South (49 page)

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July
18.—This has been a day of events. About 8 A.M. the horizon to the north became clear and, as the light grew, the more westerly land showed up. This is the first clear day that we have had since the 9th of the month, and we have set a considerable distance to the northeast in the meantime. By meridian altitudes of stars and bearings of the land, which proved to be Coulman Islands, Mount Murchison, and Mount Melbourne, our position shows seventy-eight miles (geographical) northeast by north of Franklin Island. During the last three days we have drifted forty miles (geographical), so there has been ample reason for all the grinding and growling of pressure lately. The ship endured some several squeezes this day.

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July
20.—Shortly before breakfast the raucous voice of the emperor penguin was heard, and afterwards two were seen some distance from the ship. . . . The nearest mainland (in vicinity of Cape Washington) is ninety miles distant, as also is Coulman Island. Franklin Island is eighty miles southeast by south, and the pack is in motion. This is the emperor’s hatching season, and here we meet them out in the cheerless desert of ice. . . . 10:45 P.M.—Heavy pressure around ship. Lanes opened and ship worked astern about twenty feet. The wires in the ice took the strain (lashings at mizen chains carried away) and carried away fair-lead bollard on port side of forecastle head.

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July
21, 1 A.M.—Lanes opened to about 40 ft. wide. Ship in open pool about 100 ft. wide. Heavy pressure in vicinity of ship. Called all hands and cut wires at the forecastle head. [These wires had remained frozen in the ice after the ship broke away from her moorings, and they had served a useful purpose at some times by checking ice movements close to the ship.] 2 A.M.—Ship swung athwart lane as the ice opened, and the floes on the port side pressed her stern round. 11:30 A.M.—Pack of killer whales came up in the lane around the ship. Some broke soft ice (about one inch thick) and pushed their heads through, rising to five or six feet perpendicularly out of the water. They were apparently having a look round. It is strange to see killers in this immense field of ice; open water must be near, I think. 5:15 P.M.—New ice of lanes cracked and opened. Floes on port side pushed stern on to ice (of floe); floes then closed in and nipped the ship fore and aft. The rudder was bent over to starboard and smashed. The solid oak and iron went like matchwood. 8 P.M.—Moderate south-southwest gale with drift. Much straining of timbers with pressure. 10 P.M.—Extra hard nip fore and aft; ship visibly hogged. Heavy pressure.

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July
22.—Ship in bad position in newly frozen lane, with bow and stern jammed against heavy floes; heavy strain with much creaking and groaning. 8 A.M.—Called all hands to stations for sledges, and made final preparations for abandoning ship. Allotted special duties to several hands to facilitate quickness in getting clear should ship be crushed. Am afraid the ship’s back will be broken if the pressure continues, but cannot relieve her. 2 P.M.—Ship lying easier. Poured sulphuric acid on the ice astern in hopes of rotting crack and relieving pressure on stern post, but unsuccessfully. Very heavy pressure on and around ship (taking strain fore and aft and on starboard quarter). Ship jumping and straining and listing badly. 10 P.M.—Ship has crushed her way into new ice on starboard side and slewed aslant lane with stern post clear of land ice. 12 P.M.—Ship is in safer position; lanes opening in every direction.

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July
23.—Caught glimpse of Coulman Island through haze. Position of ship south 14º east (true), eighty miles off Coulman Island. Pressure continued intermittently throughout the day and night, with occasional very heavy squeezes to the ship which made timbers crack and groan. The ship’s stern is now in a more or less soft bed, formed of recently frozen ice of about one foot in thickness. I thank God that we have been spared through this fearful nightmare. I shall never forget the concertina motions of the ship during yesterday’s and Wednesday’s fore and aft nips.

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July
24.—Compared with previous days this is a quiet one. The lanes have been opening and closing, and occasionally the ship gets a nasty squeeze against the solid floe on our starboard quarter. The more lanes that open the better, as they form ‘springs’ (when covered with thin ice, which makes to a thickness of three or four inches in a few hours) between the solid and heavier floes and fields. Surely we have been guided by the hands of Providence to have come in heavy grinding pack for over two hundred miles (geographical), skirting the icebound western shore, around and to the north of Franklin Island, and now into what appears a clear path to the open sea! In view of our precarious position and the lives of men in jeopardy, I sent this evening an aerogram to H.M. King George asking for a relief ship. I hope the wireless gets through. I have sent this message after much consideration, and know that in the event of our nonarrival in New Zealand on the specified date (November 1) a relief ship will be sent to aid the Southern Party.

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July
25.—Very heavy pressure about the ship. During the early hours a large field on the port quarter came charging up, and on meeting our floe tossed up a ridge from ten to fifteen feet high. The blocks of ice as they broke off crumbled and piled over each other to the accompaniment of a thunderous roar. Throughout the day the pressure continued, the floes alternately opening and closing, and the ship creaking and groaning during the nips between floes.

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August
4.—For nine days we have had southerly winds, and the last four we have experienced howling blizzards. I am sick of the sound of the infernal wind. Din! din! din! and darkness. We should have seen the sun today, but a bank of cumulus effectually hid him, although the daylight is a never-ending joy.

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August
6.—The wind moderated towards 6 A.M., and about breakfast time, with a clear atmosphere, the land from near Cape Cotter to Cape Adare was visible. What a day of delights! After four days of thick weather we find ourselves in sight of Cape Adare in a position about forty-five miles east of Possession Isles; in this time we have been set one hundred miles. Good going. Mount Sabine, the first land seen by us when coming south, lies away to the westward, forming the highest peak (10,000 ft.) of a majestic range of mountains covered in eternal snow. Due west we can see the Possession Islands, lying under the stupendous bluff of Cape Downshire, which shows large patches of black rock. The land slopes down to the northwest of Cape Downshire, and rises again into the high peninsula about Cape Adare. We felt excited this morning in anticipation of seeing the sun, which rose about nine-thirty (local time). It was a glorious, joyful sight. We drank to something, and with very light hearts gave cheers for the sun.

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August
9.—Donolly got to work on the rudder again. It is a long job cutting through the iron sheathing plates of the rudder, and not too safe at present, as the ice is treacherous. Hooke says that the conditions are normal now. I wish for his sake that he could get through. He is a good sportsman and keeps on trying, although, I am convinced, he has little hope with this inadequate aerial.

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August
10.—The ship’s position is lat. 70º 40’ S., forty miles north 29º east of Cape Adare. The distance drifted from August 2 to 6 was one hundred miles, and from the 6th to the 10th eighty-eight miles.

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August
12.—By observation and bearings of land we are forty-five miles northeast of Cape Adare, in lat. 70º 42’ S. This position is a little to the eastward of the position on the 10th. The bearings as laid off on a small-scale chart of gnomonic projection are very inaccurate, and here we are handicapped, as our chronometers have lost all regularity. Donolly and Grady are having quite a job with the iron platings on the rudder, but should finish the cutting tomorrow. A jury rudder is nearly completed. This afternoon we mixed some concrete for the lower part, and had to use boiling water, as the water froze in the mixing. The carpenter had made a good job of the rudder, although he has had to construct it on the quarterdeck in low temperatures and exposed to biting blasts.

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August
16.—We are ‘backing and filling’ about forty miles northeast of Cape Adare. This is where we expected to have made much mileage. However, we cannot grumble and must be patient. There was much mirage to the northward, and from the crow’s nest a distinct appearance of open water could be seen stretching from north-northwest to northeast.

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August
17.—A glorious day! Land is distinctly visible, and to the northward the black fringe of water-sky over the horizon hangs continuously. Hooke heard Macquarie Island ‘speaking’ Hobart. The message heard was the finish of the weather reports. We have hopes now of news in the near future.

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August
23.—Saw the land in the vicinity of Cape North. To the south-southwest the white cliffs and peaks of the inland ranges were very distinct, and away in the distance to the southwest could be seen a low stretch of undulating land. At times Mount Sabine was visible through the gloom. The latitude is 69º 44½’ S. We are fifty-eight miles north, forty miles east of Cape North.

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August
24.—We lifted the rudder out of the ice and placed it clear of the stern, athwart the fore-and-aft line of the ship. We had quite a job with it (weight, four and a half tons), using treble- and double-sheaved blocks purchase, but with the endless chain tackle from the engine room, and plenty of ‘beef’ and leverage, we dragged it clear. All the pintles are gone at the fore part of the rudder; it is a clean break and bears witness to the terrific force exerted on the ship during the nip. I am glad to see the rudder upon the ice and clear of the propeller. The blade itself (which is solid oak and sheathed on two sides and after part halfway down, with three-quarter-inch iron plating) is undamaged, save for the broken pintles; the twisted portion is in the rudder trunk.

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August
25, 11 P.M.—Hooke has just been in with the good tidings that he has heard Macquarie and the Bluff (New Zealand) sending their weather reports and exchanging signals. Can this mean that they have heard our recent signals and are trying to get us now? Our motor has been out of order.

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August
26.—The carpenter has finished the jury rudder and is now at work on the lower end of the rudder truck, where the rudder burst into the stern timbers. We are lucky in having this opportunity to repair these minor damages, which might prove serious in a seaway.

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August
31, 6:30 A.M.—Very loud pressure noises to the southeast. I went aloft after breakfast and had the pleasure of seeing many open lanes in all directions. The lanes of yesterday are frozen over, showing what little chance there is of a general and continued breakup of the ice until the temperature rises. Land was visible, but far too distant for even approximate bearings. The berg still hangs to the northwest of the ship. We seem to have pivoted outwards from the land. We cannot get out of this too quickly, and although every one has plenty of work, and is cheerful, the uselessness of the ship in her present position palls.

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September
5.—The mizen wireless mast came down in a raging blizzard today. In the forenoon I managed to crawl to windward on the top of the bridge house, and under the lee of the chart house watched the mast bending over with the wind and swaying like the branch of a tree, but after the aerial had stood throughout the winter I hardly thought the mast would carry away. Luckily, as it is dangerous to life to be on deck in this weather (food is brought from the galley in relays through blinding drift and over big heaps of snow), no one was about when the mast carried away.

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September
8.—This is dull, miserable weather. Blow, snow, and calm for an hour or two. Sometimes it blows in this neighborhood without snow and sometimes with—this seems to be the only difference. I have two patients now, Larkman and Mugridge. Larkman was frostbitten on the great and second toes of the left foot some time ago, and has so far taken little notice of them. Now they are causing him some alarm as gangrene has set in. Mugridge is suffering from an intermittent rash, with red, inflamed skin and large, short-lived blisters. I don’t know what the deuce it is, but the nearest description to it in a ‘Materia Medica,’ etc., is
pemphigus,
so pemphigus it is, and he has been ‘toniced’ and massaged.

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September
9.—This is the first day for a long time that we have registered a minimum temperature above zero for the twenty-four hours. It is pleasant to think that from noon to noon throughout the night the temperature never fell below +4º (28º frost), and with the increase of daylight it makes one feel that summer really is approaching.

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September
13.—All around the northern horizon there is the appearance of an open water-sky, but around the ship the prospect is dreary. The sun rose at 6:30 A.M. and set at 5:25 P.M. Ship’s time—eleven hours five minutes of sunlight and seventeen hours light. Three hours twilight morning and evening. The carpenter is dismantling the taffrail (to facilitate the landing and, if necessary, the boarding of the jury rudder) and will construct a temporary, removable rail.

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September
16.—There has been much mirage all around the horizon, and to the eastward through south to southwest heavy frost smoke has been rising. Over the northern horizon a low bank of white fog hangs as though over the sea. I do not like these continued low temperatures. I am beginning to have doubts as to our release until the sun starts to rot the ice.

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September
17.—This is the anniversary of our departure from London. There are only four of the original eleven on board—Larkman, Ninnis, Mauger, and I. Much has happened since Friday, September 18, 1914, and I can recall the scene as we passed down the Thames with submarines and cruisers, in commission and bent on business, crossing our course. I can also remember the regret at leaving it all and the consequent ‘fedupness.’