Hurley also rigged two powerful lights on poles
projecting from the ship to port and starboard. These lamps would
illuminate the “dogloos” brilliantly on the darkest winter’s day and
would be invaluable in the event of the floe breaking during the dark
days of winter. We could imagine what it would mean to get fifty dogs
aboard without lights while the floe was breaking and rafting under our
feet. May 24, Empire Day, was celebrated with the singing of patriotic
songs in the Ritz, where all hands joined in wishing a speedy victory
for the British arms. We could not know how the war was progressing,
but we hoped that the Germans had already been driven from France and
that the Russian armies had put the seal on the Allies’ success. The
war was a constant subject of discussion aboard the _Endurance_, and
many campaigns were fought on the map during the long months of
drifting. The moon in the latter part of May was sweeping continuously
through our starlit sky in great high circles. The weather generally
was good, with constant minus temperatures. The log on May 27 recorded:
“Brilliantly fine clear weather with bright moonlight throughout. The
moon’s rays are wonderfully strong, making midnight seem as light as an
ordinary overcast midday in temperate climes. The great clearness of
the atmosphere probably accounts for our having eight hours of twilight
with a beautiful soft golden glow to the northward. A little rime and
glazed frost are found aloft. The temperature is –20° Fahr. A few wisps
of cirrus-cloud are seen and a little frost-smoke shows in one or two
directions, but the cracks and leads near the ship appear to have
frozen over again.”
[Illustration: The Pups]
[Illustration: Ice-Pressure Approaching the Ship]
Crean had started to take the pups out for runs, and it was very
amusing to see them with their rolling canter just managing to keep
abreast by the sledge and occasionally cocking an eye with an appealing
look in the hope of being taken aboard for a ride. As an addition to
their foster-father, Crean, the pups had adopted Amundsen. They
tyrannized over him most unmercifully. It was a common sight to see
him, the biggest dog in the pack, sitting out in the cold with an air
of philosophic resignation while a corpulent pup occupied the entrance
to his “dogloo.” The intruder was generally the pup Nelson, who just
showed his forepaws and face, and one was fairly sure to find Nelly,
Roger, and Toby coiled up comfortably behind him. At hoosh-time Crean
had to stand by Amundsen’s food, since otherwise the pups would eat the
big dog’s ration while he stood back to give them fair play. Sometimes
their consciences would smite them and they would drag round a seal’s
head, half a penguin, or a large lump of frozen meat or blubber to
Amundsen’s kennel for rent. It was interesting to watch the big dog
play with them, seizing them by throat or neck in what appeared to be a
fierce fashion, while really quite gentle with them, and all the time
teaching them how to hold their own in the world and putting them up to
all the tricks of dog life.
The drift of the _Endurance_ in the grip of the pack continued without
incident of importance through June. Pressure was reported
occasionally, but the ice in the immediate vicinity of the ship
remained firm. The light was now very bad except in the period when the
friendly moon was above the horizon. A faint twilight round about noon
of each day reminded us of the sun, and assisted us in the important
work of exercising the dogs. The care of the teams was our heaviest
responsibility in those days. The movement of the floes was beyond all
human control, and there was nothing to be gained by allowing one’s
mind to struggle with the problems of the future, though it was hard to
avoid anxiety at times. The conditioning and training of the dogs
seemed essential, whatever fate might be in store for us, and the teams
were taken out by their drivers whenever the weather permitted.
Rivalries arose, as might have been expected, and on the 15th of the
month a great race, the “Antarctic Derby,” took place. It was a notable
event. The betting had been heavy, and every man aboard the ship stood
to win or lose on the result of the contest. Some money had been
staked, but the wagers that thrilled were those involving stores of
chocolate and cigarettes. The course had been laid off from Khyber
Pass, at the eastern end of the old lead ahead of the ship, to a point
clear of the jib-boom, a distance of about 700 yds. Five teams went out
in the dim noon twilight, with a zero temperature and an aurora
flickering faintly to the southward. The starting signal was to be
given by the flashing of a light on the meteorological station. I was
appointed starter, Worsley was judge, and James was timekeeper. The
bos’n, with a straw hat added to his usual Antarctic attire, stood on a
box near the winning-post, and was assisted by a couple of shady
characters to shout the odds, which were displayed on a board hung
around his neck—6 to 4 on Wild, “evens” on Crean, 2 to 1 against
Hurley, 6 to 1 against Macklin, and 8 to 1 against McIlroy. Canvas
handkerchiefs fluttered from an improvised grand stand, and the pups,
which had never seen such strange happenings before, sat round and
howled with excitement. The spectators could not see far in the dim
light, but they heard the shouts of the drivers as the teams approached
and greeted the victory of the favourite with a roar of cheering that
must have sounded strange indeed to any seals or penguins that happened
to be in our neighbourhood. Wild’s time was 2 min. 16 sec., or at the
rate of 10½ miles per hour for the course.
We celebrated Midwinter’s Day on the 22nd. The twilight extended over a
period of about six hours that day, and there was a good light at noon
from the moon, and also a northern glow with wisps of beautiful pink
cloud along the horizon. A sounding gave 262 fathoms with a mud bottom.
No land was in sight from the mast-head, although our range of vision
extended probably a full degree to the westward. The day was observed
as a holiday, necessary work only being undertaken, and, after the best
dinner the cook could provide, all hands gathered in the Ritz, where
speeches, songs, and toasts occupied the evening. After supper at
midnight we sang “God Save the King” and wished each other all success
in the days of sunshine and effort that lay ahead. At this time the
_Endurance_ was making an unusually rapid drift to the north under the
influence of a fresh southerly to south-westerly breeze. We travelled
39 miles to the north in five days before a breeze that only once
attained the force of a gale and then for no more than an hour. The
absence of strong winds, in comparison with the almost unceasing winter
blizzards of the Ross Sea, was a feature of the Weddell Sea that
impressed itself upon me during the winter months.
Another race took place a few days after the “Derby.” The two crack
teams, driven by Hurley and Wild, met in a race from Khyber Pass.
Wild’s team, pulling 910 lbs., or 130 lbs. per dog, covered the 700
yds. in 2 min. 9 sec., or at the rate of 11.1 miles per hour. Hurley’s
team, with the same load, did the run in 2 min. 16 sec. The race was
awarded by the judge to Hurley owing to Wild failing to “weigh in”
correctly. I happened to be a part of the load on his sledge, and a
skid over some new drift within fifty yards of the winning post
resulted in my being left on the snow. It should be said in justice to
the dogs that this accident, while justifying the disqualification,
could not have made any material difference in the time.
The approach of the returning sun was indicated by beautiful sunrise
glows on the horizon in the early days of July. We had nine hours’
twilight on the 10th, and the northern sky, low to the horizon, was
tinted with gold for about seven hours. Numerous cracks and leads
extended in all directions to within 300 yds. of the ship. Thin
wavering black lines close to the northern horizon were probably
distant leads refracted into the sky. Sounds of moderate pressure came
to our ears occasionally, but the ship was not involved. At midnight on
the 11th a crack in the lead ahead of the _Endurance_ opened out
rapidly, and by 2 a.m. was over 200 yds. wide in places with an area of
open water to the south-west. Sounds of pressure were heard along this
lead, which soon closed to a width of about 30 yds. and then froze
over. The temperature at that time was –23° Fahr.
The most severe blizzard we had experienced in the Weddell Sea swept
down upon the _Endurance_ on the evening of the 13th, and by
breakfast-time on the following morning the kennels to the windward, or
southern side of the ship were buried under 5 ft. of drift. I gave
orders that no man should venture beyond the kennels. The ship was
invisible at a distance of fifty yards, and it was impossible to
preserve one’s sense of direction in the raging wind and suffocating
drift. To walk against the gale was out of the question. Face and eyes
became snowed up within two minutes, and serious frost-bites would have
been the penalty of perseverance. The dogs stayed in their kennels for
the most part, the “old stagers” putting out a paw occasionally in
order to keep open a breathing-hole. By evening the gale had attained a
force of 60 or 70 miles an hour, and the ship was trembling under the
attack. But we were snug enough in our quarters aboard until the
morning of the 14th, when all hands turned out to shovel the snow from
deck and kennels. The wind was still keen and searching, with a
temperature of something like –30° Fahr., and it was necessary for us
to be on guard against frost-bite. At least 100 tons of snow were piled
against the bows and port side, where the weight of the drift had
forced the floe downward. The lead ahead had opened out during the
night, cracked the pack from north to south and frozen over again,
adding 300 yds. to the distance between the ship and “Khyber Pass.” The
breakdown gang had completed its work by lunch-time. The gale was then
decreasing and the three-days-old moon showed as a red crescent on the
northern horizon. The temperature during the blizzard had ranged from
–21° to –33.5° Fahr. It is usual for the temperature to rise during a
blizzard, and the failure to produce any Föhn effect of this nature
suggested an absence of high land for at least 200 miles to the south
and south-west. The weather did not clear until the 16th. We saw then
that the appearance of the surrounding pack had been altered completely
by the blizzard. The “island” floe containing the _Endurance_ still
stood fast, but cracks and masses of ice thrown up by pressure could be
seen in all directions. An area of open water was visible on the
horizon to the north, with a water indication in the northern sky.
The ice-pressure, which was indicated by distant rumblings and the
appearance of formidable ridges, was increasingly a cause of anxiety.
The areas of disturbance were gradually approaching the ship. During
July 21 we could bear the grinding and crashing of the working floes to
the south-west and west and could see cracks opening, working, and
closing ahead.
“The ice is rafting up to a height of 10 or 15 ft. in places, the
opposing floes are moving against one another at the rate of about 200
yds. per hour. The noise resembles the roar of heavy, distant surf.
Standing on the stirring ice one can imagine it is disturbed by the
breathing and tossing of a mighty giant below.”
Early on the afternoon of the 22nd a 2-ft. crack, running south-west
and north-east for a distance of about two miles, approached to within
35 yds. of the port quarter. I had all the sledges brought aboard and
set a special watch in case it became necessary to get the dogs off the
floe in a hurry. This crack was the result of heavy pressure 300 yds.
away on the port bow, where huge blocks of ice were piled up in wild
and threatening confusion. The pressure at that point was enormous.
Blocks weighing many tons were raised 15 ft. above the level of the
floe. I arranged to divide the night watches with Worsley and Wild, and
none of us had much rest. The ship was shaken by heavy bumps, and we
were on the alert to see that no dogs had fallen into cracks. The
morning light showed that our island had been reduced considerably
during the night. Our long months of rest and safety seemed to be at an
end, and a period of stress had begun.
During the following day I had a store of sledging provisions, oil,
matches, and other essentials placed on the upper deck handy to the
starboard quarter boat, so as to be in readiness for a sudden
emergency. The ice was grinding and working steadily to the southward,
and in the evening some large cracks appeared on the port quarter,
while a crack alongside opened out to 15 yds. The blizzard seemed to
have set the ice in strong movement towards the north, and the
south-westerly and west-south-westerly winds that prevailed two days
out of three maintained the drift. I hoped that this would continue
unchecked, since our chance of getting clear of the pack early in the
spring appeared to depend upon our making a good northing. Soundings at
this time gave depths of from 186 to 190 fathoms, with a glacial mud
bottom. No land was in sight. The light was improving. A great deal of
ice-pressure was heard and observed in all directions during the 25th,
much of it close to the port quarter of the ship. On the starboard bow
huge blocks of ice, weighing many tons and 5 ft. in thickness, were
pushed up on the old floe to a height of 15 to 20 ft. The floe that
held the _Endurance_ was swung to and fro by the pressure during the
day, but came back to the old bearing before midnight.
“The ice for miles around is much looser. There are numerous cracks and
short leads to the north-east and south-east. Ridges are being forced
up in all directions, and there is a water-sky to the south-east. It
would be a relief to be able to make some effort on our own behalf; but
we can do nothing until the ice releases our ship. If the floes
continue to loosen, we may break out within the next few weeks and
resume the fight. In the meantime the pressure continues, and it is
hard to foresee the outcome. Just before noon to-day (July 26) the top
of the sun appeared by refraction for one minute, seventy-nine days
after our last sunset. A few minutes earlier a small patch of the sun
had been thrown up on one of the black streaks above the horizon. All
hands are cheered by the indication that the end of the winter darkness
is near.... Clark finds that with returning daylight the _diatoms_ are
again appearing. His nets and line are stained a pale yellow, and much
of the newly formed ice has also a faint brown or yellow tinge. The
_diatoms_ cannot multiply without light, and the ice formed since
February can be distinguished in the pressure-ridges by its clear blue
colour. The older masses of ice are of a dark earthy brown, dull
yellow, or reddish brown.”
[Illustration: Ice-Rafting]
[Illustration: The Returning Sun]
The break-up of our floe came suddenly on Sunday, August 1, just one
year after the _Endurance_ left the South-West India Docks on the
voyage to the Far South. The position was lat. 72° 26´ S., long. 48°
10´ W. The morning brought a moderate south-westerly gale with heavy
snow, and at 8 a.m., after some warning movements of the ice, the floe
cracked 40 yds. off the starboard bow. Two hours later the floe began
to break up all round us under pressure and the ship listed over 10
degrees to starboard. I had the dogs and sledges brought aboard at once
and the gangway hoisted. The animals behaved well. They came aboard
eagerly as though realizing their danger, and were placed in their
quarters on deck without a single fight occurring. The pressure was
cracking the floe rapidly, rafting it close to the slip and forcing
masses of ice beneath the keel. Presently the _Endurance_ listed
heavily to port against the gale, and at the same time was forced
ahead, astern, and sideways several times by the grinding floes. She
received one or two hard nips, but resisted them without as much as a
creak. It looked at one stage as if the ship was to be made the
plaything of successive floes, and I was relieved when she came to a
standstill with a large piece of our old “dock” under the starboard
bilge. I had the boats cleared away ready for lowering, got up some
additional stores, and set a double watch. All hands were warned to
stand by, get what sleep they could, and have their warmest clothing at
hand. Around us lay the ruins of “Dog Town” amid the debris of
pressure-ridges. Some of the little dwellings had been crushed flat
beneath blocks of ice; others had been swallowed and pulverized when
the ice opened beneath them and closed again. It was a sad sight, but
my chief concern just then was the safety of the rudder, which was
being attacked viciously by the ice. We managed to pole away a large
lump that had become jammed between the rudder and the stern-post, but
I could see that damage had been done, though a close examination was
not possible that day.
After the ship had come to a standstill in her new position very heavy
pressure was set up. Some of the trenails were started and beams
buckled slightly under the terrific stresses. But the _Endurance_ had
been built to withstand the attacks of the ice, and she lifted bravely
as the floes drove beneath her. The effects of the pressure around us
were awe-inspiring. Mighty blocks of ice, gripped between meeting
floes, rose slowly till they jumped like cherry-stones squeezed between
thumb and finger. The pressure of millions of tons of moving ice was
crushing and smashing inexorably. If the ship was once gripped firmly
her fate would be sealed.
The gale from the south-west blew all night and moderated during the
afternoon of the 2nd to a stiff breeze. The pressure had almost ceased.
Apparently the gale had driven the southern pack down upon us, causing
congestion in our area; the pressure had stopped when the whole of the
pack got into motion. The gale had given us some northing, but it had
dealt the _Endurance_ what might prove to be a severe blow. The rudder
had been driven hard over to starboard and the blade partially torn
away from the rudder-head. Heavy masses of ice were still jammed
against the stern, and it was impossible to ascertain the extent of the
damage at that time. I felt that it would be impossible in any case to
effect repairs in the moving pack. The ship lay steady all night, and
the sole sign of continuing pressure was an occasional slight rumbling
shock. We rigged shelters and kennels for the dogs inboard.
The weather on August 3 was overcast and misty. We had nine hours of
twilight, with good light at noon. There was no land in sight for ten
miles from the mast-head. The pack as far as the eye could reach was in
a condition of chaos, much rafted and consolidated, with very large
pressure-ridges in all directions. At 9 p.m. a rough altitude of
_Canopus_ gave the latitude as 71° 55´ 17´´ S. The drift, therefore,
had been about 37 miles to the north in three days. Four of the poorest
dogs were shot this day. They were suffering severely from worms, and
we could not afford to keep sick dogs under the changed conditions. The
sun showed through the clouds on the northern horizon for an hour on
the 4th. There was no open water to be seen from aloft in any
direction. We saw from the masthead to west-south-west an appearance of
barrier, land, or a very long iceberg, about 20 odd miles away, but the
horizon clouded over before we could determine its nature. We tried
twice to make a sounding that day, but failed on each occasion. The
Kelvin machine gave no bottom at the full length of the line, 370
fathoms. After much labour we made a hole in the ice near the
stern-post large enough for the Lucas machine with a 32-lb. lead; but
this appeared to be too light. The machine stopped at 452 fathoms,
leaving us in doubt as to whether bottom had been reached. Then in
heaving up we lost the lead, the thin wire cutting its way into the ice
and snapping. All hands and the carpenter were busy this day making and
placing kennels on the upper deck, and by nightfall all the dogs were
comfortably housed, ready for any weather. The sun showed through the
clouds above the northern horizon for nearly an hour.
The remaining days of August were comparatively uneventful. The ice
around the ship froze firm again and little movement occurred in our
neighbourhood. The training of the dogs, including the puppies,
proceeded actively, and provided exercise as well as occupation. The
drift to the north-west continued steadily. We had bad luck with
soundings, the weather interfering at times and the gear breaking on
several occasions, but a big increase in the depth showed that we had
passed over the edge of the Weddell Sea plateau. A sounding of about
1700 fathoms on August 10 agreed fairly well with Filchner’s 1924
fathoms, 130 miles east of our then position. An observation at noon of
the 8th had given us lat. 71° 23´ S., long. 49° 13´ W. Minus
temperatures prevailed still, but the daylight was increasing. We
captured a few emperor penguins which were making their way to the
south-west. Ten penguins taken on the 19th were all in poor condition,
and their stomachs contained nothing but stones and a few cuttle-fish
beaks. A sounding on the 17th gave 1676 fathoms, 10 miles west of the
charted position of Morell Land. No land could be seen from the
mast-head, and I decided that Morell Land must be added to the long
list of Antarctic islands and continental coasts that on close
investigation have resolved themselves into icebergs. On clear days we
could get an extended view in all directions from the mast-head, and
the line of the pack was broken only by familiar bergs. About one
hundred bergs were in view on a fine day, and they seemed practically
the same as when they started their drift with us nearly seven months
earlier. The scientists wished to inspect some of the neighbouring
bergs at close quarters, but sledge travelling outside the well-trodden
area immediately around the ship proved difficult and occasionally
dangerous. On August 20, for example, Worsley, Hurley, and Greenstreet
started off for the Rampart Berg and got on to a lead of young ice that
undulated perilously beneath their feet. A quick turn saved them.
A wonderful mirage of the Fata Morgana type was visible on August 20.
The day was clear and bright, with a blue sky overhead and some rime
aloft.
“The distant pack is thrown up into towering barrier-like cliffs, which
are reflected in blue lakes and lanes of water at their base. Great
white and golden cities of Oriental appearance at close intervals along
these clifftops indicate distant bergs, some not previously known to
us. Floating above these are wavering violet and creamy lines of still
more remote bergs and pack. The lines rise and fall, tremble,
dissipate, and reappear in an endless transformation scene. The
southern pack and bergs, catching the sun’s rays, are golden, but to
the north the ice-masses are purple. Here the bergs assume changing
forms, first a castle, then a balloon just clear of the horizon, that
changes swiftly into an immense mushroom, a mosque, or a cathedral. The
principal characteristic is the vertical lengthening of the object, a
small pressure-ridge being given the appearance of a line of
battlements or towering cliffs. The mirage is produced by refraction
and is intensified by the columns of comparatively warm air rising from
several cracks and leads that have opened eight to twenty miles away
north and south.”
We noticed this day that a considerable change had taken place in our
position relative to the Rampart Berg. It appeared that a big lead had
opened and that there had been some differential movement of the pack.
The opening movement might presage renewed pressure. A few hours later
the dog teams, returning from exercise, crossed a narrow crack that had
appeared ahead of the ship. This crack opened quickly to 60 ft. and
would have given us trouble if the dogs had been left on the wrong
side. It closed on the 25th and pressure followed in its neighbourhood.
[Illustration: Wild and Shackleton in the Heavy Pressure]
[Illustration: Exercising the Dogs]
On August 24 we were two miles north of the latitude of Morell’s
farthest south, and over 10° of longitude, or more than 200 miles, west
of his position. From the mast-head no land could be seen within twenty
miles, and no land of over 500 ft. altitude could have escaped
observation on our side of long. 52° W. A sounding of 1900 fathoms on
August 25 was further evidence of the non-existence of New South
Greenland. There was some movement of the ice near the ship during the
concluding days of the month. All hands were called out in the night of
August 26, sounds of pressure having been followed by the cracking of
the ice alongside the ship, but the trouble did not develop
immediately. Late on the night of the 31st the ice began to work ahead
of the ship and along the port side. Creaking and groaning of timbers,
accompanied by loud snapping sounds fore and aft, told their story of
strain. The pressure continued during the following day, beams and deck
planks occasionally buckling to the strain. The ponderous floes were
grinding against each other under the influence of wind and current,
and our ship seemed to occupy for the time being an undesirable
position near the centre of the disturbance; but she resisted staunchly
and showed no sign of water in the bilges, although she had not been
pumped out for six months. The pack extended to the horizon in every
direction. I calculated that we were 250 miles from the nearest known
land to the westward, and more than 500 miles from the nearest outpost
of civilization, Wilhelmina Bay. I hoped we would not have to undertake
a march across the moving ice-fields. The _Endurance_ we knew to be
stout and true; but no ship ever built by man could live if taken
fairly in the grip of the floes and prevented from rising to the
surface of the grinding ice. These were anxious days. In the early
morning of September 2 the ship jumped and shook to the accompaniment
of cracks and groans, and some of the men who had been in the berths
hurried on deck. The pressure eased a little later in the day, when the
ice on the port side broke away from the ship to just abaft the main
rigging. The _Endurance_ was still held aft and at the rudder, and a
large mass of ice could be seen adhering to the port bow, rising to
within three feet of the surface. I wondered if this ice had got its
grip by piercing the sheathing.