"Mawson has fallen down a crevasse, and we got to the Magnetic Pole," Mackay called out, and almost in less time than it takes to write it officers and sailors were swarming over the bows of the Nimrod and dropping on to the ice barrier.
I called to Mawson that help was at hand, and he replied that he was quite comfortable, for although there was seawater at the bottom of the crevasse, he was able to sustain himself a couple of feet above it on the small ledge that had stopped his fall.
Meanwhile, the rescue party, headed by J. K. Davis, the first officer of the Nimrod, had arrived, and when the crevasse had been bridged with a piece of sawn timber, Davis, with the thoroughness which characterised all his work, promptly had himself lowered down the crevasse. And presently Mawson, with only his back slightly bruised from this fall, and then Davis were safely on the top.
What a joyous grasping of hands and hearty all-round welcoming followed, and foremost among those old friends who greeted us was Captain Evans who had commanded the Koonya, and who was then in command of the Nimrod, a fact which gave us the greatest satisfaction. Quickly he assured me of the good health of my wife and family, and while willing hands packed up our sledge and other belongings, Captain Evans walked with us to the rope ladder hanging over the bows of the Nimrod.
Quickly as all this had taken place, Mackay had already found time to secure a pipe and some tobacco from one of our crew, and was pulling away to his heart's content.
After our one hundred and twenty-two days of hard toil over the sea ice of the coast, and the great snow desert of the Hinterland, the little ship seemed to us as luxurious as an ocean liner. Pleasantly the buzz of our friends' voices—giving us all the news—blended itself with the gentle fizzing of steam from the Nimrod's boiler, and surely since the days of John Gilpin "were never folk so glad" as were we three.
Afternoon tea came first and then the joy of reading the home letters, and finding good news in them. Later we three had a novel experience, the first real wash for over four months, and after diligent scrubbing bits of our real selves began to show through the covering of seal-oil and soot.
Of course we over-ate ourselves at dinner, but all the same we were ready to partake liberally of hot cocoa and biscuits before we turned in at 10 P.M.
Under Providence we felt we owed our lives to the thorough search, sound judgment and fine seamanship of Captain Evans, and the devotion to duty of his officers and crew.
My last thought in the twilight that comes between wakefulness and sleep is expressed in the words of our favourite record on the gramophone, "So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on."