John Shirley, one of my sledge crew, complained of pains in his ankles and knees. On examination they appeared slightly swollen, and I treated him according to the instructions laid down for the guidance of the sledging officers by our doctor.
Although at the time ignorant of the fact, this was the first appearance of that dreadful disease, scurvy, which shortly afterwards laid its destroying hand upon us, and reduced us to such a helpless and prostrate state. From this day we were deprived of the services of Shirley, who gradually but surely got worse, and was never again able to render the slightest assistance even in the most minute details of our routine.
April 15th.—A N.W. gale, with an exceedingly low temperature, and an impervious snow-drift, rendered travelling quite out of the question.
Extreme wretchedness, I might almost say abject misery, was our lot to-day.
We appeared to receive little benefit, in the way of warmth, from our tent robes, and the temperature inside our tent, with our whole party huddled close together, was 22° below zero! Gladly would we have pushed on had it been possible. A hard day’s work, even amongst the most impenetrable hummocks, would have been infinitely preferable to our present forced detention and inactivity. Unable to stir outside the tent, on account of the blinding snow-drift that was whirling around, too cold to read or even to sit up in one’s bag for the sake of conversation, tent robes and bags frozen hard—a combination of these evils renders the position of those who suffer from them an unenviable one indeed. It is a remarkable fact that we this day experienced a lower temperature during a gale of wind than we did during the whole winter at the “Alert’s” winter quarters. This appears to point conclusively to the fact that there can be no large body of water either to the northward or westward of us.
The thermometer invariably rose during the southerly gales experienced in the winter, and this was very naturally attributed to the wind blowing across a large expanse of open water.
April 16th.—Easter Sunday.
The gale, although it had moderated, was still blowing too fiercely to allow us to proceed. We were therefore compelled, sorely against our inclination, to remain encamped. We unanimously came to the conclusion that this was by far the most wretched and miserable Easter Sunday that we had ever spent. Forty-eight hours in a gale of wind, tied up in a bag off the most northern known land, with a temperature 67° below freezing point, is certainly not the most pleasant manner that any one would select for passing an Easter Sunday!
For forty hours I did not have the slightest feeling in my feet, and could not really declare that I was in possession of those useful members—as for sleep, under the circumstances, that was quite out of the question. In spite of the cold and dismal surroundings, we did not neglect last evening the usual Saturday night’s toast, on receipt of our small allowance of grog. It most decidedly had the effect of cheering us up considerably, and for the time assisted in making us forget the discomfort of our position. At half-past four in the afternoon, the wind having subsided, it was determined to make a move. We felt that anything was preferable to the tedium and dreariness of our compulsory detention. The tents were accordingly struck, sledges packed, and the march renewed. Shirley, being unable to walk, was placed in his sleeping-bag, rolled up in the tent robes, and tied securely on one of the sledges. This seriously added to the weight to be dragged, whilst it also reduced our motive power; however, we hoped that by thus giving him complete rest, he would the more rapidly recover and resume his place on the drag-ropes.