 Chapter 5 OCEAN CAMP In spite of the wet, deep snow, and the halts occasioned by thus having to cut our road through the pressure ridges, we managed to march the best part of a mile towards our goal, though the relays and the deviations again made the actual distance travelled nearer six miles. As I could see that the men were all exhausted, I gave the order to pitch the tents under the lee of the two boats, which afforded some slight protection from the wet snow now threatening to cover everything. While so engaged, one of the sailors discovered a small pool of water, caused by the snow having thawed on the sail which was lying in one of the boats. There was not much, just a sip each, but as one man wrote in his diary, one has seen and tasted cleaner, but seldom more opportunally found water. Next day broke cold and still, with the same wet snow, and in the clearing light I could see that with the present loose surface, and considering how little result we had to show for all our strenuous efforts of the past four days, it would be impossible to proceed for any great distance. Taking into account also the possibility of leads opening close to us, and so of our being able to row north-west to where we might find land, I decided to find a more solid flow and their camp until conditions were more favourable for us to make a second attempt to escape from our icy prison. To this end we moved our tents and all our gear to a thick, heavy old flow, about one and a half miles from the wreck, and there made our camp. We called this ocean camp. It was with the utmost difficulty that we shifted our two boats. The surface was terrible, like nothing that any of us had ever seen around us before. We were sinking at times up to our hips, and everywhere the snow was two feet deep. I decided to conserve our valuable sledging rations, which would be so necessary for the inevitable boat journey as much as possible, and to subsist almost entirely on seals and penguins. A party was sent back to dump-camp near the ship, to collect as much clothing, tobacco, etc., as they could find. The heavy snow which had fallen in the last few days, combined with the thawing and subsequent sinking of the surface, resulted in the total disappearance of a good many of the things left behind at this dump. The remainder of the men made themselves as comfortable as possible under the circumstances at Ocean Camp. This floating lump of ice, about a mile square at first, but later splitting into smaller and smaller fragments, was to be our home for nearly two months. During these two months we made frequent visits to the vicinity of the ship, and retrieved much valuable clothing and food, and some few articles of personal value, which in our light-hearted optimism we had thought to leave miles behind us on our dash across the moving ice to safety. The collection of food was now the all-important consideration. As we were to subsist almost entirely on seals and penguins, which were to provide fuel as well as food, some form of blobber-stove was a necessity. This was eventually very ingeniously contrived from the ship's steel ash chute, as our first attempt with a large iron oil-drum did not prove eminently successful. We could only cook seal or penguin hushes or stews on this stove, and so uncertain was its action that the food was either burnt, or only partially cooked, and hungry though we were, half raw seal-meat was not very appetizing. On one occasion a wonderful stew made from seal-meat, with two or three tins of iris stew that had been salved from the ship, fell into the fire through the bottom of the oil-drum that was used as a saucepan, becoming burnt out on account of the sudden intense heat of the fire below. We launched that day on one biscuit and a quarter of a tin of bully-beef each, frozen hard. This new stove, which was to last us during our stay at Ocean Camp, was a great success. Two large holes were punched, with much labour and few tools, opposite one another, at the wider or top end of the chute. According to one of these, an oil-drum was fixed, to be used as the fireplace, the other hole serving to hold our saucepan. Alongside this another hole was punched, to enable two saucepans to be boiled at a time, and further along still a chimney made from biscuit tins completed a very efficient, if not a very elegant, stove. Later on the cook found that he could bake a sort of flat bannock or scone on this stove, but he was seriously hampered for want of yeast or baking powder. An attempt was next made to erect some sort of a galley to protect the cook against the inclemences of the weather. The party which I had sent back under-wild to the ship returned with, amongst other things, the wheel-house practically complete. This with the addition of some sails and tarpaulins stretched on spars made a very comfortable store-house and galley. The inclemences of planking from the deck were lashed across some spars, stuck upright into the snow, and this with the ship's binocle formed an excellent lookout from which to look for seals and penguins. On this platform, too, a mast was erected from which flew the king's flag and the royal Clyde Yacht Club Burgey. I made a strict inventory of all the food in our possession, weights being roughly determined with a simple balance made from a piece of wood and some string, the counter-balance being a sixty-pound box of provisions. The dog-teams went off to the wreck early each morning under-wild, and the men made every effort to rescue as much as possible from the ship. This was an extremely difficult task, as the whole of the deck forward was under a foot of water on the port side, and nearly three feet on the starboard side. However they managed to collect large quantities of wood and ropes, and some few cases of provisions. Although the galley was under water, Bakewell managed to secure three or four saucepans, which later proved invaluable acquisitions. Quite a number of boxes of flour, et cetera, had been stowed in a cabin in the hold, and these we had been unable to get out before we left the ship. Having therefore determined as nearly as possible that portion of the deck immediately above these cases, we proceeded to cut a hole with large ice-chisels through the three-inch planking of which it was formed. As the ship at this spot was under five feet of water and ice, it was not an easy job. However, we succeeded in making the hole sufficiently large to allow of some few cases to come floating up. Things were greeted with great satisfaction, and later on, as we warmed to our work, other cases whose upward progress was assisted with a boat-hook, were greeted with either cheers or groans, according to whether they contained farinacious food, or merely luxuries such as jellies. For each man by now had a good idea of the calorific value, and nutritive and sustaining qualities of the various foods. It had a personal interest for us all. In this way we added to our scanty stock between two and three tons of provisions, about half of which was farinacious food such as flour and peas, of which we were so short. This sounds a great deal, but at one pound per day it would only last twenty-eight men for three months. Previous to this I had reduced the food allowance to nine-and-a-half ounces per man per day. Now however it could be increased, and this afternoon for the first time for ten days we knew what it was to be really satisfied. I had the sledges packed in readiness with the special sledging rations in case of a sudden move, and with the other food, allowing also for prospective seals and penguins, I calculated a dietary to give the utmost possible variety and yet to use our precious stock of flour in the most economical manner. All seals and penguins that appeared anywhere within the vicinity of the camp were killed to provide food and fuel. The dog-pemican we also added to our own larder, feeding the dogs on the seals which we caught after removing such portions as were necessary for our own needs. We were rather short of crockery, but small pieces of Vanessa wood served admirably as plates for seal steaks. Stews and liquids of all sorts were served in the aluminium sledging mugs, of which each man had one. Later on jelly tins and biscuit-tin lids were pressed into service. Monotony in the meals, even considering the circumstances in which we found ourselves, was what I was striving to avoid, so our little stock of luxuries, such as fish-paste, and herrings, etc., was carefully husbanded and so distributed as to last as long as possible. My efforts were not in vain, as one man states in his diary, Quote, It must be admitted that we are feeding very well indeed, considering our position. Each meal consists of one course and a beverage. The dried vegetables, if any, all go into the same pot as the meat, and every dish is a sort of hash or stew, be it ham or seal meat, or half-and-half. The fact that we only have two pots available places restrictions upon the number of things that can be cooked at one time, but in spite of the limitation of facilities, we always seem to manage to get just enough. The milk-powder and sugar are necessarily boiled with the tea or coffee. We are, of course, very short of the farenacious element in our diet, and consequently have a mild craving for more of it. Bread is out of the question, and as we are husbanding the remaining cases of our biscuits for our prospective boat journey, we are eking out the supply of flour by making banex, of which we have from three to four each day. These banex are made from flour, fat, water, salt, and a little baking powder, the dough being rolled out into flat rounds, and baked in about ten minutes on a hot sheet of iron over the fire. Each banex weighs about one-and-a-half to two ounces, and we are indeed lucky to be able to produce them." A few boxes of army biscuits soaked with sea water were distributed at one meal. They were in such a state that they would not have been looked at a second time under ordinary circumstances, but to us on a floating lump of ice over three hundred miles from land, and that quite hypothetical, and with the unplumbed sea beneath us they were luxuries indeed. Wild's tent made a pudding of theirs with some dripping. Although keeping in mind the necessity for strict economy with our scanty store of food, I knew how important it was to keep the men cheerful, and that the depression occasioned by our surroundings and our precarious position could to some extent be alleviated by increasing the rations, at least until we were more accustomed to our new mode of life. That this was successful is shown in their diaries. Quote, Day by day goes by much the same as one another. We work, we talk, we eat. Ah, how we eat! No longer on short rations we are a trifle more exacting than we were when we first commenced our simple life, but by comparison with home standards we are positive barbarians and our gastronomic capacity knows no bounds. All is eaten that comes to each tent, and everything is most carefully and accurately divided into as many equal portions as there are men in the tent. One member then closes his eyes, or turns his head away, and calls out the names at random, as the cook for the day points to each portion saying at the same time, Partiality, however unintentional it may be, is thus entirely obviated, and everyone feels satisfied that all is fair, even though one may look a little enviously at the next man's helping, which differs in some especially appreciated detail from one's own. We break the tenth commandment energetically, but as we are all in the same boat in this respect no one says a word. We understand each other's feelings quite sympathetically. It is just like school-days over again, and very jolly it is too, for the time being." Later on, as the prospect of wintering in the pack became more apparent, the rations had to be considerably reduced. By that time, however, everybody had become more accustomed to the idea and took it quite as a matter of course. Our meals now consisted in the main of a fairly generous helping of seal or penguin, either boiled or fried. As one man wrote, We are now having enough to eat, but not by any means too much, and everyone is always hungry enough to eat every scrap he can get. Meals are invariably taken very seriously, and little talking is done till the hoosh is finished. Our tents made somewhat cramped quarters, especially during mealtimes. Being in a tent without any furniture requires a little getting used to. For our meals we have to sit on the floor, and it is surprising how awkward it is to sit in such a position. It is better by far to kneel and sit back on one's heels as do the Japanese." Each man took it in turn to be the tent cook for one day, and one writes, The word cook is at present rather a misnomer, for whilst we have a permanent galley, no cooking need be done in the tent. Really all that the tent cook has to do is to take his two hoosh pots over to the galley, and convey the hoosh and the beverage to the tent, clearing up after each meal, and washing up the two pots and the mugs. There are no spoons, etc, to wash, for we each keep our own spoon and pocket knife in our pockets. We just lick them as clean as possible, and replace them in our pockets after each meal. Our spoons are one of our indispensable possessions here. To lose one spoon would be almost as serious as it is for an indentate person to lose his set of false teeth." During all this time the supply of seals and penguins, if not inexhaustible, was always sufficient for our needs. Seal and penguin hunting was our daily occupation, and parties were sent out in different directions to search among the hummocks and the pressure ridges for them. When one was found a signal was hoisted, usually in the form of a scarf or a sock on a pole, and an answering signal was hoisted at the camp. Then Wild went out with the dog team to shoot and bring in the game. To feed ourselves and the dogs at least one seal a day was required. The seals were mostly crab eaters, and emperor penguins were the general rule. On November the 5th, however, an Adderley was caught, and this was the cause of much discussion as the following extract shows. The man on watch from 3 a.m. to 4 a.m. caught an Adderley penguin. This is the first of its kind that we have seen since January last, and it may mean a lot. It may signify that there is land somewhere near us, or else that great leads are opening up, but it is impossible to form more than a mere conjecture at present. No skewers, Antarctic petrels, or sea-leopards were seen during our two-month stay at Ocean Camp. In addition to the daily hunt for food, our time was passed in reading the few books that we had managed to save from the ship. The greatest treasure in the library was a portion of the Encyclopedia Britannica. This was being continually used to settle the inevitable arguments that would arise. The sailors were discovered one day engaged in a very heated discussion on the subject of money and exchange. They finally came to the conclusion that the Encyclopedia, since it did not coincide with their views, must be wrong. Quote, For descriptions of every American town that ever has been, is or ever will be, and for full and complete biographies of every American statesman since the time of George Washington and long before, the Encyclopedia would be hard to beat. Owing to our shortage of matches, we have been driven to use it for purposes other than the purely literary ones, though, and one genius, having discovered that the paper used for its pages had been impregnated with salt-peter, we can now thoroughly recommend it as a very efficient pipe-lighter. We also possessed a few books on Antarctic exploration, a copy of Browning and one of the ancient Mariner. On reading the latter, we sympathized with him and wondered what he had done with the Albatross. It would have made a very welcome addition to our larder. The two subjects of most interest to us were our rate of drift and the weather. He took observations of the sun whenever possible, and his results showed conclusively that the drift of our flow was almost entirely dependent upon the winds, and not much affected by currents. Our hope, of course, was to drift northwards to the edge of the pack, and then, when the ice was loose enough, to take to the boats and row to the nearest land. We started off in fine style, drifting north about twenty miles in two or three days in a howling south-westerly blizzard. Gradually though, we slowed up, as successive observations showed, until we began to drift back to the south. An increasing north-easterly wind, which commenced on November the seventh and lasted for twelve days, damped our spirits for a time, until we found that we had only drifted back to the south three miles, so that we were now seventeen miles to the good. This tended to reassure us in our theories that the ice of the Weddell's Sea was drifting round in a clockwise direction, and that if we could stay on our piece long enough we must eventually be taken up to the north, where lay the open sea, and the path to comparative safety. The ice was not moving fast enough to be noticeable. In fact, the only way in which we could prove that we were moving at all was by noting the change of relative positions of the bergs around us, and more definitely by fixing our absolute latitude and longitude by observations of the sun. Otherwise, as far as actual visible drift was concerned, we might have been on dry land. For the next few days we made good progress, drifting seven miles to the north on November the twenty-fourth, and another seven miles in the next forty-eight hours. We were all very pleased to know that although the wind was mainly south-west all this time, yet we had made very little easting. The land lay to the west, so had we drifted to the east, we should have been taken right away to the centre of the entrance to the Weddell's Sea, and our chances of finally reaching land would have been considerably lessened. Our average rate of drift was slow, and many and varied were the calculations as to when we should reach the pack-edge. On December the twelfth, nineteen-fifteen, one man wrote, quote, Once across the Antarctic Circle it would seem as if we are practically half-way home again, and it is just possible that with favourable winds we may cross the circle before the new year. A drift of only three miles a day would do it, and we have often done that and more for periods of three or four weeks. We are now only two hundred and fifty miles from Paulette Island, but too much to the east of it. We are approaching the latitudes in which we were at this time last year on our way down. The ship left South Georgia just a year and a week ago, and reached this latitude four or five miles to the eastward of our present position on January the third, nineteen-fifteen, crossing the circle on New Year's Eve, unquote. Thus, after a year's incessant battle with the ice, we had returned, by many strange turns of fortune's wheel, to almost identically the same latitude that we had left with such high hopes and aspirations twelve months previously, but under what different conditions now? Our ship crushed and lost, and we ourselves drifting on a piece of ice at the mercy of the winds. However, in spite of occasional setbacks due to unfavorable winds, our drift was in the main very satisfactory, and this went a long way towards keeping the men cheerful. As the drift was mostly affected by the winds, the weather was closely watched by all, and Hussie, the meteorologist, was called upon to make forecasts every four hours, and sometimes more frequently than that. A meteorological screen containing thermometers and a barograph had been erected on a post frozen into the ice, and observations were taken every four hours. When we first left the ship, the weather was cold and miserable, and altogether as unpropitious as it could possibly have been for our attempted march. Our first few days at Ocean Camp were passed under much the same conditions. At night's the temperature dropped to zero, with blinding snow and drift. One hour watches were instituted, all hands taking their turn, and in such weather this job was no sinecure. The watchman had to be continually on the alert for cracks in the ice, or any sudden changes in the ice conditions, and also had to keep his eye on the dogs, who often became restless, fretful, and quarrelsome in the early hours of the morning. At the end of his hour he was very glad to crawl back into the comparative warmth of his frozen sleeping bag. On November the 6th a dull overcast day developed into a howling blizzard from the south-west with snow and low drift. Only those who were compelled left the shelter of their tent. Deep drifts formed everywhere, burying sledges and provisions to a depth of two feet, and the snow piling up around the tents threatened to burst the thin fabric. The fine drift found its way in through the ventilator of the tent, which was accordingly plugged up with a spare sock. This lasted for two days, when one man wrote, quote, The blizzard continued through the morning, but cleared towards noon, and it was a beautiful evening. But we would far rather have the screeching blizzard and its searching drift and cold damp wind, for we drifted about eleven miles to the north during the night. For four days the fine weather continued with gloriously warm bright sun, but cold when standing still or in the shade. The temperature usually dropped below zero, but every opportunity was taken during these fine sunny days to partially dry our sleeping bags and other gear, which had become sodden through our body heat, having thawed the snow which had drifted in onto them during the blizzard. The bright sun seemed to put new heart into all. The next day brought a northeasterly wind with the very high temperature of twenty-seven degrees Fahrenheit, only five degrees below freezing. Quote, These high temperatures do not always represent the warmth which might be assumed from the thermometrical readings. They usually bring dull overcast skies with a raw, muggy, moist-jaladen wind. The winds from the south, though colder, are nearly always coincident with sunny days and clear blue skies, unquote. The temperature still continued to rise, reaching thirty-three degrees Fahrenheit on November the fourteenth. The thaw, consequent upon these high temperatures, was having a disastrous effect upon the surface of our camp. Quote, The surface is awful, not slushy, but elusive. You step out gingerly. All is well for a few paces, then your foot suddenly sinks a couple of feet until it comes to a hard layer. You wade along in this way step by step, like a mud-lark at Portsmouth Hard, hoping gradually to regain the surface. Soon you do only to repeat the exasperating performance ad lib, to the accompaniment of all the expletives that you can bring to bear on the subject. What actually happens is that the warm air melts the surface sufficiently to cause drops of water to trickle down slightly, where, on meeting colder layers of snow, they freeze again, forming a honeycomb of icy nodules instead of the soft, powdery, granular snow that we are accustomed to. These high temperatures persisted for some days, and when, as occasionally happened, the sky was clear and the sun was shining, it was unbearably hot. Five men who were sent to fetch some gear from the vicinity of the ship, with a sledge, marched in nothing but trousers and singlet, and even then they were very hot. In fact, they were afraid of getting sunstroke, so let down flaps from their caps to cover their necks. Their sleeves were rolled up over their elbows, and their arms were red and sunburnt in consequence. The temperature on this occasion was twenty-six degrees Fahrenheit, or six degrees below freezing. For five or six days more the sun continued, and most of our clothes and sleeping bags were now comparatively dry. A wretched day, with rainy sleet set in on November the twenty-first, but one could put up with this discomfort, as the wind was now from the south. The wind veered later to the west, and the sun came out at nine p.m., for at this time, near the end of November, we had the midnight sun. A thrice-blessed, southerly wind soon arrived to cheer us all, occasioning the following remarks in one of the diaries. Today is the most beautiful day we have had in the Antarctic. A clear sky, a gentle warm breeze from the south, and the most brilliant sunshine. We all took advantage of it to strike tents, clean out, and generally dry and air, ground sheets and sleeping bags. I was up early, four a.m., to keep watch, and the sight was indeed magnificent. Spread out before one was an extensive panorama of ice-fields, intersected here and there by small broken leads, and dotted with numerous noble bergs, partly bathed in sunshine, and partly tinged with the gray shadows of an overcast sky. As one watched, one observed a distinct line of demarcation between the sunshine and the shade, and this line gradually approached nearer and nearer, lighting up the hummocky relief of the ice-field bit by bit until at last it reached us, and through the whole camp into a blaze of glorious sunshine which lasted nearly all day. This afternoon we were treated to one or two showers of hail-like snow. Yesterday we also had a rare form of snow, or rather precipitation of ice-spicules, exactly like little hairs about a third of an inch long. The warmth in the tents at lunchtime was so great that we had all the side flaps up for ventilation, but it is a treat to get warm occasionally, and one can put up with a little stuffy atmosphere now and again for the sake of it. The wind has gone to the best quarter this evening, the southeast, and is refreshing." On these fine, clear, sunny days wonderful mirage effects could be observed, just as occur over the desert. Huge birds were apparently resting on nothing with a distinct gap between their bases and the horizon. Others were curiously distorted into all sorts of weird and fantastic shapes, appearing to be many times their proper height. Added to this the pure glistening white of the snow and ice made a picture, which it is impossible adequately to describe. Later on the refreshing southwesterly wind brought mild, overcast weather, probably due to the opening up of the pack in that direction. I had already made arrangements for a quick move in case of a sudden break-up of the ice. Emergency orders were issued. Each man had his poster lotted and his duty detailed, and the whole was so organized that in less than five minutes from the sounding of the alarm on my whistle, tents were struck, gear and provisions packed, and the whole party was ready to move off. I now took a final survey of the men to note their condition, both mental and physical. For our time at Ocean Camp had not been one of an alloyed bliss. The loss of the ship meant more to us than we could ever put into words. After we had settled at Ocean Camp she still remained nipped by the ice, only her stern showing, and her bowels overridden and buried by the relentless pack. The tangled mass of ropes, rigging and spars, made the scene even more desolate and depressing. It was with a feeling almost of relief that the end came. Quote, November the 21st, 1915. This evening, as we were lying in our tents, we heard the boss call out, She's going, boys. We were out in a second, and up on the lookout station and other points of vantage, and sure enough, there was our poor ship, a mile and a half away, struggling in her death agony. She went down bowels first, her stern raised in the air. She then gave one quick dive, and the ice closed over her forever. It gave one a sickening sensation to see it. For, maskless and useless as she was, she seemed to be a link with the outer world. Without her, our destitution seems more emphasized, our desolation more complete. The loss of the ship sent a slight wave of depression over the camp. No one said much, but we cannot be blamed for feeling it in a sentimental way. It seemed as if the moment of severance from many cherished associations, many happy moments, even stirring incidents, had come, as she silently upended to find a last resting place beneath the ice on which we now stand. When one knows every little nook and corner of one's ship as we did, and has helped her time and again in the fight that she made so well, the actual parting was not without its pathos, quite apart from one's own desolation, and I doubt if there was one amongst us who did not feel some personal emotion when Sir Ernest, standing on the top of the lookout, said, somewhat sadly and quietly, she's gone, boys. It must, however, be said that we did not give way to depression for long, for soon everyone was as cheery as usual. Laughter rang out from the tents, and even the boss had a passage at arms with the storekeeper over the inadequacy of the sausage ration, insisting that there should be two each, because they were such little ones, instead of the one and a half that the latter proposed. The psychological effect of a slight increase in the rations soon neutralized any tendency to downheartedness. But with the high temperatures, surface thaw set in, and our bags and clothes were soaked and sodden. Our boots squelched as we walked, and we lived in a state of perpetual wet feet. At nights, before the temperature had fallen, clouds of steam could be seen rising from our soaking bags and boots. During the night, as it grew colder, this all condensed as rhyme on the inside of the tent, and showered down on us if one happened to touch the side inadvertently. One had to be careful how one walked, too, as often only a thin crust of ice and snow covered a hole in the flow through which many an unwary member went in up to his waist. These perpetual soakings, however, seem to have had little lasting effect, or perhaps it was not apparent, owing to the excitement of the prospect of an early release. A northwesterly wind, on December the seventh and eighth, retarded our progress somewhat. But I had reason to believe that it would help to open the ice, and form leads through which we might escape to open water. So I ordered a practice launching of the boats and stowage of food and stores in them. This was very satisfactory. We cut a slipway from our flow into a lead which ran alongside, and the boats took the water like a bird, as one sailor remarked. Our hopes were high in anticipation of an early release. A blizzard sprang up, increasing the next day and burying tents and packing cases in the drift. On December the twelfth it had moderated somewhat and veered to the southeast, and the next day the blizzard had ceased, but a good steady wind from south and southwest continued to blow us north. December the fifteenth, 1915. The continuance of southerly winds is exceeding our best hopes and raising our spirits in proportion. Prospects could not be brighter than they are just now. The environs of our flow are continually changing. Some days we're almost surrounded by small open leads, preventing us from crossing over to the adjacent flows. After two more days our fortune changed, and a strong northeasterly wind brought a beastly cold windy day, and drove us back three and a quarter miles. Soon, however, the wind once more veered to the south and southwest. These high temperatures, combined with the strong changeable winds that we'd had of late, led me to conclude that the ice all round us was rotting and breaking up, and that the moment of our deliverance from the icy moor of the Antarctic was at hand. On December the twentieth, after discussing the question with Wilde, I informed all hands that I intended to try and make a march to the west to reduce the distance between us and Paulette Island. A buzz of pleasurable anticipation went round the camp, and everyone was anxious to get on the move, so the next day I set off with Wilde, Creen and Hurley, with dog teams, to the westward to survey the route. After travelling about seven miles, we mounted a small berg, and there, as far as we could see, stretched a series of immense flat flows from half a mile to a mile across, separated from each other by pressure ridges, which seemed easily negotiable with pick and shovel. The only place that appeared likely to be formidable was a very much cracked up area between the old flow that we were on, and the first of the series of young flat flows about half a mile away. December the twenty-second was therefore kept as Christmas day, and most of our small remaining stock of luxuries was consumed at the Christmas feast. We could not carry it all with us, so for the last time for eight months we had a really good meal, as much as we could eat. Anchovies in oil, baked beans, and jugged hair made a glorious mixture, such as we have not dreamed of since our school days. Everybody was working at high pressure, packing and repacking sledges, and stowing what provisions we were going to take with us in the various sacks and boxes. As I looked round at the eager faces of the men, I could not but hope that this time the fates would be kinder to us than in our last attempt to march across the ice to safety. South, the story of Shackleton's last expedition, 1914 to 1917, by Sir Ernest Shackleton. Chapter 6 The March Between With the exception of the Night Watchman, we turned in at 11 p.m., and at 3 a.m. on December 23rd all hands were roused for the purpose of sledging the two boats, the James Caird and the Dudley Docker over the dangerously cracked portion to the first of the young flows, whilst the surface still held its night crust. A thick sea fog came up from the west, so we started off finally at 4.30 a.m., after a drink of hot coffee. Practically all hands had to be harnessed to each boat in succession, and by dint of much careful manipulation and tortuous courses through the broken ice, we got both safely over the danger zone. We then returned to Ocean Camp for the tents and the rest of the sledges, and pitched camp by the boats about one and a quarter miles off. On the way back a big seal was caught, which provided fresh food for ourselves and for the dogs. On arrival at the camp supper of cold, tinned mutton and tea was served, and everybody turned in at 2 p.m. It was my intention to sleep by day and march by night, so as to take advantage of the slightly lower temperatures and consequent harder surfaces. At 8 p.m. the men were roused, and after a meal of cold mutton and tea the march was resumed. A large open lead brought us to a halt at 11 p.m., whereupon we camped and turned in without a meal. Fortunately, just at this time the weather was fine and warm. Several men slept out in the open at the beginning of the march. One night, however, a slight snow shower came on, succeeded immediately by a lowering of the temperature. Worsley, who had hung up his trousers and socks on a boat, found them iced up and stiff, and it was quite a painful process for him to dress quickly that morning. I was anxious, now that we had started, that we should make every effort to extricate ourselves, and this temporary check so early was rather annoying. So that afternoon Wilde and I skied out to the crack and found that it had closed up again. We marked out the track with small flags as we returned. Each day, after all hands had turned in, Wilde and I would go ahead for two miles or so to reconnoiter the next day's route, marking it with pieces of wood, tins, and small flags. We had to pick the road which, though it might be somewhat devious, was flattest, and had leased hummocks. Pressure ridges had to be skirted, and where this was not possible, the best place to make a bridge of ice blocks across the lead or over the ridge had to be found and marked. It was the duty of the dog-drivers to thus prepare the track for those who were toiling behind with the heavy boats. These boats were hauled in relays about 60 yards at a time. I did not wish them to be separated by too great a distance in case the ice should crack between them, and we should be unable to reach the one that was in rare. Every 20 yards or so they had to stop for a rest and to take breath, and it was a welcome sight to them to see the canvas screen go up on some oars, which denoted the fact that the cook had started preparing a meal, and that a temporary halt at any rate was going to be made. Thus the ground had to be traversed three times by the boat-holding party. The dog sledges all made two, and some of them three relays. The dogs were wonderful. Without them we could never have transported half the food and gear that we did. We turned in at 7 p.m. that night, and at 1 p.m. next day, the 25th, and the third day of our march, a breakfast of sledging ration, was served. By 2 a.m. we were on the march again. We wished one another a merry Christmas, and our thoughts went back to those at home. We wandered, too, that day, as we sat down to our lunch of stale, thin bannock, and a mug of thin cocoa, what they were having at home. All hands were very cheerful. The prospect of a relief from the monotony of life on the flow raised all our spirits. One man wrote in his diary, It's a hard, rough, jolly life, this marching and camping, no washing of self or dishes, no undressing, no changing of clothes. We have our food anyhow, and always impregnated with blubber smoke, sleeping almost on the bare snow, and working as hard as the human physique is capable of doing on a minimum of food. We marched on with one halt at 6 a.m. till half past 11. After a supper of seal steaks and tea, we turned in. The surface now was pretty bad. High temperatures during the day made the upper layers of snow very soft, and the thin crust which formed at night was not sufficient to support a man. Consequently, at each step, we went in over our knees on the soft wet snow. Sometimes a man would step into a hole in the ice which was hidden by the covering of snow, and be pulled up with a jerk by his harness. The sun was very hot, and many were suffering from cracked lips. Two seals were killed today. Wild and McIlroy, who went out to secure them, had rather an exciting time on some very loose rotten ice, three killer whales, in a lead a few yards away, poking up their ugly heads as if in anticipation of a feast. Next day, December 26th, we started off again at 1 a.m. Quote, The surface was much better than it has been for the last few days, and this is the principal thing that matters. The root, however, lay over very hummocky flows, and required much work with pick and shovel to make it possible for the boat sledges. These are handled in relays by 18 men under Worsley. It is killing work on soft surfaces. At 5 a.m. we were brought up by a wide-open lead after an unsatisfactorily short march. After we waited, a meal of tea and two small bunnocks was served. But as 10 a.m. came and there were no signs of the lead closing, we all turned in. It snowed a little during the day, and those who were sleeping outside got their sleeping bags pretty wet. At 9.30 p.m. that night we were off again. I was, as usual, pioneering in front, followed by the cook and his mate pulling a small sledge with the stove and all the cooking gear on. These two, blackest two mohawk minstrels with a blubber suit, were dubbed potash and pal mutha. Next came the dog teams, who soon overtake the cook, and the two boats bring up the rear. Were it not for these cumbrous boats we should get along at a great rate, but we dare not abandon them on any account. As it is, we left one boat, the Stankham Whills, behind at Ocean Camp, and the remaining two will barely accommodate the whole party when we leave the flow. We did a good march of one and a half miles that night before we halted for lunch at 1 a.m., and then on for another mile when at 5 a.m. we camped by a little slipping burg. Lucky one of Wild's dogs fell lame and could neither pull nor keep up with a party even when relieved of his harness, so had to be shot. 9 p.m. that night, the 27th, saw us on the march again. The first two hundred yards took us about five hours to cross, owing to the amount of breaking down of pressure ridges and filling in of leads that was required. The surface too was now very soft, so our progress was slow and tiring. We managed to get another three-quarters of a mile before lunch, and a further mile due west, over a very hummocky flow, before we camped at 5.30 a.m. Green Street and Macklin killed and brought in a huge Waddell seal weighing about 800 pounds and two Emperor Penguins made a welcome addition to our larder. I climbed a small tilted burg nearby. The country immediately ahead was much broken up. Great open leads intersected the flows at all angles and it all looked very unpromising. Wild and I went out prospecting as usual, but it seemed too broken to travel over. Quote, December 29th, after a further reconnaissance, the ice ahead proved quite unnegotiable, so at 8.30 p.m. last night, to the intense disappointment of all, instead of forging ahead, we had to retire half a mile, so as to get on a stronger flow, and by 10 p.m. we had camped and all hands turned in again. The extra sleep was much needed, however disheartening the check may be. During the night, a crack formed right across the flow, so we hurriedly shifted to a strong old flow, about a mile and a half to the east of our present position. The ice all around was now too broken and soft to sledge over, and yet there was no sufficient open water to allow us to launch the boats with any degree of safety. We had been on the march for seven days, Russians were short and the men were weak. They were worn out with a hard pulling over soft surfaces, and our stock of sledging food was very small. We had marched seven and a half miles in a direct line, and at this rate it would take us over 300 days to reach the land away to the west. As we only had food for 42 days, there was no alternative, therefore, but to camp once more on the flow, and to possess our souls with what patience we could, till conditions should appear more favorable for a renewal of the attempt to escape. To this end we stacked our surplus provisions, the reserve sledging Russians being kept lashed on the sledges, and brought what gear we could from our but lately deserted ocean camp. Our new home, which we were to occupy for nearly three and a half months, we called Patience Camp. End of Chapter 6. Recorded by Gazena in September 2007. The apathy which seemed to take possession of some of the men at the frustration of their hopes was soon dispelled. Parties were sent out daily in different directions to look for seals and penguins. We had left, other than reserve sledging Russians, about 110 pounds of Pemekin, including the Pemekin, and the Pemekin, the Pemekin, the Pemekin, the Pemekin, the Pemekin, the Pemekin, the Pemekin, the Pemekin, the Pemekin, the Pemekin, 110 pounds of Pemekin, including the dog Pemekin, and 300 pounds of flour. In addition, there was a little tea, sugar, dried vegetables, and suet. I sent Hurley and Macklin to ocean camp to bring back the food that we had had to leave there. They returned with quite a good load, including 130 pounds of dry milk, about 50 pounds each of dog Pemekin and jam, and a few tins of potted meats. When they were about a mile and a half away, their voices were quite audible to us at ocean camp, so still was the air. We were, of course, very short of a perinaceous element in our diet. The flour would last ten weeks. After that, our sledging rations would last us less than three months. Our meals had to consist mainly of seal and penguin, and though this was valuable as an anti-scorbutic, so much so that not a single case of scurvy occurred amongst the party. Yet it was a badly adjusted diet, and we felt rather weak, innervated in consequence. The cook deserves much praise for the way he has stuck to his job through all this severe blizzard. His galley consists of nothing but a few boxes arranged as a table, with the canvas screen erected around them on four oars and the two blubber stoves within. The protection afforded by the screen is only partial, and the eddies drive the pungent blubber smoke in all directions. After a few days we were able to build him an igloo of ice blocks, with the tarpaulin over the top as a roof. Our rations are just sufficient to keep us alive, but we all feel that we could eat twice as much as we get. An average day's food at present consists of half a pound of seal with three quarters pint of tea for breakfast, a four ounce bannock with milk for lunch, and three quarter pints of steel stew for supper. That is barely enough, even doing very little work as we are, for of course we are completely destitute of bread or potatoes or anything of that sort. Some seem to feel it more than others and are continually talking of food, but most of us find that the continual conversation about food only wets an appetite that cannot be satisfied. Our craving for bread and butter is very real, not because we cannot get it, but because the system feels the need of it. Owing this shortage of food and the fact that we need all that we can get for ourselves, I had to order all the dogs except two teams to be shot. It was the worst job that we had had throughout the expedition, and we felt their loss keenly. I had to be continually rearranging the weekly menu. The possible number of permutations of seal meat were decidedly limited. The fact that the men did not know what was coming gave them a sort of mental speculation, and the slightest variation was of great value. We called it a daily today, January 26th, and another whale was seen at close quarters, but no seals. We are now very short of blubber, and in consequence one stove has to be shut down. We only get one hot beverage a day, the tea at breakfast, for the rest we have iced water. Sometimes we are short even of this, so we take a few chips of ice in a tobacco tin to bed with us. In the morning there is about a spoonful of water in the tin, and one has to lie very still at night, so as not to spill it. To provide some variety in the food, I commenced to use the sludging rations of half strength twice a week. The ice between us and Ocean Camp, now only about five miles away, and actually to the southwest of us, was very broken, but I decided to send Macklin and Hurley back with their dogs to see if there was any more food that could be added to our scanty I gave them written instructions to take no undue risk across any wide open leads, and said that they were to return by midday the next day. Although they both fell through the thin ice up to their waist more than once, they managed to reach the camp. They found the surface soft and sunk about two feet. Ocean Camp, they said, looked like a village that had been raised to the ground and deserted by its inhabitants. The floorboards forming the old tent bottoms had prevented the sun from thawing the snow directly underneath them, and were in consequence raised about two feet above the level of the surrounding flow. The storehouse next to the galley had taken on a list of several degrees to starboard, and pools of water had formed everywhere. They collected what food they could find and packed a few books in a Venista sludging case, returning to Patience Camp by about eight p.m. I was pleased at their quick return, and as their reports seemed to show that the road was favorable. On February 2nd I sent back eighteen men under wild to bring all the remainder of the food, and the third boat, the Stankham Wheels. They started off at one a.m., towing the empty boat sledge on which the James Caird had rested, and reached Ocean Camp about three thirty a.m. We stayed about three hours at the camp, mounting the boat on the sledge, collecting eatables, clothing, and books. We left at six a.m., arriving back at Patience Camp with the boat at twelve thirty p.m., taking exactly three times as long to return the boat as it did to pull in the empty sledge to fetch it. On the return journey we had numerous halts while the Pioneer Party of Four were busy breaking down pressure ridges and filling in open cracks with ice blocks as the leads were opening up. The sun had softened the surface a good deal, and in places it was terribly hard pulling. Everyone was a bit exhausted by the time we got back, as we are not now in good training and are on short rations. Every now and then the heavy sledge broke through the ice altogether and was practically afloat. We had an awful job to extricate it, exhausted as we were. The long distance which we managed to make without stopping for leads or pressure ridges was about three quarters of a mile. About a mile from Patience Camp we had a welcome surprise. Sir Ernest and Hussey sledged out to meet us with Dixies of hot tea, well wrapped to keep them warm. One or two of the men left behind had cut a moderately good track for us into the camp and they harnessed themselves up with us and we got in in fine style. One excellent result of our trip was the recovery of two cases of lentils weighing forty two pounds each. The next day I sent Macklin and Cream back to make further selections of the gear, but they found that several leads had opened up during the night and they had to return when within a mile and a half of their destination we were never able to reach Ocean Camp again. Still there was very little left there that would have been of use to us. By the middle of February the blubber question was a serious one. I had all the discarded seals heads and flippers dug up and stripped of every vestige of blubber. Meat was very short too. We still had our three month supply of slidging food practically untouched. We were only to use this as last resort. We had a small supply of dog pemicin. The dogs that were left behind fed on those parts of the seals that we could not use. This dog pemicin we fried in suet with a little flour and made excellent bannocks. Our meat supply was now very low indeed and we were reduced to just a few scraps. Fortunately however we caught two seals and two emperor penguins and next day forty outlays. We had now only forty days food left and the lack of blubber was being keenly felt. All our suet was used up so we used seal blubber to fry the meat in. Once we were used to its fishy taste we enjoyed it. In fact, like Oliver Twist, we wanted more. On leap year day February 29th we held a special celebration more to cheer the men up than for anything else. Some of the cynics of the party held that it was to celebrate their escape from woman's wiles for another four years. The last of our cocoa was used today henceforth water with an occasional drink of weak milk. It is to be our only beverage. Three lumps of sugar were now issued to each man daily. One night one of the dogs broke loose and played havoc with our precious stocks of bannocks. He ate four and a half of a fifth before he could be stopped. The remaining half with the marks of the dog's teeth on it I gave to Worsley who divided it up amongst his seven temp mates. They each received about half a square inch. Lee's, who was in charge of the food and responsible for its safekeeping, wrote in his diary, The shorter the provision the more there is to do in the commissariat department, contriving to eke out our slender stores as the weeks passed by. No housewife ever had more to do than we have in making a little go a long way. Writing about the bannock that Peter bit makes one wish now that he could have many a meal that one has given to the dog at home. When one is hungry, fastidiousness goes to the winds and one is only too glad to eat up any scraps regardless of their antecedents. One is almost ashamed to write of all the tidbits one has picked up here. But it is enough to say that when the cook upset some pinnacon onto an old city cloth and threw it outside his galley, one man subsequently made a point of acquiring it and scraping it off the palatable but dirty compound. Another man searched for over an hour in the snow where he had dropped a piece of cheese some days before in the hopes of finding a few crumbs. He was rewarded by coming across a piece as big as his thumbnail and considered it well worth the trouble. By this time, Blubber was a great article of our diet, either raw, boiled, or fried. It is remarkable how our appetites have changed in this respect, until quite recently almost the thought of it was nauseating. Now, however, we positively demand it. The thick black oil which is rendered down from it, rather like train oil in appearance and cod liver oil in taste, we drink with avidity. We had now about enough farinaceous food for two meals all round, and sufficient seal to last for a month. Our forty days reserved sledging rations, packed on the sledges we wish to keep till the last. But as one man philosophically remarked in his diary, it will do us all good to be hungry like this, for we will appreciate so much more the good things when we get home. Seals and penguins now seem to studiously avoid us and on taking stock of our provisions on March 21st, I found that we had only sufficient meat to last us for ten days, and the Blubber would not last that time even, so one biscuit had to be our midday meal. Our meals were now practically all seal meat, with one biscuit at midday, and I calculated that at this rate, allowing for a certain number of seals and penguins being caught, we could only last for nearly six months. We were all very weak though, and as soon as it appeared likely that we would leave our flow and take to the boats, I should have to considerably increase the ration. One day a huge seal leopard climbed onto the flow and attacked one of them, wild, hearing the sound, ran out and shot it. When it was cut up, we found in its stomach several undigested fish. These we fried in some of its blubber, and so had our only fresh fish meal during the whole of our drift on the ice. As fuel is so scarce, we have had to resort to melting ice for drinking water in tins against our bodies, and we treat the tins of dog pemicin for breakfast similarly by keeping them in our sleeping bags all night. The last two teams of dogs were shot today, April 2nd, the carcasses being dressed for food. We had some of the dog meat cooked, and it was not at all bad, just like beef, but of course very tough. On April 5th we killed two seals, and this, with the seal leopard of a few days before, enabled us to slightly increase our ration. Everybody now felt much happier, such as the psychological effect of hunger appeased. On cold days a few strips of raw blubber were served out to all hands, and it is wonderful how it fortified us against the cold. Our stock of 40-day sledging rations remained practically untouched, but once in the boats they were used at full strength. When we first settled down at Patience Camp the weather was very mild. New Year's Eve, however, was foggy and overcast with some snow, and next day though the temperature rose to 38 degrees Fahrenheit it was abominably cold and wet underfoot. As a rule during the first half of January the weather was comparatively warm, so much so that we could dispense with our mitts and work outside for quite long periods with bare hands. Up till the thirteenth it was exasperatingly warm and calm. This meant that our drift northwards, which was almost entirely dependent on the wind, was checked. A light southerly breeze on the sixteenth raised all our hopes, and as the temperature was dropping we were looking forward to a period of favorable winds and a long drift north. On the eighteenth it had developed into a howling southwesterly gale, rising next day to a regular blizzard with much drift. No one left the shelter of his tent except to feed the dogs, fetch the meals from the galley for his tent, or when his turn as watchman came around. For six days this lasted. When the drift subsided somewhat though the southerly wind continued and we were able to get a glimpse of the sun. This showed us to have drifted eighty-four miles north in six days, the longest drift we had made. For weeks we remained on the sixty-seventh parallel and it seemed as though some obstruction was preventing us from passing it. By this amazing leap however we had crossed the Antarctic Circle and were now a hundred forty-six miles from the nearest land to the west of us, Snow Hill, and three hundred fifty-seven miles from the South Orkneys, the first land directly to the north of us. As if to make up for this an equally strong northeasterly wind sprang up next day and not only stopped our northward drift but set us back three miles to the south. As usual high temperatures and wet fog accompanied these northerly winds, though the fog disappeared on the afternoon of January twenty-fifth and we had the unusual spectacle of bright hot sun with the northeasterly wind. It was as hot a day as we had ever had. The temperature was thirty-six degrees Fahrenheit in the shade and nearly eighty degrees Fahrenheit inside the tents. This had an awful effect on the surface, covering it with pools and making it very treacherous to walk upon. Ten days of northerly winds rather dampened our spirits, but a strong southerly wind on February fourth, backing later to southeast, carried us north again. High temperatures and northerly winds soon succeeded this, so that our average rate of northerly drift was about a mile a day in February. Throughout the month the diaries recorded alternately a wet day, overcast and mild, and bright and cold with light southerly winds. The wind was now the vital factor with us and the one topic of any real interest. The beginning of March brought cold, damp, calm weather with much wet snow and overcast skies. The effect of the weather on our mental state was very marked. All hands felt much more cheerful on a bright sunny day and looked forward with much more hope to the future than when it was dull and overcast. This had a much greater effect than an increase in rations. A southeasterly gale on the thirteenth lasting for five days sent us twenty miles north, and from now our good fortune, as far as the wind was concerned, never left us for any length of time. On the twentieth we experienced the worst blizzard we had had up to that time, though worse were to come after landing on Elephant Island. Thick snow fell, making it impossible to see the camp for thirty yards off, to go outside for a moment until getting covered all over with fine powdery snow, which required a great deal of brushing off before one could enter again. As the blizzard eased up, the temperature dropped and it became bitterly cold. In our weak condition, with torn, greasy clothes, we felt these sudden variations in temperature much more than we otherwise would have done. A calm, clear, magnificently warm day followed, and next day came a strong southerly blizzard. Drifts four feet deep covered everything, and we had to be continually digging up our scanty stock of meat to prevent its being lost altogether. We had taken advantage of the previous fine day to attempt to thaw out our blankets, which were frozen stiff and could be held out like pieces of sheet iron. But on this day, and for the next two or three also, it was impossible to do anything but get right inside one's frozen sleeping bag to try and get warm. Too cold to read or so, we had to keep our hands well inside and pass the time in conversation with each other. The temperature was not strikingly low as temperatures go down here, but the terrific winds penetrate the flimsy fabric of our fragile tents and create so much drought that it is impossible to keep warm within. At supper last night our drinking water froze over in the tent before we could drink it. It is curious how thirsty we all are. Two days of brilliant warm sunshine succeeded these cold times, and on March 29th we experienced, to us, the most amazing weather. It began to rain hard, and it was the first rain we had seen since we left South Georgia 16 months ago. We regarded it as our first touch with civilization, and many of the men longed for the rain and fogs of London. Strong south winds with dull overcast skies and occasional high temperatures were now our lot until April 7th when the mist lifted and we could make out what appeared to be land to the north. Although the general drift of our ice flow had indicated to us that we must eventually drift north, our progress in that direction was not by any means uninterrupted. We were at the mercy of the wind and could no more control our drift than we could control the weather. A long spell of calm, still weather at the beginning of January caused us some anxiety by keeping us at about the latitude that we were at the beginning of December. Towards the end of January, however, a long drift of 84 miles in a blizzard cheered us all up. This soon stopped and we began a slight drift to the east. Our general drift now slowed up considerably, and by February 22nd we were still 80 miles from Pollet Island, which now was our objective. There was a hut there and some stores which had been taken down by the ship which went to the rescue of Nordensdold's expedition in 1904, and whose fitting out and equipment I had charged of. We remarked amongst ourselves what a strange turn of fate it would be if the very cases of provisions which I had ordered and sent out so many years before were now to support us during the coming winter. But this was not to be. March 5th found us about 40 miles south of the longitude of Pollet Island, but well to the east of it, and as the ice was still too much broken up to sledge over, it appeared as if we should be carried past it. By March 17th we were exactly on level with Pollet Island but 60 miles to the east. It might have been 600 for all the chance that we had of reaching it by sledging across the broken sea ice in its present condition. Our thoughts now turn to the Danger Islands, 35 miles away. It seems that we are likely to drift up and down this coast from southwest to northeast and back again for some time yet before we finally clear the point of Joinville Island. Until we do, we cannot hope for much opening up, as the ice must be very congested against the southeast coast of the island. Otherwise our failure to respond to the recent southeasterly gale cannot be well accounted for. In support of this there has been some very heavy pressure on the northeast side of our flow, one immense block being upended to the height of 25 feet. We saw a Dominican gulf fly over today, the first we have seen since leaving south Georgia. It is another sign of our proximity to land. We cut steps in this 25 foot slab and it makes a fine lookout. When the weather clears, we confidently expect to see land. A heavy blizzard obscured our view to March 23rd. Land in sight was reported this morning. We were skeptical, but this afternoon it showed up unmistakably to the west, and there could be no further doubt about it. It is Joinville Island and its serrated mountain ranges all snow-clad or just visible on the horizon. This barren and hospitable licking land would be a haven of refuge to us if we could but reach it. It would be ridiculous to make the attempt though, with the ice all broken up as it is. It is too loose and broken to march over, yet not open enough to be able to launch the boats. For the next two or three days we saw ourselves slowly drifting past the land, longing to reach it, yet prevented from doing so by the ice between. And towards the end of March we saw Mount Haddington fade away into the distance. Our hopes were now centered on Elephant Island or Clarence Island, which lay one hundred miles almost due north of us. If we fail to reach either of them, we might try for South Georgia, but our chances of reaching it would be very small. Please visit Librevox.org. South The Story of Shackleton's Last Expedition 1914-1917 by Sir Ernest Shackleton Chapter 8 Part 1 Escape from the Ice On April 7th at daylight the long-desired peak of Clarence Island came into view, bearing nearly north from our camp. At first it had the appearance of a huge burg, but with the growing light we could see plainly the black lines of screeth and the high precipitous cliffs of the island, which were miraged up to some extent. The dark rocks in the white snow were a pleasant sight. So long had our eyes looked on icebergs that apparently grew or dwindled according to the angles at which the shadows were cast by the sun. So often had we discovered rocky islands and brought in sight of the peaks of Joinville land, only to find them after some change of wind or temperature, floating away as nebulous cloud or ordinary burg. That not until warsely, wild, and hurly had unanimously confirmed my observation was I satisfied that I really was looking at Clarence Island. The land was still more than sixty miles away, but it had to our eyes something of the appearance of home. Since we expected to find there our first solid footing after all the long months of drifting on the unstable ice, we had adjusted ourselves to the life on the flow, but our hopes had been fixed all the time on some possible landing-place. As one hope failed to materialize, our anticipations fed themselves on another. Our drifting home had no rudder to guide it, no sail to give it speed. We were dependent upon the caprice of wind and current. We went wither these irresponsible forces listed. The longing to feel solid earth under our feet filled our hearts. In the fall day Clarence Island ceased to look like land, and had the appearance of a burg of more than eight or ten miles away. So deceptive are distances in the clear air of the Antarctic. The sharp white peaks of Elephant Island show to the west of north a little later in the day. I have stopped issuing sugar now, and our meals consist of seal meat and blubber only, with seven ounces of dried milk per day for the party, I wrote. Each man receives a pinch of salt, and the milk is boiled up to make hot drinks for all hands. The diet suits us, since we cannot get much exercise on the flow, and the blubber supplies heat. Fried slices of blubber seem to our taste to resemble crisp bacon. It certainly is no hardship to eat it, though persons living under civilized conditions probably would shudder at it. The hardship would come if we were unable to get it. I think that the palette of the human animal can adjust itself to anything. Some creatures will die before accepting a strange diet if deprived of their natural food. The yaks of the Himalayan uplands must feed from the growing grass, scanty and dry though it may be, and would starve even if allowed to the best oats and corn. We still have the dark watersky of the last week with us to the southwest and west, round to the northeast. We are leaving all the bergs to the west, and there are few within our range of vision now. The swell is more marked today, and I feel sure that we are at the verge of the flow-ice. One strong gale, followed by a calm, would scatter the pack, I think, and then we could push through. I have been thinking much of our prospects. The appearance of Clarence Island after a long drift seems somehow to convey an ultimatum. The island is the last outpost of the south, and our final chance of a landing-place. Beyond it lies the broad Atlantic. Our little boats may be compelled any day now to sail unsheltered over the open sea, with the thousands leagues of ocean separating them from the land to the north and east. It seems vital that we shall land on Clarence Island or its neighbour Elephant Island. The latter island has attraction for us, although as far as I know nobody has ever landed there. Its names suggest the presence of the plump and succulent sea elephant. We have an increasing desire in any case to get firm ground under our feet. The flow has been a good friend to us, but it is reaching the end of its journey, and it is liable any time now to break up and fling us into the unplumbed sea. A little later, after reviewing the whole situation in the light of our circumstances, I made up my mind that we should try to reach Deception Island. The relative positions of Clarence, Elephant and Deception Island can be seen on the chart. The two islands first named, they comparatively near to us, and were separated by some 80 miles of water from Prince George Island, which was about 150 miles away from our camp on the Berg. From this island a chain of similar islands extends westward, terminating in Deception Island. The channels separating these desolate patches of rock and ice are from 10 to 15 miles wide, between you from the Admiralty's sailing directions, that there were stores for the use of shipwrecked mariners on Deception Island, and it was possible that the summer whalers had not yet deserted its harbour. Also we had learned from our Scanty records that a small church had been erected there for the benefit of the transient whalers. The existence of this building would mean to us a supply of timber, from which, if dire necessity urged us, we could construct a reasonably sea-worthy boat. We had discussed this point during our drift on the flow. Two of our boats were fairly strong, but the third, the James Kayard, was light, although a little longer than the others. All of them were small for the navigation of these notoriously stormy seas, and they would be heavily loaded, so a voyage in the open water would be a serious undertaking. I fear that the carpenter's fingers were already itching to convert pews into topsides and decks. In any case, the worse that could befall us when we had reached Deception Island would be a wait until the whalers returned about the middle of November. Another bit of information gathered from the records of the west side of the Weddell Sea, related to Prince Torch Island. The Admiralty's sailing directions, referring to the south shetlands, mentioned a cave on this island. None of us had seen that cave, or could say if it was large or small, wet or dry. But as we drifted on our flow, and later, we're navigating the treacherous leads and making our uneasy night camps, that cave seemed to my fancy to be a palace which in contrast would dim the splendours of Versailles. The swell increased that night, and the movement of the ice became more pronounced. Occasionally a neighbouring flow would hammer against the ice on which we were camped, and the lesson of these blows was plain to read. We must get solid ground under our feet quickly. When the vibration ceased after a heavy surge, my thoughts flew to the problem ahead. If the party had not numbered more than six men, a solution would not have been so hard to find. But obviously the transportation of the whole party to a place of safety, with the limited means at our disposal, was going to be a matter of extreme difficulty. There were twenty-eight men on our floating cake of ice, which was steadily dwindling under the influence of wind, weather, changing flows, and heavy swell. I confess that I felt the burden of responsibility sit heavily on my shoulders. But on the other hand I was stimulated and cheered by the attitude of the men. Loneliness is the penalty of leadership, but the man who has to make the decisions is assisted greatly, if he feels that there is no uncertainty in the minds of those who follow him, and that his orders will be carried out confidently, and in expectation of success. The sun was shining on the blue sky on the following morning, April 8th. Clarence Island showed clearly on the horizon, and Elephant Island could also be distinguished. The single snow-clad peak of Clarence Island stood up as a beacon of safety, though the most optimistic imagination could not make an easy path of the ice and ocean that separated us from that giant, white and austere. The pack was much looser this morning, and the long rolling swell from the northeast is more pronounced than it was yesterday. The flows rise and fall with the surge of the sea. We evidently are drifting with the surface current, for all the heavier masses of flow, birds and hummocks, are being left behind. There has been some discussion in the camp as to the advisability of making one of the birds our home for the time being, and drifting with it to the west. The idea is not sound. I cannot be sure that the bird would drift in the right direction. If it did move west and carried us into the open water, what would our fate be when we tried to launch the boats down the steep sides of the berg, in the sea swell after the surrounding flows it left us? One must reckon, too, the chance of the berg splitting, or even overturning during our stay. It is not possible to gauge the condition of a big mass of ice by surface appearance. The ice may have a fault, and when the wind, current and swell set up strains and tensions, the line of weakness may reveal itself suddenly and disastrously. No, I do not like the idea of drifting on a berg. We must stay on our flow till conditions improve, and then make another attempt to advance towards the land. At six thirty p.m. a particularly heavy shock went through our flow. The watchmen and other members of the party made an immediate inspection, and found a crack right under the James Kayard, and between the other two boats in the main camp. Within five minutes the boats were over the crack and close to the tents. The trouble was not caused by a blow from another flow. We could see that the piece of ice we occupied had slewed, and now presented its long axis towards the oncoming swell. The flow, therefore, was pitching in the manner of a ship, and it had cracked across when the swell lifted the centre, leaving the two ends comparatively unsupported. We were now on a triangular rift of ice, the three sides measuring, roughly, ninety, a hundred, and a hundred twenty yards. Night came down dull and overcast, and before midnight the wind had freshened from the west. We could see that the pack was opening under the influence of wind, wave, and current, and I felt that the time for launch in the boats was near at hand. Indeed it was obvious, that even if the conditions were unfavourable for a start during the coming day, we could not safely stay on the flow many hours longer. The movement of the ice and the swell was increasing, and the flow might split right under our camp. We had made preparations for quick action, if anything of the kind occurred. Our case would be desperate if the ice broke into small pieces, not large enough to support our party, and not loose enough to permit the use of the boats. The following day was Sunday, April 9th, but it proved no day of rest for us. Many of the important events of our expedition occurred on Sundays, and this particular day was to see our forced departure from the flow, on which we had lived for nearly six months, and the start of our journeyings in the boats. This has been an eventful day. The morning was fine, this somewhat overcast by stratus and cumulus clouds, moderate south, southwesterly, and south-easterly breezes. We hoped that with this wind the ice would drift nearer to Clarence Island. At 7 a.m. lanes of water and leads could be seen on the horizon to the west. The ice separating us from the lanes was loose, but did not appear to be workable for the boats. The long swell from the northwest was coming in more freely than on the previous day, and was driving the flows together in the utmost confusion. The loose brush between the masses of ice was being churned to mud-like consistency, and no boat could have lived in the channels that opened and closed around us. Our own flow was suffering in the general disturbance, and after breakfast I ordered the tents to be struck, and everything prepared for an immediate start when the boats could be launched. I had decided to take the James Caired myself, with wild and eleven men. This was the largest of our boats, and in addition to a human compliment, she carried the major portion of the stores. Warsley had charged the Dudley Docker with nine men, and Hudson and Crean with the senior men on the Stankham wills. Soon after breakfast the ice closed again. We were standing by with our preparations as complete as they could be made, when at 11 a.m. our flow suddenly split right across under the boats. We rushed our gear onto the larger of the two pieces, and watched with strained attention for the next development. The crack had cut through the sight of my tent. I stood on the edge of the new fracture, and, looking across the widening channel of water, could see the spot where, for many months, my head and shoulders had rested when I was in my sleeping bag. The depression formed by my body and legs was on our side of the crack. The ice had sunk under my weight during the months of waiting in the tent, and I had many times put snow under the bag to fill the hollow. The lines of stratification showed clearly the different layers of snow. How fragile and precarious had been our resting place! Yet usage had dulled our sense of danger. The flow had become our home, and during the early months of the drift we had almost ceased to realise that it was but a sheet of ice, floating on a fathomed seas. Now our home was being shattered under our feet, and we had a sense of loss and incompleteness hard to describe. The fragrance of our flow came together again a little later, and we had our lunch of seal meat, all hands eating their fill. I thought that a good meal would be the best possible preparation for the journey that now seemed imminent, and as we would not be able to take all our meat with us when we finally moved, we could regard every pound eaten as a pound rescued. The call to action came at 1 pm. The pack opened well, and the channels became navigable. The conditions were not all one could have desired, but it was best not to wait any longer. The Dudley docker and the stankham-wills were launched quickly. Stores were thrown in, and the two boats were pulled clear of the immediate flows towards a pool of open water, three miles broad, in which floated a lone and mighty berg. The James Cade was the last boat to leave, heavily loaded with stores and odds and ends of camp equipment. Many things regarded by us as essentials at that time were to be discarded a little later, as the pressure of the primitive became more severe. Man can sustain life with very scanty means. The trappings of civilization are soon cast aside in the face of stern realities. And, given the barest opportunity of winning food and shelter, man can live, and even find his laughter ringing true. The three boats were a mile away from our flow home at 2 pm. We had made our way through the channels and had entered the big pool, when we saw a rush of foam-clad water and tossing ice approaching us, like a tidal bore of a river. The pack was being impelled to the east by a tide-rip, and two huge masses of ice were driving down upon us on converging courses. The James Cade was leading. Starboarding the helm and bending strongly to the oars, we managed to get clear. The two other boats followed us, though from their position as stern, at first, they had not realised the immediate danger. The Stankham Wills was the last boat, and she was very nearly caught, but by great exertion she was kept just ahead of the driving-ice. It was an unusual and startling experience. The effect of tidal action on ice is not often as marked as it was that day. The advancing ice, accompanied by a large wave, appeared to be travelling at about three knots. And if we had not succeeded in pulling clear, we would certainly have been swamped. We pulled hard for an hour to winward of the berg that lay in the open water. The swell was crushing on its perpendicular sides, and throwing spray to a height of 60 feet. Evidently there was an ice-foot at the east end, for the swell broke before it reached the berg, and flung its white spray onto the blue-ice wall. We might have paused to have admired the spectacle under other conditions, but night was coming on a pace, and we needed a camping-place. As we steered north-west, still amid the ice-flows, the deadly docker got jammed between two masses, while attempting to make a short-cut. The old adage about a short-cut being the longest way round is often as true in the Antarctic, as it is in the peaceful countryside. The James Kayard got a line aboard the deadly docker, and after some hauling, the boat was brought clear of the ice again. We hastened forward in the twilight in search of a flat, old flow, and presently found a fairly large piece rocking in the swell. It was not an ideal camping-place by any means, but darkness had overtaken us. We hauled the boats up, and by eight p.m., had the tents pitched, and the blubber stove burning cheerily. Soon all hands were well-fed and happy in their tents, and snatches of song came to me as I wrote up my log. Some intangible feeling of uneasiness made me leave my tent about eleven p.m. that night, and glance around the quiet camp. The stars between the snow-flurry shade and the snow-covered shade the stars between the snow-flurry showed that the flow had swung round, and was end on to the swell, a position exposing it to sudden strains. I started to walk across the flow, in order to warn the watchmen to look carefully for cracks, and as I was passing the men's tent, the flow lifted on the crest of a swell, and cracked right under my feet. The men were in one of the dome-shaped tents, and it began to stretch apart as the ice opened. A muffled sound, suggestive of suffocation, came from beneath the stretching tent. I rushed forward, helped some emerging men from under the canvas, and called out, Are you all right? There are two in the water, somebody answered. The crack had widened to about four feet, and as I threw myself down at the edge, I saw a whitish object floating in the water. It was a sleeping bag with a man inside. I was able to grasp it, and with a heave, lifted man and bag onto the flow. A few seconds later, the ice-edges came together again with tremendous force. Fortunately, there had been but one man in the water, or the incident might have been a tragedy. The rescued bag contained wholeness, who was wet down to the waist, but otherwise unscathed. The crack was now opening again. The James Caird and my tent on the one side of the opening, and the remaining two boats and the rest of the camp on the other side. With two or three men to help me, I struck my tent. Then all hands manned the painter, and rushed the James Caird across the opening crack. We held onto the rope, while, one by one, the men left on our side of the flow jumped the channel, while scrambled over by means of the boat. Finally I was left alone. The night had swallowed all the others, and the rapid movement of the ice forced me to let go the painter. For a moment I felt that my piece of rocking-flow was the loneliest place in the world. Peering into the darkness, I could just see the dark figures on the other flow. I hailed wild, ordering him to launch the stank on wills. But a need not have troubled. His quick brain had anticipated the order, and already the boat was being manned and hauled to the ice-edge. Two or three minutes later she reached me, and I was furried across to the camp. We were now on a piece of flat ice, about two hundred foot long, and a hundred foot wide. There was no more sleep for any of us that night. The killers were blowing in the lanes around, and we waited for daylight and watched for signs of another crack in the ice. The hours passed with laggard feet, as we stood huddled together, or walked to and fro in the effort to keep some warmth in our bodies. We lit the blover stove at three a.m., and with pipes going and a cup of hot milk for each man, we were able to discover some bright spots in our outlook. At any rate, we were on the move at last, and if dainters and difficulties lay ahead, we could meet and overcome them. No longer were we drifting helplessly at the mercy of wind and current. The first glimmerings of dawn came at six a.m., and I waited anxiously for the full daylight. The swell was growing, and at times our ice was surrounded closely by similar pieces. At six thirty a.m., we had hot hush, and then stood by, waiting for the pack to open. Our chance came at eight, when we launched the boats, loaded them, and started to make our way through the lanes in an orderly direction. The James Caird was in the lead, with the stankham wheels next, and the Dudley Docker bringing up the rear. In order to make the boats more seaworthy, we had left some of our shovels, picks, and dried vegetables in the flow, and for a long time we could see the abandoned stores forming a dark spot on the ice. The boats were still heavily loaded. We got out of the lanes, and entered a stretch of open water at eleven a.m. A strong easterly breeze was blowing, but the fringe of pack ice outside protected us from the full force of the swell. Just as the coral reef of a tropical island checks the rollers of the Pacific, our way was across the open sea, and soon afternoon we swung round the north end of the pack, and laid a course to the westward. The James Caird still in the lead. Immediately our deeply laden boats began to make heavy weather. They shipped sprays, which, freezing as they fell, covered men and gear with ice, and it was soon clear that we could not safely proceed. I put the James Caird round, and ran for the shelter of the pack again, the other boats following. Back inside the outer line of ice the sea was not breaking. This was at three p.m., and all hands were tired and cold. A big flow-berg, resting peacefully ahead, caught my eye, and about half an hour later we had hauled up the boats and pitched camp for the night. It was a fine, big blue-berg, with an attractively solid appearance, and from our camp we could get a good view of the surrounding sea and ice. The highest point was about fifteen foot above sea level. After a hot meal all hands except the watchman turned in. Everyone was in need of rest after the troubles of the previous night, and the unaccustomed strain of the last thirty-six hours at the oars. The berg appeared were able to withstand the battering of the sea, and too deep and massive to be seriously affected by the swell. But it was not as safe as it looked. About midnight the watchman called me, and showed me that the heavy north-westerly swell was undermining the ice. A great peace had broken off within eight feet of my tent. We made what inspection was possible in the darkness, and found that on the westward side of the berg the thick snow covering was yielding rapidly to the attacks of the sea. An ice-foot had just formed under the surface of the water. I decided that there was no immediate danger, and did not call the men. The north-westerly wind strengthened during the night. End of chapter 8 part 1