We then continued to the westward until in the evening the ship's head was put north and we gained a fairly open sea. It is, however, remarkable how limited is one's horizon at sea, for although there appeared to be open water for an indefinite distance we were soon up against rigid ice again. The fact is that low pack-ice is not visible at any great distance, and that one cannot trust an appearance of open water. All night long we tried to penetrate to the east, practically doubling in our tracks before we were able to pursue the direction we wished to follow.
By noon on January 25 I found that any hopes I had of a clear run were vain, and the prospect of reaching King Edward VII Land grew remoter every ensuing hour. Indeed it seemed impossible to reach the land, and the shortness of coal, the leaky condition of the ship, and the necessity of landing all our stores and putting up the hut before the vessel left us, made the situation an extremely anxious one. I had not expected to find Barrier Inlet gone, and, at the same time, the way to King Edward VII Land absolutely blocked by ice, though the latter condition was not unusual.
I decided to continue to try and make a way to the east for at least another twenty-four hours, but when we saw the western pack moving rapidly towards us under the influence of the wind, and that it was most probable that we should be inextricably caught for days or even weeks in this great mass, I reluctantly gave orders to turn the ship and make full speed out of this dangerous situation.
Under the circumstances I could see nothing for it except to steer for McMurdo Sound and there make our winter quarters, though I would greatly have preferred to land at King Edward VII Land, because that region was quite unknown and we could have added greatly to the geographical knowledge of it. However the forces of these uncontrollable ice-packs are stronger than human resolution, and a change of plan was forced upon us.
After more trouble with the ice we worked into clearer water and the course was set for McMurdo Sound, where we arrived on January 29 to find that some twenty miles of frozen ice separated us from Hut Point. I decided to lie off the ice-foot for some days in the hope that Nature might break up the ice intervening between us and our goal.
So far the voyage had been without accident to any of the staff, but unfortunately on the 31st Mackintosh was struck in the right eye by a hook, and the eye had to be removed by Marshall, assisted by the other two doctors, Michell and Mackay. Keenly as Mackintosh felt the loss of his eye, his great sorrow was that he would not be able to remain with us in the Antarctic. He begged to stay, but when Marshall explained that he might lose the sight of his other eye he accepted his ill-fortune without demur.
While waiting at the ice I sent a small party—consisting of Adams, Joyce and Wild—to Hut Point to report on the condition of the hut left there by the Discovery expedition in 1904, and on their return Adams reported that the hut was practically clear of snow and the structure intact.
On February 3 I decided to wait no longer, but to seek for winter quarters on the east coast of Ross Island; so we started toward Cape Barne on the look-out for a suitable landing-place. Steaming slowly north along the coast we saw across the bay a long, low snow slope connected with the bare rock of Cape Royds, which seemed a suitable place for winter-quarters.
About eight o'clock I left the ship in a boat, accompanied by Adams and Wild, and we used the hand-lead at frequent intervals until we came to fast ice. This covered the whole of the small bay from the corner of Flagstaff Point (as we afterwards named the seaward cliff at the southern end of Cape Royds) to Cape Barne to the southward. Close up to the Point the ice had broken out, leaving a little natural dock into which we ran the boat, and hundreds of Adelie penguins greeted Adams and me with hoarse squawks of excitement as we landed. I was soon satisfied that Cape Royds would be an excellent place at which to land our stores, and after taking soundings we pulled out towards the ship which had slowly been coming in. We were pulling along at a good rate when suddenly a heavy body shot out of the water, struck the seaman who was pulling stroke, and dropped with a thud to the bottom of the boat. The arrival was an Adelie penguin, which had doubtless thought it was jumping on to a rock, and it would be difficult to say whether the bird or we were the more astonished.
By 10 P.M. on February 3, the Nimrod was moored to the bay ice, and as soon as she was secured I went ashore accompanied by Professor David, England, and Dunlop, to choose a place for building the hut, and up a small valley we soon found an ideal spot for our winter quarters.