ADRIFT IN THE ANTARCTIC OCEAN
My name is Adam More. I am the son of Henry More, apothecary, Keswick,
Cumberland. I was mate of the ship Trevelyan (Bennet, master), which
was chartered by the British Government to convey convicts to Van
Dieman's Land. This was in 1843. We made our voyage without any
casualty, landed our convicts in Hobart Town, and then set forth on
our return home. It was the 17th of December when we left. From the
first adverse winds prevailed, and in order to make any progress we
were obliged to keep well to the south. At length, on the 6th of
January, we sighted Desolation Island. We found it, indeed, a desolate
spot. In its vicinity we saw a multitude of smaller islands, perhaps a
thousand in number, which made navigation difficult, and forced us to
hurry away as fast as possible. But the aspect of this dreary spot was
of itself enough to repel us. There were no trees, and the multitude
of islands seemed like moss-covered rocks; while the temperature,
though in the middle of the antarctic summer, was from 38 to 58
degrees Fahr.
In order to get rid of these dangerous islands we stood south and
west, and at length found ourselves in south latitude 65 degrees,
longitude 60 degrees east. We were fortunate enough not to find any
ice, although we were within fifteen hundred miles of the South Pole,
and far within that impenetrable icy barrier which, in 1773, had
arrested the progress of Captain Cook. Here the wind failed us, and we
lay becalmed and drifting. The sea was open all around us, except to
the southeast, where there was a low line along the horizon
terminating in a lofty promontory; but though it looked like land we
took it for ice. All around us whales and grampuses were gambolling
and spouting in vast numbers. The weather was remarkably fine and
clear.
For two or three days the calm continued, and we drifted along
helplessly, until at length we found ourselves within a few miles of
the promontory above mentioned. It looked like land, and seemed to be
a rocky island rising from the depths of the sea. It was, however, all
covered with ice and snow, and from this there extended eastward as
far as the eye could reach an interminable line of ice, but toward the
southwest the sea seemed open to navigation. The promontory was very
singular in shape, rising up to a peak which was at least a thousand
feet in height, and forming a striking object, easily discovered and
readily identified by any future explorer. We named it, after our
ship, Trevelyan Peak, and then felt anxious to lose sight of it
forever. But the calm continued, and at length we drifted in close
enough to see immense flocks of seals dotting the ice at the foot of
the peak.
Upon this I proposed to Agnew, the second mate, that we should go
ashore, shoot some seals, and bring them back. This was partly for the
excitement of the hunt, and partly for the honor of landing in a place
never before trodden by the foot of man. Captain Bennet made some
objections, but he was old and cautious, and we were young and
venturesome, so we laughed away his scruples and set forth. We did not
take any of the crew, owing to the captain's objections. He said that
if we chose to throw away our own lives he could not help it, but that
he would positively refuse to allow a single man to go with us. We
thought this refusal an excess of caution amounting to positive
cowardice, but were unable to change his mind. The distance was not
great, the adventure was attractive, and so the captain's gig was
lowered, and in this Agnew and I rowed ashore. We took with us a
double-barrelled rifle apiece, and also a pistol. Agnew took a glass.
We rowed for about three miles, and reached the edge of the ice, which
extended far out from the promontory. Here we landed, and secured the
boat by means of a small grappling-iron, which we thrust into the ice.
We then walked toward the promontory for about a mile, and here we
found a multitude of seals. These animals were so fearless that they
made not the slightest movement as we came up, but stared at us in an
indifferent way. We killed two or three, and then debated whether to
go to the promontory or not. Agnew was eager to go, so as to touch the
actual rock; but I was satisfied with what we had done, and was now
desirous of returning. In the midst of this I felt a flake of snow on
my cheek. I started and looked up. To my great surprise I saw that the
sky had changed since I had last noticed it. When we left the ship it
was clear and blue, but now it was overspread with dark,
leaden-colored clouds, and the snow-flakes that had fallen were
ominous of evil. A snow-storm here, in the vicinity of the ice, was
too serious a thing to be disregarded. But one course now remained,
and that was an immediate return to the ship.
Each of us seized a seal and dragged it after us to the boat. We
reached it and flung them in. Just at that moment a gun sounded over
the water. It was from the ship--the signal of alarm--the summons from
the captain for our return. We saw now that she had been drifting
since we left her, and had moved southwest several miles. The row back
promised to be far harder than the pull ashore, and, what was worse,
the wind was coming up, the sea was rising, and the snow was
thickening. Neither of us said a word. We saw that our situation was
very serious, and that we had been very foolhardy; but the words were
useless now. The only thing to be done was to pull for the ship with
all our strength, and that was what we did.
So we pushed off, and rowed as we had never rowed before. Our progress
was difficult. The sea grew steadily rougher; the wind increased; the
snow thickened; and, worst of all, the day was drawing to a close. We
had miscalculated both as to distance and time. Even if it had
continued calm we should have had to row back in the dark; but now the
sun was setting, and with the darkness we had to encounter the
gathering storm and the blinding snow. We rowed in silence. At every
stroke our situation grew more serious. The wind was from the south,
and therefore favored us to some extent, and also made less of a sea
than would have been produced by a wind from any other quarter; but
then this south wind brought dangers of its own, which we were soon to
feel--new dangers and worse ones. For this south wind drove the ship
farther from us, and at the same time broke up the vast fields of ice
and impelled the fractured masses northward. But this was a danger
which we did not know just then. At that time we were rowing for the
ship, and amid the darkness and the blinding snow and the dashing
waves we heard from time to time the report of signal-guns fired from
the ship to guide us back. These were our only guide, for the darkness
and the snow had drawn the ship from our sight, and we had to be
guided by our hearing only.
We were rowing for our lives, and we knew it; but every moment our
situation grew more desperate. Each new report of the gun seemed to
sound farther away. We seemed always to be rowing in the wrong
direction. At each report we had to shift the boat's course somewhat,
and pull toward the last point from which the gun seemed to sound.
With all this the wind was increasing rapidly to a gale, the sea was
rising and breaking over the boat, the snow was blinding us with its
ever-thickening sleet. The darkness deepened and at length had grown
so intense that nothing whatever could be seen--neither sea nor sky,
not even the boat itself--yet we dared not stop; we had to row. Our
lives depended on our efforts. We had to row, guided by the sound of
the ship's gun, which the ever-varying wind incessantly changed, till
our minds grew all confused, and we rowed blindly and mechanically.
So we labored for hours at the oars, and the storm continually
increased, and the sea continually rose, while the snow fell thicker
and the darkness grew intenser. The reports of the gun now grew
fainter; what was worse, they were heard at longer intervals, and this
showed us that Captain Bennet was losing heart; that he was giving us
up; that he despaired of finding us, and was now firing only an
occasional gun out of a mournful sense of duty. This thought reduced
us to despair. It seemed as if all our efforts had only served to take
us farther away from the ship, and deprived us of all motive for
rowing any harder than was barely necessary to keep the boat steady.
After a time Agnew dropped his oar and began to bail out the boat--a
work which was needed; for, in spite of our care, she had shipped many
seas, and was one third full of water. He worked away at this while I
managed the boat, and then we took turns at bailing. In this way we
passed the dreary night.
Morning came at last. The wind was not so violent, but the snow was so
thick that we could only see for a little distance around us. The ship
was nowhere visible, nor were there any signs of her. The last gun had
been fired during the night. All that we could see was the outline of
a gaunt iceberg--an ominous spectacle. Not knowing what else to do we
rowed on as before, keeping in what seemed our best course, though
this was mere conjecture, and we knew all the time that we might be
going wrong. There was no compass in the boat, nor could we tell the
sun's position through the thick snow. We rowed with the wind,
thinking that it was blowing toward the north, and would carry us in
that direction. We still hoped to come within sound of the ship's gun,
and kept straining our ears incessantly to hear the wished-for report.
But no such sound ever came again, and we heard nothing except the
plash of the waves and the crash of breaking ice. Thus all that day we
rowed along, resting at intervals when exhausted, and then resuming
our labors, until at length night came; and again to the snow and ice
and waves was added the horror of great darkness. We passed that night
in deep misery. We had eaten nothing since we left the ship, but
though exhausted by long fasting and severe labor, the despair of our
hearts took away all desire for food. We were worn out with hard work,
yet the cold was too great to allow us to take rest, and we were
compelled to row so as to keep ourselves from perishing. But fatigue
and drowsiness overcame us, and we often sank into sleep even while
rowing; and then after a brief slumber we would awake with benumbed
limbs to wrestle again with the oars. In this way we passed that
night.
Another morning came, and we found to our great joy that the snow had
ceased. We looked eagerly around to see if there were any signs of the
ship. Nothing could be seen of her. Far away on one side rose a peak,
which looked like the place where we had landed. Judging from the
wind, which we still supposed to be southerly, the peak lay toward the
northeast; in which case we had been carried steadily, in spite of all
our efforts, toward the south. About a mile on one side of us the ice
began, and extended far away; while on the other side, at the distance
of some ten miles, there was another line of ice. We seemed to have
been carried in a southwesterly direction along a broad strait that
ran into the vast ice-fields. This discovery showed how utterly
useless our labors had been; for in spite of all, even with the wind
in our favor, we had been drawn steadily in an opposite direction. It
was evident that there was some current here, stronger than all our
strength, which had brought us to this place.
We now determined to land on the ice, and try to cook a portion of our
seals. On approaching it we noticed that there was a current which
tended to draw us past the ice in what I supposed to be a
southwesterly direction. This confirmed my worst fears. But now the
labor of landing and building a fire on the ice served to interest us
for a time and divert our thoughts. We brushed away the snow, and then
broke up a box which was in the boat, and also the stern seats. This
we used very sparingly, reserving the rest for another occasion. Then
we cut portions from one of the seals, and laid them in thin strips on
the flames. The cooking was but slight, for the meat was merely
singed; but we were ravenous, and the contact of the fire was enough
to give it an attractive flavor. With this food we were greatly
refreshed; and as for drink, we had all around us an endless extent of
ice and snow. Then, taking our precious fragments of cooked meat, we
returned to the boat and put off. We could scarcely tell what to do
next, and while debating on this point we fell asleep. We slept far
into the night, then awoke benumbed with cold; then took to the oars
till we were weary; then fell asleep again, to be again awakened by
the cold and again to pull at the oars. So the night passed, and
another day came.
The snow still held off, but the sky was overcast with dark,
leaden-colored clouds, and looked threatening. Ice was all around us
as before; and the open water had diminished now from ten miles to
five miles of width. The ice on one side was low, but on the opposite
side it arose to the height of one hundred feet. We saw here, as we
watched the shore, that the current which had already borne us thus
far was now stronger than ever, and was carrying us along at a rate
which made all efforts of ours against it utterly useless. And now a
debate arose between us as to the direction of this current. Agnew
suddenly declared his belief that it was running north, while I was
firm in the conviction that it ran south.
"There's no use rowing any more," said Agnew. "If it runs south we
can't resist it. It's too strong. But I always like to look on the
bright side, and so I believe it runs north. In that case there is no
use rowing, for it will carry us along fast enough."
Then I proposed that we should go ashore on the ice. To this Agnew
objected, but afterward consented, at my earnest request. So we tried
to get ashore, but this time found it impossible; for the ice
consisted of a vast sheet of floating lumps, which looked like the
ruin of bergs that had been broken up in some storm. After this I had
nothing to say, nor was there anything left for us but to drift
wherever the current might carry us.
So we drifted for some days, Agnew all the time maintaining that we
were going north, while I was sure that we were going south. The sky
remained as cloudy as ever, the wind varied incessantly, and there was
nothing by which we could conjecture the points of the compass. We
lived on our seal, and for drink we chewed ice and snow. One thing was
certain--the climate was no colder. Agnew laid great stress on this.
"You see," said he, "we must be going north. If we were going south we
should be frozen stiff by this time."
"Yes; but if we were going north," said I, "we ought to find it
growing warmer."
"No," said he, "not with all this ice around us. It's the ice that
keeps the temperature in this cold state."
Argument could do no good, and so we each remained true to our
belief--his leading him to hope, and mine dragging me down to despair.
At length we finished the last fragment of the seal that we had
cooked, and, finding ourselves near some firm ice, we went ashore and
cooked all that was left, using the remainder of our wood for fuel,
and all that we dared to remove from the boat. Re-embarking with this,
we drifted on as before.
Several more days passed. At last one night I was roused by Agnew. He
pointed far away to the distant horizon, where I saw a deep red glow
as of fire. We were both filled with wonder at the sight, and were
utterly unable to account for it. We knew that it could not be caused
by the sun or the moon, for it was midnight, and the cause lay on the
earth and not in the skies. It was a deep, lurid glow, extending along
the horizon, and seemed to be caused by some vast conflagration.