During the night we continued to push in a north-easterly direction, meeting very heavy broken-up old Weddell Sea floe. The temperature rose again to 24° Fahr. A strong easterly wind was blowing, with snow, which made it difficult to see far in any direction.
Water was again reported in the hold to the level of the kelson, and required three hours’ additional pumping to reduce.
At 6.0 p.m. the snow thickened so much that we could see nothing, and so lay to for the night. All about we heard the cries of Adelie penguins. The wind and snow continued all night, but at 4.30 a.m. on the 12th we started off again, pushing through thick pack composed of heavy old Weddell Sea floe with the water in between freezing solidly, making headway difficult. Often during this period I bemoaned to myself the low driving power of the Quest. With the onset of darkness we again lay to. During the night Marr, who was now a trustworthy seaman, was on the look out. He makes the following entry in his diary: “There was no one to talk to and all round lay that vast cold wilderness of ice. Never in my life have I felt so lonely....” This is indeed a feeling which one gets frequently in these regions, especially at night—a great sense of loneliness such as I have never felt elsewhere. On Monday, March 13th, the temperature dropped during the night to 8° Fahr., and the sea froze solidly about the ship. In the strong wind, with jib and mizen set, there was just enough way to keep the ship from being beset. About 4.0 a.m., however, she did become fast, but as soon as daylight came in we got up steam and proceeded as rapidly as possible. The skies cleared beautifully, but the sea continued to freeze so swiftly and solidly that we had the greatest difficulty in getting ahead, and many times we had to back off into our own water to get up sufficient impetus to break through. How we got the Quest along at all I cannot understand.
The outlook was very bad. Worsley and I spent long hours aloft searching for signs of land in the direction of “Ross’s Appearance,” but though it was a beautifully clear day, we could see no indication of it. Ahead of us the ice stretched thick and solid as far as we could see. Headway became more and more difficult, and soon I saw that it would be useless to attempt to push on. A sounding showed 2,331 fathoms of water in lat. 64° 11´ S. and 46° 4´ W. long., which did not indicate the proximity of land. Owing to the low driving power of the ship I could make no impression through the ice ahead, nor could I afford the coal for prolonged ramming. It seemed to me that we were in imminent danger of being beset, and I decided that we must push north in the hope of meeting more open pack. I had to give up all thought of attempting to return to “Ross’s Appearance,” because I was now desperately short of fuel, and unless we could get blubber at Elephant Island we should be in a bad way.
About us during the day were numerous Adelie penguins, occurring in twos and threes, and in a few larger clusters of forty or more. None of the floes bearing the large clusters were accessible to the ship, or I would have taken them up, for their skins burn well. Crab-eaters were scarce. Seeing two on a floe, with about a dozen penguins, we lay alongside. Argles jumped off to try and catch one, but in the soft snow the penguin had the advantage, and Argles’ efforts were very amusing to the rest of us. He is an active fellow, however, and was at last successful, bringing a squawking young Adelie in his arms to the ship, where Query paid it marked attention. We killed the rest of them, also the seals, and put them aboard the ship. Owing to the darkness, we lay to at night in rapidly freezing ice with the outlook as regards escape not at all promising, and at 4.30 the next morning we raised full pressure of steam and attempted to get away. After two hours of hard ramming we had made so little headway that I gave up the attempt and lay to alongside a floe. By breakfast it had become apparent that we were fast, hard frozen in. The temperature had dropped to 6.5° Fahr.
It blew hard all day. Birds with the exception of a few snow petrels disappeared early. Macklin says of these birds:
I always regard the snow petrel as symbolic of the Spirit of the Pack, for they are never entirely absent, in fair weather or foul. Even in winter when all is dark one can hear the gentle “whisp-whisp” of their wings as they fly close. Their pure white bodies with jet black beak and legs give them a beautiful appearance when seen at a distance, but when gathered about a piece of offal at closer range, there is something unpleasant and almost evil in their appearance, with their sinister curved beaks, hard bright eyes and pock-toed waddling gait. They are seen at their best on a bright clear day with a background of blue sky. Like the pack they can give an attractive impression or a most unpleasant one.
Killers were about during the day.
We were still solidly frozen in on the 15th. A fairly strong westerly wind blew with a temperature of 8.5° Fahr. The day was bright and clear, and Jeffrey and Douglas took theodolite and dip circle on to the floe for observations, which were impossible on a moving deck. In the morning I put all hands to cleaning up the ship and pumping her dry, a process which took two hours daily. Whilst engaged in this a killer appeared in a small lead which had formed on the port bow, and continued to swim slowly backwards and forwards, affording us an excellent close view. His motion through the water was a marvel of graceful movement, but in other respects he was an ugly looking monster, with slightly underhung jaw and a small wicked eye which gave him a very evil appearance. His back and flanks were covered with large brown-coloured patches, probably parasitic. I called Marr’s attention to him; he remarked that it did not make him feel inclined to fall overboard.
At noon Worsley got an observation of the sun and worked out a position which showed a drift of eighteen miles in direction N. 43° E. This was very encouraging, for I knew that if it continued we should not be long in reaching a point at which the floe would begin to open up and give us a chance to get away. A sounding gave 2,321 fathoms in lat. 63° 51´ S. and 45° 13´ W. long. The steam pipe of the sounding machine froze, so that Dell was unable to get in the wire, which was left all night in the hope of getting it in next morning. By daylight, however, the ship had altered her position relative to the hole in the ice by about fifty yards and the wire was as taut as a harp string. I made an effort to clear it with an ice-axe, but did not succeed in doing so. This single sounding wire held the weight of the ship, maintaining it and the floe in the same relative positions for forty-eight hours before finally parting. It was not subjected to any jerking strain, but this test says much for its strength.