Into the Frozen South

by J. W. S. Marr

Owing to our long delay it was not until December 17 that we left Wilson’s Island, where we had lain throughout the period of our overhaul, and dropped anchor again on the city side of the harbour in order to take aboard stores, water, and the other necessary impedimenta. Not that our alterations were by any means complete; but the Boss’s impatience was growing to such an extent that he was firmly resolved to make shift with what was already done and chance his luck. Once the stores were aboard, we moved off again and dropped anchor in a lovely little bay on the Nictheroy side, not far from the harbour entrance; and here we found ourselves with as much work to tackle as was convenient. During refit all our past careful stowage had been necessarily disturbed, and as we had to prepare ourselves to face any kind of weather that might come along, we were as busy as bees, lashing, stowing, jamming, wedging, contriving innumerable ingenuities, and trimming the ship into a weatherly condition. A bathe was very welcome when daylight died.

Next morning work continued. We got something of a scare when an urgent message was received aboard, requiring Dr. Macklin to go ashore at once to see Sir Ernest, who had been taken suddenly ill. Off went the doctor, post-haste, but on arriving at the house where the Boss was staying as the guest of hospitable friends, he found him completely recovered and apt to make light of his temporary affliction. Sir Ernest was always the sort of man who made light of trouble: he merely stated that he had been troubled by a slight faintness and that he had actually sent for the doctor to make inquiry about stores; but afterwards we knew that this attack was an advance messenger to our gallant leader, warning him that the sands were running low in the glass of his life.

The shipping of a new cook’s mate left me free for deck duties, and I saw an excellent chance of qualifying myself as a seaman. I started this Sunday morning by keeping an hour’s anchor-watch: 2-3 a.m. Very quiet and wonderful the ship was during that hour of darkness, with those unforgettable stars blazing nobly in a sky that was for all the world like velvet. Then, during the forenoon, I helped Mr. Dell to set up a stay and rig halliards for the jib; proper sailorizing work this, and enjoyable. For, however enthusiastic a man may be, peeling potatoes can lose its interest and fail to convince the peeler that his labour is an essential aid to Polar exploration work! Whereas, when you’re working with the gear that actually means the ship’s safety and progress, you feel you’re something that definitely counts in the scheme of things, and your pride swells enormously.

What with stowing and restowing, trimming and retrimming, it was four in the afternoon before we finally got under way and, under easy steam, proceeded towards the entrance. A most invigorating “send-off” was ours as we departed; our Brazilian friends seemed determined to “do us proud”; they accompanied us in boats for a considerable distance, cheering themselves hoarse, firing salutes from guns they had thoughtfully brought with them. We answered with high-soaring rockets and our famous “Tally ho!” war-cry, and the scene was a very pandemonium of enthusiasm, invigorating to a degree. But we left the clamour behind, and, quickening speed, steamed out past the Sugar Loaf and the forts, down through the chain of islands, and so to open sea once more; and glad enough we were to feel the swing and lift of the gliding keel beneath us; for though our stay in Rio had been memorable, chockful of pleasure, and revealing the jovial thoroughness of Under the Line hospitality and encouragement, when you’re embarked on a definite quest you want to get on with the business in hand, and lying tugging at your anchors won’t help you to overcome the troubles of open sea.

I had the wheel during the second dog-watch, and the Boss was on the bridge. Knowing how terribly he had worried throughout our stay in the Brazilian port, it was invigorating to discover him so cheerful and enthusiastic; he had shed the burden of his woe, and talked to Wild and Worsley very animatedly about his experiences ashore. An accident to Jeffrey—his leg was injured—promised to keep him more or less hors-de-combat for a considerable time; Macklin said three weeks in bed was absolutely necessary. Jeffrey, a man of action and the exact opposite of a shirker, grumbled ferociously at this sentence; but the doctor knew best, and instead of three weeks it was six before he was fit for the fighting line again. Sir Ernest volunteered to stand his watch for him. Here, again, he gave evidence of his thought for others and his unwillingness to add to their burdens, no matter how weighty those he took upon his own shoulders might be. Had he done as some men would have done, and required his officers to share sick Jeffrey’s work between them, he could have given himself greater easement; maybe averted the tragedy that was already touching him with the shadow of its wings; but no, he acted up to his motto throughout and played the man to the very end.

During the night the sea began to get up more than a bit, and tested our recent stowage work to the full. The decks became almost impassable by reason of the confusion. Drums of oil, crates of fruit, heavy packing-cases, everything that was not actually bolted to the ship’s framework seemed on the run. It was like chasing excited pigs to secure many of the loose articles, for the oil splashed about in earnest fashion, and even when you got a grip on a wallowing cask your fingers would slide off its chines, and away would go the cask, as the ship saucily hove herself up on end, for all the world like that runaway gun in Victor Hugo’s book. So that, what with one thing and another, it took us all day to get things set to rights and the decks squared up.

One part of my work consisted in clearing the chart-room for action. The Boss summoned me at 7 a.m. to do this, and seemed peeved about the prevalent disorder. No wonder; his orderly soul must have been in utter revolt against the chaos that reigned. Everything that had been overlooked, everything that had come aboard at the last minute seemed to have been heaved into the chart-room. There were bundles of clean washing on top of the chronometer lockers, oddments of all kinds littered the place. Most of these belonged to Mr. Wilkins and Mr. Douglas, who had started off three weeks before for South Georgia to make scientific observations. Owing to our long delay in Rio our meditated call at Cape Town was ruled out, and it was necessary to alter the original plan of campaign. It should be remembered that much of our gear had been sent on in advance to Cape Town, which was to be our base. Shackleton, accordingly, made up his mind to wash out Cape Town, and avail himself of the resources of South Georgia, where dogs and impedimenta might be obtained, thanks to an ill-fated German expedition that had left much of its equipment there in pre-war days.

“Carry that gear down below into the fo’c’sle, and treat it kindly,” said the Boss. “Always remember that you think twice for an absent shipmate where you’d think once for yourself.” So I gradually brought order out of chaos, thereby easing Shackleton’s not unnatural peevishness, and then got out on deck to make myself generally useful.

We were carrying a full press of canvas, but as the wind was falling light, notwithstanding the boisterousness of the sea, it was decided to shorten sail, and the topsail was accordingly clewed up. Dr. Macklin and myself went up aloft to make it fast; and this was my first experience on a topsail yard. It was rather like being tied to the end of a piece of elastic. You’d never think one small ship could be so vigorous in her motions as was the Quest. One minute I was sliding down an apparently unfathomable chasm, the next I was perched high aloft, staring down with mingled scorn and apprehension on my opposite number who was busily engaged in furling the other side of the sail. “One hand for yourself and one for the expedition,” was the maxim that had long ago been instilled into me, so you may believe me when I say that the hand for myself was busily employed! It was a nightmarish experience, but the topsail was ultimately made fast, and the ship’s liveliness seemed to diminish as a result.

It was a relief to turn in after all these adventures and win some sleep; but at midnight I was out again, to find the engines stopped and the ship rolling as if she intended to have the masts out of herself, for her headway was stopped and she had fallen off into the trough of the sea. Once again our engines were causing trouble: the circulating pump had gone “phutt,” and it was necessary for all hands to turn out and pump the bilges clear. A lovely job, there in the darkness, with the ship trying to tie knots in herself! And bilge water is so pleasant! Pumping is a back-aching job at best, but when you’re performing nautical gymnastics throughout your spell it exercises every muscle in your body, and you marvel at the number of muscles you possess, when they’re all aching at once! Still, the engine-room staff quitted themselves like men, repaired the damage, and got us under way once more; and the day broke fine with a calming sea and enough of a breeze to warrant the setting of all plain sail. This eased matters considerably, the erratic motion subsided, and all was well. In the afternoon, by way of variety, I was instructed to trim coal for the stokehold. Rio was hot; we are led to believe that there is even a hotter place, but if it is no worse than in the Quest’s bunkers down here in the tropics, I have no fear of the future. The particular bunker selected for my attention was situated quite close to the boiler. It left a baker’s oven ridiculously behind, so far as heat was concerned, and the coal-dust—phew! Not that I’m grumbling, mark you, the job had to be done, and there was no reason why I should have been excused; but it is my way to relate impressions.