Chapter VI: Making Winter Quarters at Cape Evans (6)

By far the most interesting instrument in the hut—consulted by scientist and layman alike—was the “blizzometer.” Such was the name we used for “Dines Pressure-tube Anemometer.” We could all see a roll of paper on a rotating drum, on which a pen was always scratching lines giving wind velocity. But the expert could tell lots more. He could say not only how heavy each individual gust had been during the past twenty-four hours, but he could tell from the character of the graph whether the wind were from the north or south, and, more awkward still, he could tell when the night watchman had neglected his duty and let the inlet become choked with drift!

Copied from Simpson’s diagrams at his lecture in the hut, June 3,
1911.
]

You could not bluff Simpson or the blizzometer. The blizzard gave a thick series of vertical lines, so close together that a broad ribbon almost resulted. The north wind was never so strong, and the lines were shorter and less close together.

To understand the working of the blizzometer, let us accompany the night watchman. He has been engaged on his diary, maybe, till nearly midnight, when a complete set of observations are to be taken. He goes to the blizzometer to see what particular virulence of blizzard he has to face, and sees that the pen is motionless at the bottom of the paper—having dropped down after tracing gusts of sixty miles an hour. The night watchman feels depressed. He has to go and inspect thermometers and barometers and various other -ometers, but had hoped he would be spared “clearing the head” of the blizzometer. However, he wraps up well, and, carrying an electric lamp, ventures out round the south of the hut. He reads the thermometer at the most exposed corner, and then glances up to the roof ridge and wonders whether he’ll be blown off or not. In a sheltered nook he finds a brush of wires, and clutching this he climbs up a ladder to the roof. He feels the hut vibrating under the blizzard, and the drift shoots past him to the north. He clutches a metal tube projecting two feet above the ridge, and proceeds to prod the wires into its orifice, which faces the blizzard. A plug of drift snow breaks loose, and the wind once more drives freely into the nozzle of the blizzometer. It rushes down the tube into the hut and enters the base of the instrument. Here it passes under and into a metal bell floating in paraffin. The pressure raises this float, and of course raises a piston attached to it above. The piston passes through a gland to the outside and carries the pen at its upper end. Thus with every gust the piston (and pen) rises and falls, and a record is made directly on the rotating drum. The watchman warms his hands inside his jacket, and when feeling has returned to them he trudges into the hut, and devoutly prays the “head” will remain unchoked all night.

At this period our hut interior looked neat but not gaudy. Later, the continual tramping in of boots carrying snow and gravel, somewhat detracted from the neatness; but luckily, in the absence of brilliant illumination, no one was perturbed by the accumulation of “matter in the wrong place” which soon collected in the corners. But one object in the hut looked rather incongruous, and that was the Broadwood Pianola, lent us by the Broadwood Company. It was intended to keep this on the ship, but our unloading was done so successfully that some time could be devoted to transhipping the pianola. By dint of dismantling the wardroom—removing the stairs bodily—Rennick and his assistants managed to hoist the pianola on deck, and so got it eventually into the hut.

We were a strikingly unmusical crew. Ponting on the banjo and Nelson on the mandolin were the best. No one but myself ever used the piano. I had three pieces of music and speedily lost one—it was found under the pianola buried in grime six months later,—so that there was rather a sameness about my performance. I grieve to state that my two pieces became less rather than more popular as winter advanced!

However, I rather thought I might shine as a pianola player, and started to practise as early as April. After listening for some time, my scientific colleagues, who occupied bunks immediately back of the pianola, were moved to remark, “For Heaven’s sake, Griff, give that a miss, and let some one play who can keep time!” Perhaps I should have persevered, but they could throw too straight, and I never attempted pianola-playing again.

On the 21st Scott returned from Hut Point, leaving Meares, Nelson, Day, Forde, Keohane, Lashley, and Demetri in the 1902 hut with the ponies.

They had had bad weather going—as I expected. Very thick drift hampered them, and the new chums, especially Hooper, had been severely frostbitten. The latter had two angry red sores on his neck where the blizzard had caught him between his helmet and jersey. To climb the cliff at Hutton Cliffs they had to empty a sledge. Crean and Lashley held it up at arms’ length like a ladder, and Scott managed to climb up it, and cut steps over the cornice. They reported that the others expected to stay a fortnight more, and they augured badly for the commissariat under Meares, because “he’s so very sparing with the butter!”

Ponting kindly developed my western negatives in his dark room. They were no worse than I expected, being, however, all rather thin. Half a dozen were broken, and I had improved on a common error by putting _three_ on one plate. We had such a rush before starting our journey that neither Debenham nor myself could test a single plate under Antarctic conditions. It seems simple now, but we had many failures before we gauged the best method. Previous Antarctickers had recommended plates and not films. I now disagree with this advice _in toto_, at any rate for sledging. We broke the plates. They scratched easily. Changing them in our bags was an unmitigated nuisance and filled the dark slides with hairs. Lastly, the glass plates weighed so much that they were always left behind when we had to cut down weights.

We had an idea that the quickest exposures would be advisable with snowscapes. Ultimately we took most of them at half a second or thereabouts!

A typical scene would largely consist of a skyline of snow mountain backed by a blue sky more or less covered by grey or white clouds. The foreground was usually also snow with bluish shadows. Everything was blue or white. There was little contrast, and owing to the photographic value of _blue_ being almost the same as that of _white_, the resulting photograph was of a dismal flatness and one could not distinguish land from sky.

Of course this pointed to yellow screens to cut out all blue and give it the effect of black. We had much better success thereafter, but this necessitated the slow exposures I have mentioned previously.

My chief camera was a Zeiss Minimum Palmos equipped with all modern features, taking telephoto pictures, stereoscopic, ¼ plate or panorams (7½ inches long). It had a focal plane shutter calculated to give ¹⁄₁₅₀₀ of a second; but the rubber shutter froze stiff, and my exposures were largely made with a red handkerchief presented to me by Wright.

At the east end of the hut Ponting was busy at a huge instrument which looked like a cross between a barrel organ and a butter churn. It was really a “washer” for cinema films. The films were wound on a cylinder, placed in the washer, covered with a lid, and then rotated by a handle. When this operation was finished we all admired Ponting’s ingenuity, for he emptied out the water and placing a rug inside the hybrid, converted it into a most comfortable lounge chair.

The 23rd was Sunday, and Scott held Church service as usual. He and Dr. Bill would consult as to the hymns, and Bill acted as choir-master. He and Scott would test the key by striking several notes on the pianola before service. Then just before we started the hymns Bill would sound the note again and Scott would lead off with the first line. He had a tenor voice and could sing much higher notes than most of us, and made no ado about remarking, “We’ll have this a few notes higher,” between the first and second verses.

Early in the winter Dr. Atkinson started physical measurements, which were always the source of much interest and amusement. They were taken every alternate Sunday or Monday, and a list of the figures for those present on the 24th April may be of interest.

In addition to ordinary measurements, tests of the grip by the dynamometer and breathing power by the spirometer were also recorded. In the former an oval spring-frame is compressed and a rachet and cog actuates a finger which indicates the grip. The spirometer consists of a small enclosed vane which is blown round by the pressure due to one expiration.

I got the heights of the officers and recorded them on the wall of the “owner’s” cubicle. The other measurements are given in the table herewith.

APRIL 24, 1911. ──────────────┬───────────────────────────┬──────────────────────────────── Name. │ Height. Weight. Dyn^r.│Waist. Arm. Chest. Spir^r. Calf. ──────────────┼───────────────────────────┼──────────────────────────────── │Ft. in. Stone lbs. │ Ins. Ins. Ins. Ins. Captain Scott │ 5 9·05 11 6½ 320│ 30½ 14¼ 39¼ 294·5 15½ Dr. Wilson │ 5 10·5 11 0 275│ 29 13 36 287·3 15¾ Lieut. Bowers │ 5 4 12 0 280│ 32¾ 13⅛ 40 230 16⅛ Cherry-Garrard│ 5 9½ 11 6 300│ 30 13¼ 36¾ 267 15 Atkinson │ 5 6·75 11 0½ 270│ 30 13⅚ 36¾ 265 15¼ Debenham │ 5 8·4 11 0½ 305│ 29½ 12½ 38¼ 261 13¾ Taylor │ 5 10·6 11 7 350│33¾[7] 13 36½ 307 14¼ Ponting │ 5 7·5 11 2½ 275│ 30¾ 14¼ 37 238·5 14¼ Oates │ 5 9·35 12 4¾ 270│ 31½ 13½ 40 266 15¼ Evans │ 5 6·85 11 13 350│ 34[7] 14 40½ 270 15¼ Gran │ 5 11·05 13 3¾ 300│ 31½ 12¾ 40 335 15½ Wright │ 5 10·8 11 12 345│ 30½ 12¾ 38 329 14¾ Simpson │ 5 10·95 11 2¾ 260│ 30 13 37 308 13¼ ──────────────┼───────────────────────────┴──────────────────────────────── Day │ Nelson │absent at Hut Point. Mears │ ──────────────┴────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Wilson, Bowers, Taylor, Ponting, Gran, and Meares were non-smokers, and Wilson, Bowers, Taylor, and Simpson were teetotalers, though several of the others swore off alcohol except on high days.

At noon the northern and western sky was very beautiful, and I made an effort to record the colours by means of chalks in my diary. The dominant note was yellow shading to lemon-green in the west. Over the western mountains was a rose-pink flush verging into lilac-grey through salmon-red. To the north the band of salmon-red flanking the yellow changed into slate-blue and pale blue overhead. The sun’s rays shone gold through clouds over the Barne glacier, which exhibited magnificent purple and blue shadows.

It is sad to think that Bowers’ sailor-like criticism of the magnificent study in reds and yellows was that it reminded him “of a mess of eggs that had carried away,” meaning thereby a dish of fried eggs which had been upset.

Captain Scott instituted an aurora watch on this date. It was desirable to discover if periods of great magnetic disturbance (as shown by the magnetometers in the ice grotto) were accompanied by striking displays of auroræ. There were fifteen officers in the hut, so that each man’s turn came along about once a fortnight. He was to go out at every hour and sketch the aurora if present, and of course attend to the meteorological instruments, inspect the ponies, keep up the fire, and generally mount guard from 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. A feast of sardines heated on a bunsen burner was promised to the gallant watchman.

The most imposing objects near the cape were the stranded icebergs. Ponting and I walked across to them in the afternoon. First we reached the Arch Berg just before it fell in and became the Castle Berg, the Arch Berg, in which the major portion of the arch had fallen, leaving only a narrow elevated strip uniting the two moieties of the berg. There was a magnificent view, looking back at Erebus through this white arch, and Ponting promised himself some particularly pleasing views when the sun returned.

CAPTAIN SCOTT’S AUTOGRAPH LIST FOR THE AURORA WATCH.
]

Later we went over to the tunnel berg, which Wright and I surveyed in January. It had also broken up, and had tilted up some twenty feet on the southern side, owing to readjustments in the equilibrium. The once vertical tunnel was now only half its length, and lying at an angle of 45° (see Fig. p. 97).

Two seals were lying in the lee of a small berg near by. As we approached they took to the mushy water immediately surrounding the berg. They lay there on the sea-ice submerged by the pressure of the berg above it, being just under water, and not worrying to get through the ice into the Sound beneath.

The Arch Berg just before it fell in and became the Castle Berg, April
27, 1911.
]

Later in the day a wandering Emperor was led in by a strap round his neck, and I held his wings while Dr. Bill pithed him by a lancet in the brain.

“The last bunk has been added by Oates. He brought in some boards from the stables—not needed now owing to the decease of the six ponies—and has built an erection which presumably satisfies him. We all remark that it is only held up by a small plank nailed to Bowers’ bunk; but Oates is quite imperturbable as usual, and no whit disturbed by ribald remarks as to a ‘deadfall’ trap baited with oats.”

I had been reading Cherry’s set of Kipling, and there was such a clatter of talk from our rivals across the hut that I publicly christened them the Banderlog. Birdie retaliated by criticizing my pronunciation; but I said I had no objection to calling them the “Bunderlohg,” and did so for the rest of the winter.

Debenham fixed up a terra-cotta curtain across our entrance which had been presented by Ponting, and now we were hidden from the vulgar gaze, though one frank critic said our sanctum looked like nothing so much as an opium den. Day had run in a branch acetylene light, and Debenham had stained everything stainable a dull red-brown with that beauteous dye, “Condy’s Fluid.” Not to be outdone, Gran fixed red linen borders on the shelves made from photographic “window” material, while I draped my bunk with a deep blue hanging, which had originally formed part of the Sunday tablecloth. We put down all captious remarks to jealousy; and the “Ubdugs” were more secluded than any other coterie in the hut.

Immediately north of Cape Evans the coast-line consisted of alternating rocky crags and snowdrifts, but about half a mile away this gave place to the vertical wall of the Barne Glacier. In places this ice barrier rose to 180 feet, and was fissured with crevasses from which frequent falls took place. These varying features were named later on, and Wright, Debenham, and myself were never tired of examining the silt bands, and included blocks, crevasses, debris slopes, etc., which characterized the vicinity of High Cliff.

The summer sun acting on some of the dark boulders included in the ice face had etched them out until they appeared like giant gargoyles projecting three or four feet beyond the general plane of the ice wall. I made a rough pencil sketch of these “gargoyles,” and on my return to the hut asked Dr. Bill to show me how to improve on this attempt.

On the 27th an important institution was inaugurated, which was afterwards called _Universitas Antarctica_. Captain Scott had sounded Wilson, and then he called up Simpson and myself and asked us if we would be willing to help carry out a scheme of winter lectures which he had drawn out.

We had a notice board on the side of the “Owner’s” cubicle, and on this he appended the following notice:—

WINTER LECTURES.

Some members of the community have very kindly consented to give a
series of lectures during the forthcoming winter, the programme of
which is attached hereto.

These lectures are arranged for each week, to be given on Mondays,
Wednesdays, and Fridays, after the evening meal.

It is proposed that each lecture should be followed by a discussion,
conducted on ordinary debating lines, and regulated by myself as
chairman. The time occupied by the lecturer will be about one hour. It
is not thought advisable to attempt to impose a time limit on the
subsequent discussion. Attendance at lectures is purely voluntary, and
neither the lecturer nor the chairman will feel aggrieved if any
person prefers to read a novel or otherwise employ his time.

WINTER LECTURES AND DISCUSSIONS. Subject. Lecturer. Monday, May 1. Antarctic Birds E. A. Wilson. Wednesday, „ 3. Halos and Auroras G. C. Simpson. Friday, „ 5. Physiography G. Taylor.

Monday, „ 8. Future Plans of the Expedition R. F. Scott. Wednesday, „ 10. Illustrated Lecture H. G. Ponting. Friday, „ 12. Mineralogy F. Debenham.

Monday, „ 15. Penguins E. A. Wilson. Wednesday, „ 17. Management of Horses L. E. G. Oates. Friday, „ 19. Ice Problems C. Wright.

Monday, „ 22. Evolution of Sledge Rations H. Bowers. Wednesday, „ 24. Parasitology E. L. Atkinson. Friday, „ 26. Biological Problems, I. E. Nelson.

Monday, „ 29. Illustrated Lecture H. G. Ponting. Wednesday, „ 31. Tips on Sketching E. A. Wilson. Friday, June 2. Meteorological Instruments G. C. Simpson.

Monday, „ 12. Surveying E. R. G. R. Evans. Wednesday, „ 14. Volcanoes F. Debenham. Friday, „ 16. Biology II. E. Nelson.

_Also_ Motor Sledging (Day); Whales (Wilson); Midwinter Illustrated
Lecture (Ponting); Physiography II. (Taylor); Horses II. (Oates);
General Meteorology (Simpson); Beardmore Glacier (Taylor);
Radioactivity (Wright); Scurvy (Atkinson); Lantern Lecture
(Ponting).

The Cape Crozier sledging party probably leaves on July 1. The
programme for the remainder of the winter will probably be regulated
according to this and other circumstances. It is hoped that the
lectures named below can be duly arranged, so that every one may
have an opportunity of hearing and discussing them.

Central Asia (Meares); Magnetism (Simpson); Constitution of Matter
(Wright); Mineralogy II. (Debenham); Physiography III. (Taylor);
Biology III. (Nelson); Bacteriology (Atkinson); Evolution of Polar
Clothing (Bowers); Seals (E. A. Wilson); ending on September 1st.

(Signed) R. F. SCOTT.

Three lectures a week rather terrified some of the party, and it must
be admitted that when a lecture was “on,” there was not much room for
private reading! Anyhow, none of the officers ever absented
themselves. The seamen attended the first two, but most of them “gave
it a miss” thereafter, being probably intimidated by the title and
probable aridity of the third lecture, “Physiography, by Griffith
Taylor.”

To the south of Cape Evans extended a long and narrow belt of cliff
hemmed in “betwixt the glacier and the deep sea,” which we called
Land’s End. This extended about a mile; and thereafter was a face of
glacier ice for four more miles similar to, but not so imposing as the
Barne Glacier face.

Gran reported marvellous ice caves beyond Land’s End, so Ponting, he
and I went off to investigate them. When we reached the crevassed face
we found that the caves were really the exposed ends of crevasses.
However, this seemed much the best way of entering a crevasse, so we
crossed the mushy tide crack and passed through the narrow entrance
which was half blocked by a tree-like mass of ice. At the back a huge
Stonehenge pillar supported the roof, and outgrowths from the walls
were connected to the flat floor by huge stalactites. Sticking
promiscuously to the central column was a slender slab of ice, which
seemed to indicate that there had been no movement of late, or it
would have fallen. This was comforting, for Ponting made me “pont” in
the interior for several minutes while he tried a flashlight. Near by
I spotted a crack in the ice face covered by ice stalactites cemented
together. I chipped out an entrance till it resembled what
cave-explorers call a “fat man’s misery,” and then squeezed inside. It
was another pretty little cavern, and the colouring was very striking.
“The most magnificent blue light filtered in through the outer wall,
as vivid and glowing as it is possible to imagine.”

Cherry-Garrard now began his most arduous winter employment as Editor
of the _South Polar Times_. He had brought down a typewriter, and
proposed to continue the Antarctic publication, of which two volumes
had already appeared in 1903–4, in Scott’s First Expedition. His
notice read as follows:—

NOTICE.

_South Polar Times._

THE first number of the _South Polar Times_ will be published on
Midwinter Day.

All are asked to send in contributions signed anonymously, and to
place these contributions in the box under the looking-glass as soon
as possible. No contributions will be accepted for this number after
May 31st.

A selection of these will be made for publication.

It is not intended that the paper shall be too scientific.
Contributions may take the form of prose, poetry, or drawings.
Contributors whose writings lend themselves to illustration are
asked to consult with the Editor as soon as possible.

The Editor,
_S.P.T._

A tin receptacle was nailed under the notice board, and labelled the
Editor’s Box, and Cherry set to work on his editorial pending the
avalanche of contributions. Three issues appeared in 1911, and one
other in 1912, but I shall describe _S.P.T._, as it was familiarly
termed, in greater detail later in the narrative.

I commenced duty as night watchman on the 28th. I used to spend some
of the long hours in writing my journal, so that there is never any
dearth of notes of what happened about that period!

I wrote on this occasion, “It is not the sinecure that I imagined.
Primarily I have to go out every hour and observe the auroræ. If they
are really on tap, I have to stay on Wind Vane Hill (a quarter of a
mile off) till they’re over! (I hope it stays overcast!) There was a
fine display at 9 p.m. Sunny Jim had taken me out to see the
spectroscope test. Behind Erebus it was going strong, and I could see
a bar in the yellow-green of the spectrum which is particular to
auroræ. I wrote the following in the log-book:—

“’At 21.10 (= ten past nine) a fine display along the whole sky
behind the Erebus mass. At first isolated greyish streamers
reached over 8°; they had a reddish tinge, but were not bright
enough to give a bright line in the spectroscope. The whole
brightened until almost a continuous band of (almost yellowish)
light. It concentrated with a movement to the north, reminding one
of a caterpillar’s motion as the more vivid mass of light
undulated towards Erebus. At one moment it clotted into a globule
of light not unlike a meteor, pointing to the crater with a
streamer extending up, and slightly to the south. There was a
tendency for the more northern streamers to point the same way. At
21.16 the display was over. There was perceptible orange and
traces of purple (_fide_ E. A. Wilson) in the borders. During the
maximum, the streamers were over 20° from the horizon.’

“Clissold and Birdie retain me to keep the fire going in the galley. I
put coal on twice (say at 2 and 4 a.m.) and rake out the ashes at 6
a.m. Wake the cook (Clissold) at 6.30. Wright says look to the
acetylene apparatus. If it gets below 32° F. in the porch, open the
inner door and let in a whiff to the mess deck! If the drum rises
three feet and there’s risk of explosion, pump out the water, if vice
versa dump in some water, for the bell won’t work. Teddy Evans is to
be waked at 7 and Sunny Jim at 4 and 7.30.

“I intend to have a bath when Scott and Evans turn in. The former is
reading and the latter plotting Inaccessible Island—a scandalous
proceeding at 12.30 a.m.! For my bath I have to get ice from the old
tin bath outside and replenish the galley boiler. I tried to get
tinned fruit for my 4 a.m. repast instead of sardines, but it was no
go! I can boil water on the little acetylene bunsen, if it’s worth
doing.”

_Later._—“I have sketched the N.E. corner of the hut, and tried to
write a poem and failed. Been out five times and seen no auroræ. Had a
hot bath and filled the boiler with ice. Stoked up the fire and
examined the acetylene plant. Sunny Jim awoke at four. Finds something
wrong with the ice grotto lamp, but has gone off to sleep. The
temperature in here is +49° F. There is bread and butter, sardines,
and possibly cocoa awaiting me. Clocks tick everywhere, and wriggles
and snores are universal. I am yawning my head off.”

_Later._—“I turned in at 7 a.m., so ending my first watch, and stayed
till 11 a.m. cutting breakfast.”

I helped Cherry to build a stone hut on the beach before lunch. The
weather was quite calm, and yet before we had finished the meal there
was a furious blizzard blowing up to fifty-six miles an hour—gale
strength being thirty-eight miles. It lasted just twelve hours, but
the sudden rise was very characteristic.

One morning Captain Scott summoned a council of Dr. Bill, Teddy Evans,
and myself to christen officially the main features of our winter
quarters. The officers who had spent the summer on the Cape had
already named some of the beaches and lakes. Teddy Evans had started
surveying, and fixed stations on outlying points, while the geologists
had cruised about the moraines to the east and so had some knowledge
of the topography there. Land’s End and Seal Rock for southern
features were agreed to. The two lakes kept Nelson’s names of Skua
Lake and Island Lake. The hill where the screens stood was changed
from Vane Hill to Windvane Hill. North Bay and South Bay were obvious,
if not novel. Oates’s pursuits were considered in the names of the
lowlands near the hut, for these were named The Paddock and The
Course. I begged that the rugged crest across the S.W. be called the
“Backbone,” but I never heard any one use the term! Finally the steep
scarp 150 feet high and continuous from High Cliff to Gully Bay came
up for discussion. Scott said, “Now this is why I summoned you,
Taylor. What do they call this in Physiography?” I could think of
nothing but “scarp”; but Scott gave it the euphonious name of the
Ramp. “Going up the Ramp” was one of the commonest remarks during the
succeeding months. Part of the Ramp to the north was a sheet of snow
and ice, and for this I suggested Slippery Slope; while, later, a
series of steps I cut up the face was known as the Golden Stairs!

Later in the day Wright and I filled a balloon which Simpson and
Bowers let off. The procedure was now more elaborate, and in place of
merely testing wind direction the balloons carried up a meteorograph
and miles of fine silk thread.

In a small aluminium cylinder about eight inches long is contained a
small aneroid (for pressure and height) and a small two-metal
thermometer. Levers attached to these scratch two fine lines on a
copper plate, and by suitable enlargement these lines give the
temperatures at varying heights. The black silk unwinds like a
Penelope thread and trails after the balloon. After some minutes a
fuse burns through and liberates the balloon. The meteorograph falls
to the ground with its record.

Theoretically all one had to do was to follow the silk and pick up the
instrument. Actually it led one to the water’s edge and there
vanished, or crossed the seracs and crevasses of the Barne Glacier and
vanished again; or, worse still, started southward, and broke in the
first quarter-mile on the rugged blocks of kenyte on the Cape! Simpson
and Bowers were indefatigable in searching for the graphs, and
recovered about half of them, often walking ten miles to get a record.
A notice that any one finding a meteorograph would be presented with a
box of chocolates resulted in no great diminution of our store of that
attractive comestible!

It was good fun sending up the meteorographs in the earlier months,
and the vagaries of the balloon gave rise to much chaff among the
operators which in naval parlance is called “hot air.” It was an
excellent school for “rounding off rough corners,” for each member had
his mannerisms so dinned into him that he could not be said to err in
ignorance.

On the 1st May Dr. Bill gave the first lecture on Flying Birds of the
Antarctic. It was postponed from 8 p.m. till 8.15, while the sailors
(in the “mess deck”) washed up! The ribald youth spent the
quarter-hour drawing “dicky birds,” which we passed along to Dr. Bill
to keep his mind occupied, and so save him from stage fright.

Dr. Bill shut off suddenly at 8.45, to the Owner’s pretended
amazement. The discussion lasted till nearly ten, each man being
called on by Scott in the order in which he happened to sit at the
table.

As the birds have no enemies down south their white colour did not
seem necessary for protection. I suggested that it was because white
plumage would radiate out less heat than black (which seemed to recall
some old physical experiment I had done!). Oates said, “Talking about
birds, why were all Shackleton’s ponies grey?” Bowers wanted to know
how the second skua chick was killed in its first week. Did its
brother gobble it up? Ponting instanced an example of more than two in
a clutch. He had photoed a chicken and two eggs in a nest near the hut
last January! I inquired into this phenomenon which interested Dr.
Bill much, and after some minutes broke it to Ponting that I had done
the deed, taking pity on a motherless chicken and placing it in a warm
nest near by! A yarn that amused them was an experience in the islands
off South Australia. Here 5000 young cormorants were slain by an
adjoining colony of terns in a few hours. Where were the parent
cormorants? asked some one. They had all abandoned their offspring at
sight of the visiting members of the Australasian Association!

On the 2nd May we held our first football match. The game was
“Soccer,” and curious was the composition of the teams. There was
little five-foot Anton, our Russian groom, who knew no English and
probably had never seen a football. Somewhat of a contrast were Crean
and Taff Evans, about six feet high, and two of the biggest men in the
navy. Moreover, Evans was a noted Welsh player. Wright’s knowledge was
based on ice hockey. I had played rugger in 1905, and now found that
the rules differed considerably. Atkinson was our star player, though
Gran had played football for Norway.

We played on the sea-ice in North Bay, which was still badly cracked,
and not very thick, so that there was a chance of our game being a
moving one in several senses!

I dare not give my opinion of the game. Every one seemed to be
offside; the more so the better. I followed hard on the ball, which
later I was told was inadvisable. Anton got one idea into his head,
and merrily kicked the ball to the middle of the field wherever he
happened to be. At halftime a blizzard started, and helped our side
materially. I had on windproof jersey and singlet, but as there was
forty degrees of frost I did not get particularly hot. In fact, I
could feel my arm “going” every time I stopped running, which was
unfortunate, for I had a collision with Crean which took the last of
my wind. Scott was playing just behind me, and was very urgent that I
should follow him up, but grinned cheerfully when I said I was too
winded! The blizzard nearly blew the ball off the ice. It rose to
forty miles per hour, but there was little drift, and it stopped when
it couldn’t help our side, so naturally we won by three goals to
_nil_!

Lectures alternated with football, so that next day we heard a very
interesting lecture from Dr. Simpson.

LECTURE ON METEOROLOGICAL INSTRUMENTS.

BY DR. SIMPSON.

_June 3, 1911._

On the 3rd June Simpson described very clearly the various
meteorological instruments in use at Cape Evans. He illustrated his
lecture with simple diagrams, which are reproduced in the figures on
p. 221.

He started with an amusing instance of error in measurement. It is
an obvious principle that the measurement itself must not alter the
condition of the experiment. Thus, if you want to know the length of
your own trousers, you introduce an error if you bend down to
measure them!

There are three methods of measurement in general use—by
photography, by moving a lens, and by various mechanical methods.
Lastly, the time must be accurately recorded, and this is usually
done by a chart carried on a rotating drum, which is clock-driven.
The whole apparatus being called a chronograph.

In determining temperatures we need that of the air itself, and we
must eliminate the direct effect of radiant heat. Thus a thermometer
placed near a newly kindled fire records the access of heat long
before the surrounding air is warmed by the fire. Hence we must
bring a large quantity of air into contact with the thermometer. The
method while sledging is to use a “sling-thermometer.” Here the
thermometer is enclosed in an aluminium case of which the opened lid
forms a handle, by which the thermometer can be swung rapidly for
some minutes in the air.

In self-recording thermometers it is more usual to suck a large
quantity of air past the thermometer by means of a little fan, as
shown in Fig. B.

If, however, a check is kept by frequent comparisons with standard
thermometers at the same place, this is not necessary. Thus the
thermograph at Wind Vane Hill consists of a bimetallic coil fixed at
one end, as shown in Fig. A. The inner strip is of brass, the outer
of steel. When the temperature rises the brass expands most and
straightens the coil, thereby deflecting the lever and pen, and so
marking a graph on the rotating drum.

Another form of thermograph is shown in B, which was placed just at
“Simpson’s corner.” The large brass bassoon and copper coil were
outside the hut in the “weather cupboard,” while the small float and
drum were inside the hut. The air drawn into the bassoon by the fan
affected the volume of the alcohol in the copper tube, and so raised
or lowered the little float, and so actuated the pen. It needed to
be checked also by frequent comparisons.

To determine wind velocity we had several instruments. On the hill
were the Robinson Cups, which whirled round merrily and were
registered by clockwork. Every six miles there was a signal sent
electrically to a chronograph inside the hut. Here we had a more
unusual instrument, called in full the Dines Pressure Tube
Anemometer, but early named the Blizzometer. Its records, owing to
its more sheltered position, were one quarter lower than those on
Wind Vane Hill.

On the roof two vertical tubes were visible. One pointed into the
wind, and another (not shown) pointed away from wind, and was worked
by its suction effect. The outer tube is sketched in Fig. C, and the
lower end of this long pipe communicated with the blizzometer inside
the hut. A practical experience with the blizzometer in a blizzard
is given in another paragraph (p. 222). Since the resulting pressure
varies as the square of the velocity, it is necessary to arrange the
inner capacity of the drum to suit. It has, therefore, a paraboloid
vertical section (being wider lower down), so that the heaviest
gusts do not raise the piston (and pen) disproportionately high on
the graph. The essential details of the apparatus are shown in Fig.
D, the instrument being about a yard long. In Fig. E is shown the
ingenious method for obtaining a continuous record of wind
direction. The wind vane on the roof as it swings twists a cylinder
on the same axis. This cylinder was situated in the porch in close
proximity to the acetylene plant, over which we had to climb to
regulate the instrument. On this cylinder was wound a sheet of
metallic paper. At the side was a sliding point which made a mark
when pressed on this paper. It was actuated by a clockwork which
gradually lowered the point to the bottom during a period of seven
days. With a steady wind a vertical ribbon was marked on the chart,
and in our case nearly all the marks were confined to the south-east
or north quadrants.

Simpson next proceeded to explain the instruments for detecting the
electrical condition of the air. This was merely a variant of the
quadrant electrometer, which is rather too technical an instrument
for the layman. The magnetic measurements are also open to the same
objection. The Dine’s Meteorograph is, however, a very ingenious
instrument, and I have given an account of it in a preceding section
(p. 234).

There was a crowded and enthusiastic audience, and the experiments
were most striking in view of Simpson’s limited material. As a
preliminary Ponting nearly blew us up with his acetylene lantern, and
canny Dr. Bill sought shelter under the table!

In the second football match, I tried the effect of wearing light
American shoes in place of heavy ski-boots. I don’t think it improved
my speed much, though I managed to give Crean two “busters,” which
pleased me greatly. Simpson did not appear, and later we found that
Wright had seen the door of the magnetic hut unfastened, and had
locked it while Simpson was within! My tight thin shoes naturally made
my toes “go,” but by diligent rubbing and gradual warming before I
entered the hut I managed to bring them back without any great pain.

My first lecture was on the principles of physiography. Dr. Bill
assisted me to draw some sketches on large sheets of paper, which I
pinned on the pudding-board. This rested against a chair on the table,
and was lighted by our acetylene branch! Cherry drew a sketch of the
author and pinned it on the gas-jet as a screen. I discussed the
evolution of a land surface from an “infantile” plain, such as that of
Red River, Canada, through various stages of uplift to the “senile”
condition of a peneplain.

I had made several small models in plasticene, and believe the lecture
was fairly successful; for Simpson said he started sleepy and ended
wide awake!

I based most of my lecture on my recent work on the geology of the
Federal Capital Territory in Australia, and the substance thereof is
given in the following paragraphs. This region (about 100 miles each
way) illustrates almost all the new concepts in the evolution of a
land surface.

Before the faulting the rivers flowed over fairly open country as the
Upper Yass River does now. The Murrumbidgee River rose on the north of
the Tindery Range and the Snowy River on the south. An ancient fault
plane assisted the Murrumbidgee to capture the snowy tributaries at
Tharwa. The country was broken by two main north-south faults. Thus
the head of Yass River was cut off to make Lake George. Molonglo River
managed to saw its way down through the scarp (as it rose) and so
formed the Molonglo Defile. All the old snowy tributaries (Upper
Murrumbidgee, Gudgenby, etc.) preserved their southward direction as
they cut deep gorges in their uplifted beds. These tributaries form
“boat-hook” bends where they join the big river. The present divide at
Cooma is an insignificant wind-gap.

The old river-bed draining the Lake George area (which is seventeen
miles long) is preserved as a deposit of huge quartz boulders two
hundred feet above the lake at Geary’s Gap. This may be termed a
“_dead_ river.” The silts of Lake George are still being added to, and
hence this country is below base level, and may be described as
_embryo_ topography. The narrow gorge of the Molonglo and those of the
Cotter and Gudgenby exhibit _infantile_ erosion features. The lower
Molonglo River flows through a deep but wider valley with a _youthful_
facies. The Yass River is flowing through undulating or _mature_
country. The Upper Molonglo, winding over a dead-flat plain of silt
(held back by the rock bar at the defile) is meandering over _senile_
topography. In every case the cross section of the valley gives the
key to the method of its formation _and date_ of its present form.

After the lecture Captain Scott’s attitude was rather amusing. He said
physiography was too novel to accept at once, and he would like to
hear if it agreed with the teaching of older geology? Dr. Bill was
very cordial, and said the onus lay on the geologist to disprove the
tilting and faulting which I had instanced in the Australian federal
territory.

It is a point of some interest as illustrating the growth of a special
physiographic outlook, that I had quite forgotten to mention the
_geological deposits_ above Lake George, which corroborated the
evolution of the surface as deduced by pure physiographic reasoning!

Simpson discussed the question of the rain factor in physiography, so
I told them about our gigantic rain gauge in Lake George, near
Canberra. This is about twenty miles long and five miles wide. At some
periods it is thirty feet deep, and contains murray cod several feet
long. Again—as at present—it is covered with grass, and inhabited by
sheep and less desirable immigrants in the shape of rabbits and foxes.

Next morning I was very pleased at a kindly remark of Scott’s:
“Taylor, I dreamt of your lecture last night. How could I live so long
in the world and not know something of so fascinating a subject!”

Atkinson had been having successes with the fish trap, and I went out
with him to see the sport. We tramped about half a mile over the ice
to the north-west. Here was a hole in the ice three feet across. It
was filled with new mushy ice, but we soon chipped this out and flung
it to one side. Then we hauled at the rope and pulled up the trap. It
was a cylinder of wire netting about three feet long with re-entrant
ends, so that the fish could enter at the centre, but (nosing along
the walls) had not sense enough to get out again. It showed beautiful
phosphorescence as it rose out of the water, for the days were, of
course, quite dark now.

There were twenty-one victims this time. Atkinson had caught two
batches of forty-one and forty previously. We put them in a bucket,
where they froze immediately. The change from +29° (in the water) to
−20° outside was too much for them, and in their last gasps their
gills swelled out to an enormous extent. These fish were about eight
inches long, the same _Notothenia_ we had met with before. In shape
they resembled “Miller’s Thumbs.”

Atkinson found some parasitic grubs in some of these fish, and took
them over to Dr. Bill. The latter was engaged on some wonderful sunset
sketches, but abandoned this task and nonchalantly proceeded to make a
lifelike water-colour of pink parasitic grubs on a purple background
of liver and gall!

I received a commission from Ye Editor to write the introductory
article for the _South Polar Times_. “On Ross Island and the Ice
Barrier. What it was like, is like, and what it’s going to be like!” I
started seriously with petrology and volcanics, etc., and then gave up
and went in for romance out of my head. Cherry seemed very satisfied
with it, and authorized me to write as much as six pages of
print—illustrations to be contributed by Bill!

Captain Scott gave his first lecture on the 8th of May on the “Plans
of the Expedition.” He had thought out all possible details, and
ultimately carried out his plans exactly, so that I do not need to
give full notes. He relied on the ponies essentially, and frankly
confessed that he was disappointed with the dogs, though he added that
this may have been due to their food.

With regard to the motors, he hoped they would help; but he was not
using their loads in his calculations. He realized that he was here
carrying out an experiment to benefit future expeditions.

He felt it best to adhere to his original plan and proceed as if
Amundsen were not in the field.

He said the great difficulty would be on the plateau. “Shackleton was
five weeks there, and was nearly done, while the Pole party will have
to spend ten weeks on the plateau. If we have bad weather,” he added,
“no one can stick it. One last point: you will see that this will take
144 days. If we start on November 3rd—and earlier will kill the
ponies—we can’t get back till March 27th. Now, no ship can remain in
the Sound as late as this, so that inevitably the Pole party must stay
another year; and if a small party stays, there might as well be a
large party to carry out further explorations.”

There was a long discussion on the possibility of getting ponies up
the great Beardmore Glacier. It turned largely on the character of the
glacier—so Dr. Bill came out with a base suggestion that the
physiographer be deputed to read up all the available information, and
give a lecture thereon!

Ponting asked if the pony food could not be in part edible by men. He
was questioning our cavalry captain, and boldly suggested that oats
should be eaten—which _double entendre_ amused the House.

Simpson has been wandering around disconsolately getting people to
smell a liquid in a bottle. Something is wrong with the petrol engine,
and all the engineering talent, including the cook’s, is at fault.
Finally it was decided that this doubtful liquid from the tank was
kerosene, and not petrol, and that perhaps a fresh supply of more
suitable diet would remedy matters.

Ponting gave a lantern lecture on Burmah, which was interesting to all
of us. However, it had no bearing on Antarctic topics, so that I made
no notes thereon.

I had been busy for some time on a series of maps, which I proposed to
send in to the editor of the _South Polar Times_. It was evident that
among the fifteen officers in the hut there were many travellers, and
it occurred to me that we had practically covered the world. So I drew
three maps, and in place of the geographical names I inserted the
names of the travellers. Finally, I made a table of countries visited,
and those who were near the head of this table were quite keen to see
who was the greatest traveller—in this limited sense. It was soon
evident that the contest lay between Captain Scott, the oldest, and
Gran the youngest of the party! The “Owner” called out several times
after I’d got his list, “Did you put me down for Peru ... and Azores,
etc.?”

The final results were—

─────────────────────────────┬────────────────────────────
│ Chief areas.
─────────────────────────────┼────────────────────────────
Captain Scott, 59 mentions│First in Africa and America.
Gran, 53 „ │Second in Europe.
Lieutenant Evans, 42 „ │First in Europe and America.
Meares, 39 „ │First in Asia.
Taylor, 33 „ │First in Australasia.
Ponting, 32 „ │Second in Asia.
Bowers, 31 „ │Second in Africa.
Garrard, 27 „ │Second in Australia.
─────────────────────────────┴────────────────────────────

There was then a considerable drop to the remaining seven men. We had
about two hours’ violent discussion when I read out the list. Simpson
objected to the sailor-men being placed so high, for obviously in most
cases they merely touched at the seaports, and saw little of the
country proper. He said he would arrange them as follows: Meares,
Taylor, Ponting, Scott, Garrard. At any rate, Simpson could claim the
widest polar experience, for he had spent a year within the Arctic
circle studying the meteorology of Lapland! Scott, Wilson, and Day had
been many months in Antarctica before; but unfortunately this is
no-man’s land, and I only allotted each of them two marks for all
this!

My second night-watch occurred on the 11th. It was blizzing outside at
forty miles per hour. Hooper provided me with a fine repast, which I
sketched to fill in time! There was cocoa and bread and butter—a sort
of currant-pudding (euphoniously termed “Bugs in Bolster”), jam,
honey, and milk. No sardines, so that it was evident that I had got on
the blind side of the commissariat.

Cherry yells out, “Didn’t you get it away from the cliffs, Sunny Jim!”
which indicates that he’s dreaming of tracking balloons.

In the wee smaa’ hours I wrote “Valhalla, a celestial medley,” for the
_South Polar Times_. This skit on the manners and customs of the
Antarctickers met with undeserved favour in Scott’s eyes.

On the 15th Dr. Bill gave his second lecture, of which I took full
notes, and give them herewith.

LECTURE ON PENGUINS.

BY DR. WILSON.

_May 15, 1911._

There are many varieties of penguins, but they are all restricted to
the Southern Hemisphere. Although a number of fossil forms have been
found, they are also not known north of the Equator. With the
exception of the Galapagos Islands and the southern shores of the
continents, they are chiefly found on the sub-antarctic islands.

Fossils occur in South America, where many genera have been
identified. For instance, six come from Seymour Island (Graham Land)
and five from Patagonia. In New Zealand there are fossil skeletons
six feet high, which were first described by Huxley. They occur in
Eocene limestones.

The origin of the penguins is obscure. They began to specialize very
early in the history of birds, and all relationship to other
families is obscured. Probably they could fly once, but now the
wing-feathers are not of the type used for flight. The requisite
muscles are degenerate and the tendons have become ligamentous. Its
feather tracts are distributed like a lizard’s scales, and the
arrangement is in no way so advanced as in that of a domestic fowl.

The earliest bird, the _Archæopteryx_, had teeth, and one or two
modern birds (_e.g._ the goosander) have makeshift teeth to grip
slippery fish. One hopes to find real teeth in the embryo of the
emperor penguin, though none are present in the adult bird.

Some of these early Cretaceous birds were divers, and so had adopted
aquatic habits. Their shankbones were formed of three parallel
parts, and this structure is exhibited in the emperor, though in all
other birds the shankbone is solid.

Probably New Zealand was the original home of this type of bird.
Their nearest allies are the petrels and divers, but the
relationship is doubtful.

_Groups._—There are three main groups of penguins—

(1) Emperor, { From 53° S.
King, { to the
Pygosceles. { edge of the Pack,
┃ { _i.e._ 78° S.
┏━━━━━━┻━━┳━━━━━━━━━━┓
┃ ┃ ┃
Adelie. Ringed. Johnny.

(2) Crested Penguins with long golden { From 38° S.
(_a_) Royal. } feathers over each eye. { to
(_b_) Great. } { 55° S.

(3) Jackass Penguin. { 50° S. to
{ the Equator.

_Breeding._—The Emperor lays one egg and incubates it between the
feet and the breast-flap. The Johnny penguin seems to have the same
habit. The Adelie scratches a bare hole in gravel. The Crested
penguin makes a grass nest, while the Jackass burrows.

_Migration._—The Antarctic penguins spend about eight months on
shore and four on the pack-ice. They usually remain within fifty
miles of land.

The Adelies arrive in Ross Island in mid-October, the scouts
preceding the main army by some ten days. After about ten days
choosing nests the first egg is laid, and then the second soon
after. They are hatched in a month.

_Feathers._—The Emperor chick has two sets of down feathers. The
earliest is pushed off at the end of the new feather in a few days.
And then the final feather forms the base of the down feather.

The Adelie moults at the end of February.

_Food._—The Adelie gathers a crop full of shrimps, and then has to
run the gauntlet of all the chicks to reach his own nest. You can
see his terror that none will be left for his own, for they are
meanwhile digesting! The young birds remain on land until starvation
drives them to the water. It is inexplicable how they know where to
go!