South Georgia hadn’t altered much during our absence; the only change was that, winter coming on, there was more snow on the hills and a general suggestion of greater bleakness. And now, for the first time in many months, we saw shipping again: whalers leaving harbour or making for it. Other human beings besides ourselves existed, and the knowledge warmed our hearts. Absent yourself from your kind for months at a stretch, and even an African bushman seems a friend.
But we couldn’t make harbour yet, and were compelled to dodge the bergs and idle about off the land because the wind had fallen light, except for frequent willie-waughs coming gustily down from the ravines of the island, throughout the beautiful, moonlit night, which was as much a poem as that famous sunset I mentioned before, though the colours to-night were silver and grey, rather than crimson and gold. A big iceberg, lit up by a noble moon, looks like an enchanted castle; and as you watch it you find yourself thinking of long-drowned Camelot and the wonders of the Round Table.
CHAPTER XVI
South Georgia Again
At six o’clock next morning, all sail being then taken in and the ship proceeding under engines alone, boilers fed with blubber, we entered Leith Harbour, and anchored with both anchors as a precaution against the violent squalls that strike down from the hills.
Almost as the cables ceased their rumbling, a motor-launch was alongside bearing Mr. Hansen, of the whaling station, and Mr. Hussey, who had been appointed guard of honour to our well-loved leader. Mr. Hussey gave us all the news, which we were very greedy to hear. He had taken Sir Ernest Shackleton’s body to Monte Video, with the intention of escorting it home to England for a great public funeral, such as a man of our Boss’s heroism deserved, but Lady Shackleton had sent word that she desired the remains to be laid in an even more fitting resting-place—in South Georgia, the gateway to the Antarctic which he had by right of conquest made his own; the spot closely associated with one of the greatest of his many great exploits—that memorable journey in the dead of winter across the glaciers and rocky heights of the island, of which the whole world knows.
And so, over in the old pathetic graveyard of Gritviken, he was buried simply, the Shetland whalemen carrying the coffin, with no funereal pomp and circumstance, and the bareheaded Norwegian sea-fighters following him respectfully to his last resting-place. It was what he would have wished.
When the rocky grave was filled in, a simple wooden cross was erected, and on its arms Mr. Hussey placed the wreaths brought from Monte Video on behalf of Lady Shackleton, Mr. and Mrs. Rowett and the members of the Quest expedition. So the restless soul found rest at last; but his memory must endure, for Sir Ernest Shackleton was brave, not with the sudden hot courage of battle, but with the quiet, determined bravery that lasts through terrible, tedious days, when hope drifts sullenly away and leaves bleak despair.
But though his labours were ended, ours were not; much of his original programme remained to be carried out, and in order that this might be done, work was resumed with vigour under Commander Wild. Accordingly, after hearing Mr. Hussey’s news, all hands turned-to to clear the bunkers of the gear that had been stowed there aforetime; and whether it was the hard work or the change from recent ice surroundings, I know that, for one, I found the weather quite sultry and overpowering. Really it was very cold, but we began to wonder where we could lay our hands on tropical clothing, by reason of the thickening of our blood.
The general view of Leith Harbour gave me the idea of a smooth lake surrounded on all sides by abruptly rising hills. Short, precipitous glaciers come down at short intervals towards the shore; the lower steeps are splashed with snow, whilst the raw earth shows abundantly, though here and there is a heartening patch of green. The greater heights are eternally snowbound, and as often as not veiled in mist and thick clouds; and there is practically no flat land whatsoever; the whole island seems to stand on end, with the exception of a few acres at the far end of the harbour where the noisome whaling station lies.