During this time of bad weather Worsley suffered very much, for, with the violent rolling, he could get no rest in his bunk. He improved, however; the doctors pronounced him out of danger, and he spoke of soon getting up.
Macklin reported another fifteen inches of water in the hold—it was obvious that it would be necessary to increase the daily spells of pumping. All hands took to this unpleasant and monotonous job very cheerfully, saying that it was good exercise! Indeed, there is not much else that can be said for it.
In lat. 65° 7´ S. and 15° 21´ E. long, we entered, on February 4th, what appeared to be the edge of very open pack, which lay in several strips and bands of light, loosely packed ice, with large open spaces of water between. I made my course due south and pushed into it. For some time I had doubts as to whether it was the real pack or streamers carried north by the late south-easterly gale. The sky to the south was very indefinite, and from the crow’s nest the same conditions of loose ice and open water extended as far as the eye could reach. The two “signs” which one looks for in the sky are “ice-blink” and “water sky.” A sky with ice-blink presents near the horizon a hard white appearance which indicates the proximity of close pack, ice barrier, or snow-covered land. A “water sky” is a dark patch in a lighter sky, which indicates open water below the horizon. In each case when these skies are well marked they are definitely of value, but it requires much experience to gauge accurately the meaning of some of the more indefinite appearances, and conclusions too hastily drawn often prove erroneous.
Whilst we were at sea I had watched the petrels which followed in our wake attempting to come to rest on the water, but breaking seas always drove them up again. I was interested to note that as soon as we reached the pack they flew forward and came to rest on a piece of ice, where they preened their feathers and settled down on their breasts.
The ice had a wonderfully settling effect upon the sea, deadening all but the heavier swells. The Quest became more comfortable than she had been for a long time, and at lunch we dispensed with the fiddles. This she would not tolerate, and a sudden roll swept everything to the floor. Later in the day the belts of ice became broader and the pools of water much smaller. There could be no doubt that this was the real pack ice and that the most strenuous part of our work was now to begin. Quoting from a diary:
Now the little Quest can really try her mettle. What is in store for us? Will the pack, as variable in its moods as the open sea, prove friendly or will it rise in its wrath to punish man’s temerity in thus bringing to the attack so small a craft? Before this effort the smallest ship to make a serious attempt to penetrate the heavy Antarctic pack was the Endurance, and she lies crushed and broken many fathoms deep in the Weddell Sea. We are but half her size! Shall we escape, or will the Quest go to join the ships in Davy Jones’s Locker, and the queer deep-sea fish nose about amongst her broken spars? We are not in the least pessimistic, but the man who blinds himself to the possibility is a fool.
My sense of responsibility was growing daily, for though I always welcomed the suggestions of my senior officers I realized that on me alone must devolve the final decision in every plan and in every movement. This was my fifth expedition—nearly half my life has been spent in Antarctic exploration—and every accumulated year of experience has taught me more and more how much in this work we are the playthings of chance. Experience counts a great deal, of course, but no amount of experience, care or skill can be of much avail against prolonged and overwhelming pressure. Yet in those first days in the ice, as I stood on the bridge and looked down on the decks I saw amongst my men nothing but elation. Carr, Douglas and others who saw the ice for the first time were fascinated by it, and amongst the old hands there was obvious pleasure at again meeting the pack. Old McLeod, veteran of many expeditions, said to McIlroy: “Here we are home again! Doesn’t it do you good to get back!” Even Query was affected with the general air of uplift, and with paws on gunwale gazed with twitching nostrils at this new phenomenon. Nor could I long resist a similar feeling, for as I gazed south over the ice, with the cold, keen air in my nostrils, I, too, felt pleased and elated, glad of a tough problem to tackle and rejoicing in the long odds.
Photo: Wilkins