THE _AURORA’S_ DRIFT
After Mackintosh left the _Aurora_ on January 25, 1915, Stenhouse kept
the ship with difficulty off Tent Island. The ice-anchors would not
hold, owing to the continual breaking away of the pack, and he found it
necessary much of the time to steam slow ahead against the floes. The
third sledging party, under Cope, left the ship on the afternoon of the
31st, with the motor-tractor towing two sledges, and disappeared
towards Hut Point. Cope’s party returned to the ship on February 2 and
left again on February 5, after a delay caused by the loose condition
of the ice. Two days later, after more trouble with drifting floes,
Stenhouse proceeded to Cape Evans, where he took a line of soundings
for the winter quarters. During the next month the _Aurora_ occupied
various positions in the neighbourhood of Cape Evans. No secure
moorings were available. The ship had to keep clear of threatening
floes, dodge “growlers” and drifting bergs, and find shelter from the
blizzards. A sudden shift of wind on February 24, when the ship was
sheltering in the lee of Glacier Tongue, caused her to be jammed hard
against the low ice off the glacier, but no damage was done. Early in
March Stenhouse sent moorings ashore at Cape Evans, and on March 11 he
proceeded to Hut Point, where he dropped anchor in Discovery Bay. Here
he landed stores, amounting to about two months’ full rations for
twelve men, and embarked Spencer-Smith, Stevens, Hook, Richards,
Ninnis, and Gaze, with two dogs. He returned to Cape Evans that
evening.
“We had a bad time when we were ‘sculling’ about the Sound, first
endeavouring to make Hut Point to land provisions, and then looking for
winter quarters in the neighbourhood of Glacier Tongue,” wrote
Stenhouse afterwards. “The ice kept breaking away in small floes, and
we were apparently no nearer to anywhere than when the sledges left; we
were frustrated in every move. The ship broke away from the fast ice in
blizzards, and then we went dodging about the Sound from the Ross
Island side to the western pack, avoiding and clearing floes and
growlers in heavy drift when we could see nothing, our compasses
unreliable and the ship short-handed. In that homeless time I kept
watch and watch with the second officer, and was hard pressed to know
what to do. Was ever ship in such predicament? To the northward of Cape
Royds was taboo, as also was the coast south of Glacier Tongue. In a
small stretch of ice-bound coast we had to find winter quarters. The
ice lingered on, and all this time we could find nowhere to drop
anchor, but had to keep steam handy for emergencies. Once I tried the
North Bay of Cape Evans, as it apparently was the only ice-free spot. I
called all hands, and making up a boat’s crew with one of the firemen
sent the whaler away with the second officer in charge to sound. No
sooner had the boat left ship than the wind freshened from the
northward, and large bergs and growlers, setting into the bay, made the
place untenable. The anchorage I eventually selected seemed the best
available—and here we are drifting, with all plans upset, when we ought
to be lying in winter quarters.”
A heavy gale came up on March 12, and the _Aurora_, then moored off
Cape Evans, dragged her anchor and drifted out of the bay. She went
northward past Cape Barne and Cape Royds in a driving mist, with a
heavy storm-sea running. This gale was a particularly heavy one. The
ship and gear were covered with ice, owing to the freezing of spray,
and Stenhouse had anxious hours amid the heavy, ice-encumbered waters
before the gale moderated. The young ice, which was continually forming
in the very low temperature, helped to reduce the sea as soon as the
gale moderated, and the _Aurora_ got back to Cape Evans on the evening
of the 13th. Ice was forming in the bay, and on the morning of the 14th
Stenhouse took the ship into position for winter moorings. He got three
steel hawsers out and made fast to the shore anchors. These hawsers
were hove tight, and the _Aurora_ rested then, with her stern to the
shore, in seven fathoms. Two more wires were taken ashore the next day.
Young ice was forming around the ship, and under the influence of wind
and tide this ice began early to put severe strains upon the moorings.
Stenhouse had the fires drawn and the boiler blown down on the 20th,
and the engineer reported at that time that the bunkers contained still
118 tons of coal.
The ice broke away between Cape Evans and Cape Barne on the 23rd, and
pressure around the ship shattered the bay ice and placed heavy strains
on the stern moorings. The young ice, about four inches thick, went out
eventually and left a lead along the shore. The ship had set in towards
the shore, owing to the pressure, and the stern was now in
four-and-a-half fathoms. Stenhouse tightened the moorings and ran out
an extra wire to the shore anchor. The nature of the ice movements is
illustrated by a few extracts from the log:
“_March_ 27, 5 p.m.—Ice broke away from shore and started to go out. 8
p.m.—Light southerly airs; fine; ice setting out to north-west; heavy
pressure of ice on starboard side and great strain on moorings. 10
p.m.—Ice clear of ship.
“_March_ 28.—New ice forming over bay. 3 a.m.—Ice which went out last
watch set in towards bay. 5 a.m.—Ice coming in and overriding newly
formed bay-ice; heavy pressure on port side of ship; wires frozen into
ice. 8 a.m.—Calm and fine; new ice setting out of bay. 5 p.m.—New ice
formed since morning cleared from bay except area on port side of ship
and stretching abeam and ahead for about 200 yds., which is held by
bights of wire; new ice forming.
“_March_ 29, 1.30 p.m.—New ice going out. 2 p.m.—Hands on floe on port
quarter clearing wires; stern in three fathoms; hauled wires tight,
bringing stern more to eastward and in four fathoms; hove in about one
fathom of starboard cable, which had dragged during recent pressure.
“_April_ 10, 1.30 p.m.—Ice breaking from shore under influence of
south-east wind. Two starboard quarter wires parted; all bights of
stern wires frozen in ice; chain taking weight. 2 p.m.—Ice opened,
leaving ice in bay in line from Cape to landward of glacier. 8
p.m.—Fresh wind; ship holding ice in bay; ice in Sound wind-driven to
north-west.
“_April_ 17, 1 am.—Pressure increased and wind shifted to north-west.
Ice continued to override and press into shore until 5 o’clock; during
this time pressure into bay was very heavy; movement of ice in straits
causing noise like heavy surf. Ship took ground gently at rudder-post
during pressure; bottom under stern shallows very quickly. 10
p.m.—Ice-moving out of bay to westward; heavy strain on after moorings
and cables, which are cutting the floe.”
Stenhouse continued to nurse his moorings against the onslaughts of the
ice during the rest of April and the early days of May. The break-away
from the shore came suddenly and unexpectedly on the evening of May 6:
“_May_ 6, 1915.—Fine morning with light breezes from
east-south-east.... 3.30 p.m.—Ice nearly finished. Sent hands ashore
for sledge-load. 4 p.m.—Wind freshening with blizzardy appearance of
sky. 8 p.m.—. . . Heavy strain on after-moorings. 9.45 p.m.—The ice
parted from the shore; all moorings parted. Most fascinating to listen
to waves and chain breaking. In the thick haze I saw the ice astern
breaking up and the shore receding. I called all hands and clapped
relieving tackles (4-in. Manila luff tackles) on to the cables on the
forepart of the windlass. The bos’n had rushed along with his hurricane
lamp, and shouted, ‘She’s away wi’ it!’ He is a good fellow and very
conscientious. I ordered steam on main engines, and the engine-room
staff, with Hooke and Ninnis, turned to. Grady, fireman, was laid up
with a broken rib. As the ship, in the solid floe, set to the
north-west, the cables rattled and tore at the hawse-pipes; luckily the
anchors, lying as they were on a strip-sloping bottom, came away
easily, without damage to windlass or hawse-pipes. Slowly as we
disappeared into Sound, the light in the hut died away. At 11.30 p.m.
the ice around us started to break up, the floes playing tattoo on the
ship’s sides. We were out in the Sound and catching the full force of
the wind. The moon broke through the clouds after midnight and showed
us the pack, stretching continuously to northward, and about one mile
to the south. As the pack from the southward came up and closed in on
the ship, the swell lessened and the banging of floes alongside eased a
little.
“_May_ 7, 8 a.m.—Wind east-south-east. Moderate gale with thick drift.
The ice around ship is packing up and forming ridges about two feet
high. The ship is lying with head to the eastward, Cape Bird showing to
north-east. When steam is raised I have hopes of getting back to the
fast ice near the Glacier Tongue. Since we have been in winter quarters
the ice has formed and, held by the islands and land at Cape Evans, has
remained north of the Tongue. If we can return we should be able now to
moor to the fast ice. The engineers are having great difficulty with
the sea connexions, which are frozen. The main bow-down cock, from
which the boiler is ‘run up,’ has been tapped and a screw plug put into
it to allow of a hot iron rod being inserted to thaw out the ice
between the cock and the ship’s side—about two feet of hard ice. 4.30
p.m.—The hot iron has been successful. Donolly (second engineer) had
the pleasure of stopping the first spurt of water through the pipe; he
got it in the eye. Fires were lit in furnaces, and water commenced to
blow in the boiler—the first blow in our defence against the terrific
forces of Nature in the Antarctic. 8 p.m.—The gale has freshened,
accompanied by thick drift.”
The _Aurora_ drifted helplessly throughout May 7. On the morning of May
8 the weather cleared a little and the Western Mountains became
indistinctly visible. Cape Bird could also be seen. The ship was moving
northwards with the ice. The daylight was no more than a short twilight
of about two hours’ duration. The boiler was being filled with ice,
which had to be lifted aboard, broken up, passed through a small
porthole to a man inside, and then carried to the manhole on top of the
boiler. Stenhouse had the wireless aerial rigged during the afternoon,
and at 5 p.m. was informed that the watering of the boiler was
complete. The wind freshened to a moderate southerly gale, with thick
drift, in the night, and this gale continued during the following day,
the 9th. The engineer reported at noon that he had 40-lb. pressure in
the boiler and was commencing the thawing of the auxiliary
sea-connexion pump by means of a steam-pipe.
“Cape Bird is the only land visible, bearing north-east true about
eight miles distant,” wrote, Stenhouse on the afternoon of the 9th. “So
this is the end of our attempt to winter in McMurdo Sound. Hard luck
after four months’ buffeting, for the last seven weeks of which we
nursed our moorings. Our present situation calls for increasing
vigilance. It is five weeks to the middle of winter. There is no sun,
the light is little and uncertain, and we may expect many blizzards. We
have no immediate water-supply, as only a small quantity of fresh ice
was aboard when we broke drift.
“The _Aurora_ is fast in the pack and drifting God knows where. Well,
there are prospects of a most interesting winter drift. We are all in
good health, except Grady, whose rib is mending rapidly; we have good
spirits and we will get through. But what of the poor beggars at Cape
Evans, and the Southern Party? It is a dismal prospect for them. There
are sufficient provisions at Cape Evans, Hut Point, and, I suppose,
Cape Royds, but we have the remaining Burberrys, clothing, etc., for
next year’s sledging still on board. I see little prospect of getting
back to Cape Evans or anywhere in the Sound. We are short of coal and
held firmly in the ice. I hope she drifts quickly to the north-east.
Then we can endeavour to push through the pack and make for New
Zealand, coal and return to the Barrier eastward of Cape Crozier. This
could be done, I think, in the early spring, September. We must get
back to aid the depot-laying next season.”
A violent blizzard raged on May 10 and 11. “I never remember such
wind-force,” said Stenhouse. “It was difficult to get along the deck.”
The weather moderated on the 12th, and a survey of the ship’s position
was possible. “We are lying in a field of ice with our anchors and
seventy-five fathoms of cable on each hanging at the bows. The
after-moorings were frozen into the ice astern of us at Cape Evans.
Previous to the date of our leaving our winter berth four small wires
had parted. When we broke away the chain two of the heavy (4-in.) wires
parted close to shore; the other wire went at the butts. The chain and
two wires are still fast in the ice and will have to be dug out. This
morning we cleared the ice around the cables, but had to abandon the
heaving-in, as the steam-froze in the return pipes from the windlass
exhaust, and the joints had to be broken and the pipe thawed out. Hooke
was ‘listening in’ from 8.30 p.m. to 12.30 a.m. for the Macquarie
Island wireless station (1340 miles away) or the Bluff (New Zealand)
station (1860 miles away), but had no luck.”
The anchors were hove in by dint of much effort on the 13th and 14th,
ice forming on the cable as it was hoisted through a hole cut in the
floe. Both anchors had broken, so the _Aurora_ had now one small
kedge-anchor left aboard. The ship’s position on May 14 was
approximately forty-five miles north, thirty-four west of Cape Evans.
“In one week we have drifted forty-five miles (geographical). Most of
this distance was covered during the first two days of the drift. We
appear to be nearly stationary. What movement there is in the ice seems
to be to the north-west towards the ice-bound coast. Hands who were
after penguins yesterday reported much noise in the ice about one mile
from the ship. I hope the floe around the ship is large enough to take
its own pressure. We cannot expect much pressure from the south, as
McMurdo Sound should soon be frozen over and the ice holding.
North-east winds would drive the pack in from the Ross Sea. I hope for
the best. Plans for future development are ready, but probably will be
checkmated again.... I took the anchors aboard. They are of no further
use as separate anchors, but they ornament the forecastle head, so we
put them in their places.... The supply of fresh water is a problem.
The engineer turned steam from the boiler into the main water-tank
(starboard) through a pipe leading from the main winch-pipe to the tank
top. The steam condenses before reaching the tank. I hope freezing does
not burst the tank. A large tabular iceberg, calved from the Barrier,
is silhouetted against the twilight glow in the sky about ten miles
away. The sight of millions of tons of fresh ice is most tantalizing.
It would be a week’s journey to the berg and back over pack and
pressure, and probably we could bring enough ice to last two days.”
The record of the early months of the _Aurora’s_ long drift in the Ross
Sea is not eventful. The galley condenser was rigged, but the supply of
fresh water remained a problem. The men collected fresh-fallen snow
when possible and hoped to get within reach of fresh ice. Hooke and
Ninnis worked hard at the wireless plant with the object of getting
into touch with Macquarie Island, and possibly sending news of the
ship’s movements to Cape Evans. They got the wireless motor running and
made many adjustments of the instruments and aerials, but their efforts
were not successful. Emperor penguins approached the ship occasionally,
and the birds were captured whenever possible for the fresh meat they
afforded. The _Aurora_ was quite helpless in the grip of the ice, and
after the engine-room bilges had been thawed and pumped out the boilers
were blown down. The pressure had been raised to sixty pounds, but
there was no chance of moving the ship, and the supply of coal was
limited. The story of the _Aurora’s_ drift during long months can be
told briefly by means of extracts from Stenhouse’s log:
“_May_ 21.—Early this morning there appeared to be movements in the
ice. The grating and grinding noise makes one feel the unimportance of
man in circumstances like ours. Twilight towards noon showed several
narrow, open leads about two cables from ship and in all directions.
Unable to get bearing, but imagine that there is little or no
alteration in ship’s position, as ship’s head is same, and Western
Mountains appear the same.... Hope all is well at Cape Evans and that
the other parties have returned safely. Wish we could relieve their
anxiety.
“_May_ 22.—Obtained good bearings of Beaufort Island, Cape Ross, and
Dunlop Island, which put the ship in a position eighteen miles south
75° east (true) from Cape Ross. Since the 14th, when reliable bearings
were last obtained, we have drifted north-west by north seven miles.
“_May_ 24.—Blizzard from south-south-east continued until 9 p.m., when
it moderated, and at 11.45 p.m. wind shifted to north-west, light, with
snow. Quite a lot of havoc has been caused during this blow, and the
ship has made much northing. In the morning the crack south of the ship
opened to about three feet. At 2 p.m. felt heavy shock and the ship
heeled to port about 70°. Found ice had cracked from port gangway to
north-west, and parted from ship from gangway along to stern. Crack
extended from stern to south-east. 7.35 p.m.—Ice cracked from port fore
chains, in line parallel to previous crack. The ice broke again between
the cracks and drifted to north-west for about ten yards. The ice to
southward then commenced to break up, causing heavy strain on ship, and
setting apparently north in large broken fields. Ship badly jammed in.
9.15 p.m.—Ice closed in again around ship. Two heavy windsqualls with a
short interval between followed by cessation of wind. We are in a
labyrinth of large rectangular floes (some with their points pressing
heavily against ship) and high pressure-ridges.
“_May_ 25.—In middle watch felt pressure occasionally. Twilight showed
a scene of chaos all around; one floe about three feet in thickness had
upended, driven under ship on port quarter. As far as can be seen there
are heavy blocks of ice screwed up on end, and the scene is like a
graveyard. I think swell must have come up under ice from seaward
(north-east), McMurdo Sound, and broken the ice, which afterwards
started to move under the influence of the blizzard. Hardly think swell
came from the Sound, as the cracks were wending from north-west to
south-east, and also as the Sound should be getting icebound by now. If
swell came from north-east then there is open water not far away. I
should like to know. I believe the Ross Sea is rarely entirely
ice-covered. Have bright moonlight now, which accentuates
everything—the beauty and loneliness of our surroundings, and
uselessness of ourselves, while in this prison: so near to Cape Evans
and yet we might as well be anywhere as here. Have made our
sledging-ration scales, and crew are busy making harness and getting
sledging equipment ready for emergencies. Temperature –30° Fahr.
“_May_ 26.—If the ship is nipped in the ice, the ship’s company
(eighteen hands) will take to four sledges with one month’s rations and
make for nearest land. Six men and one sledge will endeavour to make
Cape Evans via the western land, Butler Point, Hut Point, etc. The
remaining twelve will come along with all possible speed, but no forced
marches, killing and depot-ing penguins and seals for emergency
retreats. If the ship remains here and makes no further drift to the
north, towards latter end of July light will be making. The sun returns
August 23. The sea-ice should be fairly safe, and a party of three,
with one month’s rations, will proceed to Cape Evans. If the ice sets
north and takes the ship clear of land, we will proceed to New Zealand,
bunker, get extra officer and four volunteers, provisions, etc., push
south with all speed to the Barrier, put party on to the Barrier, about
two miles east of Cape Crozier, and land all necessary stores and
requirements. The ship will stand off until able to reach Cape Evans.
If necessary, party will depot all stores possible at Corner Camp and
go on to Cape Evans. If worst has happened my party will lay out the
depot at the Beardmore for Shackleton. If the ship is released from the
ice after September we must endeavour to reach Cape Evans before going
north to bunker. We have not enough coal to hang about the Sound for
many days.
“_May_ 28.—By the position obtained by meridian altitude of stars and
bearing of Mount Melbourne, we have drifted thirty-six miles north-east
from last bearings taken on 23rd inst. The most of this must have been
during the blizzard of the 24th. Mount Melbourne is one hundred and
eleven miles due north of us, and there is some doubt in my mind as to
whether the peak which we can see is this mountain. There may be a
mirage.... In the evening had the football out on the ice by the light
of a beautiful moon. The exercise and break from routine are a splendid
tonic. Ice-noises sent all hands on board.
“_June_ 1.—Thick, hazy weather. In the afternoon a black streak
appeared in the ice about a cable’s length to the westward and
stretching north and south. 8 p.m.—The black line widened and showed
long lane of open water. Apparently we are fast in a floe which has
broken from the main field. With thick weather we are uncertain of our
position and drift. It will be interesting to find out what this crack
in the ice signifies. I am convinced that there is open water, not far
distant, in the Ross Sea.... To-night Hooke is trying to call up Cape
Evans. If the people at the hut have rigged the set which was left
there, they will hear ‘All well’ from the _Aurora_. I hope they have.
[The messages were not received.]
“_June_ 8.—Made our latitude 75° 59´ S. by altitude of Sirius. This is
a very monotonous life, but all hands appear to be happy and contented.
Find that we are not too well off for meals and will have to cut
rations a little. Grady is taking exercise now and should soon be well
again. He seems very anxious to get to work again, and is a good man.
No wireless calls to-night, as there is a temporary breakdown—condenser
jar broken. There is a very faint display of aurora in northern sky. It
comes and goes almost imperceptibly, a most fascinating sight. The
temperature is –20° Fahr.; 52° of frost is much too cold to allow one
to stand for long.
“_June_ 11.—Walked over to a very high pressure-ridge about a quarter
of a mile north-north-west of the ship. In the dim light walking over
the ice is far from being monotonous, as it is almost impossible to see
obstacles, such as small, snowed-up ridges, which makes us wary and
cautious. A dip in the sea would be the grand finale, but there is
little risk of this as the water freezes as soon as a lane opens in the
ice. The pressure-ridge is about fifteen to twenty feet high for
several hundred feet, and the ice all about it is bent up in a most
extraordinary manner. At 9 p.m. Hooke called Cape Evans, ‘All
well—_Aurora_,’ etc.; 10 p.m., weather reports for 8 p.m. sent to
Wellington, New Zealand, and Melbourne, via Macquarie Island. [The
dispatch of messages from the _Aurora_ was continued, but it was
learned afterwards that none of them had been received by any station.]
“_June_ 13.—The temperature in the chart-room ranges from zero to a
little above freezing-point. This is a very disturbing factor in rates
of the chronometers (five in number, 3 G.M.T. and 2 Sid.T.), which are
kept in cases in a padded box, each case covered by a piece of blanket,
and the box covered by a heavy coat. In any enclosed place where people
pass their time, the niches and places where no heat penetrates are
covered with frozen breath. There will be a big thaw-out when the
temperature rises.
“_June_ 14.—Mount Melbourne is bearing north 14° W (true). Our
approximate position is forty miles east-north-east of Nordenskjold Ice
Tongue. At 9 p.m. Hooke called Cape Evans and sent weather reports to
Wellington and Melbourne via Macquarie Island. Hooke and Ninnis on
several evenings at about 11 o’clock have heard what happened to be
faint messages, but unreadable. He sent word to Macquarie Island of
this in hopes that they would hear and increase the power.
“_June_ 20.—During this last blow with its accompanying drift-snow
there has been much leakage of current from the aerial during the
sending of reports. This is apparently due to induction caused by the
snow accumulating on the insulators aloft, and thus rendering them
useless, and probably to increased inductive force of the current in a
body of snowdrift. Hooke appears to be somewhat downhearted over it,
and, after discussing the matter, gave me a written report on the
non-success (up to the present time) of his endeavours to establish
communication. He thinks that the proximity of the Magnetic Pole and
Aurora Australis might affect things. The radiation is good and
sufficient for normal conditions. His suggestion to lead the down lead
wires out to the ahead and astern would increase scope, but I cannot
countenance it owing to unsettled state of ice and our too lofty poles.
“_June_ 21.—Blowing gale from south-west throughout day, but for short
spell of westerly breeze about 5 p.m. Light drift at frequent
intervals, very hazy, and consequently no land in sight during short
twilight. Very hard up for mitts and clothing. What little we have on
board I have put to one side for the people at the hut. Have given
Thompson instructions to turn crew to making pair mitts and helmet out
of Jaeger fleece for all hands forward. With strict economy we should
make things spin out; cannot help worrying over our people at the hut.
Although worrying does no good, one cannot do otherwise in this present
impotent state. 11 p.m.—Wind howling and whistling through rigging.
Outside, in glare of moon, flying drift and expanse of ice-field.
Desolation!
“_June_ 22.—To-day the sun has reached the limit of his northern
declination and now he will start to come south. Observed this day as
holiday, and in the evening had hands aft to drink to the health of the
King and the Expedition. All hands are happy, but miss the others at
Cape Evans. I pray to God we may soon be clear of this prison and in a
position to help them. We can live now for sunlight and activity.
“_July_ 1.—The 1st of July! Thank God. The days pass quickly. Through
all my waking hours one long thought of the people at Cape Evans, but
one must appear to be happy and take interest in the small happenings
of shipboard.
“_July_ 3.—Rather hazy with very little light. Moderate west-north-west
to south-west winds until noon, when wind veered to south and
freshened. No apparent change in ship’s position; the berg is on the
same bearing (1 point on the port quarter) and apparently the same
distance off. Mount Melbourne was hidden behind a bank of clouds. This
is our only landmark now, as Franklin Island is towered in perpetual
gloom. Although we have had the berg in sight during all the time of
our drift from the entrance to McMurdo Sound, we have not yet seen it
in a favourable light, and, were it not for its movement, we might
mistake it for a tabular island. It will be interesting to view our
companion in the returning light—unless we are too close to it!
“_July_ 5.—Dull grey day (during twilight) with light, variable,
westerly breezes. All around hangs a heavy curtain of haze, and,
although very light snow is falling, overhead is black and clear with
stars shining. As soon as the faint noon light fades away the heavy low
haze intensifies the darkness and makes one thankful that one has a
good firm ‘berth’ in the ice. I don’t care to contemplate the scene if
the ice should break up at the present time.
“_July_ 6.—Last night I thought I saw open water in the shape of a long
black lane to the southward of the ship and extending in an easterly
and westerly direction, but owing to the haze and light snow I could
not be sure; this morning the lane was distinctly visible and appeared
to be two or three hundred yards wide and two miles long.... At 6 p.m.
loud pressure-noises would be heard from the direction of the open lane
and continued throughout the night. Shortly after 8 o’clock the
grinding and hissing spread to our starboard bow (west-south-west), and
the vibration caused by the pressure could be felt intermittently on
board the ship.... The incessant grinding and grating of the ice to the
southward, with seething noises, as of water rushing under the ship’s
bottom, and ominous sounds, kept me on the _qui vive_ all night, and
the prospect of a break-up of the ice would have wracked my nerves had
I not had them numbed by previous experiences.
“_July_ 9.—At noon the sky to the northward had cleared sufficiently to
allow of seeing Mount Melbourne, which appears now as a low peak to the
north-west. Ship’s position is twenty-eight miles north-north-east of
Franklin Island. On the port bow and ahead of the ship there are some
enormous pressure-ridges; they seem to be the results of the recent and
present ice-movements. Pressure heard from the southward all day.
“_July_ 13.—At 5 p.m. very heavy pressure was heard on the port beam
and bow (south) and very close to the ship. This occurred again at
irregular intervals. Quite close to the ship the ice could be seen
bending upwards, and occasional jars were felt on board. I am inclined
to think that we have set into a cul-de-sac and that we will now
experience the full force of pressure from the south. We have prepared
for the worst and can only hope for the best—a release from the ice
with a seaworthy vessel under us.
“_July_ 18.—This has been a day of events. About 8 a.m. the horizon to
the north became clear and, as the light grew, the more westerly land
showed up. This is the first clear day that we have had since the 9th
of the month, and we have set a considerable distance to the north-east
in the meantime. By meridian altitudes of stars and bearings of the
land, which proved to be Coulman Islands, Mount Murchison, and Mount
Melbourne, our position shows seventy-eight miles (geographical)
north-east by north of Franklin Island. During the last three days we
have drifted forty miles (geographical), so there has been ample reason
for all the grinding and growling of pressure lately. The ship endured
some severe squeezes this day.
“_July_ 20.—Shortly before breakfast the raucous voice of the emperor
penguin was heard, and afterwards two were seen some distance from the
ship.... The nearest mainland (in vicinity of Cape Washington) is
ninety miles distant, as also is Coulman Island. Franklin Island is
eighty miles south-east by south, and the pack is in motion. This is
the emperor’s hatching season, and here we meet them out in the
cheerless desert of ice.... 10.45 p.m.—Heavy pressure around ship,
lanes opened and ship worked astern about twenty feet. The wires in the
ice took the strain (lashings at mizzen chains carried away) and
carried away fair-lead bollard on port side of forecastle head.
“_July_ 21, 1 a.m.—Lanes opened to about 40 ft. wide. Ship in open pool
about 100 ft. wide. Heavy pressure in vicinity of ship. Called all
hands and cut wires at the forecastle head. [These wires had remained
frozen in the ice after the ship broke away from her moorings, and they
had served a useful purpose at some times by checking ice-movements
close to the ship.] 2 a.m.—Ship swung athwart lane as the ice opened,
and the floes on the port side pressed her stern round. 11.30 a.m.—Pack
of killer whales came up in the lane around the ship. Some broke soft
ice (about one inch thick) and pushed their heads through, rising to
five or six feet perpendicularly out of the water. They were apparently
having a look round. It is strange to see killers in this immense field
of ice; open water must be near, I think. 5.15 p.m.—New ice of lanes
cracked and opened. Floes on port side pushed stern on to ice (of
floe); floes then closed in and nipped the ship fore and aft. The
rudder was bent over to starboard and smashed. The solid oak and iron
went like matchwood. 8 p.m.—Moderate south-south-west gale with drift.
Much straining of timbers with pressure. 10 p.m.—Extra hard nip fore
and aft; ship visibly hogged. Heavy pressure.
“_July_ 22.—Ship in bad position in newly frozen lane, with bow and
stern jammed against heavy floes; heavy strain with much creaking and
groaning. 8 a.m.—Called all hands to stations for sledges, and made
final preparations for abandoning ship. Allotted special duties to
several hands to facilitate quickness in getting clear should ship be
crushed. Am afraid the ship’s back will be broken if the pressure
continues, but cannot relieve her. 2 p.m.—Ship lying easier. Poured
Sulphuric acid on the ice astern in hopes of rotting crack and
relieving pressure on stern-post, but unsuccessfully. Very heavy
pressure on and around ship (taking strain fore and aft and on
starboard quarter). Ship, jumping and straining and listing badly. 10
p.m.—Ship has crushed her way into new ice on starboard side and slewed
aslant lane with stern-post clear of land-ice. 12 p.m.—Ship is in safer
position; lanes opening in every direction.
“_July_ 23.—Caught glimpse of Coulman Island through haze. Position of
ship south 14° east (true), eighty miles off Coulman Island. Pressure
continued intermittently throughout the day and night, with occasional
very heavy squeezes to the ship which made timbers crack and groan. The
ship’s stern is now in a more or less soft bed, formed of recently
frozen ice of about one foot in thickness. I thank God that we have
been spared through this fearful nightmare. I shall never forget the
concertina motions of the ship during yesterday’s and Wednesday’s fore
and aft nips.
“_July_ 24.—Compared with previous days this is a quiet one. The lanes
have been opening and closing, and occasionally the ship gets a nasty
squeeze against the solid floe on our starboard quarter. The more lanes
that open the better, as they form ‘springs’ (when covered with thin
ice, which makes to a thickness of three or four inches in a few hours)
between the solid and heavier floes and fields. Surely we have been
guided by the hands of Providence to have come in heavy grinding pack
for over two hundred miles (geographical), skirting the ice-bound
western shore, around and to the north of Franklin Island, and now into
what appears a clear path to the open sea! In view of our precarious
position and the lives of men in jeopardy, I sent this evening an
aerogram to H. M. King George asking for a relief ship. I hope the
wireless gets through. I have sent this message after much
consideration, and know that in the event of our non-arrival in New
Zealand on the specified date (November 1) a relief ship will be sent
to aid the Southern Party.
“_July_ 25.—Very heavy pressure about the ship. During the early hours
a large field on the port quarter came charging up, and on meeting our
floe tossed up a ridge from ten to fifteen feet high. The blocks of ice
as they broke off crumbled and piled over each other to the
accompaniment of a thunderous roar. Throughout the day the pressure
continued, the floes alternately opening and closing, and the ship
creaking and groaning during the nips between floes.
“_August_ 4.—For nine days we have had southerly winds, and the last
four we have experienced howling blizzards. I am sick of the sound of
the infernal wind. Din! Din! Din! and darkness. We should have seen the
sun to-day, but a bank of cumulus effectually hid him, although the
daylight is a never-ending joy.
“_August_ 6.—The wind moderated towards 6 a.m., and about breakfast
time, with a clear atmosphere, the land from near Cape Cotter to Cape
Adare was visible. What a day of delights! After four days of thick
weather we find ourselves in sight of Cape Adare in a position about
forty-five miles east of Possession Isles; in this time we have been
set one hundred miles. Good going. Mount Sabine, the first land seen by
us when coming south, lies away to the westward, forming the highest
peak (10,000 ft.) of a majestic range of mountains covered in eternal
snow. Due west we can see the Possession Islands, lying under the
stupendous bluff of Cape Downshire, which shows large patches of black
rock. The land slopes down to the north-west of Cape Downshire, and
rises again into the high peninsula about Cape Adore. We felt excited
this morning in anticipation of seeing the sun, which rose about
nine-thirty (local time). It was a glorious, joyful sight. We drank to
something, and with very light hearts gave cheers for the sun.
“_August_ 9.—Donolly got to work on the rudder again. It is a long job
cutting through the iron sheathing-plates of the rudder, and not too
safe at present, as the ice is treacherous. Hooke says that the
conditions are normal now. I wish for his sake that he could get
through. He is a good sportsman and keeps on trying, although, I am
convinced, he has little hope with this inadequate aerial.
“_August_ 10.—The ship’s position is lat. 70° 40´ S., forty miles north
29° east of Cape Adare. The distance drifted from August 2 to 6 was one
hundred miles, and from the 6th to the 10th eighty-eight miles.
“_August_ 12.—By observation and bearings of land we are forty-five
miles north-east of Cape Adare, in lat. 70° 42´ S. This position is a
little to the eastward of the position on the 10th. The bearings as
laid off on a small scale chart of gnomonic projection are very
inaccurate, and here we are handicapped, as our chronometers have lost
all regularity. Donolly and Grade are having quite a job with the iron
platings on the rudder, but should finish the cutting to-morrow. A
jury-rudder is nearly completed. This afternoon we mixed some concrete
for the lower part, and had to use boiling water, as the water froze in
the mixing. The carpenter has made a good job of the rudder, although
he has had to construct it on the quarterdeck in low temperatures and
exposed to biting blasts.
“_August_ 16.—We are ‘backing and filling’ about forty miles north-east
of Cape Adare. This is where we expected to have made much mileage.
However, we cannot grumble and must be patient. There was much mirage
to the northward, and from the crow’s-nest a distinct appearance of
open water could be seen stretching from north-north-west to
north-east.
“_August_ 17.—A glorious day! Land is distinctly visible, and to the
northward the black fringe of water-sky over the horizon hangs
continuously. Hooke heard Macquarie Island ‘speaking’ Hobart. The
message heard was the finish of the weather reports. We have hopes now
of news in the near future.
“_August_ 23.—Saw the land in the vicinity of Cape North. To the
south-south-west the white cliffs and peaks of the inland ranges were
very distinct, and away in the distance to the south-west could be seen
a low stretch of undulating land. At times Mount Sabine was visible
through the gloom. The latitude, is 69° 44½´ S. We are fifty-eight
miles north, forty miles east of Cape North.
“_August_ 24.—We lifted the rudder out of the ice and placed it clear
of the stern, athwart the fore-and-aft line of the ship. We had quite a
job with it (weight, four and a half tons), using treble- and
double-sheaved-blocks purchase, but with the endless-chain tackle from
the engine-room, and plenty of ‘beef’ and leverage, we dragged it
clear. All the pintles are gone at the fore part of the rudder; it is a
clean break and bears witness to the terrific force exerted on the ship
during the nip. I am glad to see the rudder upon the ice and clear of
the propeller. The blade itself (which is solid oak and sheathed on two
sides and after part half-way down, with three-quarter-inch iron
plating) is undamaged, save for the broken pintles; the twisted portion
is in the rudder trunk.
“_August_ 25, 11 p.m.—Hooke has just been in with the good tidings that
he has heard Macquarie and the Bluff (New Zealand) sending their
weather reports and exchanging signals. Can this mean that they have
heard our recent signals and are trying to get us now? Our motor has
been out of order.
“_August_ 26.—The carpenter has finished the jury-rudder and is now at
work on the lower end of the rudder truck, where the rudder burst into
the stern timbers. We are lucky in having this opportunity to repair
these minor damages, which might prove serious in a seaway.
“_August_ 31, 6.30 a.m.—Very loud pressure-noises to the south-east. I
went aloft after breakfast and had the pleasure of seeing many open
lanes in all directions. The lanes of yesterday are frozen over,
showing what little chance there is of a general and continued break-up
of the ice until the temperature rises. Land was visible, but far too
distant for even approximate bearings. The berg still hangs to the
north-west of the ship. We seem to have pivoted outwards from the land.
We cannot get out of this too quickly, and although every one has
plenty of work, and is cheerful, the uselessness of the ship in her
present position palls.
“_September_ 5.—The mizzen wireless mast came down in a raging blizzard
to-day. In the forenoon I managed to crawl to windward on the top of
the bridge-house, and under the lee of the chart-house watched the mast
bending over with the wind and swaying like the branch of a tree, but
after the aerial had stood throughout the winter I hardly thought the
mast would carry away. Luckily, as it is dangerous to life to be on
deck in this weather (food is brought from the galley in relays through
blinding drift and over big heaps of snow), no one was about when the
mast carried away.
“_September_ 8.—This is dull, miserable weather. Blow, snow, and calm
for an hour or two. Sometimes it blows in this neighbourhood without
snow and sometimes with—this seems to be the only difference. I have
two patients now, Larkman and Mugridge. Larkman was frost-bitten on the
great and second toes of the left foot some time ago, and has so far
taken little notice of them. Now they are causing him some alarm as
gangrene has set in. Mugridge is suffering from an intermittent rash,
with red, inflamed skin and large, short-lived blisters. I don’t know
what the deuce it is, but the nearest description to it in a ‘Materia
Medica,’ etc., is _pemphigus_, so pemphigus it is, and he has been
‘tonic-ed’ and massaged.
“_September_ 9.—This is the first day for a long time that we have
registered a minimum temperature above zero for the twenty-four hours.
It is pleasant to think that from noon to noon throughout the night the
temperature never fell below +4° (28° frost), and with the increase of
daylight it makes one feel that summer really is approaching.
“_September_ 13.—All around the northern horizon there is the
appearance of an open water-sky, but around the ship the prospect is
dreary. The sun rose at 6.20 a.m. and set at 5.25 p.m. Ship’s time
eleven hours five minutes of sunlight and seventeen hours light. Three
hours twilight morning and evening. The carpenter is dismantling the
taffrail (to facilitate the landing and, if necessary, the boarding of
the jury-rudder) and will construct a temporary, removable rail.
“_September_ 16.—There has been much mirage all around the horizon, and
to the eastward through south to south-west heavy frost-smoke has been
rising. Over the northern horizon a low bank of white fog hangs as
though over the sea. I do not like these continued low temperatures. I
am beginning to have doubts as to our release until the sun starts to
rot the ice.
“_September_ 17.—This is the anniversary of our departure from London.
There are only four of the original eleven on board—Larkman, Ninnis,
Mauger, and I. Much has happened since Friday, September 18, 1914, and
I can recall the scene as we passed down the Thames with submarines and
cruisers, in commission and bent on business, crossing our course. I
can also remember the regret at leaving it all and the consequent
‘fedupness.’
“_September_ 21.—The sun is making rapid progress south, and we have
had to-day over seventeen hours’ light and twelve hours’ sunlight. Oh
for a release! The monotony and worry of our helpless position is
deadly. I suppose Shackleton and his party will have started
depot-laying now and will be full of hopes for the future. I wonder
whether the _Endurance_ wintered in the ice or went north. I cannot
help thinking that if she wintered in the Weddell Sea she will be worse
off than the _Aurora_. What a lot we have to look for in the next six
months—news of Shackleton and the _Endurance_, the party at Cape Evans,
and the war.
“_September_ 22.—Lat. 69° 12´ S.; long. 165° 00´ E. Sturge Island
(Balleny Group) is bearing north (true) ninety miles distant. Light
north-west airs with clear, fine weather. Sighted Sturge Island in the
morning, bearing due north of us and appearing like a faint low shadow
on the horizon. It is good to get a good landmark for fixing positions
again, and it is good to see that we are making northerly progress,
however small. Since breaking away from Cape Evans we have drifted
roughly seven hundred and five miles around islands and past formidable
obstacles, a wonderful drift! It is good to think that it has not been
in vain, and that the knowledge of the set and drill of the pack will
be a valuable addition to the sum of human knowledge. The distance from
Cape Evans to our present position is seven hundred and five miles
(geographical).
“_September_ 27.—The temperature in my room last night was round about
zero, rather chilly, but warm enough under the blankets. Hooke has
dismantled his wireless gear. He feels rather sick about not getting
communication, although he does not show it.
“_September_ 30.—Ninnis has been busy now for the week on the
construction of a new tractor. He is building the body and will
assemble the motor in the fore ’tween decks, where it can be lashed
securely when we are released from the ice. I can see leads of open
water from the masthead, but we are still held firmly. How long?
“_October_ 7.—As time wears on the possibility of getting back to the
Barrier to land a party deserves consideration; if we do not get clear
until late in the season we will have to turn south first, although we
have no anchors and little moorings, no rudder and a short supply of
coal. To leave a party on the Barrier would make us very short-handed;
still, it can be done, and anything is preferable to the delay in
assisting the people at Cape Evans. At 5 a.m. a beautiful parhelion
formed around the sun. The sight so impressed the bos’n that he roused
me out to see it.”
During the month of October the _Aurora_ drifted uneventfully.
Stenhouse mentions that there was often an appearance of open water on
the northern and eastern horizon. But anxious eyes were strained in
vain for indications that the day of the ship’s release was near at
hand. Hooke had the wireless plant running again and was trying daily
to get into touch with Macquarie Island, now about eight hundred and
fifty miles distant. The request for a relief ship was to be renewed if
communication could be established, for by this time, if all had gone
well with the _Endurance_, the overland party from the Weddell Sea
would have been starting. There was considerable movement of the ice
towards the end of the month, lanes opening and closing, but the floe,
some acres in area, into which the _Aurora_ was frozen, remained firm
until the early days of November. The cracks appeared close to the
ship, due apparently to heavy drift causing the floe to sink. The
temperatures were higher now, under the influence of the sun, and the
ice was softer. Thawing was causing discomfort in the quarters aboard.
The position on November 12 was reckoned to be lat. 66° 49´ S., long.
155° 17´ 45´´ E. Stenhouse made a sounding on November 17, in lat. 66°
40´ S., long. 154° 45´ E., and found bottom at 194 fathoms. The bottom
sample was mud and a few small stones. The sounding-line showed a
fairly strong undercurrent to the north-west. “We panned out some of
the mud,” says Stenhouse, “and in the remaining grit found several
specks of gold.” Two days later the trend of the current was
south-easterly. There was a pronounced thaw on the 22nd. The cabins
were in a dripping state, and recently fallen snow was running off the
ship in little streams. All hands were delighted, for the present
discomfort offered promise of an early break-up of the pack.
“_November_ 23.—At 3 a.m. Young Island, Balleny Group, was seen bearing
north 54° east (true). The island, which showed up clearly on the
horizon, under a heavy stratus-covered sky, appeared to be very far
distant. By latitude at noon we are in 66° 26´ S. As this is the
charted latitude of Peak Foreman, Young Island, the bearing does not
agree. Land was seen at 8 a.m. bearing south 60° west (true). This,
which would appear to be Cape Hudson, loomed up through the mists in
the form of a high, bold headland, with low undulating land stretching
away to the south-south-east and to the westward of it. The appearance
of this headland has been foretold for the last two days, by masses of
black fog, but it seems strange that land so high should not have been
seen before, as there is little change in the atmospheric conditions.
“_November_ 24.—Overcast and hazy during forenoon. Cloudy, clear, and
fine in afternoon and evening. Not a vestige of land can be seen, so
Cape Hudson is really ‘Cape Flyaway.’ This is most weird. All hands saw
the headland to the south-west, and some of us sketched it. Now
(afternoon), although the sky is beautifully clear to the south-west,
nothing can be seen. We cannot have drifted far from yesterday’s
position. No wonder Wilkes reported land. 9 p.m.—A low fringe of land
appears on the horizon bearing south-west, but in no way resembles our
Cape of yesterday. This afternoon we took a cast of the lead through
the crack 200 yds. west of the ship, but found no bottom at 700
fathoms.”
An interesting incident on November 26 was the discovery of an emperor
penguin rookery. Ninnis and Kavenagh took a long walk to the
north-west, and found the deserted rookery. The depressions in the ice,
made by the birds, were about eighteen inches long and contained a
greyish residue. The rookery was in a hollow surrounded by pressure
ridges six feet high. Apparently about twenty birds had been there. No
pieces of egg-shell were seen, but the petrels and skuas had been there
in force and probably would have taken all scraps of this kind. The
floes were becoming soft and “rotten,” and walking was increasingly
difficult. Deep pools of slush and water covered with thin snow made
traps for the men. Stenhouse thought that a stiff blizzard would break
up the pack. His anxiety was increasing with the advance of the season,
and his log is a record of deep yearning to be free and active again.
But the grip of the pack was inexorable. The hands had plenty of work
on the _Aurora_, which was being made shipshape after the buffeting of
the winter storms. Seals and penguins were seen frequently, and the
supply of fresh meat was maintained. The jury-rudder was ready to be
shipped when the ship was released, but in the meantime it was not
being exposed to the attacks of the ice.
“No appreciable change in our surroundings,” was the note for December
17. “Every day past now reduces our chance of getting out in time to go
north for rudder, anchors, and coal. If we break out before January 15
we might get north to New Zealand and down to Cape Evans again in time
to pick up the parties. After that date we can only attempt to go south
in our crippled state, and short of fuel. With only nine days’ coal on
board we would have little chance of working through any Ross Sea pack,
or of getting south at all if we encountered many blizzards. Still
there is a sporting chance and luck may be with us.... Shackleton may
be past the Pole now. I wish our wireless calls had got through.”
Christmas Day, with its special dinner and mild festivities, came and
passed, and still the ice remained firm. The men were finding some
interest in watching the moulting of emperor penguins, who were
stationed at various points in the neighbourhood of the ship. They had
taken station to leeward of hummocks, and appeared to move only when
the wind changed or the snow around them had become foul. They covered
but a few yards on these journeys, and even then stumbled in their
weakness. One emperor was brought on board alive, and the crew were
greatly amused to see the bird balancing himself on heels and tail,
with upturned toes, the position adopted when the egg is resting on the
feet during the incubation period. The threat of a stiff “blow” aroused
hopes of release several times, but the blizzard—probably the first
Antarctic blizzard that was ever longed for—did not arrive. New Year’s
Day found Stenhouse and other men just recovering from an attack of
snow-blindness, contracted by making an excursion across the floes
without snow-goggles.
At the end of the first week in January the ship was in lat. 65° 45´ S.
The pack was well broken a mile from the ship, and the ice was rolling
fast. Under the bows and stern the pools were growing and stretching
away in long lanes to the west. A seal came up to blow under the stern
on the 6th, proving that there was an opening in the sunken ice there.
Stenhouse was economizing in food. No breakfast was served on the ship,
and seal or penguin meat was used for at least one of the two meals
later in the day. All hands were short of clothing, but Stenhouse was
keeping intact the sledging gear intended for the use of the shore
party. Strong, variable winds on the 9th raised hopes again, and on the
morning of the 10th the ice appeared to be well broken from half a mile
to a mile distant from the ship in all directions. “It seems
extraordinary that the ship should be held in an almost unbroken floe
of about a mile square, the more so as this patch was completely
screwed and broken during the smash in July, and contains many faults.
In almost any direction at a distance of half a mile from the ship
there are pressure ridges of eight-inch ice piled twenty feet high. It
was provident that although so near these ridges were escaped.”
The middle of January was passed and the _Aurora_ lay still in the ice.
The period of continuous day was drawing towards its close, and there
was an appreciable twilight at midnight. A dark water-sky could be seen
on the northern horizon. The latitude on January 24 was 65° 39½´ S.
Towards the end of the month Stenhouse ordered a thorough overhaul of
the stores and general preparations for a move. The supply of flour and
butter was ample. Other stores were running low, and the crew lost no
opportunity of capturing seals and penguins. Adelies were travelling to
the east-south-east in considerable numbers, but they could not be
taken unless they approached the ship closely, owing to the soft
condition of the ice. The wireless plant, which had been idle during
the months of daylight, had been rigged again, and Hooke resumed his
calls to Macquarie Island on February 2. He listened in vain for any
indication that he had been heard. The pack was showing much movement,
but the large floe containing the ship remained firm.
The break-up of the floe came on February 12. Strong north-east to
south-east winds put the ice in motion and brought a perceptible swell.
The ship was making some water, a fore-taste of a trouble to come, and
all hands spent the day at the pumps, reducing the water from three
feet eight and a half inches in the well to twelve inches, in spite of
frozen pipes and other difficulties. Work had just finished for the
night when the ice broke astern and quickly split in all directions
under the influence of the swell. The men managed to save some seal
meat which had been cached in a drift near the gangway. They lost the
flagstaff, which had been rigged as a wireless mast out on the floe,
but drew in the aerial. The ship was floating now amid fragments of
floe, and bumping considerably in the swell. A fresh southerly wind
blew during the night, and the ship started to forge ahead gradually
without sail. At 8.30 a.m. on the 13th Stenhouse set the foresail and
foretopmast staysail, and the _Aurora_ moved northward slowly, being
brought up occasionally by large floes. Navigation under such
conditions, without steam and without a rudder, was exceedingly
difficult, but Stenhouse wished if possible to save his small remaining
stock of coal until he cleared the pack, so that a quick run might be
made to McMurdo Sound. The jury-rudder could not be rigged in the pack.
The ship was making about three and a half feet of water in the
twenty-four hours, a quantity easily kept in check by the pumps.
During the 14th the _Aurora_ worked very slowly northward through heavy
pack. Occasionally the yards were backed or an ice-anchor put into a
floe to help her out of difficult places, but much of the time she
steered herself. The jury-rudder boom was topped into position in the
afternoon, but the rudder was not to be shipped until open pack or open
water was reached. The ship was held up all day on the 15th in lat. 64°
38´ S. Heavy floes barred progress in every direction. Attempts were
made to work the ship by trimming sails and warping with ice-anchors,
but she could not be manœuvred smartly enough to take advantage of
leads that opened and closed. This state of affairs continued
throughout the 16th. That night a heavy swell was rolling under the ice
and the ship had a rough time. One pointed floe ten or twelve feet
thick was steadily battering, with a three-feet send, against the
starboard side, and fenders only partially deadened the shock. “It is
no use butting against this pack with steam-power,” wrote Stenhouse.
“We would use all our meagre supply of coal in reaching the limit of
the ice in sight, and then we would be in a hole, with neither ballast
nor fuel.... But if this stagnation lasts another week we will have to
raise steam and consume our coal in an endeavour to get into navigable
waters. I am afraid our chances of getting south are very small now.”
The pack remained close, and on the 21st a heavy swell made the
situation dangerous. The ship bumped heavily that night and fenders
were of little avail. With each “send” of the swell the ship would bang
her bows on the floe ahead, then bounce back and smash into another
floe across her stern-post. This floe, about six feet thick and 100 ft.
across, was eventually split and smashed by the impacts. The pack was
jammed close on the 23rd, when the noon latitude was 64° 36½´ S. The
next change was for the worse. The pack loosened on the night of the
25th, and a heavy north-west swell caused the ship to bump heavily.
This state of affairs recurred at intervals in succeeding days. “The
battering and ramming of the floes increased in the early hours [of
February 29] until it seemed as if some sharp floe or jagged underfoot
must go through the ship’s hull. At 6 a.m. we converted a large
coir-spring into a fender, and slipped it under the port quarter, where
a pressured floe with twenty to thirty feet underfoot was threatening
try knock the propeller and stern-post off altogether. At 9 a.m., after
pumping ship, the engineer reported a leak in the way of the
propeller-shaft aft near the stern-post on the port side. The carpenter
cut part of the lining and filled the space between the timbers with
Stockholm tar, cement, and oakum. He could not get at the actual leak,
but his makeshift made a little difference. I am anxious about the
propeller. This pack is a dangerous place for a ship now; it seems
miraculous that the old Barky still floats.”
The ice opened out a little on March 1. It was imperative to get the
ship out of her dangerous situation quickly; as winter was approaching,
and Stenhouse therefore ordered steam to be raised. Next morning he had
the spanker gaff rigged over the stern for use as a temporary rudder
while in the heavy pack. Steam had been raised to working pressure at
5.15 p.m. on the 2nd, and the _Aurora_ began to work ahead to the
westward. Progress was very slow owing to heavy floes and deep
underfoots, which necessitated frequent stoppages of the engines. Open
water was in sight to the north and north-west the next morning, after
a restless night spent among the rocking floes. But progress was very
slow. The _Aurora_ went to leeward under the influence of a
west-south-west breeze, and steering by means of the yards and a
warp-anchor was a ticklish business. The ship came to a full stop among
heavy floes before noon on the 3rd, and three hours later, after vain
attempts to warp ahead by means of ice-anchors, Stenhouse had the fires
partially drawn (to save coal) and banked.
No advance was made on March 4 and 5. A moderate gale from the
east-north-east closed the ice and set it in motion, and the _Aurora_,
with banked fires, rolled and bumped, heavily. Seventeen bergs were in
sight, and one of them was working southwards into the pack and
threatening to approach the ship. During the night the engines were
turned repeatedly by the action of ice on the propeller blades. “All
theories about the swell being non-existent in the pack are false,”
wrote the anxious master. “Here we are with a suggestion only of open
water-sky, and the ship rolling her scuppers under and sitting down
bodily on the floes.” The ice opened when the wind moderated, and on
the afternoon of the 6th the _Aurora_ moved northward again. “Without a
rudder (no jury-rudder can yet be used amongst these swirling, rolling
floes) the ship requires a lot of attention. Her head must be pointed
between floes by means of ice-anchors and warps, or by mooring to a
floe and steaming round it. We kept a fairly good course between two
bergs to our northward and made about five miles northing till,
darkness coming on, the men could no longer venture on the floes with
safety to fix the anchors.”
The next three days were full of anxiety. The _Aurora_ was held by the
ice, and subjected to severe buffeting, while two bergs approached from
the north. On the morning of the 10th the nearest berg was within three
cables of the ship. But the pack had opened and by 9.30 a.m. the ship
was out of the danger zone and headed north-north-east. The pack
continued to open during the afternoon, and the _Aurora_ passed through
wide stretches of small loose floes and brash. Progress was good until
darkness made a stop necessary. The next morning the pack was denser.
Stenhouse shipped a preventer jury-rudder (the weighted spanker gaff),
but could not get steerage way. Broad leads were sighted to the
north-west in the afternoon, and the ship got within a quarter of a
mile of the nearest lead before being held up by heavy pack. She again
bumped severely during the night, and the watch stood by with fenders
to ease the more dangerous blows.
Early next morning Stenhouse lowered a jury-rudder, with steering
pennants to drag through the water, and moved north to north-west
through heavy pack. He made sixteen miles that day on an erratic
course, and then spent an anxious night with the ship setting back into
the pack and being pounded heavily. Attempts to work forward to an open
lead on the morning of the 13th were unsuccessful. Early in the
afternoon a little progress was made, with all hands standing by to
fend off high ice, and at 4.50 p.m. the _Aurora_ cleared the main pack.
An hour was spent shipping the jury-rudder under the counter, and then
the ship moved slowly northward. There was pack still ahead, and the
bergs and growlers were a constant menace in the hours of darkness.
Some anxious work remained to be done, since bergs and scattered ice
extended in all directions, but at 2 p.m. on March 14 the _Aurora_
cleared the last belt of pack in lat. 62° 27.5´ S., long. 157° 32´ E.
“We ‘spliced the main brace,’” says Stenhouse, “and blew three blasts
of farewell to the pack with the whistle.”
[Illustration: “Next Morning the Jury-Rudder was Shipped”]
The _Aurora_ was not at the end of her troubles, but the voyage up to
New Zealand need not be described in detail. Any attempt to reach
McMurdo Sound was now out of the question. Stenhouse had a battered,
rudderless ship, with only a few tons of coal left in the bunkers, and
he struggled northward in heavy weather against persistent adverse
winds and head seas. The jury-rudder needed constant nursing, and the
shortage of coal made it impossible to get the best service from the
engines. There were times when the ship could make no progress and fell
about helplessly in a confused swell or lay hove to amid mountainous
seas. She was short-handed, and one or two of the men were creating
additional difficulties. But Stenhouse displayed throughout fine
seamanship and dogged perseverance. He accomplished successfully one of
the most difficult voyages on record, in an ocean area notoriously
stormy and treacherous. On March 23 he established wireless
communication with Bluff Station, New Zealand, and the next day was in
touch with Wellington and Hobart. The naval officer in New Zealand
waters offered assistance, and eventually it was arranged that the
Otago Harbour Board’s tug _Plucky_ should meet the _Aurora_ outside
Port Chalmers. There were still bad days to be endured. The jury-rudder
partially carried away and had to be unshipped in a heavy sea.
Stenhouse carried on, and in the early morning of April 2 the _Aurora_
picked up the tug and was taken in tow. She reached Port Chalmers the
following morning, and was welcomed with the warm hospitality that New
Zealand has always shown towards Antarctic explorers.