A First Rate Tragedy (10 page)

In the wardroom it was a regulation that each member should take his turn as president of the mess, keeping order with a little wooden mallet and imposing fines of ‘port all round’ on anyone who swore or gambled. Shackleton was fined five times in one meal for offering to bet that someone was wrong.
⁵

During the day there was plenty to keep them all occupied. There was the sledging equipment to be seen to – sleeping bags to be made or repaired, as well as sledges, tents and cookers to be checked. Outside there was always work to be done – digging and clearing, making holes in the sea-ice for fish-traps, freeing the paths to and from the huts where the scientific observations were carried out, and a constant programme of repairs to put right the damage inflicted by the heavy winter gales. In the evenings other more relaxing tasks took over – the seamen occupied themselves with wood-carving, netting, mat-making, whist, draughts, ‘and even chess’ as Scott observed patronizingly and in apparent surprise. He also recorded that much time was beguiled by ‘a peculiar but simple game called “shove-ha’penny”’ and he explained to the uninitiated how it was played. The officers concentrated on chess, bridge and once a week, at Bernacchi’s suggestion, there were debates in the wardroom where such topics as women’s rights or the rival merits of Browning versus Tennyson were vigorously discussed.

Books on Arctic travel were in demand on the mess-deck; so were such stirring tales as
Fights for the Flag
and
Deeds that Won the Empire
. One man was deeply immersed in
The Origin of Species
. However, both officers and men had something home-grown to read. One of the products of the long winter was the
South Polar Times
, edited by Shackleton. As Scott described ‘. . . he is also printer, manager, type-setter, and office-boy’. He plainly relished the task and produced five issues during that long dark winter of 1902, often sitting in conclave with Wilson who contributed fluid sketches of sea leopards pursuing emperor penguins and squads of evil-eyed killer whales hunting among the ice floes.

The two constructed an ‘editor’s office’ in one of the holds and the men of the
Discovery
– from the mess-deck as well as the wardroom – submitted material anonymously or under a
nom de plume
. ‘Fitz-Clarence’ alias Michael Barne was delighted to find his ‘Ode to a Penguin’ considered worthy of publication:

O creature which in Southern waters roam,

To know some more about you I would wish.

Though I have seen you in your limpid home,

I don’t think I can rightly call you ‘fish’.

To taste your body I did not decline

From dainty skinner’s fingers coming fresh,

’Twas like shoe leather steeped in turpentine,

But I should hardly like to call it ‘Flesh’.

The
South Polar Times
was also an excuse for some terrible jokes: ‘Why did the Weddle waddle? Because the Crab’it’er (Crabeater)’. There was even a sports page. However, it was intended to be educational as well as amusing so there were erudite articles by the scientific staff. It certainly produced a sense of comradeship and helped morale over a difficult period when for hours if not
days weather conditions pinned the men to the ship and sunshine seemed just a distant memory. Sometimes the squalls were so severe that, even though the
Discovery
was iced in, the men could feel her ‘give’ or flex.

The issue which described Midwinter’s Day was determinedly buoyant in tone: ‘Everything and everyone was bright and cheerful; the dark demon of Depression finds no home here; “Depression” can be taken out of our Polar Dictionary, and the phrase “white silence” will not suit a place where the hills re-echo the voices of busy men.’ Certainly there was nothing depressing about the dinner of mutton, plum pudding, mince pies, jellies and ‘excellent dry champagne’ followed by crystallized fruits, almonds and raisins, nuts, port and liqueurs. The
Discovery
was decorated in honour of the coming return of the sun – the mess-deck was made particularly gorgeous with chains and ropes of coloured paper and Japanese lanterns, while the stokers’ mess surpassed everything with a magnificent carved ice-head of Neptune.

Royds had been throwing his surplus energies into organizing amateur theatricals. It could be hazardous trying to return to the ship after rehearsing in the hut. Blizzards could blow up so suddenly that the troupe had to join hands and sweep forward until someone was able to grab the guide rope leading to the gangway.

However, the shows for which the mess-deck supplied most of the performers were a triumph. The ‘Royal Terror Theatre’ was set out with chairs for the officers and benches for the men – (the general egalitarianism did not apparently extend as far as the theatre). In the flickering glow of a large oil lamp the audience was treated to a performance containing such delights as songs, with Royds at the piano and ‘singers in true concert attitude’ and a ‘screaming comedy’ in one act. The
South Polar Times
graciously reviewed this as one of the most successful entertainments ever
given within the Polar Circle. The next performance was the ‘Dishcover Minstrel Troupe’, which gave its all in temperatures of -40°F. Songs like ‘Marching through Georgia’ and ‘Swanee River’ had probably never been sung in stranger surroundings. And there were more schoolboy jokes – Mistah Johnson apparently asked of Mistah Bones, ‘What am de worst vegetable us took from England?’ to which the reply was ‘The Dundee Leak’ – a punning reference to the mysterious and persistent leak that had plagued the
Discovery
on her outward voyage.

As the winter progressed all the officers including Scott took it in turns on night duty to make the two-hourly observations required for the scientific research. Scott also recorded how he used the opportunity to do his laundry though he feared he made a poor job of it. But there were compensations. The night watchman was allowed the luxury of cooking himself a box of sardines. As the toothsome smells penetrated, ‘a small company of gourmets’ would rouse each other to devour a small finger of buttered toast with two sardines ‘done to a turn’ with a grunt of satisfaction and go back to sleep. There is something redolent of midnight feasts in the dorm here. Of course, they were a young crew. The average age of the forty-four men on board was only twenty-five. The New Zealand ladies had christened them ‘The Babes in the Wood’ in view of their youth and their wooden ship.
⁶
Their youth also showed in their inexperience in their respective fields. Wilson wrote that ‘With the single exception of Hodgson we are all intensely ignorant of anything but the elementary knowledge of our several jobs.’
⁷

Wilson’s own modesty and high standards made him unduly severe – the men had at least the eagerness to learn and enthusiasm of youth so revered by Markham. Armitage was to be seen out on the ice undertaking the chilly task of taking star observations with
the large theodolite. Thermometers had been placed in strategic positions on the shore, towards Mount Erebus or on Crater Hill and they needed to be read. Hodgson the naturalist spent his time dredging and digging. Occasionally he bore a frozen mass in triumph back to the ship’s wardroom where it was allowed to thaw out and disclose ‘the queer creatures that crawl and swim on the floor of our Polar sea’.
⁸
Royds looked after the meteorological records. Bernacchi tended his magnetic instruments and the electrometer and made auroral, seismic and gravity observations. Barne led a sort of ‘picnic life’ journeying with just a few sticks of chocolate in his pocket to some distant seal-hole where with the help of a flickering lantern he let down strings of thermometers.
⁹
It was chilly and laborious work and in his darker moments Scott wondered, whether it even possessed the advantage of being useful.

Koettlitz had little in the way of real sickness to deal with, though he did carry out the first operation in Antarctica, removing a cyst from Royds’ cheek. The knives and pincers and scissors were assembled in the wardroom and ‘Cutlets’ attracted quite an audience for, as Bernacchi described, ‘the general reaction was one of pleasurable interest rather than sympathy for the unfortunate victim’. Scott’s own reaction is not recorded. However, given that he was highly strung enough to faint while awaiting news of whether his sister had safely given birth, it is unlikely he was one of the curious onlookers.

Wilson was always at work, checking that the food and milk for breakfast were fresh, taking meteorological observations, directing teams of bird-skinners, writing up his zoological notes and of course working on his paintings. His technique was to make several sketches from different locations to work up at a later date. He worried, unnecessarily in the event, that the colours he used in his
art which had to be completed under the harsh glare of acetylene or flickering candlelight would look strange when seen in daylight.

At this early stage in their relationship Scott was already writing about Wilson with real warmth and affection, detecting and appreciating the qualities that would draw them yet closer. These qualities were recognized by others as well. Ford, one of the
Discovery
’s stewards, left this perceptive pen-portrait of Wilson:

Dr Wilson combined with an essential manliness a sweetness of character unusual amongst men. Full of constant thoughtfulness for others, always sensitive to their peculiarities, never harsh to their weaknesses; temperamentally nervous himself, yet always setting an example of the highest courage; he was the bravest and most unselfish man I have ever known.
¹⁰

Bravery and selflessness were among the most essential qualities for survival on long sledging trips. As Scott observed, sledging drew men into a closer relationship than any other mode of life. He wrote that ‘In its light the fraud must be quickly exposed, but in its light also the true man stands out in all his natural strength’. During the winter months as he had pored over calculations of weights and measures and read everything he could find about Polar travel (though, as he himself noted, he had not actually brought many books on the subject) Scott had also been mentally reviewing who should accompany him south when daylight returned.

He had originally contemplated taking Barne but decided against it because Barne’s hands had not recovered fully from frostbite. On deeper reflection Wilson seemed best fitted to endure the strains of such a journey. Though not physically the strongest, his medical expertise would be invaluable as would his intellect and
capacity for work. Even more than that, Scott knew he would find comfortable companionship in a man who, like him, was at heart retiring and sensitive. It was therefore to Wilson that Scott turned on 12 June. Summoning him to his cabin he outlined his plans for the summer sledging parties, going over practical details like weights and rations. Then came the surprise. He wanted Wilson to accompany him on the journey south towards the Pole. He also wanted Wilson’s views on whether he should take a third. Nansen had travelled in the Arctic with just one companion, Johansen, in the interest of efficiency and simplicity. He proposed to do the same.

Wilson was astonished and delighted to have been singled out. However, he urged Scott to take a third member of the party. What would happen if one man fell ill or had an accident? The other would never be able to cope alone and both would probably perish. Scott acknowledged this sound good sense and changed his mind. Knowing Wilson’s friendship for Shackleton, he picked the silver-tongued Irishman with the love of Browning. He did it to please Wilson, proof of the bond forming between them, but it was a decision he would regret.

5

‘Poor Old Shackleton’

On 22 August Scott and his men greeted the sun with an almost pagan enthusiasm: ‘We seemed to bathe in that brilliant flood of light, and from its flashing rays to drink in new life, new strength and new hope.’ It was a symbol of their mental and physical survival through the months of darkness. The mood was now one of excitement and energy as the ship’s sewing machine hummed incessantly, sledges were assembled, provisions weighed, dog-harnesses untangled, fur clothing overhauled. Yet, although they had come through the winter quite well, Scott remained painfully aware that he and his colleagues were novices. Vince’s death had shown the dangers of inexperience. It was Scott’s responsibility to make sure that from now on there were as few mistakes as possible and this weighed on him. The early sledging trips had proved that ‘sledging is not such an easy matter as might be imagined’ and that they had made many mistakes: ‘food, clothing, everything was wrong, the whole system was bad.’

However, as he planned his campaign and calculated provisions, Scott had cause to believe that he had stamped his mark on the enterprise and his fellow explorers. There had inevitably been
tensions, some of them stemming from the contradictions in his character, his reserve, highly strung and impatient temperament and occasional outbursts of temper. Clarence Hare later described how Scott could be ‘over sensitive and got wound up if things did not go as planned’ and that ‘being used to having his orders obeyed at the double in navy ships, the easygoing response of the Merchant Shipping men was the cause of . . . temper’.
¹
Fortunately, Wilson had shown a remarkable ability to smooth away the frictions inevitable when a group of men are cooped up in difficult conditions. Although not ‘clubbable’ like Shackleton, he had become the one to whom the others turned instinctively. Talking to ‘Uncle Bill’, as Wilson became known, was a safety valve for anyone with a worry or a problem. While the men of the
Discovery
on the whole admired Scott, they did not feel able to confide in him, perhaps fearing that he would take their problems as signs of weakness. He was hard on himself and so unlikely to be softer on others.