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Into the Frozen South

<h2> CHAPTER XII The Great Struggle Begins </h2> We were now moving over a sea that was empty of bergs completely; the floating outliers of the Great Barrier had gone north on their summer journey; but at 10.30 a.m. on February 4, the sea then being calm and a thin mist hanging over the horizon, a few small pieces of ice were sighted ahead. Was this at last the pack-ice of which I had heard so much from the old-timers? Yes; the mist lifted, and there, unmistakably, were long white belts of ice fragments—stream-ice, as it is called, the heralds of the heavier pack not far off. The Quest entered loose pack at about noon, in latitude 65° 7′ south, longitude 15° 21′ east, and now it was necessary to take in all sail, because the courses to be steered in order to avoid the heavier fragments of ice were most erratic, and as often as not the ship was thrown wholly aback as she turned and twisted along the narrowing channels. Everyone was now in the highest of spirits. To enter the pack was the goal we had set ourselves—one of the goals, at least; and we were entered. Moreover, the ice had lessened the sea greatly; we were moving along on an even keel; the wind had dropped almost to nothing; and, too, so far as the veterans were concerned, this was to all intents and purposes a home-coming. Especially noticeable was this delight in old Macleod, an iceman to his finger-tips. He paraded up and down the main deck ceaselessly, with his face wearing as beatific a smile as ever human countenance carried, I warrant; so that to me, an amateur, it was 132 as though he himself had placed the ice there for the general entertainment. Undoubtedly his mind was soaring to unimaginable heights; his eyes shone, uplift radiated from him—until he slipped on some loose ice on the planking and came sprawling somewhat ludicrously down to the deck and the realities of existence. At two o’clock I took my trick at the wheel, and enjoyed two hours of genuinely strenuous exercise. Dodging ice is a most fascinating sport. Ordinarily a trick at the wheel is a dreary and eventless matter enough, except when hard weather is running, but in the pack the helmsman hasn’t a moment for cogitating on his woes, for the officer of the watch, eagle-eyed and vigilant as they make them, is everlastingly yelling: “Hard a-port; hard a-starboard! Give it to her quickly—quickly! Hard over with her!” and so on, and the muscles must follow the bidding of the brain simultaneously with the order being received. It is very good exercise for the arms and chest, far more invigorating than frowsting over a stove or snugging down into blankets for warmth; and as you realize how dependent the ship is for continued safety on your activity, you take a keen pride in almost anticipating the orders, waiting for the next one with all the eagerness of a terrier alert for a stick to be thrown. The pack thickened as the day went by; the open lanes of water between the congealed masses grew fewer and fewer. One or two seals, lying prone on the ice-floes, lifted their heads and looked at us with astonishment and supercilious disdain as we ploughed forward, but betrayed otherwise no symptom of alarm. Over all was the solemn mysterious stillness of the frozen wastes, broken only by the crunching of the young ice our sheathed bow parted on its determined progress. And somehow the nearness of the ice bred 133 up a queer kind of exhilaration; it created a sort of “do or die” feeling that is not easily expressed in words. I fancy, though, judging by what the veterans said, that it was very much the same effect as is produced on old soldiers who smell powder—it recalls past victories and gives promise of further achievement. These mysteries are beyond my ken; I can only speak of what I experienced, and I know that my first day amongst the ice left me tingling all over. Even Query seemed to get a dose of the prevalent feeling; he could not keep still for long at a time, but kept jumping to the bulwarks, where, with forefeet propped, he stared out over the pack, his nostrils distending, giving a curious whine every now and then, as though he, too, wanted to join issue with the vast power that we were opposing. Every now and then, too, in the open stretches of water, we sighted whales—killer whales, as they are called—who occasionally, in search of air, charged wildly upwards to break the newly formed ice with their heads; it gave me quite a shock to see broken ice flying upwards in a cloud, with water and spray mixed amongst it, and then, below the flurry, to detect the heads and piggish little eyes of the whales themselves, like weird denizens of the hither deeps who had appeared to protest against our violation of their sanctuary. During the morning watch of Sunday, February 5, I was kept at the wheel for nearly the whole of the four-hour watch, as Mac, who usually shared the duty with me, was otherwise employed in Peggying duties; and, because of the vigorous exercise, I was quite ready for a rest when eight bells sounded my release. As the wind was now favourable, and as every added inch of headway counted, we set the topsail to assist our hard-striving engines. After lunch we passed a very large floe, on which, entirely indifferent to our approach, 134 three seals were basking lazily, and Commander Wild, who, like a careful leader, realized that the success of the expedition depended on the health of its members, decided that now was the hour to replenish our larder. Consequently he shot all three of them, and their carcasses were hoisted aboard by means of the yardarm tackle of the squaresail. Certain of the old-timers at once set to work with vast enthusiasm, and in three short minutes the quarry was flayed, the tidbits obtained from the general bulk—brains, kidneys, liver, the heart and the back steaks dissected from each seal, and the refuse thrown overboard. The skins, with their two and a half inch thickness of blubber adhering, I helped to cut up and convey to the bunkers, in readiness for use as fuel for the boiler fires, since every unit of heat producing material was now of extreme value. This was my first experience of the gentle art of butchering. An unlovely job, entirely lacking in romance, but very necessary, and so not to be growled at. During this Sunday the pack hourly grew thicker and the weather became colder, but not unpleasantly so, and I found this crisp cold much easier to bear than the wet, soggy cold of the lower latitudes. Altogether the day was very pleasant, for the sun was shining throughout and the sky quite clear of cloud. Daylight, too, lasted all the twenty-four hours, even though the sun did disappear for a little while. But I was getting hardened to the lack of night by this time, just as I was getting hardened to all the other peculiar features of exploring the vicinity of a Pole. Coming on deck at four o’clock on the following morning, I discovered the ship hemmed in with close pack-ice of a heavy kind. There were very few visible areas of open water, but the lanes amongst the ice had disappeared. It was still possible to make headway, and the Quest pushed slowly on, with a suggestion of 135 purposeful striving about her that was very good to see. It was as though she said: “In spite of all disadvantages, and no matter what sort of bad luck I’ve had in the past, I’m going through with the job now that I’ve started!” Though from the deck it was impossible to see any open lanes, from the crow’s nest it was different, and by dint of stationing a keen-eyed lookout in that breezy eminence, who shouted out whenever an open stretch of water showed, and indicated to those on the bridge in which direction to steer, steady progress continued. The noteworthy feature was the appearance of many more killer whales, who welcomed us by breaking through the young ice with their backs, and as soon as they reached open air, blowing with a very unpleasant noise and then, as though playing a game of surprises, whisking from sight like lightning. Ugly brutes they were; seafaring nightmares is the best way of describing them. Having reached latitude 67° 8′ south, we expected to get a sight of land at any time. It was very astonishing to take the first trick of the middle watch in broad daylight; but the lack of darkness was a godsend, as it enabled us to pick our way in amongst the floes and so keep going steadily. The sun was not above the horizon, but the light was quite as clear as early afternoon of a winter’s day in Scotland. Of course, the dazzling white surface of the ice itself helps a lot, and the remarkable clearness of the air is another consideration when reckoning up this curious visibility. As the day wore on the floes began to pack much more closely together, and the ice itself was increasing in thickness, so that we made only indifferent headway; and at last, coming to an unusually heavy belt of pack, we decided that it would be necessary to give up altogether. To force a way through appeared impossible, 136 but just ahead showed a clear space of water, and it was determined to make an effort to cut the frozen barrier that parted us from further progress. To get through the five hundred yards that separated the Quest from free water took exactly two hours of steady thrusting. For long spaces of time we would find ourselves jammed tightly between floes as high as our bulwarks, where, with engines rattling away at full speed, we failed to make an inch of headway. Then it was a case of stopping and going astern, after which the ship was stopped again, engines opened to full speed ahead, and like a ram we crunched into the solid mass and bored a little way farther towards our goal, with the broken ice grating and roaring and screaming along our sides in a crashing chorus of spite. Then, as soon as we gained a trifling expanse of open water, we were through it and up against the solidifying ice once more, when the whole process had to be repeated. While we were held up in this way great numbers of seals floundered around us, apparently sucking at the ship’s sides for food, and we thus had an exceptionally good opportunity of studying these mammals at close quarters and under natural conditions. Their movements under water, plainly visible from our rails, were surprisingly graceful and extraordinary to a degree. After infinite striving we gained a stretch of open water, but, crossing it, we found the thickened pack on the farther side to be even worse than what we had successfully negotiated, and Commander Wild, coming on deck at four o’clock to take over the watch, went immediately to the masthead, where, by personal observation, he satisfied himself of the utter futility of attempting to proceed farther in that direction. He decided then to turn away to the eastward, in hope of discovering a lead that would carry us southward. 137 Course was accordingly altered and we trudged slowly on. It was growing colder and colder; the real ice nip was in the air; but the rigour was not at all unbearable. Later in the day five seals were shot and flayed on the ice; their fat proved a welcome addition to our bunkers, to say nothing of dainty fare for our larder. The big risk in our kind of work is scurvy, close quarters and a monotonous diet of preserved foods tending to encourage this most dreaded of all shipboard diseases, so every opportunity of feeding the crew on fresh meat was naturally taken. Like explorers in more temperate zones, we were determined to live more or less on the country. But as there were other considerations besides food, Mr. Wilkins sighted, stalked and shot one lone, lorn Emperor penguin, which he gleefully added to his growing collection. Throughout the following morning the Quest continued working to north and east in search of an opening that would lead her to the south. Here the pack was looser, and not infrequently the ship was steaming quite gaily across lagoons or down wide, promising lanes, with many seals and those ugly killer whales accompanying us. Worried by reason of a possible shortage in our coal supply—all along it was admitted the Quest was too small for the task imposed upon her—Commander Wild stopped the engines at noon and all plain sail was made, under which, as the breeze was strong, we made excellent progress even through the pack. During the afternoon, ambling along quite pleasantly, we passed the first sea-leopard I had ever seen. It was basking on a floe and seemed quite unconcerned at our appearance in its native solitudes. Watching as the Quest edged her way through the pack under sail alone was quite an interesting experience. She managed quite well, and seemed to lean all her weight on the ice when it hampered her, thrusting 138 forward in a purposeful fashion; and it was quite possible to realize why earlier Polar explorers had done so well before the era of steam. But during the first watch we took in sail and got the engines going again, and with a lookout constantly in the crow’s nest to direct our devious twistings and turnings, we continued throughout the night, with the occasional screech and bump of ice to haunt our slumbers. This bumping was supplying us with extra work, for it strained the ship’s timbers no little, and the pumps were our principal recreation, the ship leaking considerably. During the middle watch bigger gaps and wider lines showed to the westward, so our course was accordingly altered; by 4 a.m. that course, instead of N.E., was S.W. By way of a change from the recent sparkling brilliance of the atmosphere, this morning was so thick that we could not see very far; but being sent to the masthead lookout, I saw, over the blanket of mist, free water both to the north and the south. Thus throughout the day we steered a series of devious courses in hunting open water; and up there I experienced the deep sense of loneliness that attacks a man when perched up in the crow’s nest, staring out across the illimitable wilderness of ice, veined only slightly by the ever-shifting water lanes. The sight even of just one seal was warming and heartening, as presenting a relief to the everlasting brooding mystery of the frozen south. Furthermore, sight of a basking seal gave us an added interest in life, for, if at all possible, the fellow was promptly shot, not only with a desire to replenish our larder, but also to eke out our supply of fuel. All hands were very fit these days, in excellent spirits, and possessed of appetites that would have created dismay in the soul of a boarding-house keeper. The cessation of the ship’s wearisome, exasperating rolling and pitching brightened our outlook, I think; it is 139 impossible to keep optimistic and joyous when you’re being hove about like a parched pea on a hot shovel. We did not realize fully how trying that incessant liveliness of the little ship was until it ceased; but now our troubled souls were given a chance to forget the galling fatigue, and so we laughed and rubbed our hands and decided that the Antarctic wasn’t at all a bad health resort. The weather was steadily growing colder, though not nearly so cold as I had been led to believe it would be down here in the Antarctic Circle. I had expected a frigidity that would freeze the eyelids to the cheeks and the breath on the lips; but my experience of this temperature was that it was more bearable than an average clammy winter day in Scotland. On February 10 we had the greatest cold of the voyage thus far, but we made no complaints about it, for once more our bows were notched on the south point of the compass and we were driving through heavy pack. No lanes were visible even from the masthead, so all we could do was just to hack doggedly on, in a sort of blind yet hopeful quest of some open passage as yet invisible. Not that we always pushed on blindly, let it be understood. There are certain indications by which men are led down here where fresh instincts are created and the old familiar senses of sight and hearing are given a temporary rest. Invariably where there is water, even though it be beyond our range of vision and tucked away below the horizon, the sky above is definitely darkened, as it were, by a faint rain-cloud. This is known as a water-sky, and, I suppose, must be due to reflection. Throughout the middle watch this day a shoal of seals followed us—thankful to us, no doubt, for breaking the ice and permitting them access to open air. At 2 a.m. Mr. Jeffrey ascended to the masthead, and with a shout of delight announced open 140 water to the south-west, and towards this welcome clearance we joyfully steered. As a change from previous mist, the dawn of this day was wonderfully brilliant—a gorgeous display of natural colouring that awed the senses and turned one’s thoughts upwards. Glorious sunshine continued throughout the day; high spirits characterized all aboard; the atmosphere was intoxicating. The nearest land, we found, was 2,160 fathoms away, less than three miles; but the direction was purely vertical, and the distance was measured by our sounding machine. During all this day we headed fairly south through encouragingly open water, with countless killer whales, seals and Adelie penguins to companion us. But our heartening progress was arrested towards evening by a gradually thickening pack, and the bumping and scrunching recommenced as we crashed along through virgin ice. The ice thickened through the night; the morning found us in really heavy pack, making practically no headway, and at two o’clock a fresh sounding gave us a depth of 1,450 fathoms. This fairly rapid shoaling seemed to indicate that land could not be far distant. In order that our then position might be plotted down on the map the following details may be useful: Noon position, February 11, latitude (by observation) 68° 52′ south; longitude (observation) 16° 43′ east. Run for previous twenty-four hours and course made good: S. 15 E, 5L miles. Temperature, 18° F. No colder, you will see, than many a Scotch winter day; almost as cold, let us say, as an average English summer! <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_140.jpg" alt="" /> <div class="caption"> The Quest is frozen in. </div> </div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_141a.jpg" alt="" /> <div class="caption"> Forging Ahead Through Loose Pack Ice. </div> </div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_141b.jpg" alt="" /> <div class="caption"> In the Antarctic: The Quest a mass of Frozen Spray. </div> </div> It appeared towards evening as if we could not under any circumstances make much more progress, for floes of great weight were everywhere about, packed so closely that it was a miracle we made any headway whatsoever; for heavy floe ice seems at sight to be as invulnerable to the attack of a ship’s bow as so much granite. However, 141 we persisted, and scratched and bored a little way farther. Through the night this sort of work continued, an inch gained every now and then, and no definite headway secured; and by morning—a beautiful clear, sunny, typical Antarctic morning—the pack was to all intents and purposes impenetrable. Through the four hours of the morning watch I doubt if we made more than a mile. As we were only expending our valuable fuel to no definite purpose, the ship was stopped at about 8 a.m.—literally frozen in. With the phlegm of the explorer, who comes to accept all circumstances without repining, we put out a Jacob’s ladder, and tumbled out on to the ice for a welcome leg-stretching; and it was good to see Query’s delight at finding freedom from the narrow confines of the ship. He was like a mad thing—all over the place at once, up in the air, scooting at our heels, dodging and larking like a born joker. He was coming on well, growing to be a fine dog with a splendid coat. Afterwards I helped Mr. Wilkins to photograph the most interesting details of our surroundings. The colour effects about here were rather amazing. Those who have never seen pack-ice probably get an idea that it presents one long, unbroken wilderness of staring whiteness to the gaze; but such an idea is wrong, especially when the sun is shining. The sunset effects were particularly wonderful, the ice taking to itself all the colours of the rainbow. At noon it is golden, but with the sun lowering itself down the long path of the western sky, the snow above the ice assumed a delicate pale pink tinge, a veritable Alpen-gluhe, with every protruding hummock throwing a mysterious shadow, whilst newly frozen water was a vivid green and shining like a mirror. But the paradox of the Antarctic is that the better the weather overhead the less promising the chance of making headway. Clear weather predicates 142 tight pack, misty weather loose ice; so you can’t have it both ways. Commander Wild was anxious about this time. The main thing he dreaded was lest the Quest should get properly frozen in, for she was not of suitable construction for this ordeal, her shape being wrong to resist the inevitable lateral pressures. We had visions of seeing her cracked like a nutshell by the vicelike nip of the tightening ice, and other visions of the ice parting and permitting her to drop clean down to the floors of the Antarctic sea! Fresh soundings were taken when we returned to the ship, and rapid shoaling was indicated. A series of magnetic observations were also made by Mr. Jeffrey and Mr. Douglas, so that the day was not only enjoyable but lucrative. But as nothing was to be gained by remaining there we took advantage of a chance to break up the young ice, and the ship was turned away to the north again, after much intricate manœuvring, in search of an opening that would permit her to advance farther to the south. During the middle watch there was a further decrease of temperature, nothing very alarming, but not particularly promising, as low temperature naturally means heavier pack. We were then steaming in a general N.N.E. direction through fairly heavy ice, broken here and there by open water. Shortly after 3 a.m. the sky, over all its vast dome, assumed a glorious pink radiance, which deepened in parts to vivid purple and a most lovely blue. The water reflected these colourings, and also the floes themselves to a certain extent, and there we had a perfect picture of the South. The open water spaces were strangely regular, and we appeared to be steaming through a series of open docks with marble quays and pink-purple water; it was for all the world like a dream city. About thirty yards away on the port bow a tall berg glittered in the orange-gold glory of the 143 sunrise, like a stately cathedral. All the fairy tales in all the world seemed possible when gazing at this earthly paradise; but...! We were fetched back to the earth by a smell of burning that suggested the extreme opposite of paradise. There was a big blaze at the base of the funnel, which looked extremely alarming, and Mr. Jeffrey, who had the watch, immediately called all hands, under the impression that the bunkers were afire. Old Mac and myself drenched the flames with buckets of water and fire-extinguishers, and found that the whole blaze resulted from someone’s temporary carelessness in leaving a coil of tarred rope too close to the funnel’s base. Maybe the glory of the morning had a soothing effect on the troubled souls of those who turned out in obedience to the alarm, for though very scantily clad they did not even murmur a protest against the rude awakening. In the afternoon we made the same course through open pack. Four seals were shot and flayed at 6 p.m. The crow’s nest lookout reported clearer water on the starboard bow away to the eastward, and course was accordingly altered to reach the promised opening, which, when we reached it, proved to be as free as it looked, and so we made good, even progress for a while. Only for a while, however, for after an inspiring burst of speed—unfortunately our bows were pointed in the wrong direction—we were again held up. The chief engineer, Mr. Kerr, had been busy lately in constructing a harpoon for Mr. Douglas, and to-day he formally presented him with the finished article, as if it were some newly discovered treasure. To test this fearsome weapon Mr. Douglas took up a position on the rail, as eager as Macduff himself for combat; and as there were any number of crab-eaters swimming about, he let drive at one as it came alongside. He aimed true to the mark; it was a wonderful throw. However, it is 144 better to draw a veil. Mr. Kerr’s enthusiasm was greater than his constructive powers, for as the seal felt the agonizing bite of the harpoon it gave a swirling leap and a quick turn, and the famous harpoon bent double, dropped clear of the hide, and the seal got away with a flick of its tail, almost as if it sent an insolent message to the fabricator of the weapon that had caused it torment. 145 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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