Into the Frozen South

by J. W. S. Marr

When I went on watch at midnight it was still blowing very strongly from the south. The mere words convey no adequate impression of what an Antarctic gale is like; but if you imagine a northerly blizzard blowing its hardest and then magnify all the unrest and bitter discomfort and annoying insistence of the driving sleet and noisy wind by about a hundred, you may gain some idea of the real thing. We were fast frozen into the ice, which every now and then bore against our sides with an impressive and somewhat alarming squeaking sound that was very weird, underrunning the main diapason roar of the storm as it did.

The gale was not long-lived; with the flush of dawn the wind subsided, and the morning broke beautifully clear and calm. All hands turned to after breakfast to ice ship—and there was ice enough and to spare, for even the young ice that had recently formed was now thicker and whiter and older looking, and seemed to be merging into the main pack. Certain of us busied ourselves in squaring off the decks—ridding them of snow, coiling down ropes fairly and stowing away loose gear; and whilst we were so employed a big killer came up close alongside, breaking the ice as he came. These killers are particularly evil-looking brutes, and the nearer view of them you get, the nastier they seem. It must have been a killer that swallowed Jonah—this fellow seemed almost capable of swallowing the Quest.

In assisting Mr. Douglas and Mr. Jeffrey to make magnetic observations on the floe during the rest of the morning, working in the hold with Dr. Macklin after lunch and then pumping out the always filling bilges with old Mac, putting a harbour-stow on the topsail and so on, time did not hang very heavily on my hands. My leisure time I spent in heaving chunks of ice along the floe for the edification and amusement of Query, who never tired of chasing the fragments and took a keen delight in the vigorous exercise. Then, at night, a sounding was taken; but after the lead touched bottom the steam winding-engine gave out and we had to leave our cast on the sea’s bed until the necessary repairs were effected; and then, as a gigantic red moon came slowly sailing up the sky, we sat back and watched the lovely picture it made of the spectral ice that was all about.

Being now, as it were, in dock, regular watches were abandoned: all hands turned to at eight o’clock and continued working until 1 p.m., after which their time was more or less their own for purposes of recreation, with one man standing a two-hour watch during the night, like an ordinary anchor watch aboard an ordinary sea-going ship. The ice was now thickening rapidly; the temperature having dropped to 5 F., but despite this, the water rose steadily in our hold, and first thing in the forenoon Mac, Dell and myself pumped out the ship. Various duties, such as preparing the oil stoves for the boats—very necessary precautions remember, for the threat of being nipped and sunk was very real—overhauling the lamp-room and trimming the lamps occupied my day; but before dinner we younger ones climbed overside and had a rousing game of football on the ice. A lone, lorn penguin, interested in that queerly curious way these birds adopt towards happenings beyond their normal experience, slithered near and begged to be enrolled in our company. Quite unabashed, it held its own against all our tacklings and charges; and when Query took a hand in the game, it chased him incontinently all over the floe—a most comical sight. It was what the Yankees would call some football. Penguins and dogs do not usually figure in a Cup Final, nor do the players fall through the ice, as Naisbitt did, at places where floes imperfectly joined up with one another. But it was invigorating exercise enough, and after the close confinement of shipboard, very welcome to men who looked on exercise as a religious rite. We managed to pull Naisbitt out, and he was really none the worse for his adventure. Our football was composed of tied-together gunny-sacks that had held ship’s bread. Whilst we played others worked; Kerr, for instance, repaired the burst water-jacket of the dynamo engine, so that we were able to run it again and get a light that at least made darkness visible below.

I slept like a log that night, and found myself reluctant to turn out when I was called at 6 a.m., but needs must; and when I got to the bridge I saw the outlook was more promising. The ice was slacker, its nip on our sides less pronounced and the floes were beginning to come apart—a welcome sign. The run of a growing swell caused them to bend visibly, and there was much groaning and snapping, so that one might easily have thought the ice a great living monster that was trying to burst its bonds. Throughout the day, with a slightly higher temperature, the ice opened up more and more. We lost our sounding lead, though—the wire parted owing to the strain—and we had to resign ourselves to the fact with such equanimity as we could command. By evening we lay in a pool of open water, the nip was gone, and we looked forward hopefully to getting under way again on the morrow.

But our hopes proved to be nothing more than ropes of sand; the following day, although the pack was distinguishably thinning, it was still far too close for us to go ahead. A strong gale bellowed furiously from the north-west, but, being from the northerly quarter, it was actually warmer than usual—though its force was so great that the impression conveyed to the senses was that the temperature was falling. In the forenoon Dell rigged up the dredging machine and for Mr. Wilkins’s benefit let out 3,300 metres of wire, with dredge and deep-sea thermometer attached. It required the whole afternoon to get it inboard again, with the steam-winch fussing away, very certainly, no doubt, but also very slowly—so slowly, indeed, that after a while, becoming exasperated, we man-handled it and made better progress. It was pretty ticklish work, for the dredge wire was constantly being fouled by small floes, and Mr. Douglas out-Blondined Blondin by his dexterity in balancing himself on the wobbling floes and keeping the wire clear with an extended boat-hook. The result justified the exertion, for the dredge contained fifty-seven specimens of quartzite, tuffs and so on; but there was no living matter in the haul, though the rocks were plentifully threaded with worm-cells.

Next day, thanks to a falling thermometer, the ice had thickened, and the floes were compacted once more into a solid mass. Some of these floes, scattered here and there like gaunt icy islands in a sea of ice, were very big, with noticeable hummocks uprearing from the main mass. As a strong southerly wind was blowing, which was favourable to our purpose, we got busy and set topsail and staysail. Seen from outboard we must have looked much more like an ice-yacht than a sea-going ship, I fancy; but under the weight of this canvas we edged a very slow and very difficult way to the north. Our movement was actually with the ice rather than from it—we were acting as motive power to the entire ice-field. Although the ship was officially under way, there was no difficulty in slipping outboard and walking on the ice; and Commander Wild and Captain Worsley, together with Watts, did this. During their promenade they happened upon a large sea-leopard asleep, and the skipper promptly killed it, bringing its head triumphantly back to Mr. Wilkins as spoil of war.

Many of us went for walks during the forenoon, and I took several photographs of the Quest in her icebound condition. She drifted into a pool of open water during the afternoon, and the skipper and Dr. Macklin went out on the floe with a line to pull her alongside, because we desired to play football again. We found a large, convenient floe and had a hectic game, beating the other side 7-4. It is astonishing what a lot of confused exercise you can get out of football on the ice—much more than during ordinary games, even on the muddiest days. It’s a fine tonic for depression and ennui and lethargy, and the various ills shipboard life is apt to breed. You have to exert yourself terrifically to make any real headway, and the ball, weighing about a ton when thoroughly sodden, needs the driving force of a steam ram behind it to move it at all. Our side was composed of Dr. Macklin, Mr. Douglas, the skipper, Naisbitt (cook’s mate) and myself. Our opponents were the Chief, the Second, Ross and Young (stokers), Major Carr and Watts.

Turning from play to work, we set the squaresail at 6 p.m. and began to move; but almost as we started we had to lower the canvas in a hurry, to avoid what might have been a serious collision with a large floe ahead, and our progress was stopped. In the event of opportunity offering for getting under way during the night, I kept the binnacle lights trimmed and ready for immediate use.

Another day came, to show no practical alteration in the ice-conditions. The wind came away strongly from the S.S.E. and the outlook was bad, for the sky showed no vestige of a “water-sky,” and with a lowered temperature the ice was freezing more thickly than ever. Very grim conditions again; but in the Antarctic you don’t grouse about circumstances—you make the best of them, and thank your lucky stars when each succeeding day finds your ship still afloat and not crushed to flinders in the pack.