Into the Frozen South

by J. W. S. Marr

In the Antarctic: The Quest a mass of Frozen Spray.

It appeared towards evening as if we could not under any circumstances make much more progress, for floes of great weight were everywhere about, packed so closely that it was a miracle we made any headway whatsoever; for heavy floe ice seems at sight to be as invulnerable to the attack of a ship’s bow as so much granite. However, we persisted, and scratched and bored a little way farther. Through the night this sort of work continued, an inch gained every now and then, and no definite headway secured; and by morning—a beautiful clear, sunny, typical Antarctic morning—the pack was to all intents and purposes impenetrable. Through the four hours of the morning watch I doubt if we made more than a mile. As we were only expending our valuable fuel to no definite purpose, the ship was stopped at about 8 a.m.—literally frozen in.

With the phlegm of the explorer, who comes to accept all circumstances without repining, we put out a Jacob’s ladder, and tumbled out on to the ice for a welcome leg-stretching; and it was good to see Query’s delight at finding freedom from the narrow confines of the ship. He was like a mad thing—all over the place at once, up in the air, scooting at our heels, dodging and larking like a born joker. He was coming on well, growing to be a fine dog with a splendid coat. Afterwards I helped Mr. Wilkins to photograph the most interesting details of our surroundings.

The colour effects about here were rather amazing. Those who have never seen pack-ice probably get an idea that it presents one long, unbroken wilderness of staring whiteness to the gaze; but such an idea is wrong, especially when the sun is shining. The sunset effects were particularly wonderful, the ice taking to itself all the colours of the rainbow. At noon it is golden, but with the sun lowering itself down the long path of the western sky, the snow above the ice assumed a delicate pale pink tinge, a veritable Alpen-gluhe, with every protruding hummock throwing a mysterious shadow, whilst newly frozen water was a vivid green and shining like a mirror. But the paradox of the Antarctic is that the better the weather overhead the less promising the chance of making headway. Clear weather predicates tight pack, misty weather loose ice; so you can’t have it both ways. Commander Wild was anxious about this time. The main thing he dreaded was lest the Quest should get properly frozen in, for she was not of suitable construction for this ordeal, her shape being wrong to resist the inevitable lateral pressures. We had visions of seeing her cracked like a nutshell by the vicelike nip of the tightening ice, and other visions of the ice parting and permitting her to drop clean down to the floors of the Antarctic sea!

Fresh soundings were taken when we returned to the ship, and rapid shoaling was indicated. A series of magnetic observations were also made by Mr. Jeffrey and Mr. Douglas, so that the day was not only enjoyable but lucrative. But as nothing was to be gained by remaining there we took advantage of a chance to break up the young ice, and the ship was turned away to the north again, after much intricate manœuvring, in search of an opening that would permit her to advance farther to the south.

During the middle watch there was a further decrease of temperature, nothing very alarming, but not particularly promising, as low temperature naturally means heavier pack. We were then steaming in a general N.N.E. direction through fairly heavy ice, broken here and there by open water. Shortly after 3 a.m. the sky, over all its vast dome, assumed a glorious pink radiance, which deepened in parts to vivid purple and a most lovely blue. The water reflected these colourings, and also the floes themselves to a certain extent, and there we had a perfect picture of the South. The open water spaces were strangely regular, and we appeared to be steaming through a series of open docks with marble quays and pink-purple water; it was for all the world like a dream city. About thirty yards away on the port bow a tall berg glittered in the orange-gold glory of the sunrise, like a stately cathedral. All the fairy tales in all the world seemed possible when gazing at this earthly paradise; but...!

We were fetched back to the earth by a smell of burning that suggested the extreme opposite of paradise. There was a big blaze at the base of the funnel, which looked extremely alarming, and Mr. Jeffrey, who had the watch, immediately called all hands, under the impression that the bunkers were afire. Old Mac and myself drenched the flames with buckets of water and fire-extinguishers, and found that the whole blaze resulted from someone’s temporary carelessness in leaving a coil of tarred rope too close to the funnel’s base. Maybe the glory of the morning had a soothing effect on the troubled souls of those who turned out in obedience to the alarm, for though very scantily clad they did not even murmur a protest against the rude awakening.

In the afternoon we made the same course through open pack. Four seals were shot and flayed at 6 p.m. The crow’s nest lookout reported clearer water on the starboard bow away to the eastward, and course was accordingly altered to reach the promised opening, which, when we reached it, proved to be as free as it looked, and so we made good, even progress for a while. Only for a while, however, for after an inspiring burst of speed—unfortunately our bows were pointed in the wrong direction—we were again held up.

The chief engineer, Mr. Kerr, had been busy lately in constructing a harpoon for Mr. Douglas, and to-day he formally presented him with the finished article, as if it were some newly discovered treasure. To test this fearsome weapon Mr. Douglas took up a position on the rail, as eager as Macduff himself for combat; and as there were any number of crab-eaters swimming about, he let drive at one as it came alongside. He aimed true to the mark; it was a wonderful throw. However, it is better to draw a veil. Mr. Kerr’s enthusiasm was greater than his constructive powers, for as the seal felt the agonizing bite of the harpoon it gave a swirling leap and a quick turn, and the famous harpoon bent double, dropped clear of the hide, and the seal got away with a flick of its tail, almost as if it sent an insolent message to the fabricator of the weapon that had caused it torment.