XV. EASTWARD OVER THE SEA-ICE
by C. T. MADIGAN
Harnessed and girt in his canvas bands, Toggled and roped to his load; With helmeted head and bemittened hands, This for his spur and his goad:
"Out in the derelict fastnesses bare Some whit of truth may be won." Be it a will o' the wisp, he will fare Forth to the rising sun.
The Sledge Horse
The Eastern Coastal party consisted of Dr. A. L. McLean, P. E. Correll and myself. For weeks all preparations had been made; the decking put on the sledge, runners polished, cooker- and instrument-boxes attached, mast erected, spar and sail rigged, instruments and clothing collected, tent strengthened--all the impedimenta of a sledge journey arranged and rearranged, and still the blizzard raged on. Would we never get away? November arrived, and still the wind kept up daily averages of over fifty miles per hour, with scarce a day without drifting snow.
At last it was decided that a start must soon be made even though it ended in failure, so that we received orders to set out on November 6, or the first possible day after it.
Friday November 8 broke, a clear driftless day, and Murphy's party left early in the morning. By noon, Stillwell's party (Stillwell, Hodgeman and Close), and we, were ready to start. The former were bound on a short journey to the near east and were to support us until we parted company.
All was bustle and excitement. Every one turned out to see us off. Breaking an empty sauce-bottle over the bow of our sledge, we christened it the M.H.S. Championship (Man-Hauled Sledge). The name was no boastful prevision of mighty deeds, as, at the Hut, a "Championship" was understood to mean some careless action usually occasioning damage to property, while our party included several noted "champions."
Mertz harnessed a dog-team to the sledge and helped us up the first steep slope. With hearty handshakes and a generous cheer from the other fellows, we started off and were at last away, after many months of hibernation in the Hut, to chance the hurricanes and drifting snow and to push towards the unknown regions to the east.
At the steepest part of the rise we dismissed our helpers and said good-bye. McLean and Correll joined me on the sledge and we continued on to Aladdin's Cave.
As we mounted the glacier the wind increased, carrying surface drift which obscured the view to within one hundred yards. It was this which made us pass the Cave on the eastern side and pull up on a well-known patch of snow in a depression to the south of our goal. It was not long before a momentary clearing of the drift showed Aladdin's Cave with its piles of food-tanks, kerosene, dog biscuit and pemmican, and, to our dismay, a burberry-clad figure moving about among the accumulation. Murphy's party were in possession when we expected them to be on the way south to another cave--the Cathedral Grotto--eleven and three-quarter miles from the Hut. Of course the rising wind and drift had stopped them.
It was then 5 P.M., so we did not wait to discuss the evident proposition as to which of the three parties should occupy the Cave, but climbed down into it at once and boiled up hoosh and tea. Borrowing tobacco from the supporting parties, we reclined at ease, and then in that hazy atmosphere so dear to smokers, its limpid blue enhanced by the pale azure of the ice, we introduced the subject of occupation as if it were a sudden afterthought.
It was soon decided to enlarge the Cave to accommodate five men, the other four consenting to squeeze into Stillwell's big tent. McLean volunteered to join Stillwell's party in the tent, while Correll and I were to stay in the Cave with Murphy and company.
I went outside and selected ten weeks' provisions from the pile of food-tanks and piled them beside the sledge. McLean attended to the thermograph which Bage and I had installed in the autumn. Meanwhile, in a fifty-mile wind, Stillwell and his men erected the tent. Hunter and Laseron started with picks and shovels to enlarge the Cave, and, working in relays, we had soon expanded it to eight feet by seven feet.
The men from the tent came down to "high dinner" at eight o'clock. They reported weather conditions unimproved and the temperature -3 degrees F.
Early next morning I dug my way out and found that the surface drift had increased with a wind of fifty-five miles per hour. It was obviously impossible to start.
After breakfast it was arranged that those outside should have their meals separately, digging down at intervals to let us know the state of the weather. It was not pleasant for us, congested as we were in the Cave, to have visitors sliding down through the opening with a small avalanche of snow in their train. Further, to increase their own discomfort, they arrived covered in snow, and what they were unable to shake off thawed and wet them, subsequently freezing again to the consistency of a starched collar.
The opening was, therefore, kept partly closed with a food-tank. The result was that a good deal of snow came in, while the hole diminished in size. For a man to try to crawl out in stiff burberrys appeared as futile as for a porcupine to try to go backwards up a canvas hose.
The day passed slowly in our impatience. We took turns at reading 'The Virginian', warmed by a primus stove which in a land of plenty we could afford to keep going. Later in the afternoon the smokers found that a match would not strike, and the primus went out. Then the man reading said that he felt unwell and could not see the words. Soon several others commented on feeling "queer," and two in the sleeping-bags had fallen into a drowsy slumber. On this evidence even the famous Watson would have "dropped to it," but it was some time before it dawned on us that the oxygen had given out. Then there was a rush for shovels. The snow, ice and food-tank were tightly wedged, at the mouth of the entrance, and it took some exertion to perforate through to the outside air with an ice-axe. At once every one speedily recovered. Later, another party had a worse experience, not forgetting to leave a warning note behind them. We should have done the same.
The weather was no better by the evening, and during the night the minimum thermometer registered -12 degrees F.
At six o'clock on Sunday morning, November 10, McLean dug down to us with the news that the wind had abated to thirty miles per hour with light surface drift.
We hurried through breakfast, rolled up the bags and started packing the sledge. Three 100-lb. food-tanks, one 50-lb. bag opened for ready use, and four gallons of kerosene were selected. Stillwell took for us a 50-lb. food-tank, a 56-lb. tin of wholemeal biscuits, and a gallon of kerosene. With the 850 lbs. of food, 45 lbs. of kerosene, three sleeping-bags of 10 lbs. each, a tent of 40 lbs., 86 lbs. of clothing and personal gear for three men, a cooker, primus, pick, shovel, ice-axe, alpine rope, dip-circle, theodolite, tripod, smaller instruments such as aneroid, barometer and thermometer, tools, medical outfit and sledge-fittings, our total load amounted to nearly 800 lbs., and Stillwell's was about the same.
All were ready at 9 A.M., and, shaking hands with Murphy's party, who set off due south, we steered with Stillwell to the south-east. The preliminary instructions were to proceed south-east from the Cave to a distance of eighteen miles and there await the arrival of Dr. Mawson and his party, who were to overtake us with their dogteams.
The first few miles gave a gradual rise of one hundred feet per mile, so that, with a heavy load against wind and drift, travelling was very slow. The wind now dropped to almost calm, and the drift cleared. In the afternoon progress was hampered by crevasses, which were very frequent, running east and west and from one to twenty feet in width. The wider ones were covered with firm snow-bridges; the snow in places having formed into granular and even solid ice. What caused most delay were the detours of several hundreds of yards which had to be made to find a safe crossing over a long, wide crevasse. At 6.30 P.M. we pitched camp, having only made five miles from the Cave.
We got away at 9 A.M. the next morning. Throughout the whole journey we thought over the same mysterious problem as confronted many another sledger: Where did the time go to in the mornings? Despite all our efforts we could not cut down the interval from "rise and shine" to the start below two hours.
Early that day we had our first experience of the treacherous crevasse. Correll went down a fissure about three feet wide. I had jumped across it, thinking the bridge looked thin, but Correll stepped on it and went through. He dropped vertically down the full length of his harness--six feet. McLean and I soon had him out. The icy walls fell sheer for about sixty feet, where snow could be seen in the blue depths. Our respect for crevasses rapidly increased after this, and we took greater precautions, shuddering to think of the light-hearted way we had trudged over the wider ones.
At twelve miles, blue, wind-swept ice gave place to an almost flat snow surface. Meanwhile the sky had rapidly clouded over, and the outlook was threatening. The light became worse, and the sastrugi indistinguishable. Such a phenomenon always occurs on what we came to call a "snow-blind day." On these days the sky is covered with a white, even pall of cloud, and cloud and plateau seem as one. One walks into a deep trench or a sastruga two feet high without noticing it. The world seems one huge, white void, and the only difference between it and the pitch-dark night is that the one is white and the other black.
Light snow commenced at 2.30 P.M., the wind rising to forty-five miles per hour with heavy drift. Thirteen miles out we pitched camp.
This, the first "snow-blind day" claimed McLean for its victim. By the time we were under cover of the tent, his eyes were very sore, aching with a throbbing pain. At his request I placed a zinc-cocaine tablet in each eye. He spent the rest of the day in the darkness of his sleeping-bag and had his eyes bandaged all next day. Up till then we had not worn goggles, but were careful afterwards to use them on the trying, overcast days.
For four and a half days the weather was too bad to travel. On the 14th the wind increased and became steady at sixty miles per hour, accompanied by dense drifting snow. We found it very monotonous lying in the tent. As always happens during heavy drifts, the temperature outside was high, on this day averaging about 12 degrees F.; inside the tent it was above freezing-point, and the accompanying thaw was most unpleasant.
Stillwell's party had pitched their tent about ten paces to the leeward side of ours, of which stratagem they continually reminded us. Going outside for food to supply our two small meals per day was an operation fraught with much discomfort to all. This is what used to happen. The man on whom the duty fell had to insinuate himself into a bundle of wet burberrys, and, as soon as he was outside, they froze stiff. When, after a while, he signified his intention of coming in, the other two would collect everything to one end of the tent and roll up the floor-cloth. Plastered with snow, he entered, and, despite every precaution, in removing burberrys and brushing himself he would scatter snow about and increase the general wetness. On these excursions we would visit Stillwell's tent and be hospitably, if somewhat gingerly, admitted; the inmates drawing back and pulling away their sleeping-bags as from one with a fell disease. As a supporting party they were good company, among other things, supplying us with tobacco ad libitum. When we parted, five days after, we missed them very much.
During the night the wind blew harder than ever--that terrible wind, laden with snow, that blows for ever across the vast, mysterious plateau, the "wind that shrills all night in a waste land, where no one comes or hath come since the making of the world." In the early hours of the morning it reached eighty miles per hour.
Not till 9 next morning did the sky clear and the drift diminish. Considering that it had taken us eight days to do thirteen miles, we decided to move on the 16th at any cost.
Our library consisted of 'An Anthology of Australian Verse', Thackeray's 'Vanity Fair' and 'Hints to Travellers' in two volumes. McLean spent much of the time reading the Anthology and I started 'Vanity Fair'. The latter beguiled many weary hours in that tent during the journey. I read a good deal aloud and McLean read it afterwards. Correll used to pass the days of confinement arranging rations and costs for cycling tours and designing wonderful stoves and cooking utensils, all on the sledging, "cut down weight" principle.
On the 16th we were off at 9 A.M. with a blue sky above and a "beam" wind of thirty-five miles per hour. Up a gentle slope over small sastrugi the going was heavy. We went back to help Stillwell's party occasionally, as we were moving a little faster.
Just after lunch I saw a small black spot on the horizon to the south. Was it a man? How could Dr. Mawson have got there? We stopped and saw that Stillwell had noticed it too. Field-glasses showed it to be a man approaching, about one and a half miles away. We left our sledges in a body to meet him, imagining all kinds of wonderful things such as the possibility of it being a member of Wild's party--we did not know where Wild had been landed. All the theories vanished when the figure assumed the well-known form of Dr. Mawson. He had made a little more south than we, and his sledges were just out of sight, about two miles away.
Soon Mertz and Ninnis came into view with a dog-team, which was harnessed on to one sledge. All hands pulled the other sledge, and we came up fifteen minutes later with Dr. Mawson's camp at eighteen and a quarter miles. In the good Australian way we sat round a large pot of tea and after several cups put up our two tents.
It was a happy evening with the three tents grouped together and the dogs securely picketed on the great plateau, forming the only spot on the limitless plain. Every one was excited at the prospect of the weeks ahead; the mystery and charm of the "unknown" had taken a strange hold on us.
Ninnis and Mertz came into our tent for a short talk before turning in. Mertz sang the old German student song:
Studio auf einer Reis' Immer sich zu helfen weis Immer fort durch's Dick und Dunn Schlendert es durch's Leben hin.
We were nearly all University graduates. We knew that this would be our last evening together till all were safely back at the Hut. No thought was farther from our minds than that it was the last evening we would ever spend with two companions, who had been our dear comrades for just a year.
Before turning into sleeping-bags, a messenger brought me dispatches from the general's tent--a letter on the plateau. This proved to be the instructions to the Eastern Coastal Party. Arriving back at the Hut by January 15, we were to ascertain as much as possible of the coast lying east of the Mertz Glacier, investigating its broad features and carrying out the following scientific work: magnetic, biological and geological observations, the character, especially the nature and size of the grains of ice or snow surfaces, details of sastrugi, topographical features, heights and distances, and meteorology.
On Sunday, November 17, we moved on together to the east with the wind at fifteen miles an hour, the temperature being 9 degrees F. The sun shone strongly soon after the start, and with four miles to our credit a tent was run up at 1 P.M., and all lunched together on tea, biscuit, butter and chocolate. Up to this time we had had only three al fresco lunches, but, as the weather seemed to be much milder and the benefit of tea and a rest by the way were so great, we decided to use the tent in future, and did so throughout the journey.
In the afternoon, Dr. Mawson's party forged ahead, the dogs romping along on a downhill grade. We took the bit in our teeth as we saw them sitting on their sledges, growing smaller and smaller in front of us. We came up with them again as they had waited to exchange a few more words at a point on the track where a long extent of coast to the east came into view.
Here we bade a final adieu to Dr. Mawson, Mertz and Ninnis. The surface was on the down grade towards the east, and with a cheer and farewell wave they started off, Mertz walking rapidly ahead, followed by Ninnis and Dr. Mawson with their sledges and teams. They were soon lost to view behind the rolling undulations.
A mile farther on we pitched camp at 8 P.M. in a slight depression just out of sight of the sea. Every one slept soundly after a good day's pulling.
November 18 was a bright dazzling day, the sky dotted with fleecy alto-cumulus. At 6 A.M. we were out to find Stillwell's party moving in their tent. There was a rush for shovels to fill the cookers with snow and a race to boil hoosh.
At this camp we tallied up the provisions, with the intention of taking what we might require from Stillwell and proceeding independently of him, as he was likely to leave us any day. There were fifty-nine days to go until January 15, 1913, the latest date of arrival back at the Hut, for which eight weeks' rations were considered to be sufficient. There were seven weeks' food on the sledge, so Stillwell handed over another fifty-pound bag as well as an odd five pounds of wholemeal biscuit. The total amount of kerosene was five gallons, with a bottle of methylated spirit.
Shortly after eight o'clock we caught sight of Dr. Mawson's camp, and set sail to make up the interval. This we did literally as there was a light westerly breeze--the only west wind we encountered during the whole journey.
The sledge was provided with a bamboo mast, seven feet high, stepped behind the cooker-box and stayed fore and aft with wire. The yard was a bamboo of six feet, slung from the top of the mast, its height being varied by altering the length of the slings. The bamboo was threaded through canvas leads in the floor-cloth which provided a spread of thirty square feet of sail. It was often such an ample area that it had to be reefed from below.
With the grade sloping gently down and the wind freshening, the pace became so hot that the sledge often overran us. A spurious "Epic of the East" (see 'Adelie Blizzard') records it:
Crowd on the sail- Let her speed full and free "on the run" Over knife-edge and glaze, marble polish and pulverized chalk The finnesko glide in the race, and there's no time for talk. Up hill, down dale, It's all in the game and the fun.
We rapidly neared Dr. Mawson's camp, but when we were within a few miles of it, the other party started in a south-easterly direction and were soon lost to sight. Our course was due east.
At thirty-three and a half miles the sea was in sight, some fine flat-topped bergs floating in the nearest bay. Suddenly a dark, rocky nunatak sprang into view on our left. It was a sudden contrast after ten days of unchanging whiteness, and we felt very anxious to visit this new find. As it was in Stillwell's limited territory we left it to him.
According to the rhymester it was:
A rock by the way- A spot in the circle of white- A grey, craggy spur plunging stark through the deep-splintered ice. A trifle! you say, but a glow of warm land may suffice To brighten a day Prolonged to a midsummer night.
After leaving Aladdin's Cave, our sledge-meter had worked quite satisfactorily. Just before noon, the casting attaching the recording-dial to the forks broke--the first of a series of break-downs. Correll bound it up with copper wire and splints borrowed from the medical outfit.
The wind died away and the sail was of little use. In addition to this, we met with a slight up grade on the eastern side of the depression, our rate diminishing accordingly. At 7 P.M. the tent was pitched in dead calm, after a day's run of fifteen miles with a full load of almost eight hundred pounds--a record which remained unbroken with us till near the end of the outward journey. Looking back, the nunatak and bergs were still visible.
Both parties were under way at 8 A.M. next day (November 19) on a calm and sunny morning. The course by sun-compass was set due east.
At noon I took a latitude "shot" with the three-inch Cary theodolite. This little instrument proved very satisfactory and was easily handled in the cold. In latitude 67 degrees 15' south, forty-six and a half miles east of the Hut, we were once more on level country with a high rise to the north-east and another shallow gully in front.
A fog which had been moving along the sea-front in an opaque wall drifted over the land and enveloped us. Beautiful crystals of ice in the form of rosettes and small fern-fronds were deposited on the cordage of the sail and mast. One moment the mists would clear, and the next, we could not see more than a few hundred yards.
We now parted with Stillwell, Hodgeman and Close, who turned off to a rising knoll--Mount Hunt--visible in the north-east, and disappeared in the fog.
After the halt at noon the sastrugi became much larger and softer. The fog cleared at 2 P.M. and the sun came out and shone very fiercely. A very inquisitive skua gull--the first sign of life we had seen thus far--flew around the tent and settled on the snow near by. In the calm, the heat was excessive and great thirst attacked us all the afternoon, which I attempted to assuage at every halt by holding snow in my hands and licking the drops of water off my knuckles----a cold and unsatisfactory expedient. We travelled without burberrys--at that time quite a novel sensation--wearing only fleece suits and light woollen undergarments. Correll pulled for the greater part of the afternoon in underclothing alone.
At forty-nine and a half miles a new and wonderful panorama opened before us. The sea lay just below, sweeping as a narrow gulf into the great, flat plain of debouching glacier-tongue which ebbed away north into the foggy horizon. A small ice-capped island was set like a pearl in the amethyst water. To the east, the glacier seemed to fuse with the blue line of the hinterland. Southward, the snowy slope rose quickly, and the far distance was unseen.
We marched for three-quarters of a mile to where a steep down grade commenced. Here I made a sketch and took a round of angles to all prominent features, and the conspicuous, jutting, seaward points of the glacier. McLean and Correll were busy making a snow cairn, six feet high, to serve as a back-sight for angles to be taken at a higher eminence southward.
We set out for the latter, and after going one and a half miles it was late enough to camp. During the day we had all got very sunburnt, and our faces were flushed and smarting painfully. After the long winter at the Hut the skin had become more delicate than usual.
Under a clear sky, the wind came down during the night at forty-five miles per hour, lashing surface drift against the walls of the tent. It was not till ten o'clock that the sledge started, breaking a heavy trail in snow which became more and more like brittle piecrust. There was at first a slight descent, and then we strained up the eminence to the south over high sastrugi running almost north and south. Capsizes became frequent, and to extricate the heavy sledge from some of the deep furrows it was necessary to unload the food-bags. The drift running over the ground was troublesome when we sat down for a rest, but, in marching, our heads were just clear of it.
It was a long laborious day, and the four miles indicated by the inexorable sledge-meter seemed a miserable result. However, near the top of the hill there was a rich reward. A small nunatak slanted like a steel-blue shadow on the side of a white peak to the south-west. There was great excitement, and the sledge slid along its tracks with new life. It was rock without a doubt, and there was no one to dispute it with us. While speculating wildly as to its distance, we came unexpectedly to the summit of the hill.
The wind had subsided, the sky was clear and the sun stood low in the south-west. Our view had widened to a noble outlook. The sea, a delicate turquoise-blue, lay in the foreground of the low, white, northern ice-cliffs. Away to the east was the dim suggestion of land across the bed of the glacier, about which circled the southerly highlands of the plateau, buried at times in the haze of distance. Due south, twenty miles away, projecting from the glacier, was another island of rock. The nunatak first seen, not many miles to the south-west, was a snowy mountain streaked with sprouting rock, rising solitary in an indentation of the land. We honoured our Ship by calling it Aurora Peak, while our camp stood on what was thenceforth to be Mount Murchison.
It was obvious that this was the place for our first depot. I had decided, too, to make it the first magnetic station and the point from which to visit and explore Aurora Peak. None of us made any demur over a short halt. Correll had strained his back during the day from pulling too hard, and was troubled with a bleeding nose. My face was very sore from sunburn, with one eye swollen and almost closed, and McLean's eyes had not yet recovered from their first attack of snow-blindness.
November 21 was a day in camp. Most of the morning I spent trying, with Correll's help, to get the declination needle to set. Its pivot had been destroyed in transit and Correll had replaced it by a gramophone needle, which was found too insensitive. There was nothing to do but use the three-inch theodolite, which, setting to one degree, would give a good result, with a mean of thirty-two settings, for a region with such variable magnetic declination. A latitude "shot" was made at noon, and in the afternoon I took a set of dip determinations. These, with a panoramic sketch from the camp, a round of angles to conspicuous points and an observation at 5.30 P.M. for time and azimuth completed the day's work. Correll did the recording.
Meanwhile, McLean had built an eight-feet snow mound, erected a depot flag upon it and taken several photographs.
The next day was devoted to an excursion to Aurora Peak. The weather was, to our surprise, quite clear and calm. Armed with the paraphernalia for a day's tour, we set off down the slope. Correll put the primus stove and the inner pot of the cooker in the ready food-bag, McLean slung on his camera and the aneroid barometer, while I took my ruck-sack with the rations, as well as field-glasses and an ice-axe. In case of crevasses, we attached ourselves to an alpine rope in long procession. According to the "Epic" it was something like this:
We saddled up, adventure-bent; Locked up the house--I mean the tent- Took "grub" enough for three young men With appetite to equal ten. A day's outing across the vale. Aurora Peak! What ho! All hail!
We waltzed a'down the silvered slope, Connected by an Alpine rope; "Madi" in front with ice-axe armed, For fear that we should feel alarmed. Glad was the hour, and--what a lark! Explorers three? "Save the mark!"
The mystery of the nunatak was about to be solved. Apparently it rose from the level of the glacier, as our descent showed its eastern flank more clearly outlined. It was three miles to the bottom of the gully, and the aneroid barometer registered one thousand one hundred and ninety feet. The surface was soft and yielding to finnesko crampons, which sank through in places till the snow gripped the knees.
Ascending on the other side we crossed a small crevasse and the peak towered above us. The northern side terminated in a perpendicular face of ice, below which a deep basin had been "scalloped" away; evidently kept clear by eddies of wind. In it lay broken fragments of the overhanging cliff. The rock was a wide, outcropping band curving steeply to the summit on the eastern aspect.
After a stiff climb we hurried eagerly to the rock as if it were a mine of inexhaustible treasure. The boulders were all weathered a bright red and were much pitted where ferruginous minerals were leached out. The rock was a highly quartzose gneiss, with black bands of schist running through it. Moss and lichens were plentiful, and McLean collected specimens.
The rocky strip was eighty feet wide and three hundred feet high, so, making a cache of the primus, provisions and burberrys, we followed it up till it became so steep that it was necessary to change to the snow. This was in the form of hard neve with patches of ice. I went first, cutting steps with the ice-axe, and the others followed on the rope. The last ten of more than one hundred steps were in an almost vertical face, which gave a somewhat precarious foothold.
At 11.30 A.M. we stood on the summit at an altitude of one thousand seven hundred and fifty feet, while across the valley to the north-east rose Mount Murchison, one hundred and fourteen feet higher. The top of the ridge was quite a knife-edge, with barely space for standing. It ran mainly north and south, dipping in the centre, to curve away sharply westward to a higher eminence. At the bend was an inaccessible patch of rock. The surrounding view was much the same at that on Mount Murchison.
The Union Jack and the Australian flag were erected on a bamboo, and photographs taken. At the same time, low, threatening clouds rapidly emerged from the southeast, covering the sun and creating the "snow-blind" light. This was rather alarming as the climb had been difficult enough under a clear sky, and the descent was certainly much more difficult. So we hastily ate some chocolate and discussed the best way down.
Prospecting to the north, in search of a long snow ramp which appeared to run away in that direction, we scrambled down to the edge of a wide snowy crevasse full of blue chinks.
Turning back, we considered the chances of sliding down a steep scoured hollow to the west and finally decided to descend by the track we had cut.
McLean started off first down the steps and was out of sight in a few moments. When the rope tightened, Correll followed him and then I came last. It was very ticklish work feeling for the steps below with one's feet, and, as we signalled to one another in turn after moving a step, it took more than an hour to reach a safe position on the rocks. With every step I drove my axe into the ice, so that if the others had fallen there would still have been a last chance.
There was no time to be wasted; light snow was falling with the prospect of becoming thicker. In the gully the snowfall became heavy, limiting the view to within a few hundred yards. We advanced up the hill in what seemed to be the steepest direction, but circled half-way round it before finding out that the course was wrong. Aimlessly trying to place the broad flat summit I came across tracks in the snow, which were then carefully followed and led to the tent. The wind was rising outside and the hoosh in steaming mugs was eaten with extra relish in our snug retreat.
Specimens were labelled to be deposed and provisions were arranged for the rest of the journey. It was evident that we had superfluous clothing, and so the weight of the kit-bags was scrupulously cut down. By the time we crawled into sleeping-bags, everything dispensable was piled alongside the depot-flag.
We slept the sleep of the weary and did not hear the flapping tent nor the hissing drift. At 6 A.M. the wind was doing forty miles per hour and the air was filled with snow. It must have been a new climate, for by noon the sun had unexpectedly broken through, the wind was becoming gusty and the drift trailed like scud over the surface.
With six weeks' food we set off on a new trail after lunch. The way to the eastern glacier--Mertz Glacier--issued through the mouth of the gully, which ran in an easterly direction between Aurora Peak and Mount Murchison. On Mount Murchison ice-falls and crevasses began a short distance east of our first line of descent, but yet I thought a slight deviation to the east of south would bring us safely into the valley, and, at the same time, cut off a mile. Alas! it proved to be one of those "best-laid schemes."
The load commenced to glide so quickly as we were leaving the crest of the mountain that Correll and McLean unhitched from the hauling line and attached themselves by the alpine rope to the rear of the sledge, braking its progress. I remained harnessed in front keeping the direction. For two miles we were going downhill at a running pace and then the slope became suddenly steeper and the sledge overtook me. I had expected crevasses, in view of which I did not like all the loose rope behind me. Looking round, I shouted to the others to hold back the sledge, proceeding a few steps while doing so. The bow of the sledge was almost at my feet, when--whizz! I was dropping down through space. The length of the hauling rope was twenty-four feet, and I was at the end of it. I cannot say that "my past life flashed before me." I just had time to think "Now for the jerk--will my harness hold?" when there was a wrench, and I was hanging breathless over the blue depth. Then the most anxious moment came--I continued to descend. A glance showed me that the crevasse was only four feet wide, so the sledge could not follow me, and I knew with a thankful heart that I was safe. I only descended about two feet more, and then stopped. I knew my companions had pulled up the sledge and would be anchoring it with the ice-axe.
I had a few moments in which to take in my surroundings. Opposite to me was a vertical wall of ice, and below a beautiful blue, darkening to black in that unseen chasm. On either hand the rift of the crevasse extended, and above was the small hole in the snow bridge through which I had shot.
Soon I heard McLean calling, "Are you all right?" And I answered in what he and Correll thought an alarmingly distant voice. They started enlarging the hole to pull me out, until lumps of snow began to fall and I had to yell for mercy. Then I felt they were hauling, and slowly I rose to daylight.
The crevasse ran westward along the gully, forcing us to make a detour through a maze of smaller cracks. We had to retreat up the hill in one place, throwing off half the load and carrying it on in relays. There was a blistering sun and the work was hard. At last the sledge came to a clear run and tobogganed into the snow-filled valley, turning eastward towards its outlet.
At the evening camp the sledge-meter indicated that our distance eastward of the Hut was sixty miles, one thousand two hundred yards. The northern face of the gully was very broken and great sentinel pillars of ice stood out among the yawning caves, some of them leaning like the tower of Pisa, others having fallen and rolled in shattered blocks. Filling the vision to the south-west was Aurora Peak, in crisp silhouette against a glorious radiant of cirrus cloud.
Reviewing the day through our peaceful smoke-rings, I was rather comforted by the fact that the fall into the crevasse had thoroughly tested my harness. Correll expressed himself as perfectly satisfied with his test. McLean seemed to feel somewhat out of it, being the only one without a crevasse experience; which happy state he maintained until the end, apparently somewhat to his disappointment.
On the 24th we broke camp at 9 A.M., continuing down the gully towards the glacier. A lofty wall of rocks, set within a frame of ice, was observed on our left, one mile away. To it we diverged and found it to be gneiss similar to that of Aurora Peak. Several photos were taken.
The land was at our back and the margin of the glacier had been crossed. Only too soon we were in the midst of terribly crevassed ground, through which one could only thread a slow and zig-zag course. The blue ice was riven in every direction by gaping quarries and rose smooth and slippery on the ridges which broke the surface into long waves. Shod with crampons, the rear of the sledge secured by a tail-rope, we had a trying afternoon guiding the load along the narrow ridges of ice with precipices on either hand. Fortunately the wind was not above twenty miles per hour. As the frivolous "Epic" had it:
Odds fish! the solid sea is sorely rent, And all around we're pent With quarries, chasms, pits, depressions vast, Their snow-lids overcast.
A devious track, all curved and serpentine Round snow-lids superfine. On jutting brinks and precipices sheer Precariously we steer.
We pushed on to find a place in which to camp, as there was scarcely safe standing-room for a primus stove. At seventy miles the broken ice gave way to a level expanse of hard sastrugi dotted all over with small mounds of ice about four feet high. After hoosh, a friendly little Wilson petrel came flying from the northern sea to our tent. We considered it to be a good omen.
Next day the icy mounds disappeared, to be replaced by a fine, flat surface, and the day's march amounted to eleven and a quarter miles.
At 11 A.M. four snow petrels visited us, circling round in great curiosity. It is a cheerful thing to see these birds amid the lone, inhospitable ice.
We were taking in the surroundings from our position off the land scanning the far coast to the south for rock and turning round to admire the bold contours of Aurora Peak and Mount Murchison at our back. Occasionally there were areas of rubbly snow, blue ice and crevasses completely filled with snow, of prodigious dimensions, two hundred to three hundred yards wide and running as far as the eye could travel. The snow filling them was perfectly firm, but, almost always along the windward edge, probing with an ice-axe would disclose a fissure. This part of the Mertz Glacier was apparently afloat.
The lucky Wilson petrel came again in the evening. At this stage the daily temperatures ranged between 10 degrees F. and near freezing-point. The greater part of November 26 was passed in the tent, within another zone of crevasses. The overcast sky made the light so bad that it became dangerous to go ahead. At 5.30 P.M. we started, and managed to do five and a half miles before 8 P.M.
It was rather an eventful day, when across the undulating sastrugi there appeared a series of shallow valleys running eastward. As the valleys approached closer, the ground sloped down to meet them, their sides becoming steeper, buckled and broken. Proceeding ahead on an easterly course, our march came to an abrupt termination on an ice-bluff.
In front lay a perfectly flat snow-covered plain--the sea-ice. In point of fact we had arrived at the eastern side of the Mertz Glacier and were about fifteen miles north of the mainland. Old sea-ice, deeply covered in snow, lay ahead for miles, and the hazy, blue coast sank below the horizon in the south-east, running for a time parallel to the course we were about to take. It was some time before we realized all this, but at noon on the following day there came the first reminder of the proximity of sea-water.
An Adelie penguin, skiing on its breast from the north, surprised us suddenly by a loud croak at the rear of the sledge. As astonished as we were, it stopped and stared, and then in sudden terror made off. But before starting on its long trek to the land, it had to be captured and photographed.
To the south the coast was marked by two faces of rock and a short, dark spur protruding from beneath the ice-cap. As our friendly penguin had made off in that direction, we elected to call the place Penguin Point, intending to touch there on the return journey. During the afternoon magnetic dips and a round of angles to the prominences of the mainland were taken.
The next evidence on the sea-ice question came in the shape of a line of broken slabs of ice to the north, sticking out of the snow like the ruins of an ancient graveyard. At one hundred and fifteen miles the line was so close that we left the sledge to investigate it, finding a depression ten feet deep, through which wound a glistening riband of sea-water. It reminded one of a creek in flat, Australian country, and the illusion was sustained by a dark skua gull--in its slow flight much like a crow. It was a fissure in old thick sea-ice.
Sunday, and the first day of December, brought good weather and a clear view of the mainland. A bay opened to the east of Penguin Point, from which the coast trended to the south-east. Across a crack in the sea-ice we could just distinguish a low indented line like the glacier-tongue, we had already crossed. It might have been a long promontory of land for all we knew. Behind it was a continuous ice-blink and on our left, to the north, a deep blue "water sky." It seemed worth while continuing on an easterly course approximately parallel with the coast.
We were faced by another glacier-tongue; a fact which remained unproven for a week at least. From the sea-ice on to the glacier--the Ninnis Glacier--there was a gentle rise to a prominent knoll of one hundred and seventy feet. Here our distance from the Hut amounted to one hundred and fifty-two miles, and the spot was reckoned a good situation for the last depot.
In taking magnetic observations, it was interesting to find that the "dip" amounted to 87 degrees 44', while the declination, which had varied towards the west, swung at this our most northerly station a few degrees to the east. We were curving round the South Magnetic Pole. Many points on the coast were fixed from an adjoining hill to which Correll and I trudged through sandy snow, while McLean stayed behind erecting the depot-mound, placing a food-bag, kerosene tin, black cloth and miner's pick on the top.
With four weeks' provisions we made a new start to cross the Ninnis Glacier on December 3, changing course to E. 30 degrees N., in great wonderment as to what lay ahead. In this new land interest never flagged. One never could foresee what the morrow would bring forth.
Across rolling "downs" of soft, billowy snow we floundered for twenty-four miles, on the two following days. Not a wind-ripple could be seen. We were evidently in a region of comparative calms, which was a remarkable thing, considering that the windiest spot in the world was less than two hundred miles away.
After several sunny days McLean and I had very badly cracked lips. It had been often remarked at the Hut that the standard of humour greatly depreciated during the winter and this caused McLean and me many a physical pang while sledging, as we would laugh at the least provocation and open all the cracks in our lips. Eating hard plasmon biscuits was a painful pleasure. Correll, who was immune from this affliction, tanned to the rich hue of the "nut-brown maiden."
On December 5, at the top of a rise, we were suddenly confronted with a new vision--"Thalassa!" was our cry, "the sea!" but a very different sea from that which brought such joy to the hearts of the wandering Greeks. Unfolded to the horizon was a plain of pack-ice, thickly studded with bergs and intersected by black leads of open water. In the north-east was a patch of open sea and above it, round to the north, lowering banks of steel-blue cloud. We had come to the eastern side of Ninnis Glacier.
At this point any analogy which could possibly have been found with Wilkes's coastline ceased. It seems probable that he charted as land the limits of the pack-ice in 1840.
The excitement of exploring this new realm was to be deferred. Even as we raised the tent, the wind commenced to whistle and the air became surcharged with snow. Three skua gulls squatted a few yards away, squawking at our approach, and a few snow petrels sailed by in the gathering blizzard.
Through the 6th, 7th and 8th and most of the 9th it raged, during which time we came definitely to the conclusion that as social entertainers we were complete failures. We exhausted all the reserve topics of conversation, discussed our Universities, sports, friends and homes. We each described the scenery we liked best; notable always for the sunny weather and perfect calm. McLean sailed again in Sydney Harbour, Correll cycled and ran his races, I wandered in the South Australian hills or rowed in the "eights," while the snow swished round the tent and the wind roared over the wastes of ice.
Avoiding a few crevasses on the drop to sea-level on December 10, the sledge was manoeuvred over a tide-crack between glacier and sea-ice. The latter was traversed by frequent pressure-ridges; hummocks and broken pinnacles being numerous.
The next six days out on the broken sea-ice were full of incident. The weather was gloriously sunny till the 13th, during which time the sledge had to be dragged through a forest of pinnacles and over areas of soft, sticky slush which made the runners execrable for hours. Ponds of open water, by which basked a few Weddell seals, became a familiar sight. We tried to maintain a south-easterly course for the coast, but miles were wasted in the tortuous maze of ice--"a wildering Theban ruin of hummock and serrac."
The sledge-meter broke down and gave the ingenious Correll a proposition which he ably solved. McLean and I had a chronic weakness of the eyes from the continual glare. Looking at the other two fellows with their long protruding goggles made me think of Banquo's ghost: "Thou hast no speculation in those eyes that thou dost glare with."
I had noticed that some of the tide-cracks had opened widely and, when a blizzard blew on December 13, the thought was a skeleton in my brain cupboard.
On the 15th an Emperor penguin was seen sunning himself by a pool of water, so we decided to kill the bird and carry some meat in case of emergency. McLean found the stomach full of fish and myriads of cestodes in the intestines.
By dint of hard toil over cracks, ridges and jagged, broken blocks, we came, by diverging to the south-west, to the junction between shifting pack and fast bay-ice, and even there, we afterwards shuddered to find, it was at least forty-five miles, as the penguin skis, to the land.
It was a fine flat surface on which the sledge ran, and the miles commenced to fly by, comparatively speaking. Except for an occasional deep rift, whose bottom plumbed to the sea-water, the going was excellent. Each day the broken ice on our left receded, the mainland to the south grew closer and traces of rock became discernible on the low, fractured cliffs.
On December 17 a huge rocky bluff--Horn Bluff--stood out from the shore. It had a ram-shaped bow like a Dreadnought battleship and, adjoining it, there were smaller outcrops of rock on the seaward ice-cliffs. On its eastern side was a wide bay with a well-defined cape--Cape Freshfield--at the eastern extremity about thirty miles away.
The Bluff was a place worth exploring. At a distance of more than fifteen miles, the spot suggested all kinds of possibilities, and in council we argued that it was useless to go much farther east, as to touch at the land would mean a detour on the homeward track and time would have to be allowed for that.
At a point two hundred and seventy miles from the Hut, in latitude 68 degrees 18' S., longitude 150 degrees 12' E., we erected our "farthest east" camp on December 18, after a day's tramp of eighteen miles. Here, magnetic "dips" and other observations were made throughout the morning of the 19th. It was densely overcast, with sago snow falling, but by 3 P.M. of the same day the clouds had magically cleared and the first stage of the homeward journey had commenced.
XVI. HORN BLUFF AND PENGUIN POINT
by C. T. MADIGAN
What thrill of grandeur ours When first we viewed the column'd fell! What idle, lilting verse can tell Of giant fluted towers, O'er-canopied with immemorial snow And riven by a glacier's azure flow?
As we neared Horn Bluff, on the first stage of our homeward march, the upper layers of snow were observed to disappear, and the underlying ice became thinner; in corrugated sapphire plains with blue reaches of sparkling water. Cracks bridged with flimsy snow continually let one through into the water. McLean and I both soaked our feet and once I was immersed to the thighs, having to stop and put on dry socks and finnesko. It was a chilly process allowing the trousers to dry on me.
The mountain, pushing out as a great promontory from the coast amid the fast sea-ice, towered up higher as our sledge approached its foot. A great shadow was cast on the ice, and, when more than a mile away, we left the warm sunshine.
Awed and amazed, we beheld the lone vastness of it all and were mute. Rising out of the flat wilderness over which we had travelled was a mammoth vertical barrier of rock rearing its head to the skies above. The whole face for five miles was one magnificent series of organ-pipes. The deep shade was heightened by the icy glare beyond it. Here was indeed a Cathedral of Nature, where the "still, small voice" spoke amid an ineffable calm.
Far up the face of the cliff snow petrels fluttered like white butterflies. It was stirring to think that these majestic heights had gazed out across the wastes of snow and ice for countless ages, and never before had the voices of human beings echoed in the great stillness nor human eyes surveyed the wondrous scene.
From the base of the organ-pipes sloped a mass of debris; broken blocks of rock of every size tumbling steeply to the splintered hummocks of the sea-ice.
Standing out from the top of this talus-slope were several white "beacons," up to which we scrambled when the tent was pitched. This was a tedious task as the stones were ready to slide down at the least touch, and often we were carried down several yards by a general movement. Wearing soft finnesko, we ran the risk of getting a crushed foot among the large boulders. Amongst the rubble were beds of clay, and streams of thaw-water trickled down to the surface of a frozen lake.
After rising two hundred feet, we stood beneath the beacons which loomed above to a height of one hundred and twenty-eight feet. The organ-pipes were basaltic** in character but, to my great joy, I found the beacons were of sedimentary rock. After a casual examination, the details were left till the morrow.
** To be exact the igneous rook was a very thick sill of dolerite,
That night we had a small celebration on raisins, chocolate and apple-rings, besides the ordinary fare of hoosh, biscuit and cocoa. Several times we were awakened by the crash of falling stones. Snow petrels had been seen coming home to their nests in the beacons, which were weathered out into small caves and crannies. From the camp we could hear their harsh cries.
The scene in the morning sun was a brilliant one. The great columnar rampart ran almost north and south and the tent was on its eastern side. So what was in dark shadow on the day before was now radiantly illumined.
Correll remained behind on the sea-ice with a theodolite to take heights of the various strata. McLean and I, armed with aneroid, glasses, ruck-sack, geological hammer (ice-axe) and camera, set out for the foot of the talus-slope.
The beacons were found to be part of a horizontal, stratified series of sandstones underlying the igneous rock. There were bands of coarse gravel and fine examples of stream-bedding interspersed with seams of carbonaceous shale and poor coal. Among the debris were several pieces of sandstone marked by black, fossilized plant-remains. The summits of the beacons were platforms of very hard rock, baked by the volcanic overflow. The columns, roughly hexagonal and weathered to a dull-red, stood above in sheer perpendicular lines of six hundred and sixty feet in altitude.
After taking a dozen photographs of geological and general interest and stuffing the sack and our pockets with specimens, we picked a track down the shelving talus to a lake of fresh water which was covered with a superficial crust of ice beneath which the water ran. The surface was easily broken and we fetched the aluminium cover of the cooker, filling it with three gallons of water, thus saving kerosene for almost a day.
After McLean had collected samples of soil, lichens, algae and moss, and all the treasures had been labelled, we lunched and harnessed-up once more for the homeward trail.
For four miles we ran parallel to the one-thousand-foot wall of Horn Bluff meeting several boulders stranded on the ice, as well as the fragile shell of a tiny sea-urchin. The promontory was domed with snow and ice, more than one thousand two hundred feet above sea-level. From it streamed a blue glacier overflowing through a rift in the face. Five miles on our way, the sledge passed from frictionless ice to rippled snow and with a march of seven miles, following lunch, we pitched camp.
Every one was tired that night, and our prayer to the Sleep Merchant in the book of Australian verse was for:
Twenty gallons of balmy sleep, Dreamless, and deep, and mild, Of the excellent brand you used to keep When I was a little child.
For three days, December 22, 23 and 24, the wind soughed at thirty miles per hour and the sky was a compact nimbus, unveiling the sun at rare moments. Through a mist of snow we steered on a north-west course towards the one-hundred-and-fifty-two mile depot. The wind was from the south-east true, and this information, with hints from the sun-compass, gave us the direction. With the sail set, on a flat surface, among ghostly bergs and over narrow leads we ran for forty-seven miles with scarce a clear view of what lay around. The bergs had long ramps of snow leading close up to their summits on the windward side and in many cases the intervals between these ramps and the bergs were occupied by deep moats.
One day we were making four knots an hour under all canvas through thick drift. Suddenly, after a gradual ascent, I was on the edge of a moat, thirty feet deep. I shouted to the others and, just in time, the sledge was slewed round on the very brink.
We pushed on blindly:
The toil of it none may share; By yourself must the way be won Through fervid or frozen air Till the overland journey's done.
Christmas Day! The day that ever reminds one of the sweet story of old, the lessons of childhood, the joys of Santa Claus--the day on which the thoughts of the wildest wanderer turn to home and peace and love. All the world was cheerful; the sun was bright, the air was calm. It was the hometrail, provisions were in plenty, the sledge was light and our hearts lighter.
The eastern edge of Ninnis Glacier was near, and, leaving the sea-ice, we were soon straining up the first slope, backed by a line of ridges trending north-east and south-west, with shallow valleys intervening. On the wind-swept crests there were a few crevasses well packed with snow.
It was a day's work of twelve miles and we felt ready for Christmas dinner. McLean was cook and had put some apple-rings to soak in the cooker after the boil-up at lunch. Beyond this and the fact that he took some penguin-meat into the tent, he kept his plans in the deepest mystery. Correll and I were kept outside making things snug and taking the meteorological observations, until the word came to enter. When at last we scrambled in, a delicious smell diffused through the tent, and there was a sound of frying inside the cooker-pot. We were presented with a menu which read:
"Peace on earth, good will to men."
Xmas 1912 KING GEORGE V. LAND 200 miles east of Winter Quarters.
MENU DU DINER Hors d'oeuvre Biscuit de plasmon Ration du lard glace
Entree Monsieur l'Empereur Pingouin fricasse
Piece de Resistance Pemmican naturel a l'Antarctique
Dessert Hotch-potch de pommes et de raisins Chocolat au sucre glaxone Liqueur bien ancienne de l'Ecosse
Cigarettes Tabac
The hors d'oeuvre of bacon ration was a welcome surprise. McLean had carried the tin unknown to us up till this moment. The penguin, fried in lumps of fat taken from the pemmican, and a little butter, was delicious. In the same pot the hoosh was boiled and for once we noted an added piquancy. Next followed the plum-pudding--dense mixture of powdered biscuit, glaxo, sugar, raisins and apple-rings, surpassing the finest, flaming, holly-decked, Christmas creation.
Then came the toasts. McLean produced the whisky from the medical kit and served it out, much diluted, in three mugs. There was not three ounces in all, but it flavoured the water.
I was asked to call "The King." McLean proposed "The Other Sledgers" in a noble speech, wishing them every success; and then there were a few drops left to drink to "Ourselves," whom Correll eulogized to our complete satisfaction. We then drew on the meagre supply of cigarettes and lay on our bags, feeling as comfortable as the daintiest epicure after a twelve-course dinner, drinking his coffee and smoking his cigar.
We talked till twelve o'clock, and then went outside to look at the midnight sun, shining brightly just above the southern horizon. Turning in, we were once more at home in our dreams.
By a latitude shot at noon on Boxing Day, I found that our position was not as far north as expected. The following wind had been probably slightly east of south-east and too much westing had been made. From a tangle of broken ridges whose surface was often granular, half-consolidated ice, the end of the day opened up a lilac plain of sea-ice ahead. We were once more on the western side of Ninnis Glacier and the familiar coast of Penguin Point, partly hidden by an iceberg, sprang into view. The depot hill to the north-west could be recognized, twenty miles away, across a wide bay. By hooch-time we had found a secure path to the sea-ice, one hundred and eighty feet below.
The wind sprang up opportunely on the morning of the 27th, and the sun was serene in a blue sky. Up went the sail and with a feather-weight load we strode off for the depot eighteen miles distant. Three wide rifts in the sea-ice exercised our ingenuity during the day's march, but by the time the sun was in the south-west the sledge was sawing through the sandy snow of the depot hill. It was unfortunate that the food of this depot had been cached so far out of our westerly course, as the time expended in recovering it might have been profitably given to a survey of the mainland east of Penguin Point. At 6.20 P.M., after eighteen and a quarter miles, the food-bag was sighted on the mound, and that night the dinner at our one-hundred-and-fifty-two-mile depot was marked by some special innovations.
Penguin Point, thirty miles away, bore W. 15 degrees S., and next day we made a bid for it by a march of sixteen miles. There was eleven days' ration on the sledge to take us to Mount Murchison, ninety miles away; consequently the circuitous route to the land was held to be a safe "proposition."
Many rock faces became visible, and I was able to fix numerous prominent points with the theodolite.
At three miles off the coast, the surface became broken by ridges, small bergs and high, narrow cupolas of ice surrounded by deep moats. One of these was very striking. It rose out of a wind-raked hollow to a height of fifty feet; just the shape of an ancient Athenian helmet. McLean took a photograph.
As at Horn Bluff, the ice became thinner and freer of snow as we drew near the Point. The rocky wall under which the tent was raised proved to be three hundred feet high, jutting out from beneath the slopes of ice. From here the coast ran almost south on one side and north-west on the other. On either hand there were dark faces corniced with snow.
The next day was devoted to exploration. Adelie penguins waddled about the tide-crack over which we crossed to examine the rock, which was of coarse-grained granite, presenting great, vertical faces. Hundreds of snow petrels flew about and some stray skua gulls were seen.
Near the camp, on thick ice, were several large blocks of granite which had floated out from the shore and lay each in its pool of thaw-water, covered with serpulae and lace coral.
Correll, our Izaak Walton, had brought a fishing-line and some penguin-meat. He stopped near the camp fishing while McLean and I continued down the coast, examining the outcrops. The type of granite remained unchanged in the numerous exposures.
I had noticed a continuous rustling sound for some time and found at length that it was caused by little streams of ice-crystals running down the steep slopes in cascades, finally pouring out in piles on the sea-ice. The partial thaw in the sunlight causes the semi-solid ice to break up into separate grains. Sometimes whole areas of the surface, in delicate equilibrium, would suddenly flow rapidly away.
For three miles we walked, and as the next four miles of visible coast presented no extensive outcrops, we turned back for lunch.
During the afternoon, on the summit of the Point, it was found that an uneven rocky area, about a quarter of a mile wide, ran backwards to the ice-falls of the plateau. The surface was very broken and weathered, covered in patches by abundant lichens and mosses. Fossicking round in the gravel, Correll happened on some tiny insect-like mites living amongst the moss or on the moist under side of slabs of stone. This set us all insect-hunting. Alcohol was brought in a small bottle from the tent, and into this they were swept in myriads with a camel's-hair brush. From the vantage-point of a high rock in the neighbourhood the long tongue of Mertz Glacier could be seen running away to the north.
At 8.30 A.M., on New Year's Eve, we set off for another line of rocks about four miles away to the west. There were two masses forming an angle in the ice-front and consisting of two main ridges rising to a height of two hundred and fifty feet, running back into the ice-cap for a mile, and divided by a small glacier.
This region was soon found to be a perfect menagerie of life. Seals lay about dozing peacefully by the narrow lanes of water. Adelie penguins strutted in procession up and down the little glacier. To reach his rookery, a penguin would leap four feet on to a ledge of the ice-foot, painfully pad up the glassy slope and then awkwardly scale the rocks until he came to a level of one hundred and fifty feet. Here he took over the care of a chick or an egg, while the other bird went to fish. Skua gulls flew about, continually molesting the rookeries. One area of the rocks was covered by a luxuriant growth of green moss covering guano and littered skeletons--the site of a deserted rookery.
Correll and I went up to where the ridges converged, selecting numerous specimens of rock and mineral and finding thousands of small red mites in the moist gravel. Down on the southern ridge we happened on a Wilson petrel with feathered nestlings. At this point McLean came along from the west with the news of silver-grey petrels and Cape pigeons nesting in hundreds. He had secured two of each species and several eggs. This was indeed a discovery, as the eggs of the former birds had never before been found. Quite close to us were many snow petrels in all kinds of unexpected crevices. The light was too dull for photographing, but, while I took magnetic "dips" on the following morning, McLean visited the silver-grey petrels and Cape pigeons and secured a few "snaps."
The last thing we did before leaving the mainland was to kill two penguins and cut off their breasts and this meat was, later, to serve us in good stead.
Crossing the Mertz Glacier at any time would have been an unpleasant undertaking, but to go straight to Mount Murchison (the site of our first depot on the outward journey) from Penguin Point meant spanning it in a long oblique line. It was preferable to travel quickly and safely over the sea-ice on a north-westerly course, which, plotted on the chart, intersected our old one-hundred-mile camp on the eastern margin of the glacier; then to cross by the route we already knew.
By January 2 we had thrown Penguin Point five miles behind, and a spell of unsettled weather commenced; in front lay a stretch of fourteen miles over a good surface. The wind was behind us, blowing between thirty and forty miles per hour, and from an overcast sky light snow was falling. Fortunately there were fleeting glimpses of the sun, by which the course could be adjusted. Towards evening the snow had thickened, but thanks to the splendid assistance afforded by a sail, the white jutting spurs of the edge of Mertz Glacier were dimly visible.
A blizzard took possession of the next day till 7 P.M., when we all sallied out and found the identical gully in which was the one-hundred-mile camp of the outward journey. The light was still bad and the sky overcast, so the start was postponed till next morning.
There was food for five days on a slightly reduced ration and the depot on Mount Murchison was forty miles away.
Once we had left the sea-ice and stood on the glacier, Aurora Peak with its black crest showed through the glasses. Once there, the crevasses we most dreaded would be over and the depot easily found.
A good fourteen and a quarter miles slipped by on January 4--a fine day. On January 5 the "plot began to thicken." The clouds hung above like a blanket, sprinkling light snow. The light was atrocious, and a few open rents gave warning of the western zone of pitfalls. All the while there was a shifting spectral chaos of whiteness which seemed to benumb the faculties and destroy one's sense of reality. We decided to wait for a change in the weather.
During the night the snow ceased, and by lunch time on the 6th the sledge-meter recorded ten miles. The strange thing was that the firm sastrugi present on the outward journey were now covered inches in snow, which became deeper as we marched westward.
It was now a frequent occurrence for one of us to pitch forward with his feet down a hidden crevasse, sometimes going through to the waist. The travelling was most nerve-racking. When a foot went through the crust of snow, it was impossible to tell on which side of the crevasse one happened to be, or in what direction it ran. The only thing to do was to go ahead and trust in Providence.
At last we landed the sledge on a narrow ridge of hard snow, surrounded by blue, gaping pits in a pallid eternity of white. It was only when the tent was pitched that a wide quarry was noticed a few yards away from the door.
It was now fourteen miles to the top of Mount Murchison and we had only two more days' rations and one and a half pounds of penguin-meat.
On January 7th the light was worse than ever and snow fell. It was only six miles across the broken country between us and the gully between Mt. Murchison and Aurora Peak, where one could travel with some surety. A sharp look-out was kept, and towards 11 P.M. a rim of clear sky overtopped the southern horizon. We knew the sun would curve round into it at midnight, so all was made ready for marching.
When the sun's disc emerged into the rift there was light; but dim, cold and fleeting. The smallest irregularity on the surface threw a shadow hundreds of yards long. The plain around was a bluish-grey checquer-board of light and shade; ahead, sharp and clear against the leaden sky, stood beautiful Aurora Peak, swathed in lustrous gold--the chariot of the goddess herself. The awful splendour of the scene tended to depress one and make the task more trying. I have never felt more nervous than I did in that ghostly light in the tense silence, surrounded by the hidden horror of fathomless depths. All was covered with a uniform layer of snow, growing deeper and heavier at every step. I was ahead and went through eight times in about four miles. The danger lay in getting the sledge and one, two, or all of us on a weak snow-bridge at the same time. As long as the sledge did not go down we were comparatively safe.
At 1.30 A.M. the sun was obscured and the light waned to dead white. Still we went on, as the entrance of the gully between Aurora Peak and Mount Murchison was near at hand and we had a mind to get over the danger-zone before a snowstorm commenced.
By 5.30 A.M. we breathed freely on "terra firma," even though one sunk through a foot of snow to feel it. It had taken six hours to do the last five and three-quarter miles, and, being tired out with the strain on muscles and nerves, we raised the tent, had a meal, and then slept till noon on the 8th. It was eight miles to the depot, five miles up the gully and three miles to the summit of Mount Murchison; and no one doubted for a moment that it could not be done in a single day's march.
Advancing up the gully after lunch, we found that the surface became softer, and we were soon sinking to the knees at every step. The runners, too, sank till the decking rested on the snow, and it was as much as we could do to shift the sledge, with a series of jerks at every step. At 6 P.M. matters became desperate. We resolved to make a depot of everything unnecessary, and to relay it up the mountain afterwards.
The sledge-meter, clogged with snow and almost submerged, was taken off and stood up on end to mark a depot, whilst a pile was made of the dip-circle, theodolite and tripod, pick, alpine rope, ice-axe, all the mineral and biological specimens and excess clothing.
Even thus lightened, we could scarcely move the sledge, struggling on, sinking to the thighs in the flocculent deluge. Snow now began to fall so thickly that it was impossible to see ahead.
At 7 P.M. we finished up the last scraps of pemmican and cocoa. Biscuit, sugar and glaxo had given out at the noon meal. There still remained one and a half pounds of penguin meat, several infusions of tea and plenty of kerosene for the primus.
We staggered on till 10.30 P.M., when the weather became so dense that the sides of the gully were invisible. Tired out, we camped and had some tea. In eight hours we had only made four and a half miles, and there was still the worst part to come.
In our exhausted state we slept till 11 P.M. of January 9, awaking to find the sky densely overcast and a light fog in the air. During a rift which opened for a few minutes there was a short glimpse of the rock on Aurora Peak. Shredding half the penguin-meat, we boiled it up and found the stew and broth excellent.
At 1.30 A.M. we started to struggle up the gully once more, wading along in a most helpless fashion, with breathing spells every ten yards or less. Snow began to fall in such volume that at last it was impossible to keep our direction with any certainty. The only thing to do was to throw up the tent as a shelter and wait. This we did till 4.30 A.M.; but there must have been a cloud-burst, for the heavy flakes toppled on to the tent like tropical rain. We got into sleeping-bags, and tried to be patient and to forget that we were hungry.
Apparently, during our seven weeks' absence, the local precipitation had been almost continual, and snow now lay over this region in stupendous amount. Even when one sank three feet, it was not on to the firm sastrugi over which we had travelled out of the valley on the outward journey, for these lay still deeper. It was hoped that the "snowdump" did not continue over the fifty miles to the Hut, but we argued that on the windy plateau this could scarcely be possible.
It was evident that without any more food, through this bottomless, yielding snow, we could never haul the sledge up to the depot, a rise of one thousand two hundred feet in three miles. One of us must go up and bring food back, and I decided to do so as soon as the weather cleared.
We found the wait for clearer weather long and trying with empty stomachs. As the tobacco-supply still held out, McLean and I found great solace in our pipes. All through the rest of the day and till 5 P.M. of the next, January 10, there was not a rift in the opaque wall of flakes. Then to our intense relief the snow stopped, the clouds rolled to the north, and, in swift transformation--a cloudless sky with bright sunshine! With the rest of the penguin-meat--a bare half-pound--we had another thin broth. Somewhat fortified, I took the food-bag and shovel, and left the tent at 5.30 A.M.
Often sinking to the thighs, I felt faint at the first exertion. The tent scarcely seemed to recede as I toiled onwards towards the first steep slope. The heavy mantle of snow had so altered the contours of the side of the gully that I was not sure of the direction of the top of the mountain.
Resting every hundred yards, I floundered on hour after hour, until, on arriving at a high point, I saw a little shining mound standing up on a higher point, a good mile to the east. After seven hours' wading I reached it and found that it was the depot.
Two feet of the original eight-foot mound projected above the surface, with the bamboo pole and a wire-and-canvas flag rising another eighteen inches. On this, a high isolated mountain summit, six feet of snow had actually accumulated. How thankful I was that I had brought a shovel!
At seven feet I "bottomed" on the hard snow, without result. Then, running a tunnel in the most probable direction, I struck with the shovel the kerosene tin which was on the top of the food-bag. On opening the bag, the first items to appear were sugar, butter and biscuits; the next quarter of an hour I shall not forget!
I made a swag of five days' provisions, and, taking a direct route, attacked the three miles downhill in lengths of one hundred and fifty yards. Coming in sight of the tent, I called to my companions to thaw some water for a drink. So slow was progress that I could speak to them a quarter of an hour before reaching the tent. I had been away eleven and a half hours, covering about seven miles in all.
McLean and Correll were getting anxious about me. They said that they had felt the cold and were unable to sleep. Soon I had produced the pemmican and biscuit, and a scalding hoosh was made. The other two had had only a mug of penguin broth each in three days, and I had only broken my fast a few hours before them.
After the meal, McLean and Correll started back to the cache, two miles down the gully, to select some of the geological and biological specimens and to fetch a few articles of clothing. The instruments, the greater part of the collection of rocks, crampons, sledge-meter and other odds and ends were all left behind. Coming back with the loads slung like swags they found that by walking in their old footsteps they made fair progress.
By 8 P.M. all had rested, every unnecessary fitting had been stripped off the sledge and the climb to the depot commenced. I went ahead in my old trail, Correll also making use of it; while McLean broke a track for himself. The work was slow and heavy; nearly six hours were spent doing those three miles.
It was a lovely evening; the yellow sun drifting through orange cloudlets behind Aurora Peak. We were in a more appreciative mood than on the last midnight march, exulting in the knowledge of ten days' provisions at hand and fifty-three miles to go to reach the Hut.
In the manner of the climate, a few wisps of misty rack came sailing from the south-east, the wind rose, snow commenced to fall and a blizzard held sway for almost three days. It was just as well that we had found that depot when we did.
The fifty-three miles to the Hut melted away in the pleasures of anticipation. The first two miles, on the morning of January 14, gave us some strenuous work, but they were luxurious in comparison with what we expected; soon, however, the surface rapidly and permanently improved. A forty-mile wind from the south-east was a distinct help, and by the end of the day we had come in sight of the nunatak first seen after leaving the Hut (Madigan Nunatak).
In two days forty miles lay behind. Down the blue ice-slopes in slippery finnesko, and Aladdin's Cave hove in sight. We tumbled in, to be assailed by a wonderful odour which brought back orchards, shops, people--a breath of civilization. In the centre of the floor was a pile of oranges surmounted by two luscious pineapples. The Ship was in! There was a bundle of letters--Bage was back from the south--Wild had been landed one thousand five hundred miles to the west--Amundsen had reached the Pole! Scott was remaining in the Antarctic for another year. How we shouted and read all together!
XVII. WITH STILLWELL'S AND BICKERTON'S PARTIES
Leaving Madigan's party on November 19, when forty-six miles from the Hut, Stillwell, Hodgeman and Close of the Near-Eastern Party diverged towards a dome-shaped mountain--Mount Hunt. A broad valley lay between their position on the falling plateau and this eminence to the north-east. Looking across, one would think that the depression was slight, but the party found by aneroid that their descent was one thousand five hundred feet into a gully filled with soft, deep snow. After skimming the polished sastrugi of the uplands, the sledge ran heavily in the yielding drifts. Then a gale of wind rose behind them just as the ascent on the other side commenced, and was a valuable aid in the pull to the summit.
From the highest point or cap of what proved to be a promontory, a wide seascape dotted with bergs was unfolded to the north. To the west the eastern cape of Commonwealth Bay was visible, and sweeping away to the north-east was the Mertz Glacier with sheer, jutting headlands succeeding one another into the distance. True bearings to these points were obtained from the camp, and, subsequently, with the help of an observation secured on the 'Aurora' during the previous year, the trend of the glacier-tongue was determined. Hodgeman made a series of illustrative sketches.
On November 21 the party commenced the return journey, moving directly towards Madigan Nunatak to the south-west. This nunatak had been sighted for the first time on the outward march, and there was much speculation as to what the rock would prove to be. A gradual descent for seven miles brought them on to a plain, almost at sea-level, continuous with the valley they had crossed on the 19th further to the east. On the far side of the plain a climb was commenced over some ice-spurs, and then a broad field of crevasses was encountered, some of which attained a width of fifty yards. Delayed by these and by unfavourable weather, they did not reach Madigan Nunatak until the evening of November 20.
The outcrop--a jagged crest of rock--was found to be one hundred and sixty yards long and thirty yards wide, placed at an altitude of two thousand four hundred feet above sea-level. It is composed of grey quartzose gneiss.
There were no signs of recent glaciation or of ice-striae, though the rock was much weathered, and all the cracks and joint-planes were filled with disintegrating material. The weathering was excessive and peculiar in contrast with that observed on fresh exposures near the Hut and at other localities near sea-level.
After collecting specimens and placing a small depot of food on the highest point, the party continued their way to the Hut, reaching it on November 27.
At Winter Quarters noticeable changes had taken place. The harbour ice had broken back for several hundred yards and was rotten and ready to blow out in the first strong wind; marked thawing had occurred everywhere, and many islands of rock emerged from the snow; the ice-foot was diminishing; penguins, seals, and flying birds made the place, for once, alive and busy.
Bickerton, Whetter and Hannam carried on the routine of work; Whetter as meteorologist and Hannam as magnetician, while Bickerton was busied with the air-tractor and in preparations for sledging. Thousands of penguins' eggs had been gathered for the return voyage of the 'Aurora', or in case of detention for a second winter.
Murphy, Hunter and Laseron arrived from the south on the same day as Stillwell, Hodgeman and Close came in from the east. The former party had plodded for sixty-seven miles through a dense haze of drift. They had kept a course roughly by the wind and the direction of sastrugi. The unvarying white light of thick overcast days had been so severe that all were suffering from snow-blindness. When, at length, they passed over the endless billows of snow on to the downfalls near the coast, the weather cleared and they were relieved to see once more the Mecca of all sledging parties--Aladdin's Cave.
A redistribution of parties and duties was made. Hodgeman joined Whetter and Bickerton in preparation for the air-tractor sledge's trip to the west. Hunter took up the position of meteorologist and devoted all his spare time to biological investigations amongst the immigrant life of summer. Hannam continued to act as magnetician and general "handy man." Murphy, who was also to be in charge during the summer, returned to his stores, making preparations for departure. Hourly meteorological observations kept every one vigilant at the Hut.
In pursuance of a plan to examine in detail the coast immediately east of Commonwealth Bay, Stillwell set out with Laseron and Close on December 9. The weather was threatening at the start, and they had the usual struggle with wind and drift to "make" Aladdin's Cave.
Forewarned on the first journey of the dangers of bad ventilation, they cleared the entrance to the cave of obstacles so that a ready exit could be made, if, as was expected, the opening became sealed with snow-drift. This did happen during the night, and, though everything seemed all right the next morning, the whole party was overpowered during breakfast by foul air, the presence of which was not suspected.
Hoosh was cooked and about to be served, when Stillwell, who was in charge of the primus, collapsed. Close immediately seized an ice-axe, stood up, thrust its point through the choked entrance, and fell down, overcome. Laseron became powerless at the same time. An hour and a half later--so it was reckoned--the party revived and cleared the opening. The hole made by the ice-axe had been sufficient to save their lives. For a day they were too weak and exhausted to travel, so the tent was pitched and the night spent outside the Cave.
On December 11 they steered due south for a while and then eastward for three days to Madigan Nunatak; delayed for twenty-four hours by a blizzard.
Stillwell goes on to describe: "Part of the 15th was spent in making observations, taking photographs and collecting specimens of rocks and lichens. Breaking camp, we set out on a northerly course for the coast down gently falling snowfields. Gradually there opened up a beautiful vista of sea, dotted with floes and rocky islets (many of which were ice-capped). On December 16 camp was pitched near the coast on a stretch of firm, unbroken ice, which enabled one to venture close enough to the edge to discover an islet connected by a snow-ramp with the icy barrier. Lying farther off the shore was a thick fringe of islets, among and beyond which drifted a large quantity of heavy floe. The separate floes stood some ten or fifteen feet above the water-level, and the lengths of several exceeded a quarter of a mile. Every accessible rock was covered with rookeries of Adelie penguins; the first chicks were just hatched."
A theodolite traverse was run to fix the position of each islet. The traverse-line was carried close to the ice-cliff, so that the number of islets hidden from view was as few as possible. Snow mounds were built at intervals and the intervening distances measured by the sledge-meter.
The party travelled west for seven and a quarter miles round a promontory--Cape Gray--until the Winter Quarters were sighted across Commonwealth Bay. They then turned eastward over the higher slopes, meeting the coast some three miles to the east of the place where they had first encountered it. The surface was for the most part covered with snow, while crevasses were frequent and treacherous.
In the midst of the survey the sledge-meter broke down, and, as the party were wholly dependent upon it for laying out base-lines, repairs had to be made.
[TEXT ILLUSTRATION]
Map showing the remarkable distribution of islets fringing the coast of Adelie Land in the vicinity of Cape Gray
On the 27th another accessible rocky projection was seen. Over it and the many islands in the vicinity hovered flocks of snow petrels and occasional Antarctic and Wilson petrels. Masses of Adelie penguins and chicks constituted the main population, and skua gulls with eggs were also observed. The rock was of garnet gneiss, traversed by black dykes of pyroxene granulite.
A great discovery was made on December 29. On the abrupt, northern face of some rocks connected to the ice-cap of the mainland by a causeway of ice a large colony of sea-birds had nested. Cape pigeons, the rare silver-grey and snow petrels were all present. Amongst these Laseron made a collection of many eggs and birds.
The traverse-line was then carried back to Madigan Nunatak along a series of connecting mounds. After being held up for three and a half days in a blizzard from December 31 to January 4, the party were home once more late on January 5, 1913.
Returning to the fortunes of the air-tractor sledge, which was to start west early in December. Bickerton has a short story to tell, inadequate to the months of work which were expended on that converted aeroplane. Its career was mostly associated with misfortune, dating from a serious fall when in flight at Adelaide, through the southern voyage of the 'Aurora', buffeted by destructive seas, to a capacious snow shelter in Adelie Land--the Hangar--where for the greater part of the year it remained helpless and drift-bound.
Bickerton takes up the story:
I had always imagined that the air-tractor sledge would be most handicapped by the low temperature; but the wind was far more formidable. It is obvious that a machine which depends on the surrounding air for its medium of traction could not be tested in the winds of an Adelie Land winter. One might just as well try the capabilities of a small motor-launch in the rapids at Niagara. Consequently we had to wait until the high summer.
With hopes postponed to an indefinite future, another difficulty arose. As it was found that the wind would not allow the sea-ice to form, breaking up the floe as quickly as it appeared, the only remaining field for manoeuvres was over the highlands to the south; under conditions quite different from those for which it was suited. We knew that for the first three miles there was a rise of some one thousand four hundred feet, and in places the gradient was one in three and a half. I thought the machine would negotiate this, but it was obviously unsafe to make the venture without providing against a headlong rush downhill, if, for any reason, power should fail.
Suggestions were not lacking, and after much consideration the following device was adopted:
A hand rock-drill, somewhat over an inch in diameter, was turned up in the lathe, cut with one-eighth-inch pitched, square threads and pointed at the lower end. This actuated through an internal threaded brass bush held in an iron standard; the latter being bolted to the after-end of a runner over a hole bushed for the reception of the drill. Two sets of these were got ready; one for each runner.
The standards were made from spare caps belonging to the wireless masts. The timely fracture of one of the vices supplied me with sufficient ready-cut thread of the required pitch for one brake. Cranked handles were fitted, and the points, which came in contact with the ice, were hardened and tempered. When protruded to their fullest extent, the spikes extended four inches below the runners.
The whole contrivance was not very elegant, but impressed one with its strength and reliability. To work the handles, two men had to sit one on each runner. As the latter were narrow and the available framework, by which to hold on and steady oneself, rather limited, the office of brakesman promised to be one with acrobatic possibilities.
To start the engine it was necessary to have a calm and, preferably, sunny day; the engine and oil-tank had been painted black to absorb the sun's heat. On a windy day with sun and an air temperature of 30 degrees F., it was only with considerable difficulty that the engine could be turned--chiefly owing to the thickness of the lubricating oil. But on a calm day with the temperature lower -20 degrees F. for example--the engine would swing well enough to permit starting, after an hour or two of steady sun. If there were no sun even in the absence of wind, starting would be out of the question, unless the atmospheric temperature were high or the engine were warmed with a blow-lamp.
It was not till November 15 that the right combination of conditions came. That day was calm and sunny, and the engine needed no more stimulus than it would have received in a "decent" climate.
Hannam, Whetter and I were the only inhabitants of the Hut at the time. Having ascertained that the oil and air pumps were working satisfactorily, we fitted the wheels and air-rudder, and made a number of satisfactory trials in the vicinity of the Hut.
The wheels were soon discarded as useless; reliance being placed on the long runners. Then the brakes were tested for the first time by driving for a short distance uphill to the south and glissading down the slope back to the Hut. With a man in charge of each brake, the machine, when in full career down the slope, was soon brought to a standstill. The experiment was repeated from a higher position on the slope, with the same result. The machine was then taken above the steepest part of the slope (one in three and a half) and, on slipping back, was brought to rest with ease. The surface was hard, polished blue ice. The air-rudder, by the way, was efficient at speeds exceeding fifteen miles per hour.
On the 20th we had a calm morning, so Whetter and I set out for Aladdin's Cave to depot twenty gallons of benzene and six gallons of oil. The engine was not running well, one cylinder occasionally "missing." But, in spite of this and a head wind of fifteen miles per hour, we covered the distance between the one-mile and the two-mile flags in three minutes. This was on ice, and the gradient was about one in fifteen. We went no farther that day, and it was lucky that we did so, for, soon after our return to the Hut, it was blowing more than sixty miles per hour.
On December 2 Hodgeman joined us in a very successful trip to Aladdin's Cave with nine 8-gallon tins of benzene on a sledge; weighing in all seven hundred pounds.
After having such a good series of results with the machine, the start of the real journey was fixed for December 3. At 3 P.M. it fell calm, and we left at 4 P.M., amid an inspiriting demonstration of goodwill from the six other men. Arms were still waving violently as we crept noisily over the brow of the hill and the Hut disappeared from sight.
On the two steepest portions it was necessary to walk, but, these past, the machine went well with a load of three men and four hundred pounds, reaching Aladdin's Cave in an hour by a route free of small crevasses, which I had discovered on the previous day. Here we loaded up with three 100-lb. food-bags, twelve gallons of oil (one hundred and thirty pounds), and seven hundred pounds of benzene. Altogether, there was enough fuel and lubricating oil to run the engine at full speed for twenty hours as well as full rations for three men for six weeks.
After a few minutes spent in disposing the loads, our procession of machine, four sledges (in tow) and three men moved off. The going was slow, too slow--about three miles an hour on ice. This would probably mean no movement at all on snow which might soon be expected. But something was wrong. The cylinder which had been missing fire a few days before, but which had since been cleaned and put in order, was now missing fire again, and the speed, proportionately, had dropped too much.
I made sure that the oil was circulating, and cleaned the sparking-plug, but the trouble was not remedied. A careful examination showed no sufficient cause, so it was assumed to be internal. To undertake anything big was out of the question, so we dropped thirty-two gallons of benzene and a spare propeller. Another mile went by and we came to snow, where forty gallons of benzene, twelve gallons of oil and a sledge were abandoned. The speed was now six miles an hour and we did two miles in very bad form. As it was now 11 P.M. and the wind was beginning to rise, we camped, feeling none too pleased with the first day's results.
While in the sleeping-bag I tried to think out some rapid way of discovering what was wrong with the engine. The only conclusion to which I could come was that it would be best to proceed to the cave at eleven and three-quarter miles--Cathedral Grotto--and there remove the faulty cylinder, if the weather seemed likely to be favourable; if it did not, to go on independently with our man-hauled sledge.
On December 4 the wind was still blowing about twenty miles per hour when we set to work on the machine. I poured some oil straight into the crank-case to make sure that there was sufficient, and we also tested and improved the ignition. At four o'clock the wind dropped, and in an hour the engine was started. While moving along, the idle cylinder was ejecting oil, and this, together with the fact that it had no compression, made me hope that broken piston-rings were the source of the trouble. It would only take two hours to remove three cylinders, take one ring from each of the two sound ones for the faulty one, and all might yet be well!
These thoughts were brought to a sudden close by the engine, without any warning, pulling up with such a jerk that the propeller was smashed. On moving the latter, something fell into the oil in the crank-case and fizzled, while the propeller could only be swung through an angle of about 30 deg.. We did not wait to examine any further, but fixed up the man-hauling sledge, which had so far been carried by the air-tractor sledge, and cached all except absolute necessities.
We were sorry to leave the machine, though we had never dared to expect a great deal from it in the face of the unsuitable conditions found to prevail in Adelie Land. However, the present situation was disappointing.
Having stuffed up the exhaust-pipes to keep out the drift, we turned our backs to the aero-sledge and made for the eleven-and-three-quarter-mile cave, arriving there at 8 P.M. There was a cheering note from Bage in the "Grotto", wishing us good luck.
To avoid crevasses we steered first of all to the southwest on the morning of the 5th, which was clear and bright. After six miles the sastrugi became hard and compact, so the course was changed to due west. Shortly afterwards, a piece of rock ** which we took to be a meteorite, was found on the surface of the snow. It measured approximately five inches by three inches by three and a half inches and was covered with a black scale which in places had blistered; three or four small pieces of this scale were lying within three inches of the main piece. Most of the surface was rounded, except one face which looked as if it had been fractured. It was lying on the snow, in a slight depression, about two and a half inches below the mean surface, and there was nothing to indicate that there had been any violent impact.
** This has since been examined by Professor E. Skeats and Stillwell, who report it to be an interesting form of meteorite, containing amongst other minerals, plagioclase felspar. This is, we believe, the first occasion on which a meteorite has been found in the Antarctic regions.--ED.
At eight o'clock that night we had done twelve miles, losing sight of the sea at a height of about three thousand feet. All felt pleased and looked forward to getting over a ridge ahead, which, from an altitude of four thousand feet, ran in pencilled outline to the western point of Commonwealth Bay.
On December 6 it was drifting hard, and part of the morning was spent theorizing on our prospects in an optimistic vein. This humour gradually wore off as the thick drift continued, with a fifty-mile wind, for three days.
At 5 P.M. on December 8 a move was made. The drift was what our Hut-standard reckoned to be "moderate," but the wind had fallen to thirty miles an hour and had veered to the east; so the sail was hoisted. The going was difficult over a soft surface, and after five hours, by which time the drift had perceptibly thickened, we had done eight miles.
The thirst each one of us developed in those earlier days was prodigious. When filling the cooker with snow it was hard to refrain from packing it "up to the knocker" in order to obtain a sufficient supply of water.
The next day it blew harder and drifted thicker. Above the loud flapping of the tent and the incessant sizzling of the drift we discussed our situation. We were one week "out" and had travelled thirty-one miles. Future progress depended entirely on the weather--unfortunately. We were beginning to learn that though the season was "meteorologically" called summer, it was hardly recognizable as such.
December 10 was Whetter's birthday. It was heralded by an extra strong wind and the usual liberal allowance of drift. I was cook, and made some modifications in the meal. Hodgeman (who was the previous cook) used to make hoosh as thick as a biscuit, so we had some thin stuff for a change --two mugs each. Then really strong tea; we boiled it for some time to make sure of the strength and added some leaves which had already done good service.
Several times fault had been found with the way the tent was pitched. I had not yet tried my hand at being the "man inside" during this operation. One day, while every one was grumbling, I said I would take the responsibility at the next camp; the proposal being received with grunts of assent. When the job was finished and the poles appeared to be spread taut, I found myself alone in what seemed to me a cathedral. Feeling pleased, I called for the others to come in, and arranged myself in a corner with an "I-told-you-so" expression on my face, ready to receive their congratulations. Hodgeman came in first. He is not a large man, though he somehow gives one the impression that he is, but after he had made himself comfortable the place seemed smaller. When half-way through the "spout," coming in, he gave a grunt which I took to be one of appreciation. Then Whetter came in. He is of a candid disposition: "Ho, ho, laddie, what the dickens have you done with the tent?"
I tried to explain their mistake. But it was no good. When we were all inside, I couldn't help seeing that the tent was much smaller than it had ever been before, and we had to huddle together most uncomfortably. And there were three days like this.
At nine o'clock one morning Hodgeman woke me with, "What about getting a move on?" The wind had dropped to forty miles an hour, and through a tiny hole in the tent the ground could be seen. Amid a thinning fog of drift, the disc of the sun was just visible.
We made a start and then plodded on steadily till midnight over a soft and uncomfortable surface. Shortly after that hour I looked at the sledge-meter and found that it had ceased working; the sprocket had been knocked off. Repair was out of the question, as every joint was soldered up; so without more ado we dropped it. In future we were to estimate our speed, having already had some good experience in this way.
No sooner had Friday December 13 come on the scene than a catastrophe overtook us. The superstitious might have blamed Fate, but on this occasion there was no room for doubt; the fault was mine. The sail was up and, while braking the load upwind, I slipped and fell, allowing the sledge to collide with a large sastruga. The bow struck the solid snow with such force that it was smashed.
Next day a new bow was manufactured from a spare bamboo which had been brought as a depot pole. It took some time splitting and bending this into position and then lashing it with raw hide. But the finished article fully justified the means, and, in spite of severe treatment, the makeshift stood for the rest of the journey.
While on the march on December 16, the wind dropped and the drift ceased for the first time since December 5; for eleven days it had been heavy or moderate. Before we got into harness on the same day, a Wilson petrel flew above us. This little touch of life, together with the bright sun, light wind and lack of drift enabled us to start away in better spirits than had been our wont.
The next four days passed in excellent weather. The surface was mainly hard and the clusters of large sastrugi could generally be avoided. Patches of softer "piecrust" were met but only lasted for two or three miles. Making up for lost time, we did a few miles short of one hundred in five days.
Unfortunately there was always drift at midday, so that it was impossible to get a latitude "shot" with a sextant and artificial horizon.
On December 19 camp was pitched at 1 A.M. before a glorious view; an horizon of sea from west to north-east and white fields of massive bergs. In the extreme west there was something which very closely resembled pack-ice.
On the 20th the surface was softer and the snow more recent, but the wind was behind us and for part of the day the track led downhill into a peculiar saucer-shaped depression which, on our first entry, looked like a valley closed at the far end, while when we came to the middle it resolved itself once more into a saucer.
Camping here, I managed to get a good time-shot, so that, provided we occupied this camp on the return journey, I reckoned that I could get the watch-rate and fix the approximate longitude of the pack-ice, which for two days had been clearly within view.
[TEXT ILLUSTRATION]
Adelie Land: Showing tracks of the Western Sledging Party from the Main Base.
December 21 marked the end of the good weather, for drift and wind came on apace lasting four days, the wind attaining about eighty miles an hour. Sleeping-bags and tent-cloth were soon in a wretched state, sodden with moisture. Christmas Day was not very enjoyable in cramped quarters, the tent having encroached on us owing to drift settling around it. Still, by the evening, it was clear enough to break camp and we made a spurt of thirteen miles.
From the next camp there was a good view to the northwest, the pack extending beyond the limit of vision. The land trended to the west-north-west and we could see it at a distance of fifty miles from our altitude.
All things considered, I thought it right to turn back at this stage. In twenty-six days we had done one hundred and fifty-eight miles, and ninety-seven miles of that distance had been covered on the only five consecutive good days. We waited some time until the sun appeared, when I was able to get an observation while Hodgeman made a sketch of the view.
By December 30 we reoccupied the camp of the 20th, sixteen miles on the return journey. A time-shot was successful, and observations were also taken for magnetic declination.
As the weather was fine, Hodgeman and Whetter went to investigate two odd-looking pyramids about five miles away. These turned out to be high snow-ramps, two hundred yards long, on the lee side of open crevasses.
The last day of 1912 was calm and "snow-blind"--the first of this particular variety we had experienced without drift. A New Year pudding was made of soaked biscuit, cocoa, milk, sugar, butter, and a few remaining raisins, and it was, of course, an immense success.
On January 1 and the two succeeding days the drift was so thick that we had to lie up and amuse ourselves discussing various matters of individual interest. Hodgeman gave us a lecture on architecture, explaining the beauties of certain well-known buildings. Whetter would describe some delicate surgical operation, while I talked about machinery. I also worked up the time-shots, and the hours passed quickly. If only our sleeping-bags had been drier we might have enjoyed ourselves at intervals.
The evening of the 4th found us camped ten miles nearer home, beside a large crevasse and with a closer view of the bay seen on December 20. This time we were greatly excited to see rocks outcropping near the water-line, and an investigation of them was resolved upon for the following day.
The morning broke overcast and ghostly white. Although only ten yards away from it, we could not see the huge crevasse in our vicinity. Thus our expedition to the rocks had to be abandoned.
After a week's travelling, during which obscured skies and intermittent drift were the rule, we were once more in the neighbourhood of Madigan's spring depot, forty-five miles west of Aladdin's Cave. It had been passed without our seeing any signs of it on the outward journey, and, as we never relied on finding it, we did not mind about missing it again.
Thick drift and a fifty-mile wind on January 12 kept us confined for thirty-six hours. It was clear enough after noon on the 13th, and five miles were covered in four hours through thick surface drift. What the course was we did not care as we steered by the sastrugi. If ever a man had any "homing instinct" it would surely show itself on such an occasion as this.
Travelling in driving snow used to have a curious effect on me. I always imagined that we were just coming to an avenue of trees running at right angles to our course. What produced this idea I have not the slightest suspicion, but while it lasted, the impression was very strong.
To avoid the drift, which was thickest by day, travelling had for some time been conducted at night. On the evening of the 14th, during a clear spell, a ridge rose up behind, and, in front, a wide bay was visible with its far eastern point rising in mirage. This was taken to be Commonwealth Bay, but the fact could not be verified as the drift came on thickly once more. The day's march was twelve miles by concerted reckoning.
Next day we went three miles to the north to see if any recognizable bergs would come in sight, but were stopped by crevasses. The eastward course was therefore resumed.
After continuing for about a mile Hodgeman told us to stop, flung down his harness and dashed back to the sledge, rummaging in the instrument-box till he found the glasses. "Yes, it's the aeroplane," he said.
This remark took us by surprise as we had not expected it for eight miles at least. It was about midnight--the time when mirage was at a maximum. Consequently, all agreed that the machine was about twelve miles away, and we went on our way rejoicing, steering towards the Cathedral Grotto which was two miles south of the aero-sledge. After three miles we camped, and, it being my birthday, the two events were celebrated by "blowing in" the whisky belonging to the medical outfit.
On the 16th the weather was thick, and we marched east for ten miles, passing a tea-leaf, which it was afterwards found must have come downwind from the Grotto. For eight hours nothing could be done in thick drift, and then, on breaking camp, we actually came to a flag which had been planted by Ninnis in the spring, thirteen miles south-east of Aladdin's Cave. The distance to the air-tractor had been over-estimated, and the Grotto must have been passed quite close.
We made off down the hill, running over the crevasses at a great pace. Aladdin's Cave with its medley of boxes, tins, picks and shovels, gladdened our eyes at 10 P.M. on the 17th. Conspicuous for its colour was an orange, stuck on a pick, which told us at once that the Ship was in.
XVIII. THE SHIP'S STORY
by Captain J. K. Davis
By sport of bitter weather We're warty, strained, and scarred From the kentledge on the kelson To the slings upon the yard. KIPLING.
Dr. Mawson's plans, as laid before the Royal Geographical Society in 1911, provided for an extensive oceanographical campaign in the immense stretch of ocean to the southward of Australia. Very little was known of the sea-floor in this area, there being but a few odd soundings only, beyond a moderate distance from the Australian coast. Even the great Challenger expedition had scarcely touched upon it; and so our Expedition had a splendid field for investigation.
The first discovery made in this connexion on board the 'Aurora' was the fact that deep-water work is more intricate than books would make it appear. Although text-books had been carefully studied on the subject, it was found that most of them passed over the practical side of the work in a few words, insufficient to give us much help in carrying out difficult operations with the vessel rolling and tumbling about in the heavy seas of the Southern Ocean.
So it was only after a good deal of hard work and many disappointments that the experience was gained which enabled us, during the later stages of the Expedition, to do useful and successful work.
Before passing on to the operations of the 'Aurora' during the winter of 1912, I shall briefly refer to the equipment provided for oceanographical work.
The Lucas Automatic Sounding Machine was situated on the port side of the forecastle head. It was suitable for depths up to six thousand fathoms, being fitted with a grooved wheel so as to be driven by a rope belt from a steam-winch or other engine. The wire was wound in by means of a small horizontal steam-engine which had been specially designed for the 'Scotia', of the Scottish Antarctic Expedition (1902) and was kindly lent to us by Dr. W. S. Bruce.
The wire as it is paid out passes over a measuring wheel, the revolutions of which record on a dial the number of fathoms out. A spring brake, which is capable of stopping the reel instantly, is kept out of action by the tension of the wire, but when the sinker strikes the bottom, the loss of tension allows the brake to spring back and stop the reel. The depth can then be read off on the dial.
A hollow iron tube called a driver is attached to a piece of hemp line spliced into the outer end of the sounding wire. This driver bears one or two weights to the bottom and detaches them on striking it; a specimen of the bottom being recovered in the hollow part of the tube which is fitted with valves to prevent water from running through it on the way up. Immediately the driver and weight strike the bottom, the reel automatically stops paying out wire.
To obtain a deep-sea sounding on the 'Aurora', the vessel was stopped, turned so as to bring the wind on the port-bow and kept as nearly stationary as possible; the engines being used to balance any drift of the vessel due to wind or sea.
The difficulties of sounding in the Southern Ocean were much increased by the almost constant, heavy swell. The breaking strain of the wire being only two hundred and forty pounds and the load it had to carry to the bottom weighing nearly fifty-six pounds in air, it could easily be understood that the sudden strain imposed by the violent rolling of the vessel often resulted in the parting of the wire. We soon learnt to handle both vessel and sounding machine in such a way as to entail the least possible strain on the wire.
Of all the operations conducted on board the 'Aurora', deep-sea trawling was the one about which we had most to learn. Dr. W. S. Bruce gave me most valuable advice on the subject before we left England. Later, this was supplemented by a cruise in Australian waters on the 'Endeavour', of the Commonwealth Fisheries Investigation. Here I was able to observe various trawling operations in progress, subsequently applying the information gained to our own requirements on the 'Aurora'.
A short description of our trawling arrangements may be useful to those who are engaged in this work on board a vessel not specially designed for it.
We were provided with three thousand fathoms of tapered steel wire (varying from one and three-quarters to one and a half inches in circumference and weighing roughly a ton to the thousand fathoms in air); this was kept on a large iron reel (A) mounted on standards and controlled by a friction-brake. This reel was situated on the starboard side of the main deck, the wire being wound on to it by means of a chain-drive from the forward cargo-winch.
For heaving in, our steam-windlass was fitted with a specially constructed drum (B), which absorbed the crushing strain and then allowed the slack wire to be wound on the reel (A), which was driven as nearly as possible at the same speed; the windlass usually heaving at the rate of four hundred and fifty fathoms per hour.
A wooden derrick (D), provided with topping lift and guys, was mounted on the foremast by means of a band and goose-neck. At the outer end of the derrick, the dynamometer and a fourteen-inch block were attached. The maximum strain which could be supported was ten tons. In paying out, the wire was led from the head of the derrick to a snatch-block on the quarter (E), constructed so as to admit of its disengagement from the wire when it was necessary to heave in. This block kept the wire clear of the propeller and allowed us to have the vessel moving slow or fast as required, while the trawl was being paid out. The positions of the various parts of the trawling gear are shown in the plan on the opposite page.
[TEXT ILLUSTRATION]
Plan illustrating the arrangements for deep-sea trawling on board the 'Aurora'.
Before trawling in deep water the vessel was stopped and a sounding obtained; then the derrick was hoisted, the wire rove through the various blocks, the trawl shackled on, and the men distributed at their stations. When all was ready, the engines were put at half-speed (three knots), a course was given to the helmsman and the trawl lowered into the water. When it was flowing nicely just astern, the order, "Slack away," was given; the wire being paid out evenly by means of the friction-brakes. In one thousand five hundred fathoms of water, after the two-thousand-fathom mark had passed out, the order was given, "Hold on and make fast." Speed was now reduced to one and a half knots and the wire watched until it gave a decided indication of the trawl dragging over the bottom. The strain was now taken by the windlass-barrel, controlled by a screw-brake, backed if necessary by a number of turns round the forward bitts. A slow drag over the bottom was generally continued for one hour. The engines were then stopped, and the order came, "Stand by to heave away." This was quickly followed by "Knock out," which meant the disengaging of the after-block from the wire and allowed the vessel to swing round head-on to the wire. "Vast heaving" indicated the appearance of the net at the surface, and, when the mouth of the net was well above the bulwarks the derrick was topped up vertically, the lower part of the net dragged inboard and the cod-end untied, the catch being thus allowed to empty itself on deck. The contents of the haul supplied the biologists with the work of sorting and bottling for the next twelve hours or more.
The form of trawl used on board the 'Aurora' was known as a Monagasque trawl, of a type employed by the Prince of Monaco. As will be seen from the sketch, it is of simple construction and possesses the advantage of having both sides similar so that it is immaterial which lands on the bottom.
The winter cruise in the Sub-Antarctic began on May 18, 1912, after we had refitted in Sydney and taken on board all the oceanographic apparatus, during the previous month. Leaving Port Jackson, we proceeded to Port Kembla, N.S.W., and took in four hundred and eleven tons of coal.
The following was the personnel of the ship's officers on this and the two following cruises: Chief Officer, F. D. Fletcher; Chief Engineer, F. J. Gillies; Second Officer, P. Gray; Third Officer, C. P. de la Motte.
During the first dredging cruise, Mr. E. R. Waite, from the Canterbury Museum, Christchurch, was in charge of the biological work.
My plan was to go through Bass Strait and then to sail towards the Royal Company Islands as given on the French chart, before heading for Macquarie Island. From thence we should steam across to the Auckland Islands. At both the latter places Mr. Waite would be able to secure specimens. It was not expected that the weather would permit of much trawling, but we anticipated some good soundings. As a matter of fact, sub-antarctic weather in the winter may be predicted with some certainty: strong winds, heavy seas, much fog and general gloom.
We had a fine run through Bass Strait with a light south-east breeze, arriving off King's Island at noon on May 28. The trawling gear was got ready for the following day, but the sea was too high and the ship continued south towards the position of the Royal Company Islands.
On June 1 we were in latitude 53 degrees south, longitude 152 degrees east, and had been cruising about fruitlessly in heavy weather for days waiting for an opportunity to dredge. After being at sea for a whole fortnight we had only three soundings to our credit, and it was, therefore, resolved to make for Macquarie Island.
On the 7th we reached the island and anchored at North-East Bay in twelve fathoms, about one mile from land.
After a stiff pull ashore, next day, we landed and found the party all well. They had built a comfortable hut and were enjoying life as far as possible, despite the constant gales and continuous days of fog.
We then climbed up the hill to the wireless station, where everything was in splendid order. Two small huts had been erected, one for the engine and the other for the receiving apparatus. Sandell and Sawyer, the two operators, were to be congratulated on the efficient way the station had been kept going under very considerable difficulty. In addition to the routine work with Hobart and Wellington they had occasionally communicated with stations over two thousand miles distant.
I was able to send the following message to Professor David: "'Aurora' arrived Macquarie Island; all well, June 7; constant gales and high seas have prevented dredging so far. Royal Company Islands not found in the position indicated on the chart."
We were able to land some stores for the use of the land party under Ainsworth. Meteorological, biological and geological work were all in progress and the scientific records should be of great value. Up to the date of our arrival, no wireless messages had been received from Adelie Land. As Dr. Mawson was in ignorance of its exact location, the position of the Western Base under Wild was given to Ainsworth to forward to Adelie Land in case communication should be established.
After Mr. Waite had obtained several birds, it was decided to move down to Lusitania Bay to secure some Royal penguins and a sea-elephant. Two days later, the 'Aurora' anchored in the bay, three-quarters of a mile from the beach, in sixteen fathoms; the weather was very misty. Mr. Waite and Mr. Haines, the taxidermist, were rowed ashore.
The island, above a height of three hundred feet from sea-level, was shrouded in mist throughout the day, and, before dark, all signs of the land had disappeared. The mist did not clear until 6 P.M. on the 15th.
We stayed for a whole fortnight at Macquarie Island, during which time the highest velocity of the wind recorded on shore was thirty-five miles per hour, although, during the winter, gales are almost of daily occurrence. On June 22, the date of departure, a course was set for the Auckland Islands, which lie in the track of homeward-bound vessels from Australia via Cape Horn.
The group was discovered in 1806 by Captain Bristow of the 'Ocean', owned by Samuel Enderby. It comprises one main island and several smaller ones, separated by narrow channels. There are two spacious harbours; a northern, now called Port Ross, and a southern, Carnley Harbour. The islands are situated about one hundred and eighty miles south of Stewart Island (New Zealand).
After a run of three hundred and forty miles on a northeast course, we entered Carnley Harbour and anchored off Flagstaff Point. A breeze blew strong from the west-northwest. Next day, June 25, we stood up to Figure of Eight Island and found good holding for the anchor in nine and a half fathoms.
The eastern entrance to Carnley Harbour is formed by two bluff points, about two miles apart; its upper extremity terminating in a lagoon. The site of Musgrave's house ("Epigwaith") is on the east side of this lagoon. Here he spent twenty months after the wreck of the 'Grafton'.
[TEXT ILLUSTRATION]
Auckland Island (from the Admiralty Chart) showing the track of the 'Aurora'
We set off in the motor-launch on the 26th to visit Camp Cove, where we found the two huts maintained by the New Zealand Government for the benefit of castaways. In the larger hut there were potatoes, biscuits, tinned meats and matches. The smaller hut was empty but on the outside were carved many names of shipwrecked mariners. The 'Amakura' had visited the depot in November 1911. The various depots established on the island by the New Zealand Government are visited every six months.
While in Carnley Harbour we were able to make several hauls with the small dredge.
After passing up the eastern coast of the main island we entered Port Ross and anchored west of Shoe Island. On June 30 the depot on Erebus Cove was visited, where three white sheds contain the usual necessaries for unfortunate castaways. The New Zealand Government steamer, 'Hinemoa', while on a scientific expedition to the Sub-Antarctic in 1907, rescued the sixteen survivors of the barque 'Dundonald', two thousand two hundred and three tons, which had been wrecked on Disappointment Island. The captain and ten men had been drowned and the chief officer had died from the effects of exposure and starvation.
On July 2 we went to Observation Point, finding there a flat stone commemorating the visit of the German Scientific Expedition of 1874.
The biologist found various kinds of petrels on Shoe Island, where the turf was riddled in all directions by their burrows.
At Rose Island, close by, there are some fine basaltic columns, eighty feet high, weathered out into deep caverns along their base.
In Sandy Bay, Enderby Island, there was an extensive depot. Among the stores I found a Venesta case marked s.y. 'Nimrod', which contained dried vegetables and evidently formed part of the stores which were sold on the return of the British Antarctic Expedition of 1907.
After leaving the Auckland Islands for New Zealand, we were fortunate in having fairly good weather. Five soundings were taken, and, on July 9, the trawl was put over in three hundred and forty-five fathoms. The net unfortunately fouled on a rocky bottom and so we gained nothing but experience in the operation.
The 'Aurora' arrived at Port Lyttleton on July 11 and we received a very kind welcome from the people of Christchurch. Mr. J. J. Kinsey, well known in connexion with various British Antarctic expeditions, gave us valuable assistance during our stay. We were back again in Melbourne on the 17th of the month.
While the first oceanographical cruise of the 'Aurora' did not prove very fruitful in results, chiefly on account of the stormy weather, it provided the necessary training for officers and men in the handling of the deep-sea gear, and we were able to realize later how much we had learnt on our first cruise.
The ship, after undergoing a thorough overhaul at the State dockyard at Williamstown, Victoria, undertook a second deep-sea cruise.
Leaving Hobart on November 12, 1912, she laid her course to the southward in order to obtain soundings for a complete section of the sea-floor, as nearly as possible on the meridian of Hobart. Our time was limited to one month, during which a visit to Macquarie Island for the purpose of landing stores and mail had to be made. Professor T. Flynn of Hobart University accompanied the vessel in charge of the biological work.
An interesting discovery was made two hundred miles south of Tasmania. Here it was proved that a rocky ridge rose like a huge mountain from depths of more than two thousand fathoms to within five hundred and forty fathoms of the surface. A great number of soundings were taken in the vicinity of this rise, subsequently named the Mill Rise, until a heavy gale drove us far from its situation.
On November 21 we were not far from Macquarie Island and, at 7 P.M., sounded in one thousand four hundred and fifty fathoms. As the weather was remarkably fine for these latitudes we decided to lower the trawl. Before dark it was being towed slowly towards the east with one thousand nine hundred fathoms of wire out.
We spent an anxious night hoping that the weather would remain fine long enough to permit us to get the gear on board again. We had been driving before a light westerly wind, when the trawl caught on the bottom and stopped the vessel.
A very heavy strain was imposed on the wire as the vessel rose in the swell; the dynamometer registering up to seven tons. I decided to wait for daylight before attempting to heave in the trawl. At 3 A.M. we cast the wire off the after-block and started to heave away; it was two hours before the trawl cleared the bottom and the strain was reduced.
At 8 A.M. the trawl was once more on board, the frames being bent and twisted and the net badly torn. On sounding, the depth was found to be only six hundred and thirty-six fathoms, so that we had evidently put over the trawl on to the edge of a steep rise and then drifted across it.
In view of our position--only thirty miles from Macquarie Island--this accident might have been expected. But opportunities of trawling had been so few that risks had to be taken when the weather quieted down for a few hours. Our only consolation on this occasion was that we recovered the gear.
The following evening, at 7.30, the anchor was dropped in North-East Bay, Macquarie Island, and we were immediately boarded by our land party who were all well. They had become very clever boatmen during their stay, using a small dinghy to make coastal journeys.
On November 24 we left the anchorage at 9 A.M. and spent the day in its vicinity. More than one hundred soundings were taken, which Blake, the geological surveyor, was to plot on the chart of the island which he had almost completed.
Some idea of the steepness of the submarine mountain of which Macquarie Island forms the crest may be gathered from a sounding, taken ten and a half miles east of the island, which gave two thousand seven hundred and forty-five fathoms and no bottom. In other words, if the sea were to dry up, there would be a lofty mountain rising from the plain of the ocean's bed to a height of nearly eighteen thousand feet.
A great deal of work still required to be done off Macquarie Island, but, as the uneven and rocky nature of the bottom prevented dredging, I decided to sail on the 25th, continuing the voyage towards the Auckland Islands.
Several people had expressed belief in a submarine ridge connecting Macquarie Island with the Auckland group. Three soundings which we obtained on this voyage did not support the suggestion, ranging as they did from one thousand eight hundred and fifty-five to two thousand four hundred and thirty fathoms, eighty-five miles south-west of the Auckland group. We were the more glad to obtain these soundings, as, during the winter cruise, in the same waters, the weather had forced us to abandon the attempt.
On November 28 we took several soundings on the eastern side of the Auckland Islands, but did not prolong our stay as we wished to investigate the ridge south of Tasmania--the Mill Rise. The course was therefore directed westward with a view to outlining the eastern edge of this submarine elevation.
The first sounding to indicate that we were once more approaching the Mill Rise was in one thousand and seventy-six fathoms. Continuing west we secured the next record in one thousand three hundred fathoms, limiting the southern extremity of the ridge which extends northward for nearly one hundred miles. From this sounding the water shoaled quickly as we steered north. Thus, on the same day, we were in eight hundred and thirty-five fathoms at noon, in seven hundred and thirty-five fathoms at 3.40 P.M. and in seven hundred and ten fathoms at 7.30 P.M. After the last sounding we lowered the rock-gripper. On the first trial, however, it failed to shut and, on the second, only a little fine sand was recovered. As it was blowing hard most of the time, we were very fortunate in being able to do this piece of work.
An inspection of the chart reveals the fact that the main direction of the shallowest water is in a north-west and south-east direction, but the number of soundings obtained was too small to give more than a general outline. Later, we were able to add to these on the voyage southward to relieve the Antarctic Bases.
The weather was so bad and the sea so heavy that we were unable to obtain soundings on December 9, and, as dredging under such conditions was out of the question, I decided to steer for the east coast of Tasmania, where dredging might be possible under the lee of the land. The constant gales were very disheartening, the last having continued for four days with only short intervals of moderate weather.
On December 12 and 13, in calmer water, some thirty miles off the east coast of Tasmania, trawlings were made successfully in one thousand three hundred fathoms and seventy-five fathoms respectively. From the deeper trawling were obtained a large octopus and several interesting fish.
Just before noon on December 14 we arrived in Hobart and immediately began preparations for the voyage to the Antarctic.
On December 24, 1912, preparations for sailing were complete. For ten days every one connected with the 'Aurora' had been working at high pressure, and Christmas Day, our last day ashore, was to be celebrated as a well-earned holiday.
There was on board a good supply of coal, five hundred and twenty-one tons, and a very heavy mail of letters and packages for the members of the Expedition who had been isolated in the far South for more than twelve months. We were to take thirty-five sheep on board as well as twenty-one dogs, presented by Captain Amundsen upon his return from his South Polar expedition. Captain James Davis, of Hobart, of long whaling experience, was to accompany us to give an expert opinion upon such whales as we might meet. Mr. Van Waterschoot van der Gracht, who had had previous experience in the Antarctic, joined as marine artist, and Mr. S. N. Jeffryes as wireless operator. With C. C. Eitel, Secretary of the Expedition, the whole party on board numbered twenty-eight.
A very pleasant Christmas was spent ashore. The ship's company of twenty-three men met for dinner, and we did not forget to wish a "Merry Christmas" to our leader and his twenty-six comrades who were holding their celebration amid the icy solitudes of Antarctica. I was glad, on this festive occasion, to be able to congratulate officers and men on their willing and loyal service during the previous twelve months; every one had done his best to advance the objects of the Expedition.
The attractions of Hobart, at this season, are so numerous, and Tasmanian hospitality so boundless, that it gives me great pleasure to place on record that every man was at his post on the 'Aurora' at 10 A.M. on Boxing Day.
As we drew away from the wharf amid the cheers of those who had come to wish us God-speed, the weather was perfect and the scene on the Derwent bright and cheering. Captain James Davis acted as pilot.
At 11.30 A.M. we had embarked the twenty-one dogs, which were brought off from the Quarantine Station, and were steaming down Storm Bay. Outside there was a heavy swell, and the wind was freshening from the west. The course was laid south 50 degrees west, true.
For the next two days there was a westerly gale with a very high sea, and the dogs and sheep had a bad time, as a good deal of water came aboard. Two of the sheep had to be killed. By the afternoon of the 29th it had moderated, and a sounding was secured.
This storm was followed by another from the west-northwest. The 'Aurora' weathered it splendidly, although one sea came over everything and flooded the cabins, while part of the rail of the forecastle head was carried away on the morning of the 31st. At this time we were in the vicinity of the reputed position of the Royal Company Islands. A sounding was taken with great difficulty, finding two thousand and twenty fathoms and a mud bottom.
January 4, 1918, was a fine day, with a fresh westerly breeze and a high sea. Occasionally there were snow squalls. At night the wireless operator was able to hear H.M.S. 'Drake' at Hobart, and also the station at Macquarie Island; the ship having been fitted to receive wireless signals before sailing.
Next day the sun was bright and there was only a moderate westerly swell. Large bunches of kelp were frequently seen drifting on the surface. "Blue Billys"** flew in great numbers about the ship. Two soundings were obtained in one thousand nine hundred fathoms.
** Prion Banksii.
On the 8th a heavy swell came from the south-east. During the morning a sounding realized two thousand two hundred and seventy fathoms and the sample of mud contained a small, black manganese nodule. At 8 P.M. a floating cask was sighted and taken aboard after much difficulty. It turned out to be a ship's oil cask, empty, giving no clue from whence it came.
The first ice was observed about 6 P.M. on the 10th. The water was still deep--more than two thousand fathoms.
By noon on January 11 loose pack came into view, with a strong blink of heavier pack to the south. The course was changed to south-west. At 7 P.M. the ship was steaming west in clear water, a few bergs being in sight and a marked ice-blink to the south. Several whales appeared which Captain James Davis reported were "blue whales" (finners or rorquals).
After we had been steering westward until almost midnight, the course was altered to south-west in the hope of encountering the shelf-ice barrier (met in 1912) well to the east of the Main Base station. On the 12th we sailed over the position of the ice-tongue in 1912 without seeing a trace of it, coming up with heavy broken floe at 10 A.M.
For four hours the 'Aurora' pushed through massive floes and "bergy bits," issuing into open water with the blink of ice-covered land to the south. At nine o'clock Adelie Land was plainly visible, and a course was set for the Main Base. In squally weather we reached the Mackellar Islets at midnight, and by 2 A.M. on the 13th dropped anchor in Commonwealth Bay under the ice-cliffs in twenty fathoms.
At 6 A.M. Fletcher, the chief officer, reported that a heavy gust of wind had struck the ship and caused the chain to carry away the lashing of the heavy relieving-tackle. The chain then ran over the windlass, and, before anything could be done, the pointer to which the end of the chain was attached had been torn from the bolts, and our best ground-tackle was lost overboard. It was an exasperating accident.
At seven o'clock the port anchor was dropped in ten fathoms, about eight hundred yards west of the first anchorage, with ninety fathoms of chain. The wind shifted suddenly to the north, and the 'Aurora' swung inshore until her stern was within one hundred yards of the cliffs; but the depth at this distance proved to be seventeen fathoms. After a few northerly puffs, the wind shifted to the south-east and then died away.
At 2.30 P.M. the launch was hoisted over and the mail was taken ashore, with sundry specimens of Australian fruit as "refreshment" for the shore-party. The boat harbour was reached before any one ashore had seen the 'Aurora'. At the landing-place we were greeted most warmly by nine wild-looking men; some with beards bleached by the weather. They all looked healthy and in very fair condition, after the severe winter, as they danced about in joyous excitement.
We learned that five sledging parties had left the Hut: Bage, Webb and Hurley had returned from the south, Stillwell, Close and Laseron from the east, and the others were still out. In Dr. Mawson's instructions, all parties were to be back at the Hut by January 15, 1913.
The launch made some trips to and from the ship with specimens during the afternoon. I returned on board and had a look at the cable. The weather was fine, but changes were apt to occur without much warning. At midnight it was blowing a gale from the south-east, and the chain was holding well. The launch was hoisted up in the davits and communication with the shore was suspended until 8 A.M. on January 15.
The lull was of two hours' duration, during which Murphy came aboard and furnished me with some particulars about the sledging parties still away.
Dr. Mawson, with Ninnis and Mertz, had gone to the south-east. They were well provisioned and had taken eighteen dogs for transport purposes. Bickerton, Hodgeman and Whetter had been out forty-three days to the west and had food for forty days only. Madigan, McLean and Correll had been away for seventy days in an easterly direction.
Dr. Mawson had left a letter for me with instructions to take charge if he failed to return to time, that is not later than January 15, 1913.
On January 16 a party was observed from the ship coming in over the slope. There was much speculation as to its personnel since, at a distance, the three figures could not be recognized. The launch took us ashore and we greeted Madigan, McLean and Correll who had returned from a very successful expedition along the eastern coast over sea-ice.
Madigan and Bage came on board during the forenoon of the 17th and we had a long consultation about the position of affairs owing to the non-return of two parties. It was decided to re-erect the wireless mast and stay it well while the ship was waiting, so that, in case of any party being left at the Main Base, the wireless station would be in working order.**
** It should be borne in mind that during the summer months (November, December, January and part of February) wireless communication with the outside world is impossible owing to continuous daylight reducing the effective range. In summer the range was only a few hundred miles, and the effective working distance for all times of the day probably not above one hundred miles.
At one o'clock on the morning of January 18, de la Motte, the officer on watch, reported that a party could be seen descending the glacier. This proved to be Bickerton, Hodgeman and Whetter returning from their trip along the west coast. Thus Dr. Mawson's party was the only one which had not yet returned.
All day work on the wireless mast went along very satisfactorily, while Captain James Davis and Chief Officer Fletcher spent their time in the launch dragging for the cable lost on the morning of our arrival. The launch returned at 10.30 P.M. and Captain Davis reported that the grapnel had been buoyed until operations could be resumed.
On January 19 we tried to recover the chain, and to this end the 'Aurora' was taken over to the position where the grapnels had been buoyed and was anchored. All efforts to secure the chain were unsuccessful. At 7 P.M. we decided to return to our former position, having a hard job to raise the anchor, which appeared to have dragged under a big rock. Finally it broke away and came up in a mass of kelp, and with the stock "adrift." The latter was secured and we steamed back, "letting go" in eleven fathoms with ninety fathoms of chain.
When Dr. Mawson's party was a week overdue, I considered that the time had arrived to issue a provisional notice to the members of the Expedition at Commonwealth Bay concerning the establishment of a relief party to operate from the Main Base.
A party of four left the Hut on the 20th, keeping a sharp look-out to the south-east for any signs of the missing party. They travelled as far as the air-tractor sledge which had been abandoned ten miles to the south, bringing it back to the Hut.
I decided to remain at Commonwealth Bay until January 30. If the leader's party had not returned by that day, a search party was to proceed eastward while the 'Aurora' sailed for Wild's Base. From the reports of the gales which prevailed during the month of March in 1912, and considering the short daylight there was at that time, I felt that it would be risking the lives of all on board to return to the Main Base after relieving Wild's party. I resolved, therefore, to wait as long as possible. As a result of a consultation with Madigan and Bage, I had a provisional notice drafted, to be posted up in the Hut on January 22.
This notice was to the effect that the non-arrival of the leader's party rendered it necessary to prepare for the establishment of a relief expedition at Winter Quarters and appointed Bage, Bickerton, Hodgeman, Jeffryes and McLean as members, under the command of Madigan; to remain in Antarctica for another year if necessary.
On the same evening I went ashore to inspect the wireless mast, which was practically complete. The work had been done thoroughly and, provided the mast itself did not buckle, the stays were likely to hold. Hannam, Bickerton and Jeffryes were busy placing the engine and instruments in position.
I then went up the slope for about a mile. The Winter Quarters looked like a heap of stones; boundless ice rose up to the southern skyline; the dark water to the north was broken by an occasional berg or the ice-covered islands. This wonderful region of ice and sea looks beautiful on a fine day. But what a terrible, vast solitude, constantly swept by icy winds and drift, stretches away to the south! A party will go out to-morrow to visit the depot at the top of the slope. This is the seventh day we have been waiting and hoping to welcome the absentees!
On the 23rd the breeze was very strong in the forenoon, but the wind moderated about 4 P.M., when the launch was able to leave for the shore. We could see a search party (Hodgeman, Stillwell, and Correll) marching against a strong south-east wind on their way to examine the depot at Aladdin's Cave and its vicinity.
Though there was a moderate south-easter blowing, communication with the land went on during the day. I went ashore early, but the search party did not return until noon. They had remained at Aladdin's Cave overnight and marched farther south next morning, approaching a line of dense drift, without seeing anything.
It was arranged that another party of three men should start next morning (January 25) and, going in a southeasterly direction, make a search for five days, laying a depot at their farthest point. Hodgeman, Hurley and McLean made preparations to set out. I left instructions that a flag should be flown on the wireless mast if Dr. Mawson returned.
I now went through the supplies of provisions and coal which were to be landed for the use of the Relief Party. I intended to try and have everything on shore by January 29, taking advantage of any short interval of fair weather to send a boatload to the landing-place.
On the 25th there was a hard south-east gale blowing until the afternoon, when it moderated sufficiently to send off the launch with thirteen bags of coal, Gillies being in charge. The boat harbour was reached in safety, the wind freshening to a gale before 6 P.M.
Terrific gusts followed in rapid succession and, without warning, the cable parted sixty fathoms from the anchor at 9 P.M. Having cleared the reefs to leeward, we managed to get in the rest of the chain and then stood along the coast to the north-west. By keeping about three miles from the shore, we seemed to be beyond the reach of the more violent gusts, but a short sea holding the ship broadside to the wind during the squalls, rendered it difficult to maintain a fixed course.
With reefs and bergs around, the increasing darkness about midnight made our position unpleasant. The engines had to be stopped and the ship allowed to drift with the wind, owing to a bearing becoming hot, but in a quarter of an hour they were moving once more.
Early on January 26 the 'Aurora' was about half-way between Winter Quarters and the western point of Commonwealth Bay, when the wind suddenly ceased, and then came away light from the north-west. We could see that a south-east gale was still raging close inshore. Over the sea, towards the north, dark clouds were scudding with great rapidity along the horizon: the scene of a violent disturbance.
We returned towards our late anchorage. On reaching it, the south-east wind had moderated considerably, and we let go our spare anchor and what had been saved of the chain.
To the north, violent gusts appeared to be travelling in various directions, but, to our astonishment, these gusts, after approaching our position at a great rate, appeared to curve upwards; the water close to the ship was disturbed, and nothing else. This curious phenomenon lasted for about an hour and then the wind came with a rush from the south-east, testing the anchor-chain in the more furious squalls.
The gale was in its third day on the 27th, and there was a "hurricane sky" during the morning. The wind would die away, only to blow more fiercely than before. The suddenness with which the changes occurred may be gathered from the following extracts from my journal:
"January 27. 6 A.M. A whole gale blowing from the south-east.
"9 A.M. Light airs from north to east. Launch taking coal ashore.
"11 A.M. Last cargo of coal had just left ship when the wind freshened from the south-east. The launch had just got inside the boat harbour when a terrific gust struck the vessel and our chain parted. We were blown out to sea while heaving in thirty fathoms of chain which remained.
"4 P.M. We have been steaming backwards and forwards until the wind died away. The launch has just come off and taken another load of stores to the boat harbour.
"7 P.M. The weather is moderating with rising barometer. Nearly everything required by the Relief Party is now ashore. Two or three trips will take the remainder.
"We shall steam about for a few hours, and make the anchorage early to-morrow morning."
Next morning a kedge-anchor (about five hundred-weights) was lowered with the remainder of the chain. For a time this held the ship, but a gust of wind from the southeast caused it to drag. It was, therefore, hauled up and, on coming to the surface, was seen to have lost a fluke.
All equipment, coal and food were now on shore for the use of the Relief Party. I had given them everything that could be spared from the provisions set apart for the use of the ship's company. Next day I purposed to cruise along the coast to the east, if the weather were clear.
January 29 was fine, so we steamed off at 6.30 A.M. As no flag was seen on the wireless mast, we knew that Dr. Mawson had not returned. A course was kept two or three miles from the ice-cliffs beyond the fringe of rocky islets.
At 4 A.M. on the 30th we were alongside the Mertz Glacier and reached the head of the bay at the confluence of glacier with land-ice. Mount Murchison was only dimly visible, but the weather was clear along the glacier-tongue. Signals were fired and a big kite flown at a height of about five hundred feet to attract attention on shore in case the missing party were near.
"1.30 P.M. We are now about half a mile from the head of the inlet. From the appearance of the country (heavily crevassed) approach to the sea by a sledging-party would be extremely difficult. There is no floe-ice at the foot of the cliff.
"10.30 P.M. We are approaching the end of the glacier-tongue around which there is a collection of pack. There is some drift ahead and it is difficult to see far. We have passed the eastern limit of coast to be searched.
"10.35 P.M. The glacier-tongue is trending to the east and a line of heavy pack extends to the north, with many large bergs. No sign of flag or signal on the end of the barrier.
"January 31. We left the glacier-tongue at 8 A.M. and steered back to Winter Quarters.
"At noon we could see Madigan Nunatak, a rocky patch, high up on the slope.
"4.15 P.M. Sighted the large grounded berg, fifteen miles from the Main Base.
"9 P.M. Off Main Base. There is no flag to be seen on the wireless mast!
"Dr. Mawson's party is now sixteen days overdue; there must be something seriously amiss. But from our examination of the line of coast as far as 64 degrees 45' south, 146 degrees 19' east, there does not appear to be any probability of finding traces along the shore line at the base of vertical ice-cliffs."
No communication with the shore was possible until the wind, which had again risen, had moderated. We could just stand off and on until a favourable opportunity occurred. Once the returning ten members of the Expedition were embarked it was imperative to hasten towards Wild's Base.
A week's gale in Commonwealth Bay! The seven days which followed I do not think any of us will forget. From February 1 to 7 it blew a continuous heavy gale, interrupted only when the wind increased to a full hurricane ** (eighty miles an hour).
** * The maximum wind-velocity recorded at this time by the anemometer on shore was approximately eighty miles an hour.
We endeavoured to maintain a position under the cliffs where the sea had not room to become heavy. This entailed a constant struggle, as, with a full head of steam during the squalls, the vessel drove steadily seaward to where the rising waves broke on board and rendered steering more perplexing. Then, when it had moderated to a mere "howl," we would crawl back, only to be driven out again by the next squall. The blinding spray which was swept out in front of the squalls froze solidly on board and lent additional difficulty to the operation of "wearing ship."
It was on this occasion that we realized what a fine old vessel the 'Aurora' was, and, as we slowly moved back to shelter, could appreciate how efficiently our engine-room staff under Gillies were carrying out their duties. The ordinary steaming speed was six knots, yet for the whole of this week, without a hitch, the ship was being driven at an equivalent of ten knots. The fact of having this reserve power undoubtedly saved us from disaster.
A typical entry from my diary reads:
"February 6. Just as the sun was showing over the ice-slopes this morning (4 A.M.) the wind became very violent with the most terrific squalls I have ever experienced. Vessel absolutely unmanageable, driving out to sea. I was expecting the masts to go overboard every minute. This was the worst, I think, lasting about two hours. At 6 A.M., still blowing very hard but squalls less violent, gradually made shelter during the morning...."
On February 8 the weather improved after 1 A.M. The gusts were less violent and the lulls were of longer duration. At 9 A.M. there was only a gentle breeze. We steamed in towards the boat harbour and signalled for the launch to come off with the ten members of the shore-party. The latter had been instructed to remain at the Hut until the vessel was ready to sail. Here, while the gale had been in full career, they had helped to secure enough seal and penguin-meat to keep the Relief Party and their dogs for another year.
The good-byes were brief while the launch discharged the men and their belongings. Instructions were handed over to Madigan directing him to follow the course believed to have been taken by Dr. Mawson and to make an exhaustive search, commencing as soon as the 'Aurora' left Commonwealth Bay. Madigan gave me a letter containing a report of the work done by the party which had left on the 25th.
It appears that they had been confined in Aladdin's Cave for twenty-four hours by dense drift and then, in moderate drift, made four miles to the south-east. Here they camped and were not able to move for thirty-six hours in a high wind with thick snow.
On the 28th the drift decreased in amount and, though it was only possible to see a few hundred yards and crevasses were frequent, they kept a course of east 30 degrees south for six miles. A snow-mound was built and on top of it were placed provisions and a note giving the bearing and distance from Aladdin's Cave.
In the afternoon the wind subsided and it became clear. Eight miles on the same course brought them to their farthest camp, twenty-three miles from the Hut. A mound of eleven feet was erected here, provisions and a note being left and some black bunting wound among the snow-blocks. The depot was on a ridge and, with glasses, several miles could be swept to the south-east.
The party consisted of McLean, Hodgeman and Hurley.
De la Motte and Hannam took the Relief Party ashore in the launch and, as soon as they had returned--at 11.30 A.M.--we steamed out of the bay. The weather had calmed and there were light airs and a smooth sea.
The members of the Relief Party were as follows: C. T. Madigan (leader), R. Bage, F. H. Bickerton, A. J. Hodgeman, Dr. A. L. McLean and S. N. Jeffryes (wireless operator). The remaining ten members of the Main Base Party returned to Australia: J. H. Close, P. E. Correll, W. H. Hannam, J. G. Hunter, J. F. Hurley, C. F. Laseron, H. D. Murphy, F. L. Stillwell, E. N. Webb and Dr. L. A. Whetter.
Throughout the afternoon we steered north-west and at 8.30 P.M. were approaching heavy pack. Just then Hannam received a wireless message from the Main Base informing us that Dr. Mawson had reached the Hut alone, his two comrades having perished, and instructing me to return at once and pick up all hands. We turned round and steered back immediately.
At 8 A.M. on February 9 the ship entered Commonwealth Bay steaming against a strong southerly breeze with some snow. We were right up near the anchorage about noon and the Pilot Jack could be seen flying from the wireless mast. Instructions were signalled for, but our efforts were unobserved. We then steamed to and fro across the bay. At 6 P.M. it was blowing a hard gale and showed signs of becoming worse.
At 6 P.M. the wind was growing in strength and the barometer was falling. Not having received any reply to my signal for instructions, I felt it was necessary to decide whether I was justified in remaining any longer.
After considering the position in all its bearings I decided to sail westward without further delay and for the following reasons:
1. Dr. Mawson and his companions were in safety, comfortably housed and fully equipped for another winter.
2. Any further delay was seriously endangering our chance of being able to relieve Wild's party that year. The navigation of the fifteen hundred miles to the Shackleton Ice-Shelf was becoming, daily, more dangerous on account of the shortness of daylight and the conditions of the ice.
3. The only vessel which had wintered in the vicinity of the Western Base (the 'Gauss') had been frozen in as early in the season as February 22, spending more than twelve months in the ice. The 'Aurora' was not provisioned for a winter in the ice.
4. It had been ascertained from the records at the Main Base that gales were often protracted at the close of the short summer season. We had just experienced one such gale, lasting seven days.
5. As a seaman, I had realized the difficulties encountered in approaching and getting away from the Western Base in 1912. It was then three weeks later in the year.
I felt convinced that in leaving the Main Base, without further delay, I was acting as Dr. Mawson would have wished, if I had been able to acquaint him with the position of the Western Party.
At 6.30 P.M. we steamed out of the bay, the wind moderating as the ship got well out to sea. At midnight there was a moderate breeze from the south, with some snow.
On February 10 heavy pack was met, about fifty miles north of Commonwealth Bay. After coasting along its margin for a while, we pushed among the floes and, after three hours, reached a patch of fairly open water about 1 P.M.
One hour later a large ice-formation was sighted, which tallied with that met on January 3 of the previous year (1912) and which, on this occasion, was no longer in its original position. We came to the conclusion that the whole must have drifted about fifty miles to the north-west during the intervening year. The face of this huge berg, along which the 'Aurora' coasted, was about forty miles in length.
Hannam heard fragments of a message from Dr. Mawson during the evening. The words, "crevasse," "Ninnis," "Mertz," "broken" and "cable" were picked up.
Good progress was made on the 11th against a high westerly sea. The sun set in a clear sky and the barometer was slowly rising. Our position was evidently north of the pack and, if unimpeded by ice, there was a chance of the ship arriving at her destination in time.
Poor headway was made for nearly three days against an adverse wind and sea. Then, late on the 14th, a breeze sprang up from the east-south-east and, under all sail, the 'Aurora' made seven knots.
Next morning we were driving along before an easterly gale in thick snow, and at noon the day's run was one hundred and eighty miles.
The journal describes the following week:
"February 16. The weather cleared up this morning and the sun came out, enabling us to fix our position.
"We are doing about eight knots under topsails and foresail. The sky looked threatening this evening but improved considerably before midnight.
"February 17. There were frequent snow squalls today, making it difficult to see. Only a few scattered pieces of ice were about.
"February 18. Bright, clear weather to-day enabled us to get good observations. There are a great many 'blue whales' round the ship, and the many bergs in sight are suggestive of heavy pack to the south. A great many petrels and Cape pigeons have been seen.
"February 19. The ship was brought up this morning at 8.45 by a line of heavy pack extending across the course. The weather was misty, but cleared up before noon. We have been obliged to steer a northerly course along the edge of the pack.
"The margin of this pack is some sixty miles farther north than that which we followed in 1912.
"At midnight we were steering north-north-west; many bergs in sight and a line of pack to port.
"February 20. At daylight we were able to steer southwest, being at noon about twenty miles north of Termination Ice-Tongue. Pushing through the looser edge of pack for a couple of hours we saw the loom of the ice-tongue to the southward. The pack becoming closer, we turned back to the north in order to try and push through farther west, where the sky looked more promising.
"At dark we were in a patch of clear water, with ice all around. It began to snow and, as the wind remained a light easterly, the ship was allowed to drift until daylight.
"February 21. The morning was very foggy up till 11 A.M. We steered west until noon and then entered the pack; there was a promising sky towards the south. Fair progress was made through the ice, which became looser as we advanced to the south. At 8 P.M. we passed through leads by moonlight, having a favourable run throughout the night.
"February 22. At 4 A.M. the wind freshened from the south-east with some snow; the floes were getting heavier and the advent of a blizzard was not hailed with joy. About noon the ship approached open water and the snow ceased.
"We were now on the confines of the sea of bergs where navigation had proved so dangerous in 1912.
"At 8 P.M. the driving snow and growing darkness made it impossible to see any distance ahead. The next seven hours were the most anxious I have ever spent at sea. Although the wind blew hard from the south-east, we passed through the sea of bergs without mishap, guided and protected by a Higher Power.
"February 23. At 4 A.M. the loom of an ice-tongue was sighted and we were soon standing in to follow this feature until we reached the Shackleton Shelf.
"At 8 A.M. we found that we were some miles south of our reckoning.
"At 11 A.M. we sighted a depot-flag on the slope. Soon after the ship was up to the fast floe at the head of the bay, the ice being nearly a mile farther north than on the previous year. In fact, the ice-conditions as a whole had changed considerably.
"At noon we reached the Base and found the party all well."
Wild and his comrades were as glad to see the 'Aurora' as we were to see them. They had commenced to lay in a stock of seal-meat fearing that they might have to pass another winter on the glacier.
All the afternoon every one was busy getting baggage on board and watering ship. The weather was good and I had intended to sail on the same evening by moonlight, following the glacier-tongue northward in clear water for sixty miles.
As we turned northward, "all well" on board, I felt truly thankful that Wild's party had been relieved and anxiety on their account was now at an end. The party included F. Wild (leader), G. Dovers, C. T. Harrisson, C. A. Hoadley, Dr. S. E. Jones, A. L. Kennedy, M. H. Moyes and A. D. Watson.
Early on the 24th there was a fresh easterly breeze, while the ship steamed among fields of bergs, for the most part of glacier-ice. It is marvellous how a vessel can pass through such an accumulation in the dark and come off with only a few bumps!
Pack consisting of heavy broken floe-ice was entered at four o'clock on the same day, and at 8 A.M. on the 25th we were clear of it, steering once more among bergs, many of which were earth-stained. The day was remarkably fine with light winds and a smooth sea.
After we had passed through three hundred miles of berg-strewn ocean, large masses of ice, water-worn in most instances, were still numerous, and on February 27, though our position was north of the 80th parallel, they were just beginning to diminish in numbers. At noon on that day a sounding was made in two thousand two hundred and thirty fathoms.
Any hope we may have had of steaming to the east with the object of attempting to relieve the seven men at Adelie Land had to be definitely abandoned on account of the small supply of coal which remained.
There was now a clear run of two thousand miles through the zone of westerly gales and high seas, and on March 14 we reached Port Esperance. Mr. Eitel, Secretary of the Expedition, landed here and caught the steamer Dover to Hobart. We heard of the disaster to Captain Scott and it was learned that wireless messages had been received from Dr. Mawson, which had been forwarded on to Australia through the Macquarie Island party.
XIX. THE WESTERN BASE--ESTABLISHMENT AND EARLY ADVENTURES
by F. Wild
At 7 A.M. on February 21, 1912, the 'Aurora' steamed away to the north leaving us on the Shackleton Ice-Shelf, while cheers and hearty good wishes were exchanged with the ship's company. On the sea-ice, that day, there stood with me my comrades--the Western Party; G. Dovers, C. T. Harrisson, C. A. Hoadley, S. E. Jones, A. L. Kennedy, M. H. Moyes and A. D. Watson.
We proceeded to the top of the cliff, where the remainder of the stores and gear were hauled up. Tents were then erected and the work of hut-building at once commenced. The site selected for our home was six hundred and forty yards inland from the spot where the stores were landed, and, as the edge of the glacier was very badly broken, I was anxious to get a supply of food, clothing and fuel moved back from the edge to safety as soon as possible.
Of the twenty-eight Greenland dogs that had reached Antarctica in the 'Aurora', nineteen were landed in Adelie Land and nine with us. So far, none of these had been broken in for sledging, and all were in poor condition. Their quarters on the ship had been very cramped, and many times they had been thoroughly soaked in salt water, besides enduring several blizzards in Antarctic waters.
Harrisson, Hoadley, Kennedy and Jones "turned the first sod" in the foundations of the hut, while Dovers, Moyes, Watson and I sledged along supplies of timber and stores. Inward from the brink of the precipice, which was one hundred feet in height, the surface was fairly good for sledges, but, owing to crevasses and pressure-ridges, the course was devious and mostly uphill.
Until the building was completed, the day's work commenced at 6 A.M., and, with only half an hour for a midday meal, continued until 7 P.M. Fortunately, the weather was propitious during the seven days when the carpenters and joiners ruled the situation; the temperature ranging from -12 degrees F. to 25 degrees F., while a moderate blizzard interrupted one day. The chief trouble was that the blizzard deposited six feet of snow around the stack of stores and coal at the landing-place, thereby adding considerably to our labour. As evidence of the force of the wind, the floe was broken and driven out past the foot of the "flying-fox," tearing away the lower anchor and breaking the sheer-legs on the glacier.
An average day's work on the stores consisted in bringing thirteen loads over a total distance of nine and a half miles. First of all, the cases had to be dug out of the snow-drifts, and loading and unloading the sledges was scarcely less arduous.
On February 27, while working on the roof, Harrisson made an addition to our geographical knowledge. Well to the north of the mainland, and bearing a little north of east, he could trace the outline of land. Subsequently this was proved to be an island, thirty-two miles distant, and seventeen miles north of the mainland. It was twenty miles long and fifteen miles wide, being entirely ice-covered. Later on, it was charted as Masson Island.
On the 28th, the hut was fit for habitation, the stove was installed, and meals were cooked and eaten in moderate comfort. The interior of the house was twenty feet square, but its area was reduced by a lobby entrance, three feet by five feet, a dark-room three feet by six feet situated on one side, and my cabin six feet six inches square in one corner. The others slept in seven bunks which were ranged at intervals round the walls. Of the remaining space, a large portion was commodiously occupied by the stove and table.
On three sides, the roof projected five feet beyond the walls and formed a veranda which was boarded up, making an excellent store-room and work-room. This was a splendid idea of Dr. Mawson's, enabling us to work during the severest storms when there was no room in the hut, and incidentally supplying extra insulation and rendering the inside much warmer. The main walls and roof were double and covered with weather-proof felt. Daylight was admitted through four plate-glass skylights in the roof.
A blizzard effectually prevented outdoor work on February 29, and all hands were employed in the hut, lining the roof and walls and fixing shelves for cooking and other utensils.
An attack was made on the transport of stores next day. As a result of twelve hours' work, five and a half tons of coal were dragged up and stowed under the veranda. It was Hoadley's birthday, and the cook made a special feature of the dinner. With extra dainties like figs, cake and a bottle of wine, we felt that the occasion was fitly celebrated. On March 2, more stores were amassed round the house; Hoadley, Harrisson and I doing odd jobs inside, opening cans, sorting out stores, fitting bunks, shelves and the acetylene gas plant.
While undoing some packages of small boards, Hoadley found that a space had been arranged in the centre of one of the bundles, and a box of cigars inserted by some of the men originally employed upon the construction of the hut in Melbourne. Enclosed was a letter of hearty good wishes.
During the afternoon, Dovers and Kennedy lowered a small sledge down to the floe and brought up a seal and three Adelie penguins. These served for a while as fresh food for ourselves and the dogs.
Sunday March 3 was the finest day we had up till then experienced, and, since the work was now sufficiently advanced to make us comparatively comfortable and safe, I determined to make a proper Sunday of it. All hands were called at 8.30 A.M. instead of 6 A.M. After breakfast a few necessary jobs were done and at noon a short service was held. When lunch was over, the skis were unpacked, and all went for a run to the east in the direction of Masson Island.
The glacier's surface was excellent for travelling, but I soon found that it would be dangerous to walk about alone without skis, as there were a number of crevasses near the hut, some of considerable size; I opened one twenty-five feet wide. They were all well bridged and would support a man on skis quite easily.
A heavy gale, with falling snow and blinding drift, came on early the next day and continued for forty-eight hours; our worst blizzard up to that time. The temperature, below zero before the storm, rose with the wind to 30 degrees F. Inside, all were employed preparing for a sledging trip I intended to make to the mainland before the winter set in. We were greatly handicapped by the want of a sewing machine.** When unpacked, the one which had been brought was found to be without shuttles, spools and needles. Large canvas bags, made to contain two weeks' provisions for a sledging unit of three men, were in the equipment, but the smaller bags of calico for the different articles of food had to be sewn by hand. Several hundred of these were required, and altogether the time consumed in making them was considerable.
** By accident the small sewing machine belonging to Wild's party was landed at the Main Base--ED.
Emerging on the morning of the 6th. after the blizzard had blown itself out, we found that snow-drifts to a depth of twelve feet had collected around the hut. For entrance and exit, a shaft had to be dug and a ladder made. The stores, stacked in heaps close by, were completely covered, and another blizzard swooping down on the 7th made things still worse. This "blow," persisting till the morning of the 9th, was very heavy, the wind frequently attaining velocities judged to reach ninety miles per hour, accompanied by drift so thick that it was impossible to go outside for anything.
Beyond the erection of the wireless masts, everything was now ready for the sledging journey. On the day when the wind abated, a party set to work digging holes for the masts and stay-posts. The former were to be fifty-two feet high, four and a half feet being buried in the ice. Unfortunately, a strong breeze with thick drift sprang up just as hoisting operations had started, and in a few minutes the holes were filled up and the workers had to run for shelter. Meanwhile, four men had succeeded in rescuing all the buried stores, some being stowed alongside the hut, and the remainder stacked up again on a new level.
On came another severe blizzard, which continued with only a few minutes' interval until the evening of the 12th. During the short lull, Jones, Dovers and Hoadley took a sledge for a load of ice from a pressure-ridge rather less than two hundred yards from the hut. While they were absent, the wind freshened again, and they had great difficulty in finding a way to the entrance.
It was very disappointing to be delayed in this manner, but there was consolation in the fact that we were better off in the hut than on the glacier, and that there was plenty of work inside. The interior was thus put in order much earlier than it would otherwise have been.
In erecting the hut, it was found that a case of nuts and bolts was missing, and many places in the frame had in consequence to be secured with nails. For a while I was rather doubtful how the building would stand a really heavy blow. There was, however, no need for uneasiness, as the first two blizzards drifted snow to such a depth in our immediate vicinity that, even with the wind at hurricane force, there was scarcely a tremor in the building.
The morning of Wednesday March 13 was calm and overcast. Breakfast was served at six o'clock. We then set to work and cleared away the snow from the masts and stay-posts, so that by 8.30 A.M. both masts were in position. Before the job was over, a singular sight was witnessed. A large section of the glacier--many thousands of tons--calved off into the sea. The tremendous waves raised by the fall of this mass smashed into fragments all the floe left in the bay. With the sea-ice went the snow-slopes which were the natural roadway down. A perpendicular cliff, sixty to one hundred feet above the water, was all that remained, and our opportunities of obtaining seals and penguins in the future were cut off. Of course, too, the old landing-place no longer existed.
The whole of the sledging provisions and gear were brought out, weighed and packed on the sledges; the total weight being one thousand two hundred and thirty-three pounds. Dovers, Harrisson, Hoadley, Jones, Moyes and myself were to constitute the party.
It was necessary for two men to remain behind at the base to keep the meteorological records, to wind chronometers, to feed the dogs and to bring up the remainder of the stores from the edge of the ice-cliff. Kennedy, the magnetician, had to stay, as two term days** were due in the next month. It was essential that we should have a medical man with us, so Jones was included in the sledging party; the others drawing lots to decide who should remain with Kennedy. The unlucky one was Watson.
** Days set apart by previous arrangement for magnetic "quick runs."
To the south of the Base, seventeen miles distant at the nearest point, the mainland was visible, entirely ice-clad, running almost due east and west. It appeared to rise rapidly to about three thousand feet, and then to ascend more gradually as the great plateau of the Antarctic continent. It was my intention to travel inland beyond the lower ice-falls, which extended in an irregular line of riven bluffs all along the coast, and then to lay a depot or depots which might be useful on the next season's journeys. Another reason for making the journey was to give the party some experience in sledging work. The combined weight of both sledges and effects was one thousand two hundred and thirty-three pounds, and the total amount of food carried was four hundred and sixty pounds.
While the sledges were being loaded, ten skua gulls paid us a visit, and, as roast skua is a very pleasant change of food, Jones shot six of them.
At 1 P.M. we left the hut, making an east-south-east course to clear a pressure-ridge; altering the course once more to south-east. The coast in this direction looked accessible, whereas a line running due south would have brought us to some unpromising ice-falls by a shorter route.
The surface was very good and almost free from crevasses; only one, into which Jones fell to his middle, being seen during the afternoon's march. Not wishing to do too much the first day, especially after the "soft" days we had been forced to spend in the hut during the spell of bad weather, I made two short halts in the afternoon and camped at 5 P.M., having done seven and half miles.
On the 11th we rose at 5 A.M., and at 7 A.M. we were on the march. For the two hours after starting, the surface was tolerable and then changed for the worse; the remainder of the day's work being principally over a hard crust, which was just too brittle to bear the weight of a man, letting him through to a soft substratum, six or eight inches deep in the snow. Only those who have travelled in country like this can properly realize how wearisome it is.
At 9 A.M. the course was altered to south, as there appeared to be a fairly good track up the hills. The surface of the glacier rose and fell in long undulations which became wider and more marked as the land approached. By the time we camped, they were three-quarters of a mile from crest to crest, with a drop of thirty feet from crest to trough. Despite the heavy trudging we covered more than thirteen miles.
I made the marching hours 7 A.M. to 5 P.M., so that there was time to get the evening meal before darkness set in; soon after 6 P.M.
The march commenced about seven o'clock on March 15, the thermometer registering -8 degrees F., while a light southerly breeze made it feel much colder. The exercise soon warmed us up and, when the breeze died away, the remainder of the day was perfectly calm.
A surface of "pie-crust" cut down the mileage in the forenoon. At 11 A.M. we encountered many crevasses, from two to five feet wide, with clean-cut sides and shaky bridges. Hoadley went down to his head in one, and we all got our legs in others.
It became evident after lunch that the land was nearing rapidly, its lower slopes obscuring the higher land behind. The crevasses also became wider, so I lengthened the harness with an alpine rope to allow more room and to prevent more than two men from being over a chasm at the same time. At 4 P.M. we were confronted with one sixty feet wide. Crevasses over thirty feet in width usually have very solid bridges and may be considered safe, but this one had badly broken edges and one hundred yards on the right the lid had collapsed. So instead of marching steadily across, we went over singly on the alpine rope and hauled the sledges along in their turn, when all had crossed in safety. Immediately after passing this obstacle the grade became steeper, and, between three and five o'clock, we rose two hundred feet, traversing several large patches of neve.
That night the tent stood on a field of snow covering the lower slopes of the hills. On either hand were magnificent examples of ice-falls, but ahead the way seemed open.
With the exception of a preliminary stiffness, every one felt well after the toil of the first few days.
In bright sunlight next morning all went to examine the ice-falls to the east, which were two miles away. Roping up, we made an ascent half-way to the top which rose five hundred feet and commanded a grand panorama of glacier and coast. Soon the wind freshened and drift began to fly. When we regained the tents a gale was blowing, with heavy drift, so there was nothing to do but make ourselves as comfortable as possible inside.
All through Saturday night the gale raged and up till 11.30 A.M. on Sunday March 16. On turning out, we found that the tents and sledges were covered deeply in snow, and we dug continuously for more than two hours before we were able to pack up and get away. Both sledges ran easily for nearly a mile over neve, when the gradient increased to one in ten, forcing us to relay. It was found necessary to change our finnesko for spiked boots. Relaying regularly, we gradually mounted six hundred feet over neve and massive sastrugi. With a steep slope in front, a halt was made for the night. The sunset was a picture of prismatic colours reflected over the undulating ice-sheet and the tumbling cascades of the glacier.
On the evening of March 18 the altitude of our camp was one thousand four hundred and ten feet, and the slope was covered with sastrugi ridges, three to four feet in height. Travelling over these on the following day we had frequent capsizes.
The outlook to the south was a series of irregular terraces, varying from half a mile to two miles in breadth and twenty to two hundred feet in height. These were furrowed by small valleys and traversed by ridges, but there was not a sign of rock anywhere.
The temperature varied from 4 degrees to 14 degrees F. during the day, and the minimum recorded at night was -11 degrees F.
Another nine miles of slow ascent brought us to two thousand feet, followed by a rise of two hundred and twenty feet in seven and three-quarter miles on March 21. Hauling over high broken sastrugi was laborious enough to make every one glad when the day was over. The rations were found sufficient, but the plasmon biscuits were so hard that they had to be broken with a geological hammer.
There now swept down on us a blizzard** which lasted for a whole week, on the evening of March 21. According to my diary, the record is as follows:
"Friday, March 22. Snowing heavily all day, easterly wind: impossible to travel as nothing can be seen more than ten to twelve yards away. Temperature high, 7 degrees to 18 degrees F.
** It is a singular fact that this blizzard occurred on the same date as that during which Captain Scott and his party lost their lives.
"Saturday, March 23. Blowing hard at turn-out time, so did not breakfast until 8.30. Dovers is cook in my tent this week. He got his clothes filled up with snow while bringing in the cooker, food-bag, etc. The wind increased to a fierce gale during the day, and all the loose snow which fell yesterday was shifted.
"About 5 P.M. the snow was partially blown away from the skirt or ground cloth, and the tent bulged in a good deal. I got into burberries and went out to secure it; it was useless to shovel on snow as it was blown off immediately. I therefore dragged the food-bags off the sledge and dumped them on. The wind and drift were so strong that I had several times to get in the lee of the tent to recover my breath and to clear the mask of snow from my face.
"We are now rather crowded through the tent bulging in so much, and having cooker and food-bag inside.
"Sunday, March 24. Had a very bad night. The wind was chopping about from south-east to north and blowing a hurricane. One side of the tent was pressed in past the centre, and I had to turn out and support it with bag lashings. Then the ventilator was blown in and we had a pile of snow two feet high over the sleeping-bags; this kept us warm, but it was impossible to prevent some of it getting into the bags, and now we are very wet and the bags like sponges. There were quite two hundredweights of snow on us; all of which came through a hole three inches wide.
"According to report from the other tent they are worse off than we are; they say they have four feet of snow in the tent. All this is due to the change of wind, making the ventilator to windward instead of leeward.
"March 25, 26 and 27. Blizzard still continues, less wind but more snowfall.
"Thursday, March 28. Heavy falling snow and drift, south-east wind. At noon, the wind eased down and snow ceased falling, so we slipped into our burberry over-suits and climbed out to dig for the sledges.
"Nothing could be seen except about two feet of the tops of the tents, which meant that there was a deposit of five feet of freshly fallen snow. The upper two feet was soft and powdery, offering no resistance; under that it was still soft, so that we sank to our thighs every step and frequently to the waist. By 4.30 P.M. both sledges were rescued, and it was ascertained that no gear had been lost. We all found that the week of idleness and confinement had weakened us, and at first were only able to take short spells at the digging. The sky and barometer promise fine weather to-morrow, but what awful work it will be pulling!"
At 5.30 A.M. on March 29 the weather was bright and calm. As a strong wind had blown throughout the night, a harder surface was expected. Outside, we were surprised to find a fresh wind and thick, low drift; owing to the tents being snowed up so high, the threshing of the drift was not audible. To my disgust the surface was as soft as ever. It appeared that the only resort was to leave the provisions for the depot on the nearest ridge and return to the Base. The temperature was -20 degrees F., and, while digging out the tents, Dovers had his nose frost-bitten.
It took six of us well over an hour to drag the necessary food half a mile up a rise of less than one hundred feet; the load, sledge included, not being five hundred pounds. Nearly all the time we were sinking thigh-deep, and the sledge itself was going down so far that the instrument-box was pushing a mass of snow in front of it. Arriving on the ridge, Moyes found that his foot was frozen and he had to go back to camp, as there was too much wind to bring it round in the open.
Sufficient food and oil were left at this depot for three men for six weeks; also a minimum thermometer.
In a fresh breeze and flying drift we were off at 10 A.M. next day. At first we were ambitious and moved away with two sledges, sinking from two to three feet all the time. Forty yards was as much as we could do without a rest, and by lunch time nine hundred yards was the total. Now the course was downhill, and the two sledges were pulled together, creeping along with painful slowness, as walking was the hardest work imaginable. After one of the most strenuous days I have ever experienced, we camped; the sledge-meter recorded one mile four hundred and fifty yards.
A spell of two days' blizzard cooped us up once more, but improved the surface slightly. Still, it was dreadfully soft, and, but for the falling gradient, we would not have made what we did; five miles six hundred and ten yards, on April 2. On that and the following day it was fortunate that the road chosen was free of crevasses.
At the foot of the hills I had decided to reduce the rations but, as the track had grown firm once more, and we were only twenty-five miles from the hut, with a week's food, I thought it would be safe to use the full allowance.
Soon after leaving the hills (April 4), a direct course to the hut was made. There was no mark by which to steer, except a "water-sky" to the north, the hinterland being clouded over. During the afternoon, the sun occasionally gleamed through a tract of cirro-stratus cloud and there was a very fine parhelion: signs of an approaching blizzard. At 4.30 P.M. we had done seventeen and a half miles, and, as all hands were fresh and willing, I decided to have a meal and go on again, considering that the moon was full and there were only six miles to be done.
After supper the march was continued till 8.30 P.M., by which time we were due for a rest. I had begun to think that we had passed the hut.
April 5 was far from being a Good Friday for us. At 2 A.M. a fresh breeze rose and rapidly increased to a heavy gale. At 10 A.M. Hoadley and I had to go out to secure the tent; the weather-side bulged in more than half the width of the tent and was held by a solid load of drift, but the other sides were flapping so much that almost all the snow had been shaken off the skirt. Though only five yards away from it we could not see the other tent. At noon Hoadley again went out to attend to the tent and entirely lost himself within six feet of it. He immediately started to yell and I guessed what was the matter at once. Dovers and I shouted our best, and Hoadley groped his way in with a mask of snow over his face. He told us that the wind which was then blowing a good eighty miles an hour, knocked him down immediately he was outside, and, when he struggled to his feet again, he could see nothing and had no idea in what direction lay the tent.
The space inside was now so limited by the combined pressure of wind and snow that we did not light the primus, eating lumps of frozen pemmican for the evening meal.
The blizzard continued with unabated violence until eleven o'clock next morning, when it moderated within an hour to half a gale. We turned out and had a good hot meal. Then we looked to see how the others had fared and found that their tent had collapsed. Getting at once into wind-proof clothing, we rushed out and were horrified to see Harrisson in his bag on the snow. He quickly assured us that he was all right. After carrying him, bag and all, into our tent, he emerged quite undamaged, but very hungry.
Jones and Moyes now had to be rescued; they were in a most uncomfortable position under the fallen tent. It appears that the tent had blown down on the previous morning at ten o'clock, and for thirty-six hours they had had nothing to eat. We did not take long to dig them out.
The wind dropped to a moderate breeze, and, through the falling snow, I could make out a "water-sky" to the west. The three unfortunates said that they felt fit to travel, so we got under way. The surface was soft and the pulling very heavy, and I soon saw that the strain was largely due to the weakness of the three who had been without food. Calling a halt, I asked Jones if it would do to go on; he assured me that they could manage to go on with an effort, and the march was resumed.
Not long after, Dovers sighted the wireless mast, and a quarter of an hour later we were safely in the hut, much to the surprise of Kennedy and Watson, who did not expect us to be travelling in such weather, and greatly to our own relief. According to the sledge-meter, the last camp had only been two miles one hundred yards from home, and if anything had been visible on the night of April 4, we could have got in easily.
I was very pleased with the way all the party had shaped. They had worked splendidly and were always cheerful, although conditions had been exceptionally trying during this journey. No one was any the worse for the hardships, except for a few blistered fingers from frost-bites. The party lost weight at the average of two and a half pounds; Harrisson was the greatest loser, being reduced six pounds. Out of the twenty-five days we were away, it was only possible to sledge on twelve days. The total distance covered, including relay work, was nearly one hundred and twenty-two miles, and the greatest elevation reached on the southern mainland was two thousand six hundred feet above sea-level.
Kennedy and Watson had been very busy during our absence. In a few days they had trained five of the dogs to pull in harness, and transported the remainder of the stores from the landing-place, arranging them in piles round the hut. The weather at the Base had been quite as bad as that experienced by us on the land slopes.
In the first blizzard both wireless masts were broken down. Watson and Kennedy managed to repair and re-erect one of the masts, but it was only thirty-seven feet in height. Any final hopes of hearing wireless signals were dispelled by the discovery that the case containing the detector and several other parts necessary for a receiving-station were missing.
Watson had fitted up a splendid dark-room, as well as plenty of shelves and racks for cooking utensils.
Kennedy was able to secure a series of observations on one of his term days, but, before the next one, the tent he was using was blown to ribbons.