Into the Frozen South

by J. W. S. Marr

Whilst we worked at this unsavoury, messy, but very necessary job, the scientific staff busied themselves with observations of one kind and another.

After a most strenuous day, soaked in oil and icy water, tired out but rejoicing, we regained the ship late in the afternoon, the last boat bringing a big load of penguins, paddies and seal-meat, together with rocks for the geologists. My intuition concerning the rotten state of the glacier face was well-founded, for as we were hoisting the boat aboard a vast chunk of the glacier broke off and fell with a stupendous roar, sending a regular tidal wave racing out towards us. Fortunately we were too far away to be overwhelmed; but if the boat had been under that falling mass—however, she wasn’t!

We should have stayed there longer and added to our fuel supply, but, the surf increasing very rapidly and growing to threatening proportions, Commander Wild was anxious to get away before darkness set in; so accordingly we got up anchor at 6 p.m. and made our way round the coast, the Quest as nimble as ever as soon as the full weight of the swells got her. We kept at sea, in open water, all through the night, standing on and off from the land, and the morning came bright and sunny, which was, so Dr. Macklin said, unusual round about Elephant Island, where perpetual mists and storms represented the experiences of adventurers. At 11 a.m. we anchored again near a narrow beach, several miles in length, which ran along the foot of high cliffs. From the ship we saw several harems of sea-elephants, with thirty or forty cows in each. A party promptly went ashore to secure more blubber, and the work of the previous day was resumed in all its necessary messiness. Many elephants were closely huddled together in groups on the sand; there were also some crab-eating seals and paddies. Major Carr, evidently feeling the need of exercise, climbed a long way up the rocks, and coming to loose screes, sent down avalanches of pebbles, much to the discomposure of poor Query, who happened to be in the way; while Dr. Macklin, who was following, had to scramble for shelter to an overhanging boulder which saved him from danger. A certain, though not the required, amount of blubber was obtained. Commander Wild remained aboard the Quest, having contracted a severe chill through his previous day’s exertions. We were still busy at the job when the roaring of the steam whistle recalled the shore-party. An ominous change of weather was taking place, and the ship’s position promised to be precarious; consequently we were quickly up-anchored and made our way to the lee of some high rocks not far distant, where we again dropped the hook for the night. By nine o’clock it was blowing hard, and by two in the morning a hurricane was raging, coming away for all it was worth from the south-west, so that the rocks which had previously sheltered us were now of no avail. Dr. Macklin had charge of the watch, and so alarmed was he by the weather conditions that he roused Commander Wild, who still was not at all well, telling him that we were dragging our anchor and generally in a rather parlous plight.

All hands were promptly called, and turned out into the roaring frenzy of that appalling night. Word had been sent to the engine-room for instant full steam on the boilers, and immediately the hands turned out the cable was hove short. The Quest promptly began to drag more insistently than before, and the outlook was alarming. Rocks to leeward showed very menacing in the darkness, fast-scudding clouds racing behind them and giving them the aspect of moving monsters intent on our destruction. As if to increase their menace, something went wrong with the cables; they wouldn’t go down through the spurling gates, but piled up on deck, hampering us. The winch was jammed, but Macklin and Carr went below and cut the bulkhead of the cable locker adrift with axes, giving the chain more room, and eventually the crisis passed, though the weird wailing of the penguins ashore, for all the world like a premature lament over our doom, and the crashing thunder of the near-by breakers, caused us an apprehension that was anything but pleasant. A very high sea was running, and there was nothing to do but count discretion the better part of valour by turning tail to the storm, running away before it for all we were worth. Otherwise we stood a remarkably good chance of going to ruin on the pitiless rocks. Once clear of immediate danger, and possessing, as we did, only enough coal for one day’s steaming, though the blubber we had secured promised to eke out that meagre supply, we set the topsail, and under it ran like the wind itself, beating all our previous speed records as we hurled from crest to bellowing crest, roaring down sickeningly into the troughs, soaring high and very high, and screaming with the fury of our speed.

By eight o’clock, when next I came on deck, the wind seemed to be increasing, and the Quest, racing before it, seemed of no more account than a chip of driftwood. She was heavily listed to starboard, and as her continued existence seemed something of a problem, all hands were summoned to trim ship and shift all movable stores from the boats, top-hamper from the decks, to down below in the empty port bunker. It was wild work, carried out in a wind that was blowing something like a hundred miles an hour; but the ties of common funk bound us all closely together, and the labour went forward with a swing.

Commander Wild had determined to take advantage of the gale to make straightway to South Georgia. According to the evidence of the weather experts, no change in the direction of the wind was likely for some days, and as it was fair for South Georgia, where coal could be obtained, it was decided to make the best of it. Wilkins was almost swept overboard when setting sail; everyone thought he had gone, indeed, but he cheerily announced his continued presence in the land of living, and carried on with his job.

Wild work? I assure you it was wild. To stand without holding on was an impossibility, whole water deluged us, and it was simply a case of keeping the Quest ahead of the enormous following seas, which rolled up, gathered weight, towered high to a level with our gaff, and then fell with the clamour of sundering worlds in our yeasty wake. The ship was like a scared horse bolting with a bit in its teeth, urged on by the stinging blows on her quarter. Occasionally those blows were punishingly heavy—for about noon a heavy sea pooped us, stove in the after wardroom scuttle, and flooded the entire after-part. Under a lash of spray and occasionally a deluge of whole water, I repaired the damage as well as possible, by means of planks and a tarpaulin cover; and then went below, where everything was floating about in a state of confusion; my own bunk came in for the lion’s share of the initial dollop. The water that had drenched me froze after a while and turned me into a very good representation of an iceberg; but that was only a small part of the trouble. It was indeed a case of “one hand for myself and one for the ship”; and working with one hand whilst clinging like a monkey with the other was an exciting experience.

But all things come to an end sooner or later; and after we’d squared up the major part of the damage, the wind lessened during the afternoon, though we were unable to dream of beating back to Elephant Island, as the wind set straight from it, and the course had to be continued towards South Georgia. This was hard lines on the old Endurance hands, for they had set their hearts on revisiting their old haunts and fighting their battles o’er again.

I say the wind lessened, but even so it continued a vigorous gale, though the worst of the weight was out of it, and we were able to set more canvas to keep us ahead of the run of the seas. The following day broke fine, and with a brilliant sun shining its happiest on our ice-coated fabric we presented a wonderful spectacle. The ice taking on all the prismatic colours, the effect was well-nigh dazzling—unbelievable, indeed. The Quest became a flaming jewel as she hurled herself across the white-veined plain of the tumultuous seas.

We crowded on sail for all we were worth, and setting the big, unhandy squaresail, which was frozen stiff, was excellent exercise and caused some lively gymnastics. Both watches were required to clear and set the foresail; under it the ship streaked along with energetic purpose and left a white, yeasty wake astern. With the wind increasing again it was no great while before we were making a level 7½ knots per hour—unbelievable speed for the old tub, which caused her to give herself all the airs and graces of a China clipper. It was invigorating, because, although the log only recorded 7½ knots, the fuss that was made was quite equivalent to forty; and by dint of exercise of a bit of imagination it was quite easy to pretend we were breaking all previous ocean records.