Chapter VI: Making Winter Quarters at Cape Evans (13)

Meanwhile a sea fog was rolling in from the east. Gradually it blotted
out all the features below us. I had just time to hurry back to the
tent before everything around us vanished. Debenham turned up a minute
or two later, but I was getting anxious when Forde and Gran returned.
It is impossible to find one’s way in these fogs, and exposure to
Antarctic weather is a thing to be dreaded even in summer.

Next morning we started transporting our gear down to the bay ice. We
followed our former route, which certainly seemed to have been the
best. We had now to carry down many specimens, for the Flat Iron was a
wonderful collecting ground. The main mass is grey granite, but it
includes many varieties of schist and bands of altered limestone;
gabbros, amphibolites, quartz porphyries, marble, mica-schists,
felsites and rhyolites were mostly _in situ_, while erratics of basalt
and sandstone were common.

GRAN’S MIDSUMMER BATH, DEC. 21, 1911.

A small tarn of the Devil’s Ridge overlooking the Punchbowl (300 feet
below). Across the latter appears the Dewdrop Glacier. The tarn is
held back by a snowdrift glacieret.

[_See p. 378._
]

_Photo by Gran._]

THE COULOIRS OF MOUNT ENGLAND (WHICH DEVELOP INTO CWMS LATER).

The Flat Iron hides the base of the mountains. In the foreground the
ice-foot of Cuff Cape.
]

The rough shaking to which our gear was subjected resulted in our
losing the top of the theodolite tripod, the pump-knob on the Primus,
and the sight-ruler! Debenham found the latter, but we had to use
makeshifts for the other lost articles.

At 7 p.m. we were back at Cape Geology. Each time we returned we found
the pressure ridges and tide crack off the cape had altered in shape
and made our approach more difficult. The skua gulls had found our
blubber store and were gobbling it up as rapidly as they were able.
Our hut floor was inches thick in ice, but we gave up trying to make
the hut comfortable, and the cook shivered out there at the stove, and
then brought the food down to the tent, where we ate it in comfort.

At this time we were devoutedly hoping for wind, so that some of the
sea-ice should blow away and permit the ship to reach us. Captain
Pennell was due any day now, but the bay ice looked as solid as when
we had entered in November.

We inspected the “vegetable garden” and found that twelve dicotyledons
had sprouted! I imagine these are the first grown in the open air
within the Antarctic circle! They seemed thirsty, so I gave them some
water. But, alas! the weather rapidly grew colder. Every day a few
were blighted, and, finally, I carefully gathered the remnants and
placed them in my pocket-book as a record of Gran’s well-meant
experiment.

I was much disappointed with the moss. It lay in peaty clods between
the boulders, usually in lumps about the size of a large bath bun, and
had formed a considerable amount of humus. But it remained almost
black and dead all this summer. Usually January 15th is the warmest
day, but this season December was much warmer than January, and I
think the backward condition of the moss showed that it was an
exceptionally severe summer.

I was now cook again, and will copy some of my cooking notes. “At 4.30
I dug up the seal meat cache, and found a whole liver buried deep
under a layer of ice. It all seemed fresh, and Forde helped me to cut
it up on a board outside the hut. Then I got the stove lighted by
blubbery paper pretty easily, and the cooker full of water. I heated
this for cocoa till it began to sing, and then put on the frying-tray.
This latter was the base of our cooker, but served excellently as a
pan; except that it was so large that one part of the meat would
freeze while the rest was frying! I put in some fat, and tipped in
four mugs of cut up seal and liver. It took about three-quarters of an
hour to cook, being stirred continuously. I fear me I used my dagger
as poker, cutter of blubber, as scraper of soot, stirrer and taster,
all indiscriminately! However, with onion powder and salt it doesn’t
taste badly, though it makes my teeth ache chewing it. The cooker of
warmed water boiled in no time, though it had been cooling for
three-quarters of an hour, and we had hot cocoa to time. I had only
one biscuit, so that it was a cheap indigenous meal.”

The weather had been rather disagreeable during the last month, about
four days fine alternating with five days overcast. This is not usual
in midsummer, but we chiefly required strong winds to blow away the
sea-ice, so that Pennell could reach us. With a sailor’s superstition
Gran hung up his most dilapidated headgear “for a favouring wind.” He
said it always took effect in twenty-four hours. However, as was often
the case with our sanguine prophet, nothing came of his forecast, and
his stock was flat again.

On the 11th Debenham swore that he saw the _Terra Nova_. Gran
confirmed this, and said the sails were set. I got hold of the
binoculars, and alas! I saw _three Terra Novas_. They were miraged
bergs, I fear. I thought it would be a good plan to have a signal on
top of Discovery Bluff, and so Gran and I carried paper, blubber, and
dried moss, to the summit, and left them there in readiness for a
flare, if the ship approached. I carried up the theodolite, but did
not take many angles, for it began to snow. When I returned, I found
that Forde had kindly done my cooking—or rather greatly improved on
it. He made some excellent chupatties from “thickers” and raisins, of
which we had a small surplus.

That evening we had a great argument about the possibility of a German
invasion, Gran _versus_ Debenham, in which Forde and I took sides to
keep things lively. “We agreed that Germany could not conquer a
colony, even if it _were_ handed over to them; that the Kaiser’s
aspirations ought to be humbled, and that the British officers were
not so highly educated as the German.” Gran had many tales of the vast
amount of linguistic and mathematical knowledge which they amassed.

_Friday the 12th._—No sign of the ship! This is the day I backed for
our meeting. However, my cookery is over for a time.

Gran and I walked over to the Tongue to measure the movement of the
ice. On the 26th of December I had sighted on to the stake with the
theodolite, and obtained a movement of thirty feet in twelve days.
“She is fairly galloping to sea.” On this occasion we both wore spiked
boots, and so had little difficulty on the glacier, though the recent
snow had hidden all but the largest crevasses. On arrival at the
stake—which had not suffered from the blizzards—Gran lay on the snow
with the field glasses, and observed Debenham, who was posted with the
theodolite at the camp station. Meanwhile I moved east or west, and
Debenham signalled to Gran until I stood on the transit with the crack
in the Kar Cliffs. Now I made a direct measurement from this line to
the stake, and found a movement to the east of eighty-two feet.
Therefore the glacier has a velocity of almost a yard a day. The
sketch (Fig., p. 374) shows exactly how this determination—which I
believe to be the most accurate in Victoria Land—was made.

Gran suggested trying another route back, so we moved into one of the
huge gullies (which nearly dissect the Tongue every half-mile) and we
found it remarkably easy. There were three little lakelets between
thirty feet walls, showing there was no drainage into crevasses here,
and we reached the bay ice with great ease.

I discussed pushing off for Cape Roberts instead of waiting close to
the Bluff. There was no possibility of the ship coming in to us, and
we could meet them as easily from the entrance. On the other hand,
there seemed no way out of the _cul-de-sac_ at Cape Geology if the
ship did not arrive, and the sea-ice broke away. So, after talking it
over, I decided to leave our headquarters on the 14th.

On the 13th Debenham and Gran went to the Bluff, and Gran climbed to
the top to scan the ice in Ross Sea. Debenham visited the flag, and
made a chart of the great shear cracks in the bay ice, due to the
Mackay Ice Tongue.

Forde and I packed everything which we should need for sledging at
Evans Coves on the good sledge. We packed the specimens, and some
articles not now necessary on the “roof-tree” sledge. This
necessitated dismantling Granite Hut, and very woe-begone it looked,
with the sealskins flapping dismally on its walls. They had turned
into fine _black_ fur now, but were not beautiful enough to warrant
transport on our heavily laden sledge. The skuas enjoyed our removal.
They pounced eagerly on our specimen bags, and flew off some distance
with several, in the hopes of finding a dainty morsel.

I was much amazed at the unusual sight of two skua gulls amicably
tearing a piece of blubber up between them, and bolting half each. I
never saw another instance of so much sociability.

“On Sunday, January 14, I woke the others at 6 a.m., having had to
keep awake an hour or so to do it. We had food quickly, packed up, and
were ready to start about twenty to eight. I should think our sledge
had 900 lbs. on it, which is about a record down here. We got over our
‘Pressure Pier’ to the bay ice without much difficulty, though it is
very narrow now. Later parties will have to find a new route.

“We found the sledge pretty hard to pull, and it took us over an hour
to do the first mile. When you are going slowly it is always twice as
hard, and lasts twice as long! This looked bad with nine miles to do.
We got over the first tide crack, near the signal flag, by means of an
island. Then we halted for a rest, and marched along the front of the
Bluff towards the Piedmont Ice Tongue. The east was very gloomy now,
and it started to snow. When you are pulling half a ton, and know that
the ice you are on was breaking up in January, 1903, this is not
cheerful. However, I turned in nearer the land, so as to reach
Avalanche Bay, where it was possible to ascend the cliffs. The snow
got no worse, and the surface improved slightly. We could see two
seals far ahead on the next big crack, and we found thirty feet of
wet, mushy snow at the first spot.”

A little searching showed us a possible track. Debenham and I, tied
together, crossed first, and then the others, and then we judged the
sledge might do it. I expect it would have sunk like a stone if the
ice had given way; but we had to get over here, or nowhere.

The snow came down thickly now, and we plugged ahead by compass for
the small Piedmont Tongue, where we had been held up two days on our
arrival. Suddenly we seemed to run into a snow slope, and by a mighty
expenditure of energy we got the sledge up on to the tongue, and were
safely on fixed ice for the time.

We soon got the tent pitched, for there was not much wind, and had
some tea. I will quote my diary.

“We were all in a cold sweat, for the work is very hard, and yet you
don’t keep warm. However, we got into our bags, and were soon warm, if
damp. The blizzard was but temporary, and about 4 p.m. it blew over to
the west. I crossed the Tongue to see the descent on the other side.
It was about five feet down a steep snow slope. Beyond was a narrow
shear crack with two seals; but the big crack at the end of the tongue
went further east. We pulled over the glacier and down the slope past
the seals without difficulty. Then on a little further, and saw a
crack to our right.

“It seemed only about a foot wide, and I was testing this weak spot
with the ski-stick, when the foot of soft snow on which I was standing
collapsed, and I went into the water. Luckily I grabbed Deb’s hand,
and Forde and Gran got my harness. I was jerked out like a cork from a
bottle, and was never so near flying. None saw the others pull, and
they thought I felt very light. We plugged on to the east, and came to
the main wavy crack, an ugly thing, thirty feet across, of mushy
water. Luckily this also narrowed at the bend, and after some
searching we pulled over him also.”

I was getting thoroughly tired here. However, we could see our
destination at last, and so pushed on. A keen wind came up from the
south-west, and swept over the one hundred feet glacier wall to the
south, driving snow across our course. We crossed a little crack which
Debenham thought was new since the snowfall. To our left were many
birds, about a mile away, and black patches of ominous appearance were
showing. Debenham climbed on the sledge, and was sure it was open
water, and I agreed; but we couldn’t do anything, and pushed on. “I
got some relief for my tired legs by marching a longer stride, and we
plugged on, hoping it would hold firm another hour. However, at long
length we began to see details in the never-ending glacier wall on our
left—icicles, crevasses, and snowdrifts,—and at last could make out a
feasible slope up on to the Cape, and felt safe. I had cramp from the
pulling, and couldn’t move for a time.” Then it was a distinct
anticlimax, when we got to the top of the Cape, to see that we had
been misled by some queer shadows, that there was firm ice for at
least seven miles, and no sign of water anywhere! However, our
experience at New Harbour made both Debenham and myself realize the
risk we were running if the break up of the ice, now long overdue, had
eventuated.

“Monday, the 15th January, 1912; the day on which we were to be
relieved. ’Nary a relief, nor any sign of it, and skuas squawking
round us!

“We surveyed our cape expecting to find pools of water in plenty, but
there is none anywhere. Everything is covered with snow except the big
boulders and two or three patches of gravel, of which we have annexed
the largest. When we arrived each gravel patch was inhabited by a pair
of skua gulls, which we may call White, Black, and Gray respectively.”

We dispossessed the Blacks, and I put young “Blackie” in a new
nest—just as well made as his own—a little distance away. Meanwhile
Debenham set up the blubber stove on a rock ledge near by, to get to
which he crossed the Grays’ nest rather frequently.

The chronicle of these three families have been done into rhyme by the
“Sledge Poet,” and will be found to be pathetic in the extreme.

A TRUE ANTARCTIC TRAGEDY

On the Cape by Granite Harbour, where the Glacier shrinks away,
Happy dwelt three pairs of Skuas, fighting gaily night and day.
Skua-_White_ possessed but one egg. Young Skua-_Black_ to walk begins;
Skua-_Gray_ was just expecting the arrival of some Twins!

To that Cape by Granite Harbour stagger in at bright midnight,
Blizzard-blown and Ice-tormented, Four exhausted men of might.
Boulders carpeted their refuge, each within a snowfield set,
Only three inviting tent-sites crowned the Cape ... and they were LET.

Operates the law primeval, “Shove the weaker to the floe.”
Fix the tent there in the middle, Skua Black has got to go.
With a shriek of rage and anguish fled the parents of S. B.
Little cared the callous leader; “Hurry up, and boil the tea.”

By the nest of Skuas grayish, quick was placed the Blubber Stove,
And the incense thence proceeding made the skuas murmur “Jove!”
They _had_ to seek another refuge. Bitter feelings filled their cup.
It tore their hearts to leave their offspring, so they sighed—and ate
them up.

Very loudly yelled young Blackie, crawling round the tent all night,
So that kind and humane leader took him off to Skua White.

“Lo! a miracle hath happened,” said returning Skua White;
“Here’s our nest just _full_ of chicken, full of howling appetite.”
Said Skua White, “It would be best, for fear this should become a
habit,
To feed _ourselves_ upon our _egg_.” (Besides, you may be sure _he’d_
grab it.)

So little Blackie reigned supreme
Until one day when he was fed
(By that kind and humane leader
Foster-father, foster-feeder)
On rich and tasty lumps of blubber,
His little tummy stretched like rubber,
Stretched too much——
and now _HE’s_ dead!

The skuas are the most quarrelsome birds I know. They would fight for
hours over the carcase of a freshly-killed seal until they realized
there was enough food for ten times as many skuas—and by this time the
flesh would be frozen so hard they could make no impression on it. The
penguins have their own peculiar propensities, while the seals used to
amaze us by their callousness. The day after we reached Cape Roberts
we killed a large seal and cut it up, while another twenty yards away
watched us quite casually, and did not budge for hours.

There was nothing much to do on the Cape. It was triangular in shape,
rising about fifty feet above the sea-ice. The broad base of the
triangle was covered with snow, which gradually merged into the
Piedmont Glacier. There was no ice wall here, so that the glacier was
presumably stagnant at this corner. The great granite tors of the Cape
were all flattened, showing that they had been planed off by a former
extension of the ice-sheet. Debenham spent some time making a detailed
plane-table survey. I fixed several theodolite stations, but as the
days went by our life settled into a monotonous round.

I cut the meals down to two a day. We had plenty of seal meat and
biscuit, but all the other stores were approaching their last week.

We used to have a meal about 7 p.m. every other day, a half ration of
pemmican; for although seal meat is not so black as it’s painted (and
it’s very black indeed), yet we had eaten little else for a month, and
were all heartily sick of it. Then we turned in, and used to yarn or
read till about 3 a.m., when we managed to get to sleep. We turned out
at noon, and had a biscuit and seal lunch. During the afternoon we
used to walk over the cape and inspect the cracks in the sea-ice. One
man was kept fairly busy cutting up seal meat, and the cook coaxed the
stove to cook the fry.

Debenham was our only smoker, and certainly found tobacco a great
solace. I had brought socks instead of tobacco, and had looked forward
to jeering at him when his tobacco and socks gave out. Unfortunately
our socks lasted much better this trip, as our boots were stronger,
and I never used my spare socks!

Gran started a drama—a great nature play full of storms and wrecks,
with a strong substratum of melodrama. It was called “Tangholman
Lighthouse,” and we used to urge him to fill it full of incident, and
cut out the “nature” part of it. I read “Martin Chuzzlewit” for the
ninth time and found it, as always, very interesting; while Forde
tackled “Incomparable Bellairs”—a book which charmed Gran—but luckily
Forde made it last a very long time.

We played chess with our cardboard pieces. I think we were fairly
even, though Debenham tried risky openings to my advantage. The place
of Evans as Society Entertainer was taken by Gran. His varied
adventures in Arctic seas, among the Andes, in Turkey, Venezuela, and
others of the less-known regions of the earth interested us much. He
was, I remember, very anxious to experience the delights of station
life as pourtrayed by Debenham.

The 20th of January was Gran’s birthday. I was sorry I couldn’t return
his kindly present (of Savoy sauce, etc.), but I told him I would give
him a ship during the day. The Sledge Poet contributed the following
Birthday Ode, dealing with Gran’s Nietzschian principles; which is
here published with Gran’s gracious permission.

ODE TO TRYGGVE

ON HIS 23RD BIRTHDAY, CAPE ROBERTS.

(Chanted at ye Full Pemmican Feast.)

O Trygge Gran, O Trygge Gran,
I would thou wert a moral man,
And yet since we
(The other three)
Are just as moral as can be,
A “soupçon de diablerie”
Improves our little company.

O Tryggve Gran, a holy calm
Is most essential in a psalm.
But prose should be a thought less calmer
When elevated into drama.
And yet though we
(The other three)
Are critical to a degree,
We wish success some future day
To the first Polar “Nature Play.”

O Tryggve Gran, thou art a man
Who hath compressed within a span
Of three and twenty years, such deeds
That hearing which, each man’s heart bleeds
Among us three.
And yet though _we_
Are kind to every girl we see,
I have no doubt each lovely creature
Would rather help _you_ follow Nietzsche!

Oh, Tryggve Gran, you should be dead
A-many years ago—instead
Of which, he saves you oft,
That “Little Cherub up Aloft.”
And therefore we
(The other three)
In this new principle agree,
(As with your luck no man can quarrel)
’Twill serve us best to be _un-moral_!!!

I was just writing the last line of the poem when Gran yelled out
“Ship ho!” We had seen ships many times already, but he was certain of
this, so we turned out, and there, under the fang of Erebus, we could
see some topmasts. Later we could make out three masts and black
smoke, so we knew it was the good old _Terra Nova_, and not the
_Fram_, which burned smokeless oil fuel.

We set about elevating our flags further up the glacier. We took them
up a long way, nearly to the top, as we thought. On our return we saw
they were only one quarter of the way up, a good example of the
trickiness of snow slopes in this respect. I arranged night watches to
observe any signals or sledge parties, and we turned in hoping to be
aboard in twenty-four hours.

[Nay, gentle reader, you are not at the end of my narrative; it was
just twenty-four days before we were relieved.]

Next day she was in much the same position, about twenty miles away
across the screw-pack and broken floes. About two miles away a great
crack stretched from north and south. It was fully eight miles long,
and seemed to presage the breaking up of the sea-ice.

On the 22nd we could not see the ship. A strong south wind sprang up,
and the gradually clouding sky seemed to portend a blizzard. “The
stronger the better,” I write, “if it will only drive out this blessed
floe.” We took a few photographs. There were two Emperor penguins
moulting on each side of our Cape, but Debenham reported that they
were too frightful to photo! Forde and I had a day with my
stereo-camera, taking various interesting details around the
Cape—planed granite blocks, pressure ice in the bay, and then the
Emperors, awful as they were, several seal and berg pictures, etc.;
but sad to relate all these negatives were smashed when the sledge
fell over the glacier cliff. However, I made sketches of the most
interesting features; for instance, one corner of a berg showed very
well how flexible are large masses of ice.

I did not entertain the idea of trying to reach Pennell across the
screw-pack. We should get into more precarious regions each mile, and
we could not communicate with the ship to ensure her awaiting us.
Pennell could send a party with safety at either end if he desired. I
was, however, very glad later to find that Pennell also considered the
pack absolutely impossible for sledging from the ship.

We saw her during the next few days, and then she never showed up
again.

On the 27th a blizzard started, which we hoped would move out the ice.
It tore our sledge flags badly, so that we brought them down from our
distress signal 350 feet up the glacier, leaving the big depôt flag
there.

It was very trying work with the blubber stove, for there was no
shelter on the Cape. When there was any wind the flames would blow out
of the door and gave no heat at all. The water did not get tepid in
half an hour, whereas on a calm day it would boil in twenty minutes. I
spent an hour trying to cook the fry, and barely succeeded in melting
the fat. We decided that the stove could not be used in high winds,
even though it was in a sort of ice cave and the cook sat in the door
to keep the wind out!

Our rations had been cut down by half for a fortnight. We now had
three or four biscuits a day; butter, every other day; chocolate, one
stick; pemmican, one-eighth; sugar and tea, two-thirds a day. However,
we had plenty of seal meat, and as we were not working we required
much less food.

So passed several days. The tide crack was groaning all round the
Cape, large pieces of floes floating loose in it, and jostling each
other as the swell came in from the open water twenty miles away. Gran
spent all one afternoon making chupatties. The lid of the camera box
was his pudding-board. He used the wheatmeal thickers for dough, and
commandeered our allowance of raisins. The cakes were cut out with the
rim of a cup, and then fried in a mixture of butter, fat, blubber, and
soot. Anyhow, the result was highly successful, though the inside was
somewhat wet, and the whole, I should now consider, distinctly heavy.

Each day we started the last bag of something precious. First the
pemmican, then the chocolate, then the butter. Only one seal had been
visible for some days, and I decreed his doom. He lay on a large piece
of ice which was rising and falling with the swell. We reached this
across an ice island, surging about in a large pool. In spite of all
this movement no more of the ice moved north, as far as we could
judge.

On the evening of the 1st of February I held a council. Captain
Scott’s instructions read, “I am of the opinion that the retreat
should not be commenced until the bays have refrozen, probably towards
the end of March. An attempt to retreat overland might involve you in
difficulties, whereas you could build a stone hut, provision it with
seal meat, and remain in safety in any convenient station on the
coast.”

However, he gave me permission to begin the retreat if we were not
relieved in January, and I began to prepare for this event.

Cracks seemed to be spreading in the sea-ice even while one was
watching it. The surging ice in the tide crack, now twenty feet wide,
rose several feet. Now and again a huge shock-groan, like a big rock
bumping on another, announced a new crack, while a constant roar, like
that of a distant lion, announced the periods of maximum of the swell
rolling in from twenty miles away.

On the 3rd of February Debenham, Gran, and I climbed the glacier slope
behind our camp to prospect for a path. We roped up and proceeded
about three miles southward, keeping well behind the crevasses. These
are numerous on the steep seaward slope, but we met with none on the
fairly level ground, though we could see them just below us. The
surface was fair, usually two inches deep in snow and occasionally a
foot deep. This did not promise easy sledging; but the snow was dry
now, and I was going to cut down the weights to a minimum.

We could see open water about twenty miles off, but a huge mass of
ice-pack was apparent as far north as we could see. There seemed to be
a broad belt at least sixty miles long, which was quite absent in
January, 1902.

Obviously our exploration of Terra Nova Bay was impossible now, and it
looked as if the ship would never reach us at Cape Roberts. With good
luck we might cross the Piedmont Glacier to Cape Bernacchi in a few
days, and Pennell might find it easier to reach us there, while we
should at any rate be nearer to Headquarters. There was also a week’s
food there, and we had now only a fortnight’s sledging stores left.

On February 4th Gran and I explored the sea-ice below the Piedmont for
about four miles to the southward. We passed through the fifteen bergs
in the little bay and then got among the screw-pack. This was covered
with snow and afforded extremely heavy going, as may be imagined. Near
the shore was a perfect network of new cracks with the ice “working”
all the time. Below the glacier wall was a deep tide crack four feet
wide, but where the ice had fallen in we managed to get across to
fixed ice. As a result of this journey I decided to march first along
the sea-ice and then climb up the Piedmont at this point.

Next morning I wrote a long letter to Pennell, which we all signed. We
made a depôt on the highest point of the Cape and fixed a flag
alongside, with the letter in a little matchbox. The journal for
Captain Scott I left in my ditty bag. I remorselessly weeded out every
one’s gear. We took nothing but what we stood up in, and our notes and
the instruments. Luckily, most of Debenham’s and all Gran’s negatives
were films, but I had to leave nearly all my plates and my cherished
Browning. I knew we had some bad crevassed country to traverse—thirty
miles of this, and then I expected thirty miles of coast work largely
over moraine and rock, where we should have to portage the sledge and
all our gear on our backs. With a light sledge it was just possible we
might be able to raise it if it slipped down a crevasse; and this was
quite a probable event, for in traversing along a piedmont glacier the
party moves _parallel_ to the crevasses. It thus reaches them
imperceptibly, and the whole outfit may be over a crevasse together,
whereas in crossing them at right angles this is rarely the case.

We turned our backs finally on Cape Roberts at 11 a.m. on the 5th. Our
flag waved bravely, and below was the cairn of stones covering the
food left there by Scott’s orders. If we had to return it would give
us a breathing space, but I never saw the Cape again. For many months
the flag was left in solitude. The screw-pack never broke adrift that
winter. In the next spring, six desperate men sledging southward, as
they thought, to more endurable though no less solitary quarters, here
found the first news of the main party. Our depôt possibly saved
Browning’s life. It certainly gave the Northern party their first
bearable day for many months. Brave old flag! it hangs in Tewkesbury
in Priestley’s home, and there my old Browning was restored to me
after many months!

So we marched on; we were all stiff and out of training, and the
sledge did not pull easily, but we reached the tide crack and crossed
it much more easily than I expected. After lunch we pulled up the
steep slope of the glacier, and to our delight found the surface grow
harder almost every hour. But other troubles were upon us. For three
days I felt it would not benefit any one to write my diary. However,
on the evening of the 8th I wrote up the 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th of
February as follows:—

“Then quite suddenly we came on huge crevasses all round; some open,
which I took care not to keep too close to, and others bridged. They
seemed too wide to do anything with; but after cautioning the others
to tread quietly, I prodded across safely, though the ice-axe pushed
in all its length easily. Then the others followed, and the sledge
after. Gran fell in at the near edge and saw the straight wall.
Several of these were over twenty feet wide, but we had to chance
them, and tested them all before the sledge started. Then we marched
along between two fairly visible ones, and luckily they didn’t join.
The surface got flatter and they died out gradually so that we made
fair progress. We came to another enclosed snow basin, and I felt sure
the seaward slope would be safer. So it was, though Forde went down a
small crevasse. We pulled along this up to a sort of col—about eight
miles from Cape Roberts,—and here, as we were well beyond the mouth of
the Big Valley, we camped.

“My only fear now was that bad weather might cover the glacier with
soft snow, for I felt that all the big crevasses would be lidded, and
the little ones could hardly swallow the lot of us.”

Next morning we made the harness traces longer, so that only one man
at a time need cross even a wide crevasse. We had to traverse the
mouth of another large valley glacier. Three of these debouched on the
Piedmont Glacier from the western mountains, and the pressure from the
northernmost (the Debenham Glacier) was responsible for the crevasses
of the 5th of March. The second valley glacier was not so large, but
we anticipated trouble. We had a stiff pull uphill for three-quarters
of a mile, but some of the snow was so hard that the sledge runners
made no mark. This was an ideal surface, for one’s feet did not slip
on it, though occasionally the sledge skidded. We were about seven
hundred feet above the sea here, and entered a col just below a huge
snow hill.

“Afterwards we were cutting around the hill aforesaid, when suddenly
appeared many crevasses. So we deviated abruptly and ascended sharply.
We encountered three, into one of which I fell, but they were not very
wide. The moral of this is—Don’t go for the break of a hill facing and
near the sea, but stick to humdrum grades if possible; if not, still
don’t go for the break of a hill!”

The somewhat frivolous tone of the above note is evidence that it was
written when we had traversed the worst of the Piedmont. It was always
the case “down South.” One never got photographs or “instantaneous
pen-pictures” of anything really exciting. It was always a case of
“Get a move on, and get out of this good and quick,” so that one’s
diary lost most where it would have been most interesting.

We were now behind Dunlop Island, and about 1250 feet up the Piedmont.
We were astonished to find that the floe had all broken up to
south’ard. Long curved cracks parallel to the coast marked where
pieces were continually floating off. We congratulated ourselves on
our safe position on the Piedmont, for we should have sledged into
this without knowing it had we continued much further on the sea-ice.
Small bergs looking just like white yachts dotted the open water,
which seemed to extend south to Castle Rock. There was no sign of the
_Terra Nova_. We began to think she had come to grief, for Pennell
knew we were free to move off on the 1st of February.

After supper Debenham got out his plane-table and continued his
survey. He was much puzzled by the position of his station on the
stranded Glacier Tongue to the south-east. He realized soon, however,
that it had twisted round, and was even now preparing to continue its
journey to the Nirvana of warm northern waters.

We had been blessed with sunshine the last few days. I don’t believe
we should have managed to dodge the crevasses otherwise, for in dull
weather you cannot tell any difference between a ten-foot hollow or a
ten-foot hummock when it is only a yard or two away. However, as a
result, Forde got a bad touch of snow-blindness. Debenham got out the
medical chest. He ground up some ZnSO_{4}, picked it up on a
paintbrush, and dropped it in the corner of Forde’s eye. Later in the
night I gave Forde another dose, for the pain is pretty considerable.

The next day my right eye was sore and watering, in spite of the amber
glasses, and I feared I was to become a patient also. We plugged along
over an absolutely level snow-plain, when Debenham dropped into a
crevasse, over which I had crossed without puncturing the lid.

In the afternoon my eyes gave out, and I put on bandages on the right
eye, and gave up the lead to Debenham. It was an astonishing relief to
cease from staring at the glaring surface, and either pull along with
shut eyes or keep one eye on the gratefully dirty back of Debenham’s
jacket.

Debenham led us safely past three huge crevasses, and we halted for a
spell among a cluster of smaller ones. That evening we climbed up the
snow hill behind Gneiss Point, about 1350 feet above the sea; and as
we had now passed the third valley glacier, I felt we had finished
with the crevasses for the time being. We camped on hard snow, and
Debenham treated me for snow-blindness. The zinc sulphate may
truthfully be described as an eye-opener, but later the cocaine in the
mixture calms things down. You are advised “to keep your face cool.”
But I had to keep my head in the bag to get warm. However, Forde was
pretty right next day, and mine had stopped aching, though everything
appeared double for many hours!

On the 8th we reached the land near Cape Bernacchi. There was a steep
ice slope two hundred feet high, at an angle of 30°. Luckily it was
much honeycombed and sun-eaten. We put grummets (rope brakes) on the
sledge, and managed to get it down about 130 feet. We had a very
cheerful lunch, for we knew the depôt was only a few miles south. Then
we found an ice-foot all the way along the edge of the rocks and
moraine which led us right to the Bernacchi cairn. This was a regular
ice pathway about twenty yards wide. It was due to sea-ice which had
become cemented to the shore, the tide crack being further away from
the rocks, and defining that part of the floe which had lately drifted
away to sea.

No one had visited our depôt. New Harbour was full of new broken floe,
but a fine ice-foot seemed to promise well for our next march.

We stayed a day at Cape Bernacchi, for I wished to get a good station
for the triangulation of this coast. Gran and I took the theodolite to
the top of a hill 2900 feet high, at the north-east end of Dry Valley.
We named this Hjort’s Hill, in honour of the maker of our trusty
Primus lamp. As we were climbing this hill, Gran swore he could see
the ship off Cape Evans through the binoculars. It seemed clear to me
also—smoke, crosstrees, hull, and three masts; but after an hour or so
we decided it was only a mirage crack in the Barne Glacier. The
disappointment was rather keen, though I am now not so sure that we
did not really see the ship, some forty miles away. We could see the
forty-foot debris cones behind the hut quite easily on a clear day.

I wrote the usual letter to Pennell. I had left two in Granite Harbour
and two on the Piedmont now, and it did not look as if any would ever
be read.

All through the 10th we skirted New Harbour, finding a fairly feasible
ice-foot between the granite-strewn slopes and the open water. We came
across a Spratt’s biscuit box here, which was evidently left by the
1902 expedition. We saved a considerable detour by crossing the head
of the harbour on the sea-ice, and camped below the Kukri Hills, where
I halted rather early to get a round of angles. We were held up here
all next day by the snow, which we spent reading and sewing.

On the 12th we rounded the Kukri Hills, and when the ice-foot petered
out we were luckily able to continue on the sea-ice. We had lunch amid
a colony of over forty seals, and then reached the southern side of
the Ferrar Glacier, where we camped on a rather wet and muddy heap of
“road metal” moraine.

We were now safely round New Harbour, and, curiously enough, crossed
the sea-ice at the mouth of the Ferrar on the same day of the year as
when we nearly went out to sea on our first sledge journey.
Henceforward we knew our route. We had plenty of food at the Butter
Point depôt, which we reached that evening, and knew we could reach
the old _Discovery_ hut before the end of the month.

The depôt had been blown over and wrecked generally. We took some
pemmican, butter, and chocolate, and next day proceeded south along
the Butter Point Piedmont. The surface was much better than the
preceding year, but, curiously enough, we found quite a number of
small crevasses. Debenham and Forde fell in together in one of these,
and the burly Irishman jammed so tightly it was quite a business
pulling him out of it. In the evening we reached the Strand Moraines.
These are great piles of ancient silt, gravel, and erratic blocks,
which were dropped here by the ancestor of the present Koettlitz
Glacier.

At the southern end of these moraines, which were several miles long,
was quite a large lake. We tobogganed down to this and across to a
nice little gravelly delta just made for the tent. We found that the
open water reached just to this point, the sound still being frozen to
south’ard, though obviously breaking away in great sheets. I wrote
that night, “No _Terra Nova_. We should be picked up at Evans Coves
(Terra Nova Bay) to-morrow!” We had the choice of two routes now:
either to cross the snout of the Blue Glacier, or to take to the
sea-ice and coast round the latter. We had done the former and knew it
would only take a day. The latter might be quicker, though a great
calved berg blocked the route about two miles ahead. Debenham
preferred the glacier, the other two the sea-ice. I considered it
unsafe to march on the sea-ice if it could possibly be avoided. I made
a bet with Gran that we couldn’t get the sledge between the calved
berg and the glacier without unloading it. This had a rather
interesting outcome. I decided to keep to land ice, on the principle
of the “Devil you know being preferable to the Devil you don’t.”

THE RUSH TO SAFETY: OVER THE EDGE OF THE BLUE GLACIER.

From a drawing by D. Low.
]

It was annoying to find that the Blue Glacier had so completely
changed its complexion in the twelve months. In place of clear blue
ice where one could see every crevasse, it was one uniform sheet of
smooth snow, and we soon began to fall into the crevasses. In a very
short time we had all been in a couple of times, and it was evidently
an unpropitious region for sledging. I deviated to the edge of the
glacier to try and lower the sledge on to the sea-ice, for we were now
abreast of the calved berg, where we halted a few minutes.

Away to the south-east we could see a blizzard brewing, and I wanted
to get a snug camp in the gullies south of the Blue Glacier. We had an
argument as to who had won the bet, for there was a jumble of ice
where the calf jammed the parent glacier. The other two decided in my
favour, and so we pushed off on the top of the glacier edge to the
wished-for camp. Gran was dissatisfied with the court’s decision, and
kept glancing back to the scene under discussion. Just as we were
dipping down the slope he yelled out “Ship ho!” and there she was over
the top of the black moraines.

We turned back at full speed to retraverse the crevasses, for she was
four miles off and we were afraid might miss us, as a snowstorm was
brewing in the east. She steamed along past the berg and out along the
floe. We pulled back hard, crossing crevasses carelessly, but not
falling in much, and finally could make out that she had a flag on the
gaff, apparently recognizing us. We kept along the edge of the glacier
till we could find a place to get down. Here was a drop of thirty feet
almost vertical with a big tide crack and a tide-pool at the bottom!
Gran went down first, and then I got down halfway. Unluckily as we
were lowering the sledge Forde was pulled over by his harness and fell
right on to Gran, who was pressed into the snow while the sledge came
down on top of us. It nearly broke in the middle; however, we lugged
it over to the ice and set off hot-foot over the two miles of ice. The
ship now anchored near the floe and four men came to meet us. They
harnessed up and told us the news. We heard that the Southern party
were going very well, that there were no signs of Amundsen, and that
there had been no accidents of importance. Also that they had not been
able to communicate with Cape Evans until a week before, and had been
unloading stores every available moment before they came over to
search for us. And then the world’s news made us feel safer in the
Antarctic at first hearing: the disruption of China, the
Franco-German-English trouble in Morocco, the Italians and Turks in
Tripoli, and the great strikes in England. We had missed an eventful
year during our sojourn in the peaceful regions of the South.

VII
THE VOYAGE BACK

FEBRUARY–MARCH, 1912

Return voyage of the _Terra Nova_ in March, 1912, showing pack-ice off
Evans Coves and Granite Harbour and the dominant winds determining
the ship’s course.
]

THE VOYAGE BACK

What does it feel like to be in touch with civilization after a year’s
absence? Man is an ungrateful creature, and I can remember what we
missed, better than what we gained on reaching the _Terra Nova_.
However, the letters were there. They had been put ready for us in the
wardroom. No small bag would suffice, our literary matter ran to
pillow-slips. I had one well filled, and Debenham, lucky beggar, had
two! Poor Gran’s home mail failed to reach him, and he had only a few
bills, which he could have spared. I rapidly skimmed through all the
news and then opened up the packets. One young soldier friend sent
along a huge gift of pipes and tobacco. Said he, “I know you didn’t
smoke, but I expect you’ve learnt to! Anyhow they’ll be useful.” They
truly were most acceptable, and were most prized by the party
remaining. To balance this gift he sent along “The Geology of
Nigeria.”

After the first glance through, however, I turned to more pressing
needs. Clean clothes and a bath seemed the greatest treat one could
wish to enjoy.

Two factors blocked us. All our clean clothes were on land, some in
our own hut, some in the Old Discovery Hut! Moreover, Ponting came
along and after complimenting us on our villainous appearance, begged
us to remain picturesque until the sun showed enough light for a
photograph! Luckily we had only to wait a few hours for this specimen
of “ponting”; and after four months a day’s more or less grime
mattered little.

One disappointment we met with. Our first cry was “Letters,” and our
second “Fruit.” Drake sympathized with us and said that all fruit
except apples had been landed at the hut a week ago. However a box of
apples had been reserved for the Western Party. We rushed that box.
The apples were icy cold and frozen solid. Eagerly we placed some on
the top of the wardroom stove. We waited until they were well warmed
and then voraciously bit into them, to encounter a stony iceberg in
the middle! They took an incredible time to thaw, and then all the
plant cells had burst, and the apple was a poor thing all brown and
almost rotten!

In my cabin I found a small tin trunk with better fare: cakes, sweets
and nuts of all descriptions, everything but chocolate. After hearing
the yarns of some of Shackleton’s men, I expected to be surfeited with
chocolate, and so warned my people not to send any down by the ship.
However, the other luxuries were well-chosen and abundant. Every
officer aboard had selections each day, and not till we reached the
Circle nearly a month later was that tin box depleted. Indeed, one
cake from Parramatta friends was so large that a half was sent to
gratify the mess deck!

When I was free from Ponting I bolted into the engine-room and was
provided with a huge bucket of scalding water. Rennick and other
officers had lent me some clothes, and I can still remember that bath.
The only available space was over the boilers! I was jammed into a
narrow passage next the ship’s timbers. If one bare foot slipped an
inch too far it touched the boiler plates; if the ship gave a lurch I
cannoned against huge baulks of oak. Still, I started as a toil-worn
and wild-eyed refugee and finished a semi-respectable roustabout!

Pennell soon gave up all hope of reaching Cape Evans. The blizzard
which was brewing at noon, on the 14th, soon enveloped us, and we were
driven far north. Under these circumstances he deemed it advisable to
make the best of it, and proceed to Evans Coves to try and rescue
Campbell’s party.

Among my mail I found a book sent by Professor David. This was
“Queed,” by Harrison, a writer new to me. This novel fairly gripped
me, and I turned into my bunk all standing, and read until I had
finished it. I hope all Mr. Harrison’s readers derived as much
pleasure from it.

“Jim” Dennistoun was a welcome addition to our mess. He had been eager
to see Antarctica in any capacity, and so came along as mule-overseer.
His remuneration was “all found, and one shilling a month.” We often
used to discuss what he would do with the treasure accruing to him
when he was paid off! An ashtray, beaten out of the four-shilling
piece, was the memento he favoured.

But it was fairly uncomfortable on board. It was now very cold, and
the sun rarely showed for long. Spray was driven over us, and froze
where it fell, so that we spent hours chipping the decks free from
some of the icy layer. The wardroom seemed all doors, and draughts
assailed us everywhere. As usual, on approaching civilization, the
Antarctickers contracted influenza. Debenham was really quite ill, and
I had a fearful attack of neuralgia, which lasted a fortnight, due to
a gaping tooth. We used to think of our snug little tent on terra
firma, and after a week of storm at sea decided that we were sorry we
had been picked up by the trusty whaler. Such is man’s ingratitude.

_February 23rd._—We spent a most forlorn day. The ship absolutely
jammed in _new_ ice, formed of pancakes only three or four inches
thick, but gummy, not brittle (so that the ship couldn’t break
through). These were formed of still smaller cakes, cemented together.
I was sure they had grown _in situ_, perhaps in the lee of a huge
piece of pack which had drifted off.

This was very serious, for every hour increased the risk of our being
frozen in, and this was obviously still more probable when we returned
to Cape Evans than in our present position, so much further north.
However, very suddenly the soggy ice was broken by long leads—lying
rather far apart—and we managed to push and butt our way considerably
to the east.