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Into the Frozen South

<h2> CHAPTER XV A Rough Time with Ice and Wind </h2> Elephant Island deserves its name: not because of its shape, but because of the innumerable sea-elephants that litter its shores. Furthermore, there were penguins by brigades and divisions, and skua gulls and long-legged, ungainly “paddy” birds. Commander Wild shot nine elephants, one of them being a huge bull measuring over fifteen feet in length. As our principal reason for visiting the island at all was the desire to renew our fuel supply, we promptly set to work to flense the kill, cutting up the blubber and dragging it over the foreshore to the waiting boat. Another party presently came on shore to carry on in our stead what time we returned to the Quest for a meal. Returning, Mac and I were detailed to ferry the boat from shore to ship and ship to shore, whilst Commander Wild ran the hunting and flensing parties, and was so eager in his share of the work that as often as not he was up to his waist in the icy water. Whilst we worked at this unsavoury, messy, but very necessary job, the scientific staff busied themselves with observations of one kind and another. After a most strenuous day, soaked in oil and icy water, tired out but rejoicing, we regained the ship late in the afternoon, the last boat bringing a big load of penguins, paddies and seal-meat, together with rocks for the geologists. My intuition concerning the rotten state of the glacier face was well-founded, for as we were hoisting the boat aboard a vast chunk of the glacier broke off and fell with a stupendous roar, sending a 178 regular tidal wave racing out towards us. Fortunately we were too far away to be overwhelmed; but if the boat had been under that falling mass—however, she wasn’t! We should have stayed there longer and added to our fuel supply, but, the surf increasing very rapidly and growing to threatening proportions, Commander Wild was anxious to get away before darkness set in; so accordingly we got up anchor at 6 p.m. and made our way round the coast, the Quest as nimble as ever as soon as the full weight of the swells got her. We kept at sea, in open water, all through the night, standing on and off from the land, and the morning came bright and sunny, which was, so Dr. Macklin said, unusual round about Elephant Island, where perpetual mists and storms represented the experiences of adventurers. At 11 a.m. we anchored again near a narrow beach, several miles in length, which ran along the foot of high cliffs. From the ship we saw several harems of sea-elephants, with thirty or forty cows in each. A party promptly went ashore to secure more blubber, and the work of the previous day was resumed in all its necessary messiness. Many elephants were closely huddled together in groups on the sand; there were also some crab-eating seals and paddies. Major Carr, evidently feeling the need of exercise, climbed a long way up the rocks, and coming to loose screes, sent down avalanches of pebbles, much to the discomposure of poor Query, who happened to be in the way; while Dr. Macklin, who was following, had to scramble for shelter to an overhanging boulder which saved him from danger. A certain, though not the required, amount of blubber was obtained. Commander Wild remained aboard the Quest, having contracted a severe chill through his previous day’s exertions. We were still busy at the job when the roaring of the steam whistle recalled the shore-party. An ominous change of weather was taking place, and 179 the ship’s position promised to be precarious; consequently we were quickly up-anchored and made our way to the lee of some high rocks not far distant, where we again dropped the hook for the night. By nine o’clock it was blowing hard, and by two in the morning a hurricane was raging, coming away for all it was worth from the south-west, so that the rocks which had previously sheltered us were now of no avail. Dr. Macklin had charge of the watch, and so alarmed was he by the weather conditions that he roused Commander Wild, who still was not at all well, telling him that we were dragging our anchor and generally in a rather parlous plight. All hands were promptly called, and turned out into the roaring frenzy of that appalling night. Word had been sent to the engine-room for instant full steam on the boilers, and immediately the hands turned out the cable was hove short. The Quest promptly began to drag more insistently than before, and the outlook was alarming. Rocks to leeward showed very menacing in the darkness, fast-scudding clouds racing behind them and giving them the aspect of moving monsters intent on our destruction. As if to increase their menace, something went wrong with the cables; they wouldn’t go down through the spurling gates, but piled up on deck, hampering us. The winch was jammed, but Macklin and Carr went below and cut the bulkhead of the cable locker adrift with axes, giving the chain more room, and eventually the crisis passed, though the weird wailing of the penguins ashore, for all the world like a premature lament over our doom, and the crashing thunder of the near-by breakers, caused us an apprehension that was anything but pleasant. A very high sea was running, and there was nothing to do but count discretion the better part of valour by turning tail to the storm, running away before it for all we were 180 worth. Otherwise we stood a remarkably good chance of going to ruin on the pitiless rocks. Once clear of immediate danger, and possessing, as we did, only enough coal for one day’s steaming, though the blubber we had secured promised to eke out that meagre supply, we set the topsail, and under it ran like the wind itself, beating all our previous speed records as we hurled from crest to bellowing crest, roaring down sickeningly into the troughs, soaring high and very high, and screaming with the fury of our speed. By eight o’clock, when next I came on deck, the wind seemed to be increasing, and the Quest, racing before it, seemed of no more account than a chip of driftwood. She was heavily listed to starboard, and as her continued existence seemed something of a problem, all hands were summoned to trim ship and shift all movable stores from the boats, top-hamper from the decks, to down below in the empty port bunker. It was wild work, carried out in a wind that was blowing something like a hundred miles an hour; but the ties of common funk bound us all closely together, and the labour went forward with a swing. Commander Wild had determined to take advantage of the gale to make straightway to South Georgia. According to the evidence of the weather experts, no change in the direction of the wind was likely for some days, and as it was fair for South Georgia, where coal could be obtained, it was decided to make the best of it. Wilkins was almost swept overboard when setting sail; everyone thought he had gone, indeed, but he cheerily announced his continued presence in the land of living, and carried on with his job. Wild work? I assure you it was wild. To stand without holding on was an impossibility, whole water deluged us, and it was simply a case of keeping the Quest ahead of the enormous following seas, which 181 rolled up, gathered weight, towered high to a level with our gaff, and then fell with the clamour of sundering worlds in our yeasty wake. The ship was like a scared horse bolting with a bit in its teeth, urged on by the stinging blows on her quarter. Occasionally those blows were punishingly heavy—for about noon a heavy sea pooped us, stove in the after wardroom scuttle, and flooded the entire after-part. Under a lash of spray and occasionally a deluge of whole water, I repaired the damage as well as possible, by means of planks and a tarpaulin cover; and then went below, where everything was floating about in a state of confusion; my own bunk came in for the lion’s share of the initial dollop. The water that had drenched me froze after a while and turned me into a very good representation of an iceberg; but that was only a small part of the trouble. It was indeed a case of “one hand for myself and one for the ship”; and working with one hand whilst clinging like a monkey with the other was an exciting experience. But all things come to an end sooner or later; and after we’d squared up the major part of the damage, the wind lessened during the afternoon, though we were unable to dream of beating back to Elephant Island, as the wind set straight from it, and the course had to be continued towards South Georgia. This was hard lines on the old Endurance hands, for they had set their hearts on revisiting their old haunts and fighting their battles o’er again. I say the wind lessened, but even so it continued a vigorous gale, though the worst of the weight was out of it, and we were able to set more canvas to keep us ahead of the run of the seas. The following day broke fine, and with a brilliant sun shining its happiest on our ice-coated fabric we presented a wonderful spectacle. The ice taking on all the prismatic colours, the effect was well-nigh dazzling—unbelievable, indeed. The Quest 182 became a flaming jewel as she hurled herself across the white-veined plain of the tumultuous seas. We crowded on sail for all we were worth, and setting the big, unhandy squaresail, which was frozen stiff, was excellent exercise and caused some lively gymnastics. Both watches were required to clear and set the foresail; under it the ship streaked along with energetic purpose and left a white, yeasty wake astern. With the wind increasing again it was no great while before we were making a level 7½ knots per hour—unbelievable speed for the old tub, which caused her to give herself all the airs and graces of a China clipper. It was invigorating, because, although the log only recorded 7½ knots, the fuss that was made was quite equivalent to forty; and by dint of exercise of a bit of imagination it was quite easy to pretend we were breaking all previous ocean records. Big seas overtook us frequently, however, striking savage blows at us, as if the Antarctic were thoroughly angry at our having escaped its clutches and were determined to beat us even yet. On the night of March 30, at about eleven o’clock, a whacking big fellow overtook us, and we thought we were for the Locker, because we were literally smothered; but we won clear, and after shortening sail ran with greater steadiness though less speed. During the following forenoon watch our ship reeled off thirty-one knots in the four hours, nearly eight knots per hour. Good going, this; it looked as if the South Georgians had got a grip on the towrope and were hauling us thither hand over hand. Because of the steady swing of the seas, which here run clean round the world without meeting any untoward obstacles, the motion of the Quest, though vigorous, was uniform and easy. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_182a.jpg" alt="" /> <div class="caption"> The wake of Loose Ice as seen from the Crow’s Nest. (Capt. Worsley is on the ladder.) </div> </div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_182b.jpg" alt="" /> <div class="caption"> A Close-up View of the Pack. </div> </div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_183a.jpg" alt="" /> <div class="caption"> Entering the Pack. </div> </div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_183b.jpg" alt="" /> <div class="caption"> Collecting Ice for replenishing the Water Tanks. </div> </div> On April 1, under similar weather conditions which were growing so familiar that even the capsizing of a 183 tin of syrup in a locker created no more than a passing anathema, Mr. Jeffrey made an April fool of an albatross by catching it. Albatrosses possess an acquisitive nature, and would probably thrive well in Aberdeen. The proper way of fishing for them is to construct a small hollowed triangle out of sheet tin or brass, lash strips of blubber or other highly scented provender along the metal, and stream the bait temptingly astern at the end of a stretch of fishing line. The albatross promptly swoops down for the succulent morsel, and having got a grip of it with its mighty beak, holds on. The drag of the line naturally jams the acute angle of the triangle over the bird’s beak, so that even if it wanted to let go it couldn’t; and it is, in the result, ignominiously drawn aboard, where, once it has set its feet on the deck, it cannot rise. Then you strangle the gentleman, so that his snowy, downy plumage shall not be discoloured, and skin him, using his wing bones for pipe stems and his beak and wings for trophies. April 2 started well, but failed to fulfil its initial promise. The wind was coming away in lessening puffs—somewhat tantalizing for the helmsman—but in a while it freshened again with mist and rain, which lessened our outlook considerably and caused some little concern, for we were expecting to sight land and had no desire to overrun our reckoning, with no bunker fuel to help us to steam back against a wind that was always fresh and sometimes strong. Since eyesight was not much use under these conditions, sounding was taken with the Kelvin machine, but no bottom was discoverable! and as the log line fouled the wire after the cast was taken, I got an extra hour’s work in clearing the ghastly tangle. A spinning log line and a spinning sounding line together can make a twist that seems invulnerable to human effort; but a bit of that patience taught to the Scouts helped, and the tangle was gradually reduced. 184 At four in the afternoon the heavier canvas was furled lest we ran too far, and the last of the ice left our decks about the same time, thawed by the persistent rain and the increasing temperature. All the diligent scrubbing with sand and canvas in the world could not have left our planking whiter than had the scouring of the friendly ice. Just as well the ice was gone, for the rolling and pitching were awful, so that we kept our feet only with supreme difficulty. Because of the weather and the speed we were making, the skipper decided to get the ship hove-to after dinner, rounded her to on the port tack, and sounded constantly without finding bottom. Navigation under these circumstances is no easy matter, and I was glad I was not responsible for the safety of the ship. Alternating running and heaving-to, with the sounding machine constantly at work, except when it broke down—as it sometimes did—we went on, until at eight o’clock on April 4 the sun appeared and a clear horizon showed, so that it was quite possible to get chronometer sights and double altitudes, by means of which our position on the watery waste was definitely fixed. That comforted everybody; and by way of added solace, shortly before 1 p.m. land was sighted again—the snow-capped peaks of South Georgia showing plainly on our starboard bow. Throughout a drizzling afternoon, with a strong wind blowing—typical South Georgian weather, observe, for the bit of sunshine was soon only a memory—we crowded on every possible ounce of steam and tried to gain harbour, but because of the short, high head-sea that was running we made little if any progress. At six p.m. it became necessary to keep the Quest off with staysail and mizen set; and all that was then to be seen of the island was a blanket of thick, impenetrable mist, with the occasional ends of 185 giant glaciers and the irregularities of the coastline showing. A lot of bergs were floating about in our neighbourhood, and during the night the ship was kept under steam in order to make her handier in dodging these floating masses; but at 8 a.m. we set every inch of canvas the vessel would carry and headed up towards the land. By about three in the afternoon we were fairly close in, and it was a great pleasure to look on green grass again, though by reason of its sparseness it was almost possible to count the blades. South Georgia hadn’t altered much during our absence; the only change was that, winter coming on, there was more snow on the hills and a general suggestion of greater bleakness. And now, for the first time in many months, we saw shipping again: whalers leaving harbour or making for it. Other human beings besides ourselves existed, and the knowledge warmed our hearts. Absent yourself from your kind for months at a stretch, and even an African bushman seems a friend. But we couldn’t make harbour yet, and were compelled to dodge the bergs and idle about off the land because the wind had fallen light, except for frequent willie-waughs coming gustily down from the ravines of the island, throughout the beautiful, moonlit night, which was as much a poem as that famous sunset I mentioned before, though the colours to-night were silver and grey, rather than crimson and gold. A big iceberg, lit up by a noble moon, looks like an enchanted castle; and as you watch it you find yourself thinking of long-drowned Camelot and the wonders of the Round Table. 186 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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