Into the Frozen South

by J. W. S. Marr

It was an interesting day for me. The first noteworthy thing that greeted us was a regular school of young sea-elephants: square-faced brutes with bulging nostrils and expressions that seemed to suggest that each one was fitted with a very pungent mustard plaster on his chest. They were lying half hidden amongst the tussock grass, through which their sleek grey bodies were not easily distinguishable. Very ferocious and awe-inspiring they showed; their grunts on our approach might merely have been grunts of inquiry, but they sounded extremely like grunts of rage. Halting, we threw small stones at them, after the fashion of inquiring humanity, which caused them to rear angrily upright on their hinder parts, snarl with wide-open mouths at us, then, curving their backs in high disdain, they moved off towards the water, their heads over their sleek shoulders, grunting—always grunting. Sea-elephants really are one of the many tribes of seals, and they get their particular name from the fact that the young bulls are equipped with short trunks which give them a most ludicrous appearance. They are the largest of all the seals, and some of them weigh up to four or five tons apiece. Relying on the gallantry of the bulls, the cow seals cluster together in “harems,” so-called, of perhaps fifty strong; but their faith in their male protectors seems doomed to disappointment, judging by the behaviour of the young bull seals we disturbed.

The shooting-party went on their way, and I followed up the hill in company with Wilkins, who was constantly securing some fresh snap of interest. We stumbled across a great number of giant petrels, sitting complacently with their young. So intent were they on their nursery duties—it must either have been that or else an utter absence of fear of man—that they refused to move an inch as we neared them, contenting themselves with ear-piercing squawks and snappings of their long bills. Wilkins in his turn did some snapping, too, securing very excellent pictures of these interesting birds at close range. The daring hunters meanwhile trudged after problematical deer, and found none alive, but discovered the carcass of the one previously shot; and for obvious reasons decided to leave it where it was.

Thoroughly fatigued by the unaccustomed exercise we returned to the ship, and took her across the bay to Gritviken, where anchor was dropped for the night. A short night enough it proved, for at 4 a.m. all hands were called, to hoist and stow the surf-boat and get the Quest under way. Having got our anchors the engines were started, and away we went, coasting along the forbidding shore, with the Kelvin sounder going briskly, in order that existing charts might be verified or corrected as to the varying depths of the water. It is a great invention, this Kelvin sounder, and perfectly accurate soundings can be taken to a depth of 300 fathoms or more whilst the ship is going ahead at full speed. The Kelvin is a very great improvement on the old sounding methods, when it was necessary to heave the ship to, carry the lead forward, drop it, wait until the leadline paid out, and then haul it in astern by hand; even then not knowing whether your measurements were accurate to a fathom or two either way.

The Kelvin sounder, which owes its genesis to Lord Kelvin, is in reality a simple affair; it depends for its accuracy on atmospheric pressure. It consists of a sinker—merely a weighty chunk of shaped lead—and a tube in which is slid a narrow glass tube coated internally with a chemical substance, which the pressure alters in colouring. The sinker is attached to tough wire capable of standing a terrific strain, and this wire is wound about a drum worked by friction clutches and friction brakes. When the sinker reaches bottom a slight pressure on the winding handle checks the run of the wire, a little added pressure puts the handles in action, and two men can comfortably wind up the lead from the greatest depth. Once the sounding-tube is brought aboard the glass tube is applied to a graduated gauge, and the limit of the changed colouring of the contained pigment marks the actual depth of water. The bottom of the sinker is hollowed slightly and “armed” with tallow, which, impinging on the bottom, either brings up a sample of sand, gravel or shell, or, if hard rock alone is below, brings up an imprint which sufficiently shows the nature of the bottom. The depth-reading, being measured purely by vertical atmospheric pressure, is necessarily accurate, no matter how fast the ship is going or how much wire has run out.

Presently we stopped, lowered the surf-boat and dispatched a crew ashore to bring off Douglas and Carr, and, if possible, secure some penguins for food, as our preserved stores required the most careful shepherding, by reason of the lengthy cruise ahead of us. The doctor and I, on landing, took sticks and proceeded up the hill as if for a wager. The penguin can waddle along at a considerable pace on level ground; but up a gradient he is clumsy and handicapped, and a man can beat him easily. We were out for food, not sport, so we didn’t believe in giving Master Penguin too many chances. In a very little while we killed as many as were necessary for the larder, and this without undue exertion, for the quaint fellows literally swarmed. We collected our bag and retraced our steps, and found that Wilkins had killed two Rock Hopper penguins, these for specimens, while for the cook’s benefit he had shot several Skua gulls, which make really excellent eating, being less fishy and oily than penguins and the like. Returning aboard I skinned and cleaned the birds for Green, and by the time the last stripped corpse was ready we were dropping anchor in Larsen Harbour. This is a snug little bay—very suggestive of some of the Norwegian fjords, I believe, having an extremely narrow entrance, and the land all round and about rising in precipitous crags from the placid water—sheer rock walls varying from a thousand to fifteen hundred feet in height, in general effect somewhat overwhelming. It makes an average-sized man feel more than insignificant to be brooded over by these towering walls.

Just as we anchored, a wire was discovered fouling the propeller; but the trouble was not serious, and “Old Mac” managed to set matters to rights without any great difficulty.

Because of the indifferent holding for our anchors, it was necessary for the anchor-watch to maintain a regular system of soundings, as the danger of dragging ashore was not inconsiderable.

At 5 a.m. on Wednesday, January 18th, we got our ground-tackle and steamed out between the frowning cliffs that guard the right little tight little Larsen Harbour; and I, coming on deck just before breakfast, was amazed and fascinated by the glorious beauty of the innumerable tabular icebergs in our vicinity. They shone pure white and dazzling in the glory of the sunlight, a truly wonderful spectacle, and quite enough to give one a working impression of what the Antarctic wastes really were. Furthermore, even at this early date I was able to understand what is meant by the ice-lure—the queer fascination which draws men from all the corners of the globe; which makes them leave home, comfort and peace for the sheer sake of waging war with the frozen wilderness.

As the skipper was anxious to secure absolutely correct bearings of Clerk Rocks, whose charted position was somewhat open to doubt, we headed that way; but the sunny conditions quickly gave way to thick mist, and so we missed the rocks completely, which was a pity, as it had been reported that recent volcanic eruptions had taken place there, and the sight of an active volcano amongst drifting ice would have been something worth seeing. Still, there was no time to waste in hunting the rocks, for we were now embarked on the really difficult part of our enterprise—the beating of the icy fastnesses of the South. Every day, almost every hour, indeed, was of supreme value.