THE MARCH BETWEEN
With the exception of the night-watchman we turned in at 11 p.m., and
at 3 a.m. on December 23 all hands were roused for the purpose of
sledging the two boats, the _James Caird_ and the _Dudley Docker_, over
the dangerously cracked portion to the first of the young floes, whilst
the surface still held its night crust. A thick sea-fog came up from
the west, so we started off finally at 4.30 a.m., after a drink of hot
coffee.
Practically all hands had to be harnessed to each boat in succession,
and by dint of much careful manipulation and tortuous courses amongst
the broken ice we got both safely over the danger-zone.
We then returned to Ocean Camp for the tents and the rest of the
sledges, and pitched camp by the boats about one and a quarter miles
off. On the way back a big seal was caught which provided fresh food
for ourselves and for the dogs. On arrival at the camp a supper of cold
tinned mutton and tea was served, and everybody turned in at 2 p.m. It
was my intention to sleep by day and march by night, so as to take
advantage of the slightly lower temperatures and consequent harder
surfaces.
At 8 p.m. the men were roused, and after a meal of cold mutton and tea,
the march was resumed. A large open lead brought us to a halt at 11
p.m., whereupon we camped and turned in without a meal. Fortunately
just at this time the weather was fine and warm. Several men slept out
in the open at the beginning of the march. One night, however, a slight
snow-shower came on, succeeded immediately by a lowering of the
temperature. Worsley, who had hung up his trousers and socks on a boat,
found them iced-up and stiff; and it was quite a painful process for
him to dress quickly that morning. I was anxious, now that we had
started, that we should make every effort to extricate ourselves, and
this temporary check so early was rather annoying. So that afternoon
Wild and I ski-ed out to the crack and found that it had closed up
again. We marked out the track with small flags as we returned. Each
day, after all hands had turned in, Wild and I would go ahead for two
miles or so to reconnoitre the next day’s route, marking it with pieces
of wood, tins, and small flags. We had to pick the road which though it
might be somewhat devious, was flattest and had least hummocks.
Pressure-ridges had to be skirted, and where this was not possible the
best place to make a bridge of ice-blocks across the lead or over the
ridge had to be found and marked. It was the duty of the dog-drivers to
thus prepare the track for those who were toiling behind with the heavy
boats. These boats were hauled in relays, about sixty yards at a time.
I did not wish them to be separated by too great a distance in case the
ice should crack between them, and we should be unable to reach the one
that was in rear. Every twenty yards or so they had to stop for a rest
and to take breath, and it was a welcome sight to them to see the
canvas screen go up on some oars, which denoted the fact that the cook
had started preparing a meal, and that a temporary halt, at any rate,
was going to be made. Thus the ground had to be traversed three times
by the boat-hauling party. The dog-sledges all made two, and some of
them three, relays. The dogs were wonderful. Without them we could
never have transported half the food and gear that we did.
We turned in at 7 p.m. that night, and at 1 a.m. next day, the 25th,
and the third day of our march, a breakfast of sledging ration was
served. By 2 a.m. we were on the march again. We wished one another a
merry Christmas, and our thoughts went back to those at home. We
wondered, too, that day, as we sat down to our “lunch” of stale, thin
bannock and a mug of thin cocoa, what they were having at home.
All hands were very cheerful. The prospect of a relief from the
monotony of life on the floe raised all our spirits. One man wrote in
his diary: “It’s a hard, rough, jolly life, this marching and camping;
no washing of self or dishes, no undressing, no changing of clothes. We
have our food anyhow, and always impregnated with blubber-smoke;
sleeping almost on the bare snow and working as hard as the human
physique is capable of doing on a minimum of food.”
We marched on, with one halt at 6 a.m., till half-past eleven. After a
supper of seal steaks and tea we turned in. The surface now was pretty
bad. High temperatures during the day made the upper layers of snow
very soft, and the thin crust which formed at night was not sufficient
to support a man. Consequently, at each step we went in over our knees
in the soft wet snow. Sometimes a man would step into a hole in the ice
which was hidden by the covering of snow, and be pulled up with a jerk
by his harness. The sun was very hot and many were suffering from
cracked lips.
Two seals were killed to-day. Wild and McIlroy, who went out to secure
them, had rather an exciting time on some very loose, rotten ice, three
killer-whales in a lead a few yards away poking up their ugly heads as
if in anticipation of a feast.
Next day, December 26, we started off again at 1 a.m. “The surface was
much better than it has been for the last few days, and this is the
principal thing that matters. The route, however, lay over very
hummocky floes, and required much work with pick and shovel to make it
passable for the boat-sledges. These are handled in relays by eighteen
men under Worsley. It is killing work on soft surfaces.”
At 5 a.m. we were brought up by a wide open lead after an
unsatisfactorily short march. While we waited, a meal of tea and two
small bannocks was served, but as 10 a.m. came and there were no signs
of the lead closing we all turned in.
It snowed a little during the day and those who were sleeping outside
got their sleeping-bags pretty wet.
At 9.30 p.m. that night we were off again. I was, as usual, pioneering
in front, followed by the cook and his mate pulling a small sledge with
the stove and all the cooking gear on. These two, black as two Mohawk
Minstrels with the blubber-soot, were dubbed “Potash and Perlmutter.”
Next come the dog teams, who soon overtake the cook, and the two boats
bring up the rear. Were it not for these cumbrous boats we should get
along at a great rate, but we dare not abandon them on any account. As
it is we left one boat, the _Stancomb Wills_, behind at Ocean Camp, and
the remaining two will barely accommodate the whole party when we leave
the floe.
[Illustration: Potash and Perlmutter]
[Illustration: “Loneliness”: Patience Camp]
We did a good march of one and a half miles that night before we halted
for “lunch” at 1 a.m., and then on for another mile, when at 5 a.m. we
camped by a little sloping berg.
Blackie, one of Wild’s dogs, fell lame and could neither pull nor keep
up with the party even when relieved of his harness, so had to be shot.
Nine p.m. that night, the 27th, saw us on the march again. The first
200 yds. took us about five hours to cross, owing to the amount of
breaking down of pressure-ridges and filling in of leads that was
required. The surface, too, was now very soft, so our progress was slow
and tiring. We managed to get another three-quarters of a mile before
lunch, and a further mile due west over a very hummocky floe before we
camped at 5.30 a.m. Greenstreet and Macklin killed and brought in a
huge Weddell seal weighing about 800 lbs., and two emperor penguins
made a welcome addition to our larder.
I climbed a small tilted berg nearby. The country immediately ahead was
much broken up. Great open leads intersected the floes at all angles,
and it all looked very unpromising. Wild and I went out prospecting as
usual, but it seemed too broken to travel over.
“_December_ 29.—After a further reconnaissance the ice ahead proved
quite un-negotiable, so at 8.30 p.m. last night, to the intense
disappointment of all, instead of forging ahead, we had to retire half
a mile so as to get on a stronger floe, and by 10 p.m. we had camped
and all hands turned in again. The extra sleep was much needed, however
disheartening the check may be.”
During the night a crack formed right across the floe, so we hurriedly
shifted to a strong old floe about a mile and a half to the east of our
present position. The ice all around was now too broken and soft to
sledge over, and yet there was not sufficient open water to allow us to
launch the boats with any degree of safety. We had been on the march
for seven days; rations were short and the men were weak. They were
worn out with the hard pulling over soft surfaces, and our stock of
sledging food was very small. We had marched seven and a half miles in
a direct line and at this rate it would take us over three hundred days
to reach the land away to the west. As we only had food for forty-two
days there was no alternative, therefore, but to camp once more on the
floe and to possess our souls with what patience we could till
conditions should appear more favourable for a renewal of the attempt
to escape. To this end, we stacked our surplus provisions, the reserve
sledging rations being kept lashed on the sledges, and brought what
gear we could from our but lately deserted Ocean Camp.
Our new home, which we were to occupy for nearly three and a half
months, we called “Patience Camp.”