High winds accompanied the misty rains, and the surrounding ice lowered the temperature enormously. All hands were busy as could be; such as were not employed on deck found plenty to do down below. The boiler was due for its periodical scaling, the encrustations formed inside the plates by reason of the corroding salts in the water had to be removed, as their presence lessened our steaming powers. On one of these indeterminate days, as I think I might call them, Mr. Wilkins returned in a whaler after three weeks’ scientific work on the island; and on the day following his return to the Quest I was up at an early hour to accompany him in the small whaler Carl to bring back Mr. Douglas, who had established a research camp on the shore of a tiny bay some two hours’ journey away. It was necessary for Wilkins and myself to serve as crew aboard the Carl, since the only other people aboard were the skipper and a man who called himself the engineer. Fortified by strong coffee and noble sandwiches, we set off in good spirits, despite the considerable breeze that was blowing. Although the wind blew a whole gale, the sea, thanks to the shelter of the many islets and the greater shelter of the towering hills, was smooth enough to rejoice the heart of even the most timorous tripper. My experience as helmsman of the Quest naturally fitted me—in my own estimation—as qualified quartermaster for any ship afloat; so I took the whaler’s wheel without the smallest trepidation. Ships differ, however; they say they are like women in this respect. I wasn’t used to a craft that literally leaped to answer the slightest touch on the helm, and as a result I very nearly ran the Carl ashore on the rocks; but our miss was as good as a mile, and once I’d got the hang of things I managed better.
Without further mishap we reached Douglas’s little cove and dropped anchor there. Not without difficulty, since a sea of kelp lay between us and the shore. Wilkins and myself lowered the whaler’s boat and pulled ashore, where Douglas came out to lend us a hand in beaching the boat. Having collected him and his much gear, we transhipped the lot to the Carl, and, lifting anchor, headed back for Gritviken, which we reached without startling adventure by early afternoon. In our absence the boiler had been scaled, refilled with fresh water, and our small dynamo had also been repaired.
Next day we made an early start by heaving up anchor at 6 a.m. in order to go alongside to secure an adequate supply of fresh water. By contrast with previous days this January morning was bright, mild and sunny. I came to the conclusion that the South Georgian climate had taken our own unmistakable British climate as a model. It gave us a thoroughly good imitation of an English June, I must say—frostbite one day, sunstroke the next, with a sort of olla podrida of all sorts of changes, from crisp frost to sultry heat, in between. Mr. Wilkins and Major Carr vanished on another mysterious expedition in the Carl, and as at three o’clock our fresh-water tanks were filled, we shifted ship to the opposite side of the bay, and an adventurous party promptly proceeded ashore in search of deer. Commander Wild succeeded in bringing one down at long range; but—alas for our hopes of fresh venison!—an impassable river intervened between killer and killed, and, as time did not permit the lengthy detour necessary, the hunters returned more or less empty-handed, for sea-birds and seals hardly count.
Commander Wild’s intention was to enter the Antarctic ice without any delay, by reason of the lateness of the season. Pushing to the eastward, and then striking south through the pack ice, he wished to reach the Great Ice Barrier, and, having reached it, to turn westward and comprehensively map out the whole coastline in the direction of Coats Land, so long as the ice remained loose enough to permit of an escape before the winter frosts solidified the whole mass. But as the Quest’s engine power and general structure made her ability to deal with the ice something of a matter for conjecture, the plan was subject to modifications. There was to be no sensational dash to the South Pole; no attempt to outrival previous explorers’ daring; the main idea of the expedition was purely scientific, with an underrunning desire to verify certain theories of the past that had never been definitely proved.
As the season was fast advancing, Commander Wild was most anxious, consequent on our annoying delays, to get clear of South Georgia and away southwards; and his haste was understandable when, the day after watering the ship and moving into Leith Harbour, we wakened to discover the surface of the bay covered with pancake ice. It is called by this name because, instead of being one broad, continuous sheet, it appears in a great number of large round pieces, ridiculously like pancakes, which, as the temperature falls, freeze solidly together to form a single sheet of what is known by Arctic and Antarctic experts as “young ice.”
There was still much to be done: fresh clothing to be secured, fresh stores and coal to be embarked. We of the crew were all fitted out snugly with fur-lined leather caps, like those worn by flying men, socks and mitts beyond the counting, stout ankle boots, much warm underclothing, pea-jackets of weather-resisting quality, wind-proof jackets—very necessary, these, considering what awaited us—stout pants, blankets and warm coverlets. Every man’s wants were supplied through the generous kindness of Mr. Hansen, the manager of the whaling station at Leith; no trouble seemed too great so far as he was concerned. The old-timers said that this outfit, which seemed amazing to me, was nothing to the genuine Antarctic equipment which was waiting for us at Cape Town, having been sent there by Sir Ernest Shackleton before the expedition started; but it promised to suffice us for one season, at all events. Mr. Hansen also fashioned for us in his workshops ice anchors, hand harpoons, ice picks and ice axes; and I must give the Norwegian population of South Georgia full marks for the unvarying interest they showed in our preparations and the ready help they gave under all circumstances.
After a morning’s “Peggying,” i.e. performing the general charwoman’s duties of the ship, I went ashore with the cook in the surf-boat for a load of fish and bread, and when we started off found some difficulty in making headway. Our combined knowledge of handling small boats was remarkable for its minuteness; the surf-boat spun about in giddy circles, but the little cherub sitting up aloft had an eye open, and we reached the Quest in a manner that would have resulted in our scalps being served up on the wardroom table had we been pukka man-o’-warsmen, where style counts as well as results.
But even so, breathless as this adventure was, it was better than “Peggying”! Some day I shall write a whole book about the Peggying art; but space forbids a lengthy diatribe here.
After dinner that night we had guests aboard, a small party of Shetlanders favouring us with a visit. We entertained them to the best of our ability: music on the gramophone, mandolin, mouth-organ and violin; for the Quest was a musical ship in intention, whatever the result might be in performance.
Gradually now we became equipped for our venture. The ship was coaled, supplied with oil, her store-lockers were packed to bursting; the friendly Shetlanders cut our hair! But, prior to setting forth, one day was devoted to a shore excursion. Such as wished to study the whole art of whale-flensing were at liberty so to do, for a ninety-foot whale was being cut up on the slips; such as preferred to practise gymnastics had their opportunity, too, for a blown-up whale was tethered to our mooring-buoy, and a lot of fine, confused exercise was obtainable by jumping off our rails on to the distended carcass, which had the resilient qualities of india-rubber, and coming back aboard by means of the rebound. For myself I accompanied the hunting party in the capacity of assistant to Mr. Wilkins, who was determined to secure a photographic record of the activities.