Chapter VI: Making Winter Quarters at Cape Evans (7)

The Emperor lives on fish, and so has a different-shaped beak. They
obtain their food by diving down through cracks in the Barrier ice.
For one adult hatching an egg there are a dozen unoccupied. And
there is such a rush to claim a lonely chicken that the latter
simply hates the whole proceeding!

Three-quarters of the chicks have died by the end of October.

From our visit to Cape Crozier in 1911 we know that the young do not
shed their down till January. The bay ice is moving out all summer.
By January most of it has gone north, and the penguins have gone
with it. The chickens are not fit to enter the water in their down
feathers, and after their free ride north they live on the pack-ice
for some weeks before commencing to swim.

Penguins swim under water, and breathe with open beaks as they make
their frequent “dolphin” leaps.

The dogs and ponies turned up from Hut Point on the 13th—just a month
after we left them there. Meares arrived first. He had been lost in
the drift, but had wisely coasted along by Turk’s Head and got through
all right. We welcomed them with their favourite gramophone records.
“They all went into the Shop” to cheer Meares, and then “Prehistoric
Man” to see how exactly Huntley’s voice agreed with Nelson’s!

Dr. Atkinson started testing us for scurvy. We submitted our first
fingers, and he jabbed them with a pointed glass tube till the blood
flowed. I grieve to state my thick skin or sluggish blood necessitated
five pricks. This blood, if healthy, should be quite alkaline, and its
alkalinity is tested by neutralizing the blood with dilute sulphuric
acid. Anyway, I didn’t think much of it! For if most of the fellows
were extra good—I was medium only, while Scott and Wright (two of the
toughest specimens) were the worst!

Several of the officers were recalcitrant, and refused all the Owner’s
cajoling to lecture! Oates only gave in after much importunity, for he
hated public speaking in any form. However, his lecture on “Horse
Training” was awaited with much interest. He solemnly arose and
commenced lugubriously with the words, “I have been fortunate in
having another date set apart for me for a second lecture,” which
raised a shout of laughter.

LECTURE ON HORSES.

BY OATES.

_May 17, 1911._

In feeding the ponies during the winter we must run no risks. The
pony’s stomach is very small, and he stores water in a cæcum between
the guts. In a natural state he grazes 20 hours out of the 24, hence
it is advisable to divide up the meals as much as possible and give
it them five times a day. This is inconvenient here, but we feed
them three times a day.

Compressed chaff made from _young_ hay would be very good, but our
Australian hay was not likely to be cut very young. (“Oh!” from
Debenham.) Bran tends to dry the mouth; oats are good, because he
must chew them; and oilcake is very nutritious.

The pony meals are as follows:—

_Morning_: Chaff.

_Noon_: Snow, chaff, oilcake, or oats. Always give them water on an
empty stomach.

_Evening_: Snow at 5 p.m.; branmash with boiled oilcake or boiled
oats and chaff.

With regard to the famous continental training, our English polo
teams can beat the foreigners, as was shown by Colonel de Lisle. It
is a Munchausen tale to speak of “lifting” a horse over a fence with
the bridle.

Here are two horses, drawn by Uncle Bill for me. One is “balanced,”
the other not. The better horse puts most weight on the hind legs,
which are the propelling members. One should make them walk fast. If
necessary, dig them under the ribs! (Birdie plaintively interjected,
“Where is a man to walk to be ‘in command of a pony’s head and ribs’
if he’s short in the arm?” And Titus solemnly answered, “Midway.”)
Cherry’s and Birdie’s ponies are balanced, but it would take a giant
to train “Weary Willie.” If you want to back a horse touch him on
the front shin. The French school of _haute école_ is rather in the
nature of trick riding.

In his second lecture (August 10, 1911) Oates discussed pony
psychology. Said he, “Consider the thing a horse has in place of a
mind. He has no reasoning powers but has a very strong memory. Their
vision is not strong, but they do all by hearing. If they hear a
shout they connect it with some excitement. To shout ‘Woh!’ when a
horse is backing is both ludicrous and useless—I’ve done it!

“It might be a good thing to dye the forelock to prevent
snow-blindness. As to whether they should be groomed here, I think
not. The grease in the coat protects the body. It is best to cut it
once and then it will grow thick later. Litter might be an
advantage, but they don’t lie down much.”

Atkinson came in and reported having seen a meteor fall just beyond
Erebus. Simpson’s precise mind led him to ask, “Did it really fall?”
Wherefore Day interjected, “You mean, was it pushed!” Thus do the
“pseudo-scientists” hold their own.

On the 18th we played our penultimate game of football. The sun had
vanished, but there was a little light at midday. It was, however, so
dark that on our return I chaffed Nelson for funking it, and he
retorted that he’d been playing just behind me the whole game!

Our routine was now much the same each day. I will quote my diary for
May 19.

“A calm morning, but snowing. Wakened by Hooper at 8.15. ‘Rouse and
shine, Mr. Taylor, sir.’ All, however, lie low, except Birdie Bowers,
Evans, and Sunny Jim. Then Birdie starts chirruping and keeps it up
solid, chiefly directed at the opposite diarists’ den. This is
inhabited, according to him, by the ‘Rubbly Ubdugs.’ I go out to
breakfast and find penguin feather flavour in the water, tea, and
milk. (This is due to a layer of feathers in our glacier supply.) So I
make a repast on porridge and marmalade. Nelson and Captain Scott
arrive later. I retreat to my bunk and read Edmund Gosse; Debenham
starts rock sections; Gran peruses maps to decide where he will go
next.

“Our den is invaded by ‘Titus’ Oates, ‘Mother’ Meares, ‘Birdie’
Bowers, ‘Sunny’ Jim, Bernard Day, and ‘Silas’ Wright, from which they
are with difficulty ejected, and then I start ye eternal narrative of
the Western Journey.”

The next lecture was on Ice Problems, by Wright. He showed fifteen
slides, including some made from views on our western journey.

We had a long discussion on the flow of glaciers, which lasted till 11
p.m. Discussions were in the air nowadays, and no one had a greater
belief in them than Captain Scott. He was quicker to see the weak link
in a chain of argument than any man I have ever met. In my own special
study of the glacial geology of Antarctica, his practical knowledge
quite balanced what I had gained from books or travels among glaciers
of the temperate zone, so that I had many talks with him, and owe him
much scientifically for his help in criticizing and so strengthening
my main conclusions.

Physical measurements took place again on the 21st. There were loud
cheers when Atkinson announced my waist as 35 inches. I had “gone
steady” on food during the past few weeks and knew this was another
libel, and when he corrected his statement I was proud to rank with
Dr. Bill with a waist of 29½ inches!

“_May 25._—It has been blizzing all day, and I will describe the
doings in the hut. I am sitting on my bunk in the pose photoed by
Ponting, using my little drawing-board as a table. Gran is writing one
of his six diaries with Deb’s nib, which he blunts. He has a patent
plasticene pen rack, which doesn’t improve the handle. I told him to
learn Russian, or write an Antarctic novel in Norwegian, for he will
be at a loose end until ski-ing is possible.

“Debenham is painting his third masterpiece. He uses my plane-table
sheet on which to paste down his papers. His little terra-cotta
water-pots (shrimp paste!) are much admired. He is rather fed up,
because he has just found that he is painting on the wrong side of his
drawing. I tell him that won’t make any difference! Day also is busy
elaborating his sketches. Marie Nelson is writing a voluminous
lecture, and making certain of all future arguments by questioning
Atkinson, Bill, and Titus (_re_ horses, etc.) beforehand. Dr. Atkinson
is groping among encysted ‘mully-grubs’ at his half of the table,
while Silas Wright wrestles with pendulum details on the other side.

“Simpson is writing up weather for _S. P. T._; while, I believe, Dr.
Bill has finished the ‘hot-stuff’ sketches of geology, etc., for my
_S. P. T._ article. He has copied most of them from my rough sketches,
photos, or specimens. Cherry is flapping away at _S. P. T._ on the
typewriter and chortling muchly.

“Teddy Evans is plotting a graticule for the southern survey, while
Ponting has just perpetuated the ‘Teamsters’ in the stable where Titus
entertained Meares to tea. Birdie Bowers is writing reams for his
lecture on sledge-foods—guess it will make a book! The ‘Owner’ is
reading in his cubicle as usual.”

On the 23rd Nelson and I started off for his biological station about
a mile to the south on the sea-ice. I carried a plane-table, for I
wanted to plot the four islands off the Cape. It was a fine clear
morning, with tints of yellow, pale grey-blue, and deep blue enriching
the sky. Nelson had a special sledge equipped with a winding drum and
various boxes of “gadgets,” as he called his instruments. With this
apparatus he was surveying the depth of the sound, and found that it
varied very abruptly from place to place. Next day we went off again,
and I obtained further angles from different stations, being unable to
find the flag at east base. Finally, I found it beaten flat by the
blizzards, the 1½-inch thick standard of solid male bamboo being
snapped to splinters.

On Queen’s birthday Captain Scott informed me that he was afraid I
should be able to do very little science on the southern trip. “You
would only be able to go up the Beardmore and down again, so your time
would practically be wasted.” So that he decided that I should go west
to Granite Harbour, at which I was very pleased, though it was rather
rough on Debenham, who was to have had charge of a party in that
region. Dr. Bill pointed out that Debenham and I were fully occupied
with different aspects of geology, so that there was room for both of
us, and Scott arranged that I was to take Gran and Forde as the other
members of the party.

My report of the western journey was approaching completion, and I
devoted some time to making a portfolio out of purely local
ingredients. From the rubbish-heap I got me a Venesta box, built of
tough 3-ply wood. I brought this into the hut, and with much labour
pulled off the galvanized binding strips. Then I cut out suitable
portions, leaving thereon the stencil of Beach’s jams. I scrubbed them
free of strawberry jam, and then worried Day to give me a nice piece
of sealskin. This I pared down thin and soaked it in alum overnight.
Later I riveted it with bifurcated rivets from Shackleton’s hut, and
the net result was interesting, if not aesthetic!

“It is really the ‘long winter night’ now. I should say the real
darkness began about the 20th, but you can still see to read outside
at midday! I nearly got frostbitten paring that sealskin by
candlelight in the outer storeroom. Only I kept my fingers in the
candle flame fairly frequently!”

Birdie Bowers’ lecture on Sledge Foods was very good.

He poked fun at the “medical faculty” on every possible occasion. I
deplored the inability to speak with authority on sledging rations,
for in the west I had permitted our butter to be eaten instead of
leaving it in a depôt, as the southern party had done! But the chief
event was the appearance of Debenham as an advocate for an official
tobacco ration while sledging, and when this was settled by the Owner,
a fresh argument on the relative values of tea and cocoa between
Birdie and Seaman Evans made more merriment.

Late in May Ponting made some of his most picturesque studies. On one
occasion we marched out to the west over the sea-ice to photo the
icebergs. We carried a lantern, and were thus able to cross the
numerous cracks in the sea-ice safely. There had been rather high
tides lately, and these had surged through the cracks and deposited a
mushy layer, which was apparently very salty and did not freeze very
hard. We could hear the shish, shish of Debenham’s ski, but were
unable to see him. Ponting had two huge cameras, and had just set up
his apparatus when Captain Scott, Gran, and Bowers arrived. The Arch
berg had weathered greatly, and the top of the arch had caved in on
the fifth with the noise of an avalanche. The berg was rising out of
the water and had tilted up great cakes of sea-ice. Ponting wanted a
figure in the picture, but one wondered if the berg would choose that
moment to overturn! When the flash went off, however, I had moved over
too far, and so no scale appeared to give an idea of the gigantic mass
of ice.

The last day in May was characterized by a sharp blizzard. It had been
quite calm all the afternoon, and Atkinson went off to catch fish. We
caught a whole _one_, and the weather was so warm (only 18° of frost)
that he was still moving when we reached the hut! This weather lasted
till 5.15 p.m. Then in _two minutes_ the wind rose from calm to
forty-five miles per hour with snowdrifts like driving rain.

Next day we went out to a new hole cut in the 3 feet ice. There was a
forty-mile blizzard, but as there was no drift we got out to the hole
easily enough, though as it was drifted over we had to be careful not
to fall in. Our huge hopes from the new ground resulted in three fish!
We had much more rope to haul in and found it rather hard work.
Atkinson was much amused by the old yarn of the Irishman’s remark
while hauling up his mate: “Hold on, Mike, while I spit on my hands!”
This was apropos of my having to stop hauling to warm my nose. Atch’s
went further, and he had to stay outside the hut until the pringling
subsided!

Dr. Bill gave us a fine lecture on sketching, illustrated by numerous
samples of his own and by copious allusions to the trials of the
budding artists in the hut! He pointed out that one aspirant had done
a fine sketch of an iceberg with a splendid reflection showing in
_stormy_ water. I backed up my unfortunate colleague by showing Bill a
portrait I had made of himself, which turned out “handsome” instead of
“lifelike.”

LECTURE ON SKETCHING.

BY DR. WILSON.

_May 31, 1911._

Sketching down here is very different from this class of work
elsewhere. We are limited in our tools, being confined to pencil and
chalks; and even with these we can only finish a sketch on the field
in midsummer.

Accuracy rather than the making of pictures should be our aim in
Antarctica, especially as our sketches are largely connected with
scientific work. Nothing can be done with colour, though on the 1902
expedition I carried forty coloured crayons and tried to use them
out of doors. Nansen, however, managed to do some useful crayon
drawings in the Arctic.

My method is to make pencil drawings in as great detail as the
temperature will allow, and to scribble over a sort of artist’s
shorthand. I use very few colours, and can indicate Prussian blue,
for instance, by pr. b., etc. Even in temperate regions you have to
use somewhat similar shifts, for you can’t sit down to paint a
brilliant sunset. This “shorthand” I practised largely in Norway in
1897. One gets into the habit of realizing quickly what colours will
mix to give the required shade.

In Antarctica every topic requires a different method of treatment,
and all require accuracy. Now here are some tips that you may find
useful.

Every line is to be criticised as a part of the whole lot, which
means you musn’t scribble haphazard. It is a good test if you can
discover something in your sketch which you did not realize when you
drew it. Always try to analyze the gradations and colours; this
power is largely a matter of habit. You can’t overdo the exercise of
your power of “seeing,” and down here the shades are so subtle that
you get very good practice.

No coarse methods will reproduce snow, ice, or distant mountains.
All these take time, and I notice that surveyors and physiographers
fail here!

Now I will try to point out why some sketches fail.

There is a promising art student present who drew an iceberg. He had
not attempted one before, and so did it carefully and successfully.
But beyond this are waves and sky, and he thinks he knows them. So
we find him showing the berg reflected in waves! He should have
roughed in bits of the waves and sky and made notes. Here we see the
necessity of a first sketch which shows you bits of every feature of
the whole.

The pencil is the only thing to use here, though in other regions
you would also make a rapid sketch to show colour contrasts. Don’t
try to draw with a brush.

To reproduce your sketches, you use H and F pencils. It is very
difficult to grade snow and sky with ink. It is best to use a hard
pencil so that you don’t get into a smudging way, but make each line
distinct.

Do your outlines in very faint lines so that they will disappear
when shaded, and without the use of rubber. If you want a straight
line or circle use a rule or a compass. Be careful to get the
horizon level or you will spoil the whole sketch. Remember that
nature relieves everything by shadow and colour, but not by _lines_.

_Principles of Sketching._

You will find Ruskin’s book very helpful. One should have them
instinctively, as in the case of so many Japanese and all good
artists. The rest must acquire them.

1. _Accuracy_, by attention to small details and differences.

2. Methods. Pen and ink is difficult for snow and sky, and soft
pencil is easier.

3. Outlines are the edges of shadows.

4. Perspective is not of much use in Antarctica.

5. Use an empty picture frame to gauge size and position.

6. Colours are mostly snow-white or blue-grey, but occasionally even
shadows may be orange or the brightest blue.

7. In shading, first practise with a square on white paper and hatch
it. Be careful never to go over the edge.

8. To test the inaccuracy of your eye carefully copy a maple leaf
and then superpose it on the original.

9. If using pen and ink outlines only, never thicken a line. Use
even lines, and remember that it is imperfect because there are no
outlines in nature.

10. There is no _royal way_ to do trees or clouds, etc. Be careful
not to adopt mannerisms.

11. Clouds are solids with a light side and a shaded side; and also
with perspective.

And he ended up with a sly reference to myself. “In drawing land
forms you tend to become a physiographer”!

I spent the next morning on a “make and mend.” My Russian felt boots
were wearing out from the usual cause: not through rough surfaces, but
from scorching when drying near the stove! So I borrowed Wright’s
sewing awl, and Taff Evans coached me with this weapon. It always used
to worry me how cobblers sewed a boot when they couldn’t see the
inside thereof! Anyhow I made a sketch of the method, and afterwards
sewed boots, bags, camera cases, and all sorts of gear with complete
success.

_Procedure._—(A) Push threaded awl through first hole and pull one
end of thread out on inside of boot. To this
attach a stiff point, _i.e._ a nail.

(B) Pull back awl and push through next hole.

(C) Make two loops of the awl thread (see sketch)
_inside_ the boot, and put the nail through the
loop, whose end is attached to the boot (the other
loop is in the supply thread), and so on.

Then I darned four socks, using string instead of wool, for with
_four_ pairs on, and with our hardened skin, the roughness was
immaterial.

Whit-Sunday came along in due course, and we had Church service. This
consisted of the usual Morning Prayer with the special Antarctic
Collect and two hymns. Absolutely the chief lack in the hut was a
hymnal with tunes! We had a Broadwood piano and a dozen hymn books,
but no music except three or four songs, such as “Asleep in the Deep,”
“Old Madrid,” and “Alcala.”

Captain Scott asked me to vamp some tunes for the hymns. I could
really have risen to hymn _music_, but was unable to vamp, and told
him so. I tried to invent an accompaniment or two but failed dismally.
Cherry next negotiated it, and managed one or two quite successfully;
but each fresh tune needed such a lot of practice that he gave it up
after a few Sundays.

However, there seemed no end to the tunes known to Scott and Bowers,
and these with Wilson, Debenham, and Lashley formed quite a
respectable choir.

The Owner was very keen on the hymns. On one occasion he gave out
“Onward, Christian soldiers,” and was so dissatisfied with the result,
that he specially repeated the same hymn next Sunday till we were more
in unison.

The _South Polar Times_ was now finished as far as the letterpress,
and was in the hands of the binder. The whole production was supposed
to be a secret, but it was necessarily a very open one! We could all
see Day manipulating sealskin and Venesta board—in his bunk; though I
don’t think that any one expected he would make such a really artistic
job of it as he did. Ponting printed four of his finest photographs on
very large sheets and then moulded them and trimmed them as plates,
and they added greatly to the beauty of the resulting volume.

I had handed in my official report on the first western journey to
Captain Scott, and now busied myself with a comparison of the
meteorological results of the 1902 and 1910 expeditions.

The temperature curves are very interesting and are shown in the
annexed figure.

On the 5th of June, I gave a lecture on a place I had never seen and
probably will never see—the Beardmore Glacier. I had to spend a
considerable amount of time in reading it up in Shackleton’s book.
Scott had lent his copy to Campbell, so that mine was the only copy in
the hut, and was naturally consulted by everybody. It is a unique
copy, for all the expedition signed it, so that it forms the last
collection of such autographs; and later Sir Ernest was good enough to
write a brief letter therein on the opposite page.

Curiously enough there was one aspect of the Beardmore on which I
could speak with some authority. I had spent two years in Cambridge
doing paleontological research on some Cambrian corals from Central
Australia. Among the specimens which Shackleton had brought back from
the farthest south rock was a small pebble of green marble. In this
were some minute fossils, and they turned out to be the same
“ancient-cups” (_Archeocyathinæ_) as I had described in Cambridge. So
this unique specimen was handed over to me for description, and I was
able to tell our fellows the “habits” of the Beardmore corals.

These queer fossils seem to unite the characters of the two great
families of sponges and corals. They died out in the Cambrian age, but
are of world-wide distribution in deposits of that period.

I had drawn an enlarged map of the Beardmore, and I read extracts from
“The Heart of the Antarctic,” describing the position of the crevassed
areas, etc. My next “old master” was a fine effort—a sort of panorama
of what you would see looking back down the Beardmore. I had
commandeered it from the _Sphere_; but it seemed unnecessary to say
so!

Then from some notes given me by Professor David, I was able to
describe the geology of the rocks fairly fully.

Two contrasted longitudinal sections of the Ferrar and Beardmore
glaciers showed the immensity of the latter and its comparatively
slight slope. I even had a specimen to exhibit! a small piece of the
original fossil-bearing green marble hung as a pendant on my
watch-chain. This was examined by all present, and the southern party
swore to pick up all the green marble they could carry, on the off
chance of it containing my pet fossils! I may be allowed to mention
that this specimen now adorns a lady’s ring, and is mounted after a
design which I owe to Lady Scott.

The most southern fossils: archeocyathinac marble set in a ring.
]

The question of collecting specimens was important, especially as no
geologist was going south. However, I asked them to collect fresh
pieces (which need not be large), and from rock _in situ_ if possible.
A description of the physiographic data most required finished the
lecture.

Dr. Wilson raised a question as to the meaning of the word
“glaciated.” “Is Erebus glaciated?” he asked. I said “No, not in the
strict sense”—for the word applies to regions laid bare after a
glacier has retreated. Scott thereupon said that a new name is needed
for glacier-covered lands. (I think the word “glacierized” is
permissible for this type of country.)

The Owner and I had a great cag as to the shape of the ice at the
mouth of the Ferrar Glacier, which he had explored in 1903. I said in
1911 it had a _tongue_ jutting out to the south-east; he thought there
was a _bay_ here! “This is very queer,” said Scott. “Well, I can’t
make it out! I expect I shall continue to believe I’m right, and you
will believe you’re right.” I said, “I can do better than that. I
believe we are both right, and it’s these incomprehensible glaciers
that are wrong!”

It was late when I turned in and most of the others were asleep. Some
were dreaming, for Cherry cried out suddenly, “But look here, those
horses are quite unloosed!”

Titus Oates was awakened in the next bunk and inquired anxiously,
“What’s that about the horses?”

It will have been gathered that there was some touch of the navy about
our life in the Hut. I may, without breach of confidence, say that I
had been warned by a former explorer against the “side” of the naval
men. This advice seems most amusing on looking back at our
experiences. Apart from Scott the naval men were younger than the
scientists, and their attitude may be gathered from their
nickname—which they bore with considerable complacency—of the
“pseudo-scientists”! But it was a case of give and take. A naval man
would wish to learn some branch of science, and one of the most
amusing evenings was when one naval student underwent an examination
by one of the geologists and successfully attained honours, through
the whispered promptings of the other geologist.

The account of the lectures will show how catholic were our interests.
Practical meteorology and navigation are two subjects in which I
received kindly assistance from the respective experts. Dr. Bill, as I
have shown, was willing to devote hours to any of us who wished to
learn to sketch. Ponting was always ready to train the southern party
so that they might obtain a satisfactory photographic record of the
Polar dash. And so on right through the community, including the
seamen and others in the mess deck. I am sure the latter enjoyed the
free life. It must have been a topsy-turvey experience for them to see
the weary watchman—who was always one of the officers during
1911—nodding or shivering over the stove, while they snugly slept
through the night.

Occasionally, if the unfortunate officer fell over the fire-irons, or
otherwise disturbed the “mess deck,” the sailor-men would permit
themselves the luxury of caustic remarks behind their curtains—well
knowing that the chance of scoring off a member of the “afterguard”
would not occur in a less socialistic community. I remember playing
off a game of bezique with Taff Evans, who rather prided himself on
the game. At first, to my amazement, he was beaten, and the mess deck
crowded into our cubicle to jibe at Taff! However, he soon got
“topsides” of a mere geologist. Dr. Atkinson was keen to learn
Russian, and we used to hear him chanting vocabularies with the two
Russians in the mess deck.

If we wanted any repairs done, it was always easy, with a little
blarney, to get round Evans, or Crean, or Lashley, or one or other of
the petty officers, and all the scientists learnt something of many
handicrafts through contact with the stalwarts of the navy.

Debenham and Gran went off to visit Hut Point, and bring back the
specimens we had left there in April, so that I had the Ubdug cubicle
to myself. The enemy took advantage of my lonely condition, and just
as I had got off to sleep a great beam of wood, six feet long, was
pushed into my bunk by some base villain. I arose in my wrath, and
seeing that “Marie” Nelson seemed somewhat conscious in his bunk, I
pushed it on to him, and added a chair or two, and various other
movables. He fell upon me, and we rolled about over the main table
until I skilfully deposited him up against the Owner’s cubicle, when
he had to desist for fear of wrecking it. Birdie Bowers, Meares, and
Oates were hugely delighted, the more so because Birdie had done the
foul deed!

Such were the cowardly tactics of the Bunderlohg. I was too tired to
attempt to chastise Birdie, and turned in again, merely remarking that
he would not have dared to do this if my honourable colleagues had
been present.

It was quite an accident, but almost all the scientists and non-naval
men were on the port side of the hut, while the naval men and
“Teamsters” were on the starboard side. Dr. Wilson was out of place in
the ranks of conservatism; but as he used jovially to egg on both
sides, we rarely knew his opinion on the burning questions of the day!

Curiously enough, the right arm of the conservatives (“reactionaries”
_we_ called them) was our biologist Nelson. He and Bowers argued
largely, until Birdie became too deeply immersed in the question of
stores to attend to much else. But I was credited with a nimble
tongue, and Simpson was always crushing, with his inside knowledge of
social problems, so that the Progressive Party was by no means
unrepresented. We could always rally a strong colonial contingent in
the persons of Debenham (Australia) and Wright (Canada); and never
have I had such amusing arguments (cags we called them) as during the
Antarctic night. Woman’s Suffrage I have known argued _ad nauseam_
from dinner-time (7 p.m.) till midnight, when Nelson and myself were
left still opposed, and still full of argument. Prayers for peace
never deterred Nelson from preaching women’s inferiority. Boots were
the arguments that usually drove him to seek his cubicle and sink to
rest.

In mid-June there was bright moonlight, so Wright and I decided to
visit Cape Royds, and get a few things from Shackleton’s hut. I
started with balaclava and wind helmet, and two pairs of gloves. As
there was no wind, and only −8° temperature, I shed first the helmet,
then the balaclava, and then the thick and thin pairs of gloves! It
was about six miles only, and of course much easier by the sea-ice
than _viâ_ the crevassed Barne Glacier (our route in January). We got
some gas tubing, which Day wanted, some ginger for Atkinson, tracing
paper and a chisel for Charles, and I bagged a carpenter’s rasp. It
reminded me of Crusoe’s visits to his old ship, for it was great fun
poking about in cupboards, not knowing what treasures might turn up.

We soon turned south to our own hut, meeting Birdie and Cherry also
off to Cape Royds. On our left Erebus looked like a great cone of
white sugar against the blue-black sky, where the moon shone
resplendent. Charles rudely scoffed at my poetic wish that Luna were a
mirror and would show us how the world were progressing!

Debenham and Gran returned next day after an absence of six days at
the Discovery Hut. On arrival they found one of our dogs (Macaca)
lying in the porch. He had been lost for a month, and was naturally
pretty thin! They fed him on some biscuits, and then got the blubber
stove going. In the whole time they had only had three hours decent
weather! In the same time we had only experienced three hours bad
weather. But every day was showing us more and more clearly that the
weather conditions were extraordinarily localized in the Ross Island
area.

They had started back on Sunday, but were caught in a snowstorm when
about two miles off, and so took their bags off the sledge and bolted
back for safety! Monday was very thick; and later Debenham woke, and
his watch said 2. The only clue as to whether this was 2 a.m. or 2
p.m. was that the dog seemed very hungry, which made them think it was
morning. So they rushed off without breakfast, and expected to arrive
in time to have it with us; to find us just getting ready for supper!
It was a quaint coincidence that Birdie and Cherry had also lost count
of time, and came in expecting breakfast at 7 p.m. Such is the
pernicious effect of the sun’s absence for four months!

For some weeks I had been helping Simpson in the magnetic hut. Each
Thursday he secluded himself in the little asbestos hut, and proceeded
to obtain absolute measurements of the magnetic field. He had a small
stove to warm the hut, and kept the temperature at +65°, so we were
comfortable enough, except that a wind of sixty degrees of frost
sailed in through the hole in the wall by which he viewed his stadium.

At Cape Evans the magnetic variation was about 150° E., which means
that the north-seeking end of the magnet pointed to the south-east! In
other words, we were far to the southward of the south magnetic pole.
In fact, when we were at Knob Head Mountain, up the Ferrar Glacier,
the variation was nearly 180°, and we were close to the line joining
the south magnetic pole to the end of the earth’s axis—which is the
real South Pole.

The procedure in the magnetic work was too technical to be inserted
here. However, Simpson estimated the dip of the needle by accurate
measurement of the angle of rest of a magnet swung on a horizontal
axis. Then he got the horizontal factor. This controls the position of
an ordinary magnet, as usually swung on a vertical axis.

The results were used as a check on the continuous record obtained
from the magnetometers in the ice grotto. At certain fixed dates
Simpson and Wright carried out “quick runs.” All the chief
observatories in the world were doing the same work at the same
instant, and Simpson’s work, so near the magnetic “hub of the
universe,” was obviously of prime importance in this connection.

The Cape Crozier party were now busily engaged with their preparations
for the midwinter journey to the haunt of the Emperor penguins. For
some weeks Cherry had been practising hut-building near Skua Lake. He
used the kenyte boulders, which lay scattered around the hut. It was
roofed with sealskin, and in one corner he managed to maintain a
blubber stove.

Uncle Bill was busy making a patent nose-guard to withstand the
blizzards of the Barrier.

“Extraordinary the affection a fellow gets for a pair of old pants!”
says Birdie, who has spent all morning darning a pair for the
midwinter journey. Dr. Bill glances at them, and says drily, “Most
extraordinary!”

Some one else chimed in, “It’s queer the way your clothes vanish in
this hut, even if they are _marked_!” We all agreed that the only safe
way was to wear them. Gran pathetically remarked, “And dey do seem to
go den too!”

Said Meares caustically, “Never mind, you’ll find them when you have
your next bath” (which sounds unkind, if you don’t understand the
difficulties of bathing in the hut; for Gran melted down bits of
glacier for a wash as often as most of us!).

I went out to South Bay to see how Nelson’s biological station was
progressing, and carried a thermos flask with me. The moon gave a
little light. His semicircular wall (called the “Igloo”; quite
wrongly) was built of mush ice from the hole, and was now six feet
high, opening to the north. It was curious how the blizzard drifts
rebounded from the wall and left a windward trench all round the
latter, though a great pile of drift extended many yards north (to
leeward).

He picked at the new ice with a crowbar and ladled it out with a sort
of net. Then he pulled up his nets, which phosphoresced beautifully
from transparent _Siphonophora_. It must be understood that though our
air temperature in winter was below −30°; yet the salt water was
always +29° (or 59° warmer!). So that a sound scheme would have been
to have had a diving-bell retreat and go down under the sea-ice, out
of the blizzards at minus thirty. This was, of course, just what the
seals did!

He emptied the animals into the thermos flasks (which were intended
for _our_ comfort), and so got them back to the hut without their
being damaged by freezing.

Then we returned to the hut, facing the keen north wind; so that a
characteristic photograph of _any_ explorer under such conditions is
shown in the annexed sketch!

Debenham and I had some arguments as to the temperatures in the hut. I
felt cold in my bunk, whereas he said he was always warm in his.
However, we got a thermometer and tested the temperature at various
levels.

Near the stove it was 55°, but on the floor in our cubicle it was 35°,
only a degree or two above freezing. No wonder our toes got cold. My
bunk was 42°, the table was 45°, and his bunk (six feet above the
floor) was 52°. So that naturally he was warmer in the belt of
ascending air. However, the elevated bunks were (like the “gods” at a
theatre) not specially well ventilated, so that I preferred my cooler
sleeping-place.

Next day Simpson and I went off again to look at the Igloo. There was
only a faint starlight, and we could neither find the Igloo nor the
Cape when we turned back! However, we steered by a star and got back
to the hut by a longer route, during which I fell three feet into the
tide crack between the sea-ice and the hut.

That evening Day lectured on “Motor Sledges.” It was good to hear him
so optimistic. Scott told us of his experiences at Lauteret in France
with the “Antarcticker” Charcot. (Quite recently a statue to Captain
Scott has been erected by the French in this region.)

I had agreed to sketch the movements of the steam cloud from Erebus
during the winter, but I note on the 20th June, that it was about the
first time for a month that I had been able to see the top of Erebus.
Ponting reported that it was glowing strongly during the day; but no
colour was visible when I went out to look at it, while Debenham spent
a long while outside on the off chance of an eruption. But −35° cooled
him off, and he came in unsuccessful.

“_Midwinter Day, June 22, 1911._—Here it is Midwinter Day, and except
in my sleeping-bag sledging, I have not felt specially cold down here,
sixty below freezing without wind is perfectly comfortable. But this
morning a nippy north wind made my thumbs ache while cutting out the
fish trap, and Atch’s and my noses are getting red-tipped and sore.
Still, I’ve known that happen elsewhere! One never gets ‘chaps’ here;
I wonder why? However, August is the coldest month and the stormiest,
but it will be lighter then.

“This afternoon, at 3 p.m. (Greenwich) there was a strong twilight to
north. Light red (a clear non-yellow colour) along the horizon. Then
indigo—probably a cloud—then clear pale blue, and above this
slate-blue merging into the star area. No moon or sun. But an hour
later all this had vanished.

“I am on night duty. Dr. Bill was up till 1 a.m. He heard me cursing
because I couldn’t find my towel after my usual bath, and came to help
me. Bathing at 6° above freezing-point, you don’t care to wait about
much! I have on my Jaeger coat, felt boots, two pairs of wool socks,
wool helmet, two jerseys, thin flannel shirt, and thick singlet, thick
underpants and thick corduroy trousers. By keeping my feet up on a
chair out of the cold ‘floor air’ I keep comfortably warm, but will
probably go into the kitchen galley.

“2.30 a.m. Just been putting in half an hour with the confounded
stove. I added compressed fuel at midnight, but later found it nearly
out. I’ve devoted one of my two weekly candles to it, but it only
flamed weakly. So I waked Clissold. He says it’s due to the cold ice
I’ve just put in; but adds, ‘Let her rip!’ So I don’t care. The
porridge won’t be properly cooked, but most of them like it so!

“I suppose the gramophone will be celebrating to-day. They are fine
records. I like the opening chorus to the ‘Dollar Princess’ best,
though I can only hear the words ‘across the water,’ but the minor key
is O.K. Margaret Cooper’s ‘’Tis folly to run away from love’ is the
only clear girl’s voice. Robey on ‘Golf’ and ‘Prehistoric Man’ are
very popular. Oates always calls for ‘The Sergeant of the Line’ and
‘Why should I marry at all?’ Both are good bass songs. The Anona-Banjo
dance is fine. Meares likes ‘We all walked into the Shop,’ while Gran
prefers a Creole wail, ‘Ma Honey’ and ‘Madam Butterfly,’ which I can’t
stick! We have a few hymns, and the ‘Night Hymn at Sea’ is grand.

“Debenham, Ponting, and Cherry (especially the latter) are good at the
pianola. It works usually from 5 to 6 and 12.30 to 1.30, while the
gramophone runs from 8 to 9 if there’s no lecture. We don’t have any
sing-songs, and they are really not needed with the three or four
hundred tunes on the two instruments.

“I snoozed peacefully after my night-watch till noon on the 22nd. Then
we had lunch, and Cherry produced the first number of the _South Polar
Times_ and handed it to Captain Scott.

“He had typed all the prose, and (cutting out alternate pages from a
day-book) had pasted the sheets in the book between clean pages. There
were fifty pages of typescript. Then Day had bound it splendidly in
Venesta board. It was edged with sealskin, and he had cut a cameo
monogram, _S.P.T._, through the outer layer of venesta into the dark
_middle_ layer of the three-ply boards.

“There were about ten full-page illustrations, and many drawn by Bill
in spaces left in the text when typed.

“The guessing at authors was very funny. Gran was rabidly curious. I
fear no one thought I had done ‘Valhalla,’ which is a mixed
pleasure—for all seem to enjoy it; while Nelson put down the
‘Protoplasmic Cycle’ to Debenham, though he had actually read the
verse in the Pack in my diary! Bill’s illustrations are tiptop,
especially the three Egyptian tablets. The latter are frightfully
clever apart from the draughtsmanship. Every line is a history in
itself.

“The _first_ sketch shows three of the debris cones on the Ramp. One
is labelled—in honour of our cubicle—the Ubdugs, while Birdie, in his
green hat, crowns another.

“The _second_ shows Keohane painting (he did the yellow funnel on the
ship). He stands on Forde. ‘Chippy’ carries the hut, and Abbott (with
frosted hair) helps him. Day on his motor has his long legs and arms
disposed in true hieroglyphic attitudes. Meteorological signs for
thunder and lightning surround the engine.

“In the bottom corner is the western party sledging. Three men pulling
hard, while one lanky individual provided with a long beard is
sketching instead of working! This is a foul and funny libel on
myself!

“The _third_ represents Birdie, Crean, and Cherry (with spectacles)
adrift on the floe. This is labelled with the sign * (for ice) to
prevent any mistake. The killer-whales are going for Birdie’s fat
legs. Then there’s the 1902 Hut bulging out with ice, with drip-pots
to catch the thaw, and ‘Hoosh’ labelled in Beaufort scale letters.

“In the other corner a screaming drawing of the ‘Little Perisher’
(Atkinson) caressing a frostbitten ear and nose which is labelled with
the ‘glazed frost’ sign. They are the funniest pictures I have ever
seen, and beat Hogarth into a cocked hat for detail.”

“SOME ANTARCTIC ARCHIVES.”
]

EXTRACT FROM SOME ANTARCTIC ARCHIVES.

1. And it came to pass that in the month of January,

2. Scothe-Ohnah took up wintak-watahs on Ros-is-land.

3. And there was great barkinofdogs and neighinofhorses

4. With phufphuf of motahs.

5. The Hut was raised by chypechap, fordandkohane.

6. Abbottelped.

7. All said “Itwa s’dam cold”.

8. After Three Weeks (E’Linag Lyn) it was done.

9. Then twelve under Scothe-Ohnah started South,

10. Fourundah Sharn-Gatch for the West.

11. Theship departed.

12. The Cobbos parted, Kreen-an-Ephans.

13. Birdibow-Ahs of the mighticaluph reached the furthest.

14. Withim Soljah-an-gran.

15. Bur-de-Cherry and Crean “chaunst their arm”.

16. Olswell.

17. Allah-ad-diris.

18. Sharn-ledwel and kambaque.

19. Theoldh-utwas full. Itliqued. Itwa-so-dakh.

20. Soljah-fash-son-ed a stove.

21. It burned with blubber and did nearly all the cooking.

22. Hu Ra. Hoosh. Hush. Hoosh.

23. Thesephroze.

24. Scothe-Ohnah and with him eight others left for Kapevans. Thalef
thejonah.

25. Theice bluout.

26. Phrostbit nosears and phace.

27. Thisis thethir tieth.

28. Garnfroste phace!

29. Daian Marie came sledging.

30. They got phrostbit. Algot phrostbit.

31. Bill Esau sumemp-Rahs.

32. Enuphsasgudas-a-phest.

“Gran is very funny about Valhalla! He has been sounding Birdie and
Ponting as to the home of the northern gods! Marie Nelson had never
heard of Valhalla, but was going to work to find out who coined the
word ‘pont.’ The Owner read the greater part to us. He can make a good
speech and write well, but he’s no reader, as he confessed! Ponting’s
plates are splendid. Gran thinks he did the ‘Sleeping Bag Medley’; but
I doubt it strongly. However, probably my guesses are as wild as any
one’s and the whole thing is very good fun.

“After lunch I went out for a stroll to see the Antarctic in darkest
night. No one else seemed keen. I walked to South Bay over Island Lake
and back over Skua Lake.

“There was a twilight, grey-blue to the north—an arc extending from
about Granite Harbour to Cape Royds, and this gave some light. I wore
my felt boots, which are warm though slippery. I came one cropper
through not seeing a drop of two feet down a snow ridge. As I walked
up the next snow slope, it gave out an octave—the notes descending the
scale! I could just see Tent Island, but could not make out the edge
of the cliff close by. It was so calm that I walked part way back
without a helmet. I came another cropper, hurting my shin and elbow
and so to the hut.

“On my return, I found them draping the hut with sledge flags. My
‘blood-stained banner’ and Debenham’s (both made by my sister) were
hung over the table. Atkinson and Birdie made their own flags. (Atch
has a black tree on a white silk flag.) Ponting and Gates have none.

“Then we had dinner, while Ponting manœuvred the cameras to get a
photo. He moved away all nearer than I was, so I was left in the
foreground, and unfortunately practically spoilt the picture! For I
meekly cast my eyes down as the flash went off, and am obviously blind
drunk! They don’t know that I only had a quarter-glass of awful
lime-juice, while the others had champagne!

“Then speeches began. The Owner made a ripping speech, pointing out
that we’d done half the time, and must realize that we could only do
about as much more. Dr. Simpson wished health to the southern party,
and we who were going west drank it with him. I arose with an apology
for saying, ‘Captain Scott, Gentlemen, and Non-scientists.’ This dig
at Oates, Birdie, and Co. brought down the house, for they have
occasionally opened by saying, ‘Captain Scott, Scientists, and
Gentlemen.’ Atkinson and Wright failed lamentably, except that Charles
said (_à la_ the discussions), ‘I have no remarks to make, sir, in
addition to those stated,’ while Atch said, ‘I endorse that.’ Debenham
discussed the colonial representation on the expedition. Cherry
reminded us of the home folks drinking our healths.

“Birdie had moved off to the foot of the table, and said he couldn’t
make a funny speech, so he was going to _show_ us something funny.
Therewith entered four of the seamen with a unique Christmas tree.

“It was built of a ski-stick draped with bunting, with penguin feather
foliage, hung over with candles and candied fruit. The gifts were from
Mrs. Wilson’s sister, and were perfect. Birdie’s distribution was
magnificent.

“Every second present or so was a necklace or earrings for ‘Miss
Jessie’ Debenham. Meares got many wedding-rings in memory of his
refrain, ‘Ting! Ting! You buy the ring.’ ‘Marie’ Nelson had a huge
fan, while Dr. Bill got a book of drawing copies. Titus got a popgun,
and ‘Silas’ Wright an envelope marked ‘In memory of my native land,’
containing the Stars and Stripes! This, as a loyal Canadian, he threw
away with contumely.

“I got a ‘Physiographic outfit’ of shovel, axe, and pick for ‘our
Griff,’ and a packet of shaving paper for ‘the Lord High
Physiographer,’ and (I blush to state) a trumpet with a note which I
scorn to set down!

“Then the table was cleared away, after we had pulled crackers, and we
sat down to look at Ponting’s slides of events to date. They were
admirable, especially the Ice-foot and Pancake ice. I was exhibited
rather frequently, and the incipient beard excited much hilarity.”

A few of the seamen became rather merry by this time, and a set of
lancers was not a great success, my partner finding the floor
unsteady. We all turned in before 2 a.m. (except Dr. Bill, who was on
watch), and so ended our Midwinter Feast.

On the next day I spent some hours trying to find the exact time when
the sun _was lowest_. As we had not seen him for two months, this may
seem difficult! But from the Nautical Almanac it was possible to plot
the sun’s position (declination) for three or four days each side of
the 22nd. This came out a parabola, of which we could not find the
exact apex (or date of lowest sun). However, by adding the curve of
the _variation_ (as suggested by Wright), the date came out readily
enough at the intersection of two straight lines.

“The result at Greenwich was ⅒ of 24 hours after the noon of June 22 =
2h. 24m. p.m. Our clock[8] keeps Greenwich time (though we are not
quite on 180° meridian), so that this time by our clock was the
critical instant of midwinter. Hence Dr. Bill was the only one awake
at that interesting moment!

“However, Thursday’s dinner on the 22nd was the nearest to the exact
time of lowest sun, so we were _en règle_. Meares insisted that I was
thus particular because I wanted another feed on the 23rd! This to me,
who ate nothing and drank less!”