path: root/78731-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78731 ***




                     WITH SCOTT: THE SILVER LINING


[Illustration:

  _Photo by Stearn & Sons, Cambridge._]

  SLEDGE-MATES AT CAMBRIDGE, NOVEMBER, 1913.

  (_Standing_) Debenham and Wright of Caius; (_sitting_) Taylor of
    Emmanuel and Priestley of Christ’s.
]




                              WITH SCOTT:
                           THE SILVER LINING


                                   BY
                      GRIFFITH TAYLOR, D.SC., ETC.


                 WITH NEARLY 200 ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS


                                 LONDON
                 SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE
                                  1916
                         _All rights reserved_


                               PRINTED BY
                    WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED
                           LONDON AND BECCLES




                              INTRODUCTION


The great adventure of Scott’s last expedition has been given to the
world in the faithful simplicity of the leader’s own words, as they were
set down from day to day. His diaries were but the basis of the book
that should have been written. We have not the half of what he could
have told us. But in another sense, that half is greater than the whole.
Here stand first impressions, not retouched: the ebb and flow of his
hopes and fears, the lights and shadows of the moment, never reviewed in
later perspective after the event; thumbnail sketches of character,
vividly set down; notes of the day which reveal his spirit entering into
the spirit of his men: and at the end, the singleness of heart that
could give all and accept all for one high purpose. I have often liked
to think—surely it is true—that the universal thrill awakened by his
example strung up the soul of the nation unawares for the great call so
soon to be made upon it.

The other half of the picture has been partly filled in. Others have
given the history of outlying explorations with their tale of human
resource and endurance; they have recorded scientific results or
described special branches of natural history in the Antarctic.
Something, however, is still left to be told. No one will forget Captain
Scott’s almost incredulous delight at the goodwill and harmony of his
little company under the trying conditions of Ross Island. It is for Mr.
Griffith Taylor to tell of the daily life of that company from within,
to tell in careless detail its lighthearted cheerfulness lining solid
effort, which the cloud of English earnestness so constantly turns out
upon the night.

The “other side of the shield” is too often a byword for irreconcilable
contradictions. It is not so here. The reader is doubly grateful. He is
grateful for the details of the daily round as it passed in the
explorers’ hut; he is grateful for the sense that new testimony only
bears out former report.

Nor are these personal impressions all, though they extend over a longer
period than that covered in the “Last Expedition.” Mr. Griffith Taylor
also gathers up what has in large measure appeared elsewhere, the story
of his own explorations and much of his general scientific results in
geology and physiography, so that his Antarctic experiences stand
together as a union in thought and action of all that is typified by the
old name and the new, Cambridge and Melbourne, each his Alma Mater.

The book makes its appearance in the midst of a great war, when books
are too often regarded as a first luxury to be cut off. Nevertheless I
hope that many will be able to find in its pages some refreshment of
mind, some relaxation from the long strain, some strengthening of faith
in the latent spirit of the Greater England which has sent its sons from
the four quarters of the world to stand beside the Old Country in the
hour of destiny.

                                                         LEONARD HUXLEY.

  _February, 1916._




                                CONTENTS


                                    I
                                                                    PAGE
 GETTING TO KNOW THE MEN                                               1

                                   II
 THE _TERRA NOVA_ GOES SOUTH                                          19
        i. The Geologists visit the New Zealand Glaciers              21
       ii. Ship Life in Calm and Storm                                30
      iii. Learning the Ropes                                         45
       iv. Blocked by the Pack Ice                                    56
        v. Through the Ross Sea                                       79
       vi. Making Winter Quarters at Cape Evans                       87

                                   III
 FIRST WESTERN EXPEDITION, JANUARY–MARCH, 1911                       111

                                   IV
 A MONTH IN THE OLD _DISCOVERY_ HUT, MARCH–APRIL, 1911               187

                                    V
 IN WINTER QUARTERS WITH CAPTAIN SCOTT, APRIL–NOVEMBER, 1911         211

                                   VI
 GRANITE HARBOUR EXPEDITION                                          329

                                   VII
 THE VOYAGE BACK, FEBRUARY–MARCH, 1912                               413

                                  VIII
 THE END OF THE EXPEDITION                                           437

 APPENDIX                                                            449
 INDEX                                                               456




                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                            FULL PAGE PLATES
                                                             FACING PAGE
 Sledge-mates at Cambridge                                _Frontispiece_
 Officers and Crew, Captain Scott’s Antarctic Expedition,
   1910                                                               16
 Icing Ship in the Pack on the Starboard Quarter                      61
 The Norwegian Dinghy or Pram retrieving Birds in the
   Pack Ice                                                           61
 A Quiet Sunday Evening on the _Terra Nova_                           65
 D. Lillie, Ship’s Biologist                                          66
 The Northern Fringe of the Pack Ice showing the Wake of
   the Ship through Open Pack                                         66
 Catching the Fish in the Pack                                        70
 Surveying the North Coast of Ross Island from the _Terra
   Nova_                                                              88
 Photo from the Ship of Cape Evans                                    88
 The First Hour Ashore                                                92
 Two Motor Sledges on the Beach at Cape Evans                         92
 Photo of the Hut showing the Ramp and Erebus                        106
 Penguin Courtship on the Ice-foot near Cape Evans                   106
 Ship aground on a Reef off Cape Evans close to the
   Tunnel Berg                                                       108
 Griffith Taylor in Summer Rig (on a keen day) on Cape
   Evans                                                             108
 Model of Country traversed on First Journey                         118
 My First Camp in Antarctica at the Snout of the Ferrar
   Glacier                                                           126
 Photo taken just before we packed the Sledges for the
   First Sledge Journey                                              126
 Trying Times on the Koettlitz Glacier                               163
 Tables of Ice “Mesas” in the Lower Koettlitz cut out of
   Thaw-water                                                        163
 Alph River cutting through the Moraines and Ancient Ice             189
 _Discovery_ Hut                                                     189
 Crater Heights, the Gap and Observation Hill as viewed
   from the Old _Discovery_ Hut                                      196
 Mount Erebus from the Old _Discovery_ Hut                           196
 Bowers’ Party adrift on the Sea-ice                                 198
 Over the Hutton Cliffs to test the Sea-ice                          207
 Captain Scott wearing the Wallet in which he carried his
   Sledging Journals                                                 214
 Simpson sending up a “Ballon Sonde”                                 218
 The East Corner of the Hut showing the Eddy Trench
   scooped out by Blizzards on the Windward Side of the
   Hut                                                               218
 Captain Scott’s Autograph List for the Aurora Watch                 226
 Some Antarctic Archives                                             266
 Snowdrift on Cape Evans, showing the Deep Eddy on the
   Windward Side                                                     275
 Debris Cones on Land’s End (one mile south of the Hut)              275
 “Blizzometer Record” during the Search for Atkinson                 277
 Lakelets of Cape Evans                                              296
 A fine Steam Cloud blowing South from Erebus                        307
 A Glacieret near Island Lake (C. Evans) due to
   Wind-blown Snow                                                   307
 Ice-quakes in the Sea-ice                                           310
 The Tide-crack at the North-west Corner of Cape Evans               310
 High Cliff and the South End of the Barne Glacier                   312
 “The Barrier Silence”                                               313
 Bernard Day on the Motor Sledge just before he started
   for the South                                                     322
 The Start of the Motor Sledges                                      322
 Wilson packing his Pony Sledge the Day before the Start
   for the Pole                                                      327
 The Hut after the Winter                                            327
 Relief Model of the Region traversed in the Second
   Summer                                                            331
 The Second Western Party the Day they were picked up by
   the Ship                                                          332
 A Panorama of Cape Roberts, where the Western Party was
   isolated for Three Weeks. Looking North                           350
 Avalanche Cliffs on the South Side of Granite Harbour               350
 The Field of Crevasses (Skauk) at the Foot of Mackay
   Tongue                                                            353
 Granite Hut, Cape Geology                                           360
 Forde cooking Seal-fry on the Blubber-stove at Cape
   Roberts                                                           360
 Heavy Sledging off Mackay Tongue just where we tried to
   pack to Land                                                      365
 The “Half-Ton” after Nelson left us off the Mouth of Dry
   Valley                                                            365
 A Tight Corner! Crossing the Forty-foot Tide-crack off
   Point Disappointment, Granite Harbour                             367
 The First Western Party in a Natural Ice-tunnel amid the
   Pinnacles of the Koettlitz Glacier                                380
 The Second Western Party at Cape Geology, Granite
   Harbour, on Christmas Day, 1911                                   380
 Gran’s Midsummer Bath                                               392
 The Couloirs of Mount England (which develop into Cwms
   later)                                                            392
 The Rush to Safety: over the Edge of the Blue Glacier               411
 Engineer Williams at the Winch                                      418
 Bernard Day on the Capstan                                          418
 A. B. Cheetham, who holds the Record for crossing the
   Antarctic Circle                                                  426
 G. C. Simpson                                                       426
 A very “Ordinary Seaman”                                            428
 Pennell on Bridge                                                   428
 Photo of Crew off Akaroa                                            435

                        ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT
 Block Diagrams illustrating the Basins, Gorges, and
   Riegel in the Val Ticino below Saint Gothard                        9
 Section across Poop of _Terra Nova_                                  22
 Harbours visited on the Voyage to New Zealand                        24
 The Cuspate Peaks of Mount Cook and the Matterhorn                   25
 The Snout of the Tasman Glacier from Sebastopol                      26
 Glaciers in New Zealand visited in November, 1910, by
   the Geologists                                                     27
 Looking down the Snout of the Mueller Glacier from the
   Stocking                                                           28
 Plan of the Deck of _Terra Nova_                                     39
 Vertical Section of _Terra Nova_ illustrating Incidents
   in the Great Storm, January 2–3, 1911                              42
 Figures of Latitude and Longitude                                    51
 Iceberg Forms                                                        64
 Sounding Apparatus                                                   67
 Course of _Terra Nova_ through the Antarctic Pack as far
   as Cape Evans, Dec. 7, 1910–Jan. 4, 1911                           77
 Coasting Ross Island, Jan., 1911                                     81
 Life’s Round in the Antarctic                                        84
 Cape Evans from Inaccessible Island                                  90
 Sun-holes                                                            93
 Antarctic Spoor                                                      94
 Iceberg Equilibrium. The Tilting of the Tunnel Berg
   during the Winter, 1911                                            97
 Sketch of Two Grottoes cut in Glacieret near the Hut,
   Jan. 15, 1911                                                     102
 Sketch Map of Cape Evans, Jan. 21, 1911                             107
 Geological Sketch by Captain Scott                                  114
 Facsimile (reduced) of Captain Scott’s Sledge
   Instructions                                                 122, 123
 Geological “Sandwich” near the Dun and Hedley Glaciers              131
 Moraine Material at the Taylor Glacier, looking West                135
 Crater on the Flank of the Taylor Valley                            137
 The Avalanche-fed Lacroix Glacier in the Taylor Valley              140
 Sketch Section across the Taylor Valley at Suess
   Glacier, showing the Nussbaum Riegel which bars it                141
 Looking west up the Dry Valley below Taylor Glacier                 142
 “The Compleat Explorer”                                             144
 “Anarthoclase” Felspar                                              145
 The Age of Rocks above the Taylor Glacier                           147
 Plan of the bygone _Twin_ Glaciers of Lake Luzern                   149
 The Morphology of Frozen Ski-boots                                  154
 “My Footgear”                                                       159
 Empty Hanging Valley on the North Wall of the Davis
   Glacier                                                           161
 “How Evans won his Bet”                                             163
 The “Palimpsest” theory. Generalised Sketch Sections
   showing the chief types of Valley Erosion                         175
 Forks for Blubber                                                   176
 Map showing our Journey round the Breaking Barrier                  178
 Sketch Map of the Environs of Hut Point                             190
 Plan of the rejuvenated _Discovery_ Hut                             191
 The Blubber Stove in the Old _Discovery_ Hut                        193
 _Steig-eisen_                                                       197
 The Sackcloth Helmet                                                200
 Blubber-Lamp made from Tin Matchbox                                 201
 Testing the Sea Ice off Castle Rock                                 205
 From Castle Rock to Cape Evans                                      206
 The Two Tents on the Ice-shelf at Little Razorback Isle             208
 Plan of Hut, 1911, showing Nicknames and Bunks of
   Explorers                                                         212
 The Electrical Breadmaker                                           216
 Changes in Wind Direction                                           217
 Simpson’s Clue                                                      218
 Simpson’s Instruments                                               221
 The Arch Berg before it fell in and became the Castle
   Berg                                                              227
 Balloon Meteorograph                                                234
 Evans teaches us to Cobble                                          253
 Temperature Curves                                                  255
 Sections of Fossils, Beardmore Glacier                              255
 Fossil “Sponge-Coral” from the Beardmore Glacier                    256
 Archeocyathinac Marble set in a Ring                                257
 Bill’s Nose-nip                                                     262
 A Characteristic Portrait in a Bliz!                                263
 Vertical Temperature Gradient in Hut                                263
 How we found Midwinter                                              269
 The Night-Watch Supper                                              274
 Lost in the Blizzard                                                276
 The Twin Glaciers                                                   280
 The Future Ice-age                                                  281
 Reversal of the Steam Banner of Erebus                              281
 The Mouse-trap Camera                                               289
 The Wind-ridge on Inaccessible Isle with Tracks                     294
 The Dissected Debris Cone                                           297
 A Peculiar Animal seated on the top of a Debris Cone                298
 Book-plate illustrating Polar Clothing                              301
 Robinson Anemometer                                                 306
 Sunshine Recorder                                                   306
 “Taylor’s Patent Heel-tips”                                         308
 The Waved Edge of Glacier Tongue                                    316
 The Seal’s Method of rasping away the Ice                           317
 “Polar Wireless”                                                    318
 Ice Crampons                                                        323
 Our Water Supply—The Granite Pool at Cape Geology                   354
 Gomphocephalus, Antarctic “Springtail”                              356
 Pressure-ridges in the Sea-ice looking West from Cape
   Geology to the Punch Bowl Cwm                                     361
 Pulpit Rock, the home of the Sea-kale                               370
 Ironclad Boots for Antarctic Geologists                             373
 Looking North-west from Cape Geology, showing the
   Granite Cliffs of the Kar Plateau capped by dolorite              374
 Gran’s Bête Noire                                                   375
 Sketch Map of Region near the Devil’s Punch Bowl                    376
 Mount Suess Nunatak looking West from Redcliff                      383
 Sketch Map of Mount Suess Nunatak and Gondola Nunakol               385
 “Erratic” perched on Six Small Stones, Gondola Ridge                387
 Sketch-diagram of South-west Face of Mount Suess,
   showing the Fossil-bearing Beacon Sandstones                      389
 Gondola Ridge from the top of Mount Suess looking
   North-east                                                        391
 Sea-kale at 77°                                                     393
 Flexure in 30 feet Berg, Cape Roberts                               403
 Diagram illustrating the Way we managed to “Raise
   Anchor” by “Luff upon Luff”                                       420
 Method of fixing Ice Anchor                                         421
 Trimming Coal in the Starboard Main Hold                            425
 Chart of Bay of Whales                                              432
 Chart of Parties (Amundsen reaches the Pole)                        439
 Chart of Parties (Scott reaches the Pole)                           441
 Chart of Parties (the Last Camp)                                    442
 _Glossopteris_                                                      444




                                  MAPS


 1. The Chief Travels of the Sixteen Officers at
      Headquarters, Cape Evans, 1911                                  12
 2. Map of Antarctica showing Localities of Recent
      Expeditions                                                     37
 3. Map of the Coast from Cape Royds to Hut Point            _Facing_ 86
 4. Physiographic Features of Cape Evans due largely to
      the Retreat of the Erebus Glacier                              299
 5. Return Voyage of the _Terra Nova_ in March, 1912                 414
 6. Recent and Future Exploration                                    450
 7. Map of the Region traversed on the Western
      Journeys, 1911–1912                               _At end of text_




                                   I
                       “GETTING TO KNOW THE MEN”




                       “GETTING TO KNOW THE MEN”


“Where can I find Dr. Wilson?”

I had just entered the quadrangle of the Biological Schools at
Cambridge, when a door opened quickly, and a well-knit, wiry individual
ran down the steps towards me.

“Which Dr. Wilson?” said he.

“Wilson of Antarctica,” I replied.

With a quizzical smile that I was soon to know well, he returned, “I am
Dr. Wilson.”

It was in this way that I made the acquaintance of the Scientific
Director of the expedition; and in the ensuing conversation at Christ’s
College I learnt the requirements of Captain Scott. But the steps
leading to this Sunday interview were rather amusing to look back on.

On a Saturday afternoon of December, 1909, I had been having tea with
Wright of Caius, and we discussed many topics, such as cancer and
Canada, eugenics and Shackleton. He remarked that he would like to go
with Scott next August, and that he would go if I would! However, we did
not discuss this topic, for I left to dress for the Philosophical
Society’s Dinner at John’s. In the old Combination room were most of the
scientific dons, and Dr. Marr beckoned to me.

“I wanted to see you. Would you like to go with Scott to the Antarctic
as English geologist?” He was pleased to say that my glacial work and
travels suited me for the post. I said I had not thought of it at all.
He added that Dr. Wilson would probably call on me on Sunday, to which I
replied that I had intended to be off to the Alps at 9.30!

I departed, only to fall into Professor Seward’s hands. He asked the
same question; and Hutchinson of Pembroke came up a moment later and
said, “Don’t you think Taylor ought to go to the Antarctic?” I suggested
that I felt as if I were being pushed out into the cold!

I postponed my trip to Grenoble for half a day, and had a long talk with
Wilson. He gave me a letter to Captain Scott, which I presented after my
return from France.

We had a fine trip! Four Australians cycling through the High Alps in
midwinter. When it did not snow it rained—and mostly it did not snow! At
the pass of Croix Haute we had to traverse thirty kilometres of heavy
snow, and later in the Auvergne we found that snow formed quite a good
surface for a bicycle, which discovery nearly led to a fatality in the
Antarctic, as will appear later.

On my return to London a month later (8th January) I called at the
Antarctic offices and had an interview with Captain Scott.

I soon gained an insight into the multifarious occupations of a Polar
commander. The offices of the expedition were in Westminster, at 36,
Victoria Street, halfway between the Abbey and the vast railway station
at Victoria. They were situated in a district peculiarly devoted to the
empire’s interests, for most of the colonies have their representatives
there; and that greatest boon to travellers, the Army and Navy Stores,
is just across the way.

I will try to give some idea of the appearance of the expedition’s
headquarters during the busy months of preparation. In a large room
occasionally sat Captain Scott, but he was usually busy with some
ingenious foodstuffs or patent appliance in one of the other rooms.
Adjacent was the secretary’s office, and there he was to be seen, _inter
alia_, wading through some of the eight thousand applications from eager
souls anxious to get out of the rut by joining the expedition in one
capacity or another. Naturally enough, the names of naval officers were
numerous, both on the staff and among those applying. In fact, the navy
could beat any other team that the expedition could get together at any
game whatsoever. An explorer friend of mine had no great opinion of navy
men, and strongly advised me to learn boxing to uphold the dignity of
science. So I started a boxing club at Cambridge among the scientists,
but we did not know then that navy champions like Parny Rennick and Dr.
Atkinson were to join the expedition. Here let me add that arrogance was
the last attribute of my dear naval friends down South.

In a third room at headquarters were samples of patent foods. One open
tin discloses shrivelled root-like objects about the size of
lead-pencils. This was desiccated rhubarb, and it seemed merely
concentrated sourness in its present state, though it furnished many
dishes at headquarters later on. Cabbages and greens too much resembled
coarse leaf tobacco to be eulogized by a non-smoker. A Cambridge
friend—doing physiological research—was extremely pleased when he heard
I was going South. “Ah,” said he, “you can try my patent food all next
week; you’ll need nothing else for any of your meals, and I can give you
a full supply for the Antarctic.” Owing to various contingencies, the
tin remained unopened, and I left it, with my blessing, for the
landlady.

In another corner of the same room an eager inventor is explaining the
excellences of his patent stove, which burns almost without fuel and is
guaranteed “to produce little or no carbon dioxide”!

Here I first saw Dr. Simpson, who was wrestling with this invention,
which—apart from its chemical peculiarities—seemed suitable for warming
his magnetic hut. The equipment of this mansion seemed to occupy all his
waking thoughts, while his chief exercise seemed to be taken by whirling
sling thermometers.

The other room was almost filled with a huge petty officer who was
sorting gear for the sledges. I looked at his sturdy proportions with
considerable respect, which would have been increased had I known how
invaluable “Taff” Evans was to be on my first expedition in the
Antarctic. An old 1902 sledge was lying in the passage, whose splintered
runners and weather-worn appearance told graphically of the screw-pack
and “bottle-glass” ice it had surmounted in the past.

Captain Scott was busy at first, but I soon had a long talk with him. In
my journal I wrote as follows:—

“Scott is just what I expected, a sturdily built, clean-shaved naval
officer, with plenty of humour and decision. He told me that Mawson was
coming over from Australia immediately. His idea was to have two
geologists on the Erebus side of the Barrier, and one on King Edward
VII. land. The latter party would have wireless if possible. He drew a
moving picture of me wiring signals of wind velocity, etc., to Mawson.
‘Just like old times, a friend at each end,’ said he. Scott is going to
try for the Pole along the old route, I gather, and not _viâ_ King
Edward VII. land. The ship will leave in July and make a long trip _viâ_
Madeira and Kerguelen to enable the men to shake together.”

Lieutenant Campbell was often in and out of the offices. His was an
independent command, and he was collecting his stores and labelling them
with a distinctive broad green band. The cases were made of Venesta—a
patent three-ply material, extremely light and extraordinarily tough.
One could hardly break into them with a pick-axe! They were bound with
iron and made to contain about 40 lbs. weight, to facilitate handling.

The question of Antarctic clothing greatly interested many ladies of my
acquaintance. Some of them, indeed, were so urgent that I should look
into this matter, that I began to get alarmed myself. On inquiry I found
that the fur boots were carefully arranged to go over four pairs of
socks and a layer of senna-grass; which seemed to point to a somewhat
wide margin of safety. Of the Antarctic suits—trousers, jerseys, and
overalls—I was told there was a supply in two sizes—long and short! I
looked at the scientific director as he smilingly gave me this
information, and judged what would fit him would suit me, so that no
measurement was necessary in this class of tailoring.

The first order from Captain Scott concerned the purchase of clothing
for the voyage to New Zealand. For this £8 was allowed by the
Expedition. I told Captain Scott that I was not making the voyage in the
_Terra Nova_, and had a kit of tropical gear already. He remarked with a
twinkle in his eye, “Never mind about that, I dare say you will be able
to spend it on something useful!”

A few days later I went to the West India Dock and saw the _Terra Nova_
for the first time. Here was Lieutenant Evans “merry and bright” from
the start! He was assisting Captain Scott to chalk out cabin spaces on
the deck. In a later section I describe her equipment very fully, so
that there is no need to dwell on it here, save that amongst the large
liners in the dock she had somewhat the appearance of a minnow among the
Tritons. At any rate, the “leviathan” is half as large again as
Shackleton’s _Nimrod_, and if Columbus could board her no doubt he would
feel himself on a Lusitania.

About this time I received a cable offering me a post on the
Commonwealth staff. Through the kindness of the authorities concerned I
was able to hold both positions concurrently; and I went South with a
definite commission to study all the scientific factors—but especially
the meteorology—which might concern Australian interests.

Early in February Mawson came up to Cambridge to stay a few days with
me. We had passed through Sydney University together, and done our early
geological field work under Professor David. We had kept in touch with
each other and had many common friends. During my cycle trip through the
Alps, Glasson (from Adelaide) told me that when any of Mawson’s
acquaintance at Adelaide University wanted chocolate, the explorer would
take an ice-axe and break a lump off the huge block he had looted from
Shackleton’s Expedition! I felt that an expedition of this type had
peculiar attractions for me, but, alas! our chocolate supply was never
on such a prodigal scale.

Mawson gave us a talk at the Research Students’ Club that evening. He
told us many harrowing tales, and glances of pity were bestowed on
Wright and myself by the other members of the club! The next afternoon
he was persuaded to give a lecture in the geological school, so that we
knew a lot more of Antarctic conditions before he left. By this time he
had decided not to accept Scott’s offer of a position on the staff, but
he gave all of us much useful information as to equipment and research.

Two other Cambridge men—both biologists—were appointed to the staff. I
had heard of Lillie’s adventures in the Atlantic, where he had carried
out anatomical dissections with an axe! His subjects were whales, on
which, I take it, ordinary instruments would have had but little effect.

He was a John’s man, while Nelson came from Christ’s. Nelson had been
“down” for some time, working at the Plymouth biological laboratory. I
had heard of him from a friend of mine who had worked there also.

Wright, of Caius, had been a mate of mine for several terms. He was a
leading light in our Peripatetic Club, and was in fact the best walker
among the members. Wright and I heard so much of the prowess of the
naval men in every branch of athletics that we decided to show them that
the scientists had _some_ muscle. One morning we set off from Cambridge
at 5 a.m. with some boiled eggs and chocolate and walked to London,
where we reached St. Paul’s, Islington, at 5 p.m. It was a non-stop
effort, and Wright came through “smiling,” but my feet were so sore that
I could hardly stand next day. My chief recollection is one of loathing
for hard-boiled eggs, and of the relief with which I dropped
three-quarters of our provisions in a secluded corner of King’s Cross!

During the Easter vacation I planned a trip to the Engadine and Como to
study glacial erosion in some detail. I had already spent some months in
this part of the Alps, and wished to gain fresh data on many questions.
A college friend accompanied me. Professor Bonney was kind enough to
give us advice as to the best routes during March, for my previous trips
had been in summer. He also discussed the questions of valley erosion at
some length, and I was glad to hear that they would form the basis for
his presidential address to the British Association at Sheffield. He was
strongly opposed to W. M. Davis’ views on the subject, holding that
_water_ and not _ice_ had cut out most of the Alpine valleys. I had
learnt my glaciology from the eminent American while in the Swiss Alps,
and was naturally Davisian in consequence. However, Antarctica led me to
place more stress on _frost_ action as an eroding agent, so that my
position is now between the two schools!

We had an interesting and useful trip lasting for six weeks. This is
hardly the place to discuss the results of this journey, though in some
sense it belongs to the Expedition, for Captain Scott paid the bulk of
my expenses. I visited for a second time the wonderful valleys north of
Bellinzona, the Val Mesocco to the north-east and the Val Ticino to the
north-west. At Mesocco and Faido are two of the most striking bars or
“riegel” across the Alpine troughs, and later in Antarctica I was to
find a third even more striking example. Thus, about twenty miles south
of Saint Gothard is the _basin_ of Piotta, a trough with vertical walls
two thousand feet high and a flat valley floor. This is analogous to the
Antarctic valley containing Lake Bonney (77° 30′ S.). Then at Fiesso
this basin is bounded by a great bar or _riegel_, through which a narrow
defile passes at one side; so also at the Nussbaum Riegel in Antarctica.
Below Fiesso is the broad _trough_ of Lavorgo closely paralleled by the
broad “dry valley” in the southern continent.

[Illustration:

  Block diagrams illustrating the basins, gorges, and riegel in the Val
    Ticino below Saint Gothard. (Cf. Taylor Valley, Antarctica.)
]

On my way back from Italy I stopped for a few days with the glaciologist
Nussbaum at Bern, and explored the queer drainage in the valleys near
that city. In the last Ice Age all this fertile country lay below the
Rhone Glacier, and I was to find that many of the features in Antarctica
reproduced, in the present, the past history of the Swiss scenery.

I reached London on the evening that Peary gave his lecture in the
Albert Hall. Mawson had given me his ticket and I decided to go, though
I had to appear in my touring rig of puttees and peletin. I heard that
Bernard Day—our motor expert and lately with Shackleton—had the next
seat. It was a tremendous crowd and a very interesting lecture. As is
somewhat usual with Americans, he gesticulates more than is common among
British speakers. He had just received the medal (which was designed by
Lady Scott) and expressed his sense of the honour done him and the care
with which he would cherish this token of the Geographical Society’s
esteem, when the medal dropped violently from his hand amid audible
amusement from the thousands comprising his audience. However, he picked
it up and proceeded with his remarks with the greatest _sang froid_. Day
and I were much impressed by his method of relaying with dog teams, and
felt that he deserved full credit for his long-sustained attack on the
North Pole. Three years later I was to be again in the Albert Hall to
hear Commander Evans describe the British conquest of the Pole; but
Bernard Day had now settled “on the land” near my own home in Sydney,
New South Wales.

Before I left England I had met most of the officers. Bowers I first saw
at dinner one evening with Captain Scott. Lady Scott was coming out to
Australia, and was much interested in the political and social questions
of the “British continent.” She had done some long tramps in
Switzerland, and told us much about the Fabian Society and about her art
life. She had heard of our tramp to London. “Did you really walk sixty
miles in ten hours?” So had rumour reported it. It was mortifying to
confess to a bare fifty miles in twelve hours! Birdie Bowers appeared in
the full insignia of a Lieutenant of the Indian Marine. He was at this
time so busy loading the ship at the docks that I did not see him again
until I joined the _Terra Nova_ in New Zealand.

On the 12th of May I joined the _Orontes_ and I reached Melbourne at the
end of June. For the next three months I was busy at the new Federal
capital—then unnamed,—where I carried out various surveys for the
Commonwealth.

In July Professor David sent me some microscope slides made from a
limestone obtained by Shackleton’s party on the Beardmore Glacier. To
our delight I was able to identify them as fossil “corals” of Cambrian
age, of the same genus as those from South Australia on which I had been
working at Cambridge. Some account of these Antarctic fossils which
Wright also discovered in some of his specimens from the Beardmore is
given in the account of our life at headquarters.

Professor David gave me invaluable advice on Antarctic matters. At the
School of Geology at the University of Sydney is a large “Antarctic
Room” filled with specimens collected on the 1907 Expedition. Here
Priestley had been working out results for many months, and here he
presided over informal “tea” at 4.30 every afternoon! Here I met Alan
Thomson, a geological scholar from Oxford, who was to have been one of
us, but that he developed lung trouble at the last moment. In
consequence of Thomson’s illness, Priestley obtained Shackleton’s
permission by cable, and thereupon accepted Captain Scott’s offer to
join us. Many were the yarns Priestley told us of his 1908 experiences.
He said that the young Eskimo dogs, born down there, never knew water,
yet they held out a water-can for a drink when they saw it! More
credible was the story of how they buried the water-can (containing a
future drink) and were profoundly disgusted on digging it up to find
that their refreshment had vanished! The yarn which I fear I completely
disbelieved—anent killing skua gulls by throwing a slab of rock
vertically upward—I proved practically a few days after landing at Cape
Evans, as will appear in its own place.

Meanwhile the _Terra Nova_ had left Cardiff and slowly sailed by the
“wind-jammers’” route to New Zealand. They had an exciting time at South
Trinidad—a lonely island off Brazil—swimming through shark-infested surf
to the shore. Here they made some biological collections, and on the
remainder of the voyage many of the land-lubbers became respectable
sailor-men. I hardly knew Wright when I saw him reefing sails and
running up the ratlines as if to the manner born.

The third geologist appointed on Professor David’s recommendation was
Frank Debenham, scholar at my old university, and a family friend for
many years. Indeed, the three sons of each family had gone to the same
school, and five of us to the same university. It was extremely pleasant
to be associated with men like Debenham and Wright, and I was indeed
fortunate to have them as sledge mates in the difficult times to come.

By degrees all the party were assembling at the Antipodes. Meares had
been collecting dogs and ponies in Manchuria. He had spent several years
in this part of Asia, and was already renowned for his journeys into
unknown Tibet. He passed through Sydney in October—accompanied by
Lieutenant Bruce—a few days before I arrived.

Captain Scott, Wilson, and Simpson were now in Australia busy on various
matters. During the voyage Simpson and Wright had carried out
experiments on the electrical state of the air, and the latter was now
engaged on testing and standardizing his pendulum apparatus before he
left civilization.

On the 22nd of October, 1910, Debenham and I left Sydney for New
Zealand. We were to join Captain Scott at Christchurch, and the _Terra
Nova_ was now lying at Lyttelton—the port of that city.

[Illustration:

  The chief travels of the sixteen officers at Headquarters, Cape Evans,
    1911. (Track of _Terra Nova_, 1910–1913, shown also.)
]

Some of the officers I did not meet until I reached New Zealand. There
was Ponting, whose beautiful book on Japan had just appeared. He had had
a most varied experience, including mining and ranching in California,
before his genius in artistic photography manifested itself. He and
Meares were old friends, and had travelled together in many Eastern
countries. Indeed, this fore-knowledge was a usual thing among members.
Simpson had almost accompanied Scott in 1902. Wilson, of course, made
his name on that expedition; and had been chiefly connected with the
Grouse Commission since.

Cherry-Garrard was making an extended tour of the world when the
expedition was started, and volunteered from Australia. He was the sole
representative sent by the University of Oxford. He came out from home
on the _Terra Nova_, and was one of the landsmen who took kindly to a
sailor’s life. A characteristic of Cherry’s was his never-ending series
of gifts to his mates. A most acceptable pair of huge Jaeger socks
brought about our real introduction!

Captain Oates had seen service in many parts of the Empire. With
difficulty one could get him to talk of his experiences in India (in the
province of Indore) or in the South African war, where he served with
distinction. He was very busy with the ponies during the voyage south,
and I hardly spoke to him until we were marooned together in the Old
Discovery Hut. One heard that he was a keen yachtsman, but his strong
character and real sense of humour were hidden under a very quiet
exterior. Our naval surgeon, Dr. Atkinson, and myself had no work in
common until the same month of March at Hut Point brought us together
when the Western and Depôt parties joined forces.

Perhaps the most interesting career among the younger officers was that
of Tryggve Gran. He was only a few years over age, and yet he had seen
more of the world than any member except Captain Scott. Born in Bergen,
and educated in Switzerland, he had travelled all his life. He knew
Europe from Turkey to Iceland, and shared with Simpson and Campbell a
knowledge of Arctic life. He had fought rebels in Venezuela, tramped
across South America, spent several years in the merchant service and
navy of Norway, and was now a sub-lieutenant and a B.A. of Christiania.
His chief record hitherto had been that of winning the Blue Ribbon of
Norway, the Holman-Kol cup for ski-running. This narrative will have
much to say of him, and will show that his versatility and willingness
to help were remarkable even among the group of men who were my mates in
Antarctica.

People have often asked me what attraction Antarctica had for me
personally. It was purely scientific at first, but now I realize that
the companionship with such ideal mates was the chief joy in Antarctic
life. I have not, up to the time of writing, felt any of the “call to
the Antarctic” that others describe; but travel anywhere with my mates
of the South would be equally attractive.

At the risk of being tedious, I will try to describe the chief problem
in science which I hoped to help solve by my sojourn in Antarctica.
Briefly, it is the study of the effect of ice (chiefly as glaciers) in
carving out the features of the earth’s surface. It may quite
legitimately be asked, “What is the value of that knowledge? What
bearing has it on science and human interests?”

Most people know that Europe has passed through an Ice Age comparatively
recently, but few—even among geologists—would be prepared to agree that
almost every factor of human environment in Central Europe has been
affected by this ancient ice-cap. All inter-communication, much of the
agriculture, all the scenery; nay, even the very possibility of
continuous habitation is due to the work of the ancient glaciers. The
Gothard, Simplon, and Mont Cenis railways pass along deep glacier-cut
gorges (see p. 9) until they reach comparatively narrow ridges which can
be pierced by tunnels. The great Alpine passes are but cols due to
glacial erosion. The fertile uplands (the true “Alps”), where the Swiss
flocks pasture, and the extensive deep-lying plains of deep rich soil
are glacial debris. The magnificent waterfalls, the tributary valleys
“hanging” over the main gorge, are only found in regions where ice has
played an important part in its past history. In winter it is only in
these deep gorges, excavated two thousand feet below the general level
in countries like Switzerland, that the inhabitants and their flocks can
hibernate until the grass covers the country in the succeeding spring.

There can be no more valuable branch of geology than one which tries to
chronicle the actions which have made the Alpine countries of the world
so different from the more normal regions. But it is by no means
universally allowed that this work is principally due to ice. One school
of geologists maintains that water can carve out a land surface in a
similar way; and in Switzerland, New Zealand, and similar regions, it is
difficult to decide whether the living waters or the long-vanished
glaciers have cut out a certain gorge or canyon. Where, then, is the
solution to be found? We cannot observe Europe in the clutch of an Ice
Age; but it is possible to find a region—once, no doubt, as warm as
portions of Europe—now undergoing its period of intense cold and
accompanying glacial erosion.

In almost waterless Antarctica the land is being slowly carved out into
features which must be related to those obtaining in Alpine Europe and
other elevated regions, if (as I believe) the Great Ice Age has left an
unmistakable imprint of itself in a characteristic topography.

I may fittingly conclude the “series of introductions” by a list of the
officers. This gives their positions; and, what may be found more useful
to the reader, their nicknames and the personnel of the various parties
into which the expedition split up on arrival in Antarctica.


                  LIST OF OFFICERS AND THEIR PARTIES.

           _Leader._—CAPTAIN ROBERT FALCON SCOTT.
           _Second in Command._—LIEUTENANT E. R. G. R. EVANS.
           _Chief of Scientific Staff._—DR. E. A. WILSON.


                                 SHIP.

            Harry Pennell, Commander R.N.
            Henry de P. Rennick, Lieutenant R.N.
            Wilfred M. Bruce, Commander R.N.
            Francis Drake, Assist. Paymaster R.N. (retired).
            Dennis Lillie, M.A., Biologist.
            James Dennistoun (1911–12 voyage).
            Alfred B. Cheetham, R.N.R., Boatswain.
            William Williams, Engineer.


                             SHORE PARTIES.


               A. _Northern Party_ (Jan. 1911–Nov. 1912).

                   Victor Campbell, Lieutenant R.N.
                   G. Murray Levick, Surgeon R.N.
                   Raymond Priestley, Geologist.
                   (And Abbott, Dickason, Browning.)


               B. _Depôt Party_ (Jan. 1911–April, 1911).

 Robert Falcon Scott, Captain, C.V.O., R.N. (The Owner).
 Edward R. A. R. Evans, Lieutenant R.N. (Teddy).
 Henry R. Bowers, Lieutenant R.I.M. (Birdie).
 Lawrence E. G. Oates, Captain (Titus).
 Edward L. Atkinson, Surgeon R.N. (Atch).
 Edward A. Wilson, B.A., M.B., Chief of Scientific Staff (Uncle Bill).
 Cecil H. Meares, in charge of dogs (Mother).
 Apsley Cherry-Garrard, B.A., Assistant Zoologist (Cherry).
 Tryggve Gran, B.A., Sub-Lieutenant (Trigger).
 (And Keohane, Crean, Forde, and Demitri.)


                 C. _Western Party_ (Jan.–March, 1911).

         Griffith Taylor, B.Sc., B.E., B.A., Geologist (Grif).
         Frank Debenham, B.Sc., B.A., Geologist (Deb.).
         Charles Wright, B.A., Physicist (Silas).
         (And Edgar Evans.)


                 D. _At Cape Evans_ (Jan.–April, 1911).

          George C. Simpson, D.Sc., Meteorologist (Sunny Jim).
          Edward W. Nelson, Biologist (Marie).
          Herbert G. Ponting, Camera-artist (Ponte).
          Bernard C. Day, Motor Engineer (Rivets).
          (And Lashley, Hooper, Clissold and Anton.)

All those in lists B, C, and D were united under Captain Scott at
Headquarters during most of 1911.


                   E. _Midwinter Party_ (July, 1911).

             E. A. Wilson, H. R. Bowers, A. Cherry-Garrard.


                        POLE PARTY AND SUPPORTS.

                            A. _Pole Party._

                            Captain Scott.
                            E. A. Wilson.
                            L. E. G. Oates.
                            H. R. Bowers.
                            Edgar Evans.


                           B. _Last Support._

                           E. R. G. R. Evans.
                           Lashley.
                           Crean.


                           C. _Summit Party._

                           E. L. Atkinson.
                           C. S. Wright.
                           A. Cherry-Garrard.
                           P. Keohane.


                           D. _Dog Sledges._

                             C. H. Meares.
                             Demetri Gerof.


                           E. _Motor Party._

                             B. C. Day.
                             F. J. Hooper.

[Illustration:

  _Photo by W. Hillsdon, Lyttelton, N.Z._]

  OFFICERS AND CREW, CAPTAIN SCOTT’S ANTARCTIC EXPEDITION, 1910.

  _Left to right_: Taylor, Wright, Simpson, Nelson, Levick, Oates,
    Evans, Bowers, Wilson, Scott, Campbell, Davies, Rennick, Ponting,
    Gran, Browning, Debenham, Day, Cherry-Garrard, Pennell, Meares,
    Drake, Bruce, Forde.
]


             2ND WESTERN PARTY (Nov. 1911–February, 1912).

                            Griffith Taylor.
                            Frank Debenham.
                            Tryggve Gran.
                            R. Forde.


                  AT THE HUT (Nov. 1911 to Jan. 1912).

                           George C. Simpson.
                           E. W. Nelson.
                           H. G. Ponting.
                           Clissold.
                           Anton.


                THE HUT PARTY DURING THE SECOND WINTER.

     E. L. Atkinson.
     E. W. Nelson.
     F. Debenham.
     C. S. Wright.
     A. Cherry-Garrard.
     T. Gran.
     Crean, Forde, Lashley, Hooper, Archer, Williamson and Demetri.

They were joined by the Northern Party late in 1912.




                                   II
                     THE _TERRA NOVA_ GOES SOUTH[1]




                               CHAPTER I
             THE GEOLOGISTS VISIT THE NEW ZEALAND GLACIERS


On the morning of the 4th of November the Australian contingent reached
Lyttelton. The first ship we saw was the _Terra Nova_ snugly berthed
alongside the wharf, and separated by a few feet from the shed No. 5 in
which most of the gear was stored. She was readily recognizable by her
characteristic rigging surmounted by the crow’s nest. The funnel is
painted a rather vivid yellow, and is decidedly abaft of the centre of
the ship, a feature which is usually represented wrongly in the models
of the ship displayed in some of the Dominion’s shops.

Technically the _Terra Nova_ is a barque equipped with an auxiliary
screw. She was built at Dundee, and carries three masts (two
square-rigged), of which the mizen, for reasons explained later, is
rarely used. Socially she is a Royal Yacht, which means that she may fly
the white ensign, a privilege only accorded to certain favoured vessels
of the Empire. In fact, I think, apart from our barque, all the units of
the Royal Yacht Squadron are on pleasure bent; and certainly no other is
frozen in the Antarctic Pack as we are at the time of writing.
Originally she was used as a whaler, and differs little in general
arrangement from the _Nimrod_ (Sir Ernest Shackleton’s ship), though she
is approximately twice as powerful a vessel. Almost the only wooden
vessels now built are those used in the polar seas, and as no steel
vessel could stand the wear and tear caused by the constant collision
with ice, it follows that an exploring expedition usually makes use of a
converted whaling vessel.

When I first saw her in the West India Docks at London, she had a wide
and spacious poop and a distinctly narrow and confined saloon. Now the
proportions are reversed. The poop-deck consists merely of the space
around the wheel and binnacle; all the remaining area has been filled
with laboratories and with two central structures, the deck-house and
chart-house. Below, a relatively noble room has been provided; with an
enclosed balcony much more useful and not much less ornamental than the
classic specimen in Verona!

In naval parlance, our saloon is dignified by the title of “wardroom,”
and has none of the inconveniences usually associated with polar
exploration. It is plainly furnished with a long centre table and two
lateral leather-covered seats. The stove (not yet needed) certainly
blocks the passage behind the head of the table, but under normal
conditions, especially before the expansive after-dinner moments, there
is sitting accommodation for seventeen officers. Three more sit on boxes
at three corners—the fourth being left open as a breathing space for the
steward. Hence twenty of the twenty-four constituting the “afterguard”
are accounted for, and the remainder are usually on watch, and arrive
uproariously hungry after the majority have reached the tobacco stage.

[Illustration:

  Section across poop of _Terra Nova_ (not to scale).
]

On our early appearance we were cheerily hailed by the two officers on
board. One had just converted the deck-house “balcony”—which overlooked
the _wardroom_—into a bathroom, the other was devouring ham and eggs
down below. But most of the officers, after their four months’ voyage,
were staying in Christchurch some eight miles away, and came into the
ship by early train. Lyttelton is a magnificent harbour of extraordinary
origin. Port Phillip, it is well known, is a drowned coastal plain,
hence its low banks and rounded contour; Port Jackson is a drowned river
valley, as is obvious from its winding outline and deep frontage; while
Wellington Harbour occupies earthquake landslides. But Lyttelton Harbour
is a drowned mountain valley, with hills rising fifteen hundred feet
almost continuously around the elongated basin. The eastern flanks of
this isolated mountain (Banks Peninsula) are drowned in the Pacific; the
western flanks are buried, several thousand feet probably, in the silts
and shingle of the Canterbury Plains. The fair city of Christchurch,
which has arisen on an even plain stretching twenty miles north, south,
and west, has a wonderful harbour at her door, owing to this unique
juxtaposition of plain and buried mountain. Most of the members of the
Expedition tramped over the old bridle-track to see the view from the
top, but all traffic passes through the railway tunnel—one and a
half-mile long—cut deep in the volcanic rocks of the Peninsula.

The office of the Expedition was close to the cathedral in Christchurch,
almost in the shadow of the steeple, which has a habit of toppling down
under the stress of earthquake shocks. Here was the secretary struggling
with a mass of correspondence—very largely letters asking for
autographs, penguin eggs, and rocks from the south. These modest
requests, however pathetically they are worded, cannot be attended to in
the last few days of preparation of a large expedition. More annoying
were the sheaves of letters sent later on board the _Terra Nova_,
addressed in such terms as “Mr. Wood-B. Pole-seeker, King Edward VII.
Land.” The addressees not being known, they will probably languish in a
New Zealand Dead Letter Office.

Captain Scott arranged that those scientists who were specially engaged
in glacier investigation should immediately proceed to the New Zealand
Alps to study polar conditions amid somewhat less strenuous
circumstances than in Antarctica. I do not propose to do more than give
a brief outline of the features of this region, which may reasonably be
supposed to be analogous to those obtaining in Victoria Land.

[Illustration:

  Harbours visited on the voyage to New Zealand.
]

[Illustration:

  N.B.—In both these peaks and also in the Antarctic “Matterhorn” (in
    Taylor’s Valley, _q.v._) the “faceted” slopes are due to the eating
    away of the sides by cürm (cirque) erosion.
]

We carried a pair of Norwegian ski as a present from the Expedition to
the guide at the Hermitage below Mount Cook; and we were shod in
Norwegian ski boots, whose chief characteristics are a square high
toe—to fit the ski-iron—and a large size—to contain comfortably three
pairs of socks! We were also provided with some special surveying
instruments, aneroids made of aluminium and only half the ordinary
weight, and a queer type of hand compass, the shape of a gypsy’s kettle.
The needle was surrounded with a heavy oil and the case carefully sealed
in, so that the oscillation should be “deadbeat,” and not waste valuable
time in coming to rest.

A hundred-mile motor ride bridges the gap between the railway at Fairlie
and the Government accommodation house “the Hermitage” beneath Mount
Cook. As we rapidly traversed the foothills—bare but for coarse tussocks
of grass—the Alps came nearer and were more visible. The snowline was
very strikingly marked on the mountains. To the north Mount Cook (12,349
feet) showed almost 7000 feet of snow, and thence as the mountains
decreased in height less and less projected above the snowline, until on
those 5000 feet high only the peaks retained any snow. The Swiss Alps
are _in the same latitude_ (44°), but there the snowline is at 8000
feet, so that to get an adequate comparison of the two Alpine regions
one must add on 3000 feet to the European peaks. Or, put in another way,
there is as much snow scenery on Mount Cook (12,349) as on the
Matterhorn (14,780), one of the highest peaks in Europe. It is a
striking example, illustrating the fact that the southern hemisphere is,
on the whole, ten degrees colder than the northern. For both Alpine
lands are, as is said above, about 44° latitude. If we use the accepted
factor of 1° F. decrease in temperature for 300 feet ascent, we see that
ten degrees difference in temperature would alter the snowline 3000
feet, as is actually the case.

[Illustration: The Snout of the Tasman Glacier from Sebastopol 19·11·10]

The Mount Cook region forms an interesting stage in glacial development
between Antarctica and the Kosciusko region in Australia. Later we shall
see what are the appearances where the snowline reaches sea-level—just
north of the Antarctic Circle. As we reach the Tasman valley draining
the Mount Cook area, we are struck by several peculiarities in the
scenery. There are no spurs projecting into the broad main valley, but
each of the valley walls lies in one plane to a much greater degree than
in normal valleys. Perched up on the high slopes are little hanging
valleys, from which small streams cascade to the broad main valley.
Along the slopes are lines of debris, like wandering railway
embankments, which (though a thousand feet above the present river) mark
the height of the ancient glaciers. These latter carved the undercut
cliffs and left the tributary valleys up in the air. These signs are not
wanting in the Australian glacial region, where, indeed, they may be
more obvious than in Antarctica, for they have been exposed by the
retreat of the glaciation, whereas they will be to some extent concealed
_beneath_ the immense icefield of the south.

[Illustration:

  Map of glaciers in New Zealand visited in November, 1910, by the
    geologists. N.B. The Tasmanian glacier from X to Y is covered with
    moraine blocks.
]

But in New Zealand are enormous glaciers, bigger than any in Europe,
more accessible and (being under Government control) much more
economical from the point of view of the ordinary tourist. Let us
imagine ourselves a mile or so north of the Hermitage on the slopes
alongside the Tewaewae Glacier. This hanging tributary is, however,
never known by its Maori name, but by a more homely one (which can
hardly be a _translation_)—the “Stocking.”

Just below us is the junction of the Hooker and Mueller valleys, each
containing a large glacier. We have crossed the lower portion of the
Mueller Glacier to reach this spot. It hardly presents the features
usually associated with glaciers by those who gained their impressions
from written descriptions. Here it is a disturbed sea of debris,
consisting of blocks of slate varying in height from twenty feet to a
few inches. Here and there large boat-shaped hollows show sheer black
faces which glisten in the sunlight. Down these falls a constant stream
of shingle, and occasionally a huge monolith tumbles with a roar into
the body of the glacier. For there are ancient crevasses in the glacier,
though it needs close inspection to see that their dark walls are formed
of ice.

[Illustration: Looking down the Snout of the Mueller Glacier, from the
Stocking 5·11·10]

We must go several miles higher up the glacier to reach the clean white
fields of snow and ice usually associated with the name. It is this
tumbled debris—the surface moraine—which forms one of the most
formidable obstacles to exploration of the coastal regions of
Antarctica; while the smooth normal glacier surface is excellent
travelling. All round the snout of the Mueller Glacier extends an almost
circular rampart consisting of two lines of fortifications. There is an
outer wall some 300 feet high, curving grandly from the Stocking’s wall
right across the Hooker Valley, and thence above the Hermitage back to
Kea Point. This is thickly covered with shrubs, and contrasts strongly
with the somewhat lower inner rampart of new-piled blocks of slate. At
first glance this suggests an ancient crater wall; but it is a glacial
product, the terminal and lateral moraines shovelled out to the edges of
the glacier by the ever-moving river of ice.

More striking still is the course of the water draining from the Hooker
Glacier. This lies about two miles away to the north of the snout of the
Mueller, and from ice caves in its terminal face a broad stream rushes
to join the waters of the Mueller Glacier. It will be readily understood
that in this small area, including the short ice-free strip of the
valley and the snouts of the two glaciers (depositing huge piles of
debris), the deposits are very erratically arranged. Moreover, the
waters of the Hooker actually hit the side of the Mueller Glacier, dip
underneath for half a mile, and then reappear as a sort of miniature
maëlstrom. I dwell on this because it shows how difficult it may well be
for geologists in the year 10,000 A.D. (when the ice has long vanished)
to explain the origin of the topography in such a region as Mount Cook.
Much the same difficulty has occurred time and again in regions
glaciated in comparatively late periods, such as in England, U.S.A., and
even in the Australian Alps. One of the most promising features in
Antarctic scientific work is the light it is bound to throw on
geological phenomena somewhat like this, though on a much grander scale.




                               CHAPTER II
                      SHIP LIFE IN CALM AND STORM


The few days between our return from the New Zealand Alps and the
sailing of the _Terra Nova_ were occupied by multifarious duties. The
ship had been dry-docked at Lyttelton, and a bulkhead built across the
fore hold. This space was filled with water, and the leaks detected
where the water spouted out. At the same time the lock nuts on the
four-bladed propeller were inspected by chipping off the casing of
concrete in which they were embedded. A cross section amidships was
almost rectangular. I was surprised at the enormous lateral bulges which
almost made the boat flat-bottomed hereabouts, though she narrowed to a
sharp overhanging bow heavily plated with iron. To a landsman the rudder
appeared strangely long and narrow, almost like a simple vertical beam.
But a broad rudder would project dangerously in floe work.

After caulking, the ship was brought back to shed No. 5, and the loading
of the stores proceeded rapidly. On Friday (25th October) the dogs and
ponies were brought across from Quail Island, some five miles higher up
the harbour. Neither gave much trouble, and I was struck with the calm
way the dogs endured the pulling and ignominious lifting by neck, back,
or legs without retaliating. Probably our dogs are more gentlemanly than
those of former expeditions.

The ponies are placed in stalls in the fore part of the ship. Four are
just abaft the cook’s galley in a strong shed, boarded up for four feet,
but otherwise open in front. The mess deck—which may be described as the
ground floor of the fore part of the ship—has been given up to the
remaining dozen in similar stalls, six along each side. The seamen whose
quarters have thus been annexed have gone one storey lower. The dogs
were at first chained up everywhere—over the hatches, on the deck-house,
in the waist, everywhere except the poop. The two Peary dogs—somewhat
larger but not so sturdy as the Siberians—are marooned in the alley
between the laboratories and the deck-house, where they are tripped over
every few minutes by some hurrying scientist. They are both black and
indistinguishable to me, but are known—by a somewhat invidious
juxtaposition of ideas—as Peary and Cook.

On Saturday, the 26th, a farewell address was given by the Bishop of
Christchurch. It took place at noon on the poop, and was attended by all
the members of the expedition and some half-dozen visitors. The time of
departure had been fixed for three o’clock many days previously, so that
every one was ready and there was no delay. We were accompanied to the
Heads by half a dozen excursion steamers and tugs, and by numerous small
launches. Guns were fired from the battery and from the warships at
anchor in the port. A New Zealand flag floated on our mizen
mast—presented by a local school. Many of the launches had kindly
messages displayed. One particular large banner in the distance excited
our curiosity. With the glasses we made out, “Excursion to the Heads,
one shilling.” What a descent from the sublime to the ridiculous!

At the Heads Captain Scott left us to join at Dunedin, but our most
popular manager, Mr. Wyatt, accompanied us in his cabin. In anticipation
of bad weather—which happily spared us—the newly joined members of the
expedition devoted their attention to stowing their personal baggage. I
must confess I felt this a hopeless task.

Our cabin measures six by eight feet. On the roof beam is cut,
“Certified to accommodate two seamen,” but four scientists and their
belongings have spent a large portion of a month therein, and ultimately
with little discomfort. But four wooden bunks and a wash-basin take up a
large portion of six by eight feet. Our Antarctic clothing had been
issued the day before we sailed—a solid block of woollen goods, with a
canvas “sausage” four feet long which they filled completely. Four of
these formed the _pièce de résistance_ of our baggage. But each of us
had another similar bag of ordinary clothing, and a box for books, etc.
On top of this pile reposed a layer of sea-boots of enormous length and
weight, but during bad weather beyond price. Cameras and other delicate
trifles were shoved in through the door, when one had managed to open it
sufficiently.

I had no idea where we were going to bestow ourselves, but an old
voyager explained to me how it was to be done. Obviously there was no
floor space, no room for shelves, no cupboards; but the bunks (one above
the other) are big solid wooden structures provided with four blankets
and a thick mattress. A man does not need much more space than a coffin
to sleep in, and these bunks were nearly three feet apart. It was almost
impossible to fill that wonderful space beneath the mattress! I emptied
into it two rucksacks of books, etc., one of the aforementioned
“sausages,” a drawing board, all sorts of tools, diaries, hammers,
bottles of ink, hunting knives. When this was safely under the mattress
my sleep was not troubled by these crumpled rose-leaves.

The three new-comers were all geologists, and as such needed no
laboratory on the ship, but the other scientists were able to stow away
many articles in the physical, chemical, and biological laboratories.
These palatial quarters will be described later, when it will be
understood that this does not imply that _their_ mattresses were free
from protuberances. Wires festoon some of the bunks to eke out the
accommodation. The space over one’s feet is not wasted, for small wooden
boxes are nailed thereon—or maybe a small bookcase. I thought that two
of the shoulder-bags used in the Alps (known as rucksacks) would be most
useful if hung alongside my bunk. This ingenious idea failed dismally,
as will appear later. No one in our cabin has succeeded in controlling
the vagaries of our ubiquitous water-can. It would appear to be an
ordinary utensil of a brown-yellow colour, with a spout. But somewhere
or other it has a pair of legs and a mischievous brain contained within
it. And usually it is drunk with its powers for mischief, and is
discovered on its side spilling water on our socks and shoes, or
inebriate in another corner destroying all satisfaction in one’s last
dry change. It is only of late that we have had peace, for now only half
a cup of water per day is allowed, and the bucket over the bulwarks
serves all other purposes.

Let us pay a call next door—further for’ard, but still on the port side
of the wardroom. This apartment is known as the “nursery.” It is bigger
than our dwelling, but needs to be, for six stalwart explorers have
their quarters there. Black envy at times embitters the friendly
feelings between the neighbours, for has not the nursery a cupboard with
a whole drawer (two inches high) to each inmate! A somewhat doubtful joy
is theirs, however, for by far the most prominent piece of furniture
therein—and, indeed, there are only two besides the cupboard—is a
Broadwood pianola! One of the first I ever saw was in Samoa, twenty
miles from a town, and owned by a native gentleman. In that case it was
a separate attachment, and as his piano had lost many of the strings,
little good resulted from the combination. But our pianola is a thing of
beauty and a joy for ever. The new-comer notices a bulge in the
ceiling—apparently of rubber—with a hose pipe attached thereto. This is
a primitive but necessary adjunct to our pianola, and is, in fact, its
little umbrella, which keeps it dry when the stormy winds do blow and
poop-decks leak. The other piece of furniture, mentioned above, is a
tall wooden cabinet, containing 250 rolls for the pianola. Although
probably every member of the expedition has barked his shins thereon,
yet all is forgiven when Wagner, Gilbert and Sullivan, Strauss, the
Washington Post, or Ragtime tunes (not being a musician, I do not know
the names of 245 of them) are echoing through the wardroom. Another
trial to the men of the nursery is that their apartments form a short
cut to the engine-room. It is only since we reached the pack that a
constant procession of intruders, bearing unpleasing footgear and damp
clothing (to spread on the cylinder head), has ceased to trespass.

Across the for’ard end of the wardroom is an important room dedicated to
the culinary arts. Here the two stewards cut up succulent joints, and
during a gale a merry jostling and jangling of countless plates and
pannikins rival the notes of the pianola. The entrance to the wardroom
is on the starboard side. It is beset with angles and pitfalls. When a
visitor has safely negotiated the steep steps leading from the
poop-deck, and turned sharply round to enter the wardroom, he is in
grave danger of falling down a hatch to the lazaret and
chronometer-room. Theoretically, when the hatch is open (about six hours
a day) an iron bar is placed across the passage. Practically the natives
feel with an exploratory toe in the dark entrance, and press on boldly
if the hatch is down. Opening on to these somewhat dismal surroundings
is the cabin of Meares—the man of dogs and wild adventures in the Far
East.

A large portion of the starboard side of the wardroom is occupied by the
“owner’s” cabin. Here are Captain Scott and Lieutenant Evans, the latter
taking charge of the ship on its voyage south. The four after cabins
(two on each side) are not quite so circumscribed as those of the
scientists, but they are the permanent quarters of the navigators, while
_nous autres_ are mere birds of passage, and will soon be scattered over
the face of Victoria Land.

The ship was hove-to just outside Lyttelton Harbour, and one had leisure
to admire the wonderful coast-line of Banks Peninsula. Everything
indicates a late submergence of this part of New Zealand. Inland valleys
sloping _away_ from the coast—relics of a former topography—are laid
bare and chopped in half by the erosion of the waves. I strolled over to
the top of the ice-house, where one of the junior scientists was sitting
stoically among the dogs, and Lieutenant Pennell was bending over the
large standard compass which ornaments the ice-house roof. He said, “You
haven’t a knife on you, have you?” I proudly pulled out the bowie I’d
just bought with evil designs on Antarctic seals. He remarked, “You’ll
have to take that off. I’m swinging ship.”

This consisted in rotating the ship as rapidly as feasible, meanwhile
taking timed observations on the sun to obtain true bearings. By this
means the total effect of the iron in the ship and stores on the magnet
of the compass was ascertained. On leaving Antarctica next year this
operation must be repeated. The aforesaid assistant was noting times
when the observer called out “Top!” The actual swinging occupied about
an hour, during which one could trace the devious track of the ship by
the circular wake over her stern.

The Clerk of the Weather was kind to us, and our journey of thirty hours
from Lyttelton to Port Chalmers was peaceful and uneventful. The
farewell evolutions of Lieutenant Rennick on the poop-deck, whereby he
sent and received messages which apparently afforded him considerable
amusement, directed attention to the value of semaphore signalling in
the frozen south. Next day might be seen eminent scientists wildly
waving their arms according to the accepted code of the Boy Scouts.
Personally I prefer the Morse code, for it can be learned in ten minutes
by a dodge which may interest my readers as it did the Antarctic party.
Each sign is represented by a word or combination, which can readily be
associated with the letter required. In these key-words _dots_ are
represented by vowels and the isolated letters _s_, _z_, and _h_;
_dashes_ by the consonants (including _w_ and _y_). Thus A (dot, dash)
is _an_; B (dash, dot, dot, dot) is _base_; C is _cāve_; _die_, _e_,
_safe_, _gnu_, _hu̇sh_, _is_, _kit_, _aloe_, _Mr._, _no_, _PQR_, _Epps_,
_QRST_, _are_, _sss_, _t_, _usk_, _azov_, _awl_, _yell_, _bruz_. Of the
remaining letters J is the exact opposite of B and X of P. It was rather
a curious coincidence that both Dr. Simpson and myself became interested
in these codes through reading a tale, “Raymond Frezols,” years ago in
the good old _B.O.P._

At dusk on Sunday the 27th we entered the heads of Port Chalmers. This
is another drowned upland valley of a similar nature to Lyttelton
Harbour. The novices in the afterguard chose this opportunity to essay
the rigging. The scientists who had made the voyage from England lay out
along the yard in fine style, in a manner which seemed distinctly
precarious. Standing on a jumping “foot-rope,” and leaning over the
broad wooden surface of the yard, both hands can be used for furling the
sails. When the next sailor gets off the foot-rope the latter jerks up a
foot or more, so that this position one hundred feet above the water is
not one likely to attract a nervous person. On this particular occasion
it was too much for the hardy sailor man. The wind was dead astern, and
we were burning Westport coal—which is a tremendous soot-producer,
whatever its steam qualities are. As a result, a dense mephitic fog
enveloped every one, full of sulphurous fumes, with clinging clots of
soot. It was a weird spectacle to see the men working in what one might
call a “Hades in the Heavens”—while elsewhere the whole atmosphere was
calm and clear. Our photographer rushed out to try and get the effect,
but the wind shifted slightly, and the men had come down for a breather.
Soon they returned and made a “harbour stow” for the credit of the ship
and the gratification of the good folks of Dunedin.

The most striking object in a polar exploring ship is undoubtedly the
crow’s nest. This is a large barrel, about four feet high, with a
rudimentary seat therein, and a floor which chiefly consists of a
trap-door. After a good dinner on Sunday evening—which I note consisted
of tinned bloater, sheep’s tongue, rhubarb, and blancmange, with jam and
potted meat (if the former edibles did not suffice)—I climbed up 150
feet or so of ratlines and reached the crow’s nest. There are two
stories or landing-stages on the way, the “maintop,” about 60 feet up,
which is quite a large platform, immediately under the main yard. There
are two ways of reaching this—firstly, up the main ratlines, which bring
you right under the maintop, when it is necessary to claw out by a small
ladder—overhanging very unpleasantly at first—called the “futtocks.” The
other, simpler route—scorned by every true sailor, but very acceptable
at first—is an accessory lateral ladder, which gets there just the same.
Another pair of ratlines—the higher set a little to one side, as
before—lead to the next stage—the “crosstrees.” This is not a platform,
but a mere brace of horizontal beams. Another 30 feet and the crow’s
nest is reached. It is a scramble at first to get in. The trap-door is
lifted by one’s head, and then the difficulty I experienced was to get
my knees through, for the interior of an empty barrel does not afford
much of a grip. It is not used until the pack is reached, but is then
invaluable in tracing out the leads or lanes of open water, though, at
that height, it is almost impossible to tell whether a floe is one foot
or 20 feet thick.

Wednesday (30th November) was our first day out of sight of land.
Shore-going suits were either sent back to Lyttelton from Port Chalmers
or stored away in tin trunks on board. Little will they be needed for
eighteen months or more. Fearful and wonderful were the rigs that
appeared. Caps were of all shapes and sizes, from a Stetson with a
back-strap to a red piratical nightcap. One member turned out in a
salmon-coloured knitted confection, which by various foldings could be
used as a cap, a cravat, or a purse (of the oldfashioned sausage shape).
Coats of all kinds clothed us. A black leather jacket with the fur
inside is much admired. This is worn by our Siberian traveller (Meares),
and is suitably accompanied by a sort of fur busby of fox-paw fur.
Norfolk shooting-coats are popular; one man braved the cold in a
light-textured serge suit, such as clerks wear by the thousand. But a
most welcome gift at the last moment of a hundred grey jerseys furnished
every man with a pair of beautifully warm garments that have in every
sense driven all else under cover. They are rather large, so that when
increasing cold necessitates more clothing this goes on under the grey
jersey. Nether garments soon became fairly uniform also. The special
Antarctic clothing is being kept till we land, but by most of us nothing
but the heavy corduroy trousers have been found thick enough to
withstand the cold since we crossed the Antarctic circle. These trousers
are extremely broad in the beam, rivalling a Dutchman’s. But at the
ankle they fit tightly when buttoned up, so that they resemble a giant’s
riding breeches worn by a dwarf!

[Illustration:

  Map of Antarctica showing localities of recent expeditions. (1)
    Campbell, 1911; (2) Campbell, 1912; (3) Taylor, 1902; (4) Taylor,
    1911; (5) Scott, January 18, 1912. Based on map from _Royal
    Geographical Journal_, July, 1913.
]

When Nelson ran short of thick breeches he made some by the simple
process of cutting out a kilt of dreadnought blanket, putting in two
brass eyelets and lashing it with string. As he had a red mob-cap, a
sweater, and long sea-boots, he stalked about for days a living
representation of Captain Kidd.

The official breeches are adorned with bone soup-plate buttons which
displease some of the wearers, so that the bowie knives have come into
play and cut them off. Tastes vary with regard to knives. Experienced
men seem to prefer a shilling butcher’s knife with a rough wooden
handle; but the budding sailorman, if he has any money, cannot resist
the ornamental daggers, ranging to two feet in length, with highly
ornamental handles, cross-guards, and sheaths. For seal-killing these
are practically useless, for the cross-guard prevents a deep stab, which
is the speediest method of despatching the animal.

There is much variation in footgear. Our Canadian wears “shoe-packs” or
soft-soled boots, with some resemblance to a polony in shape. During the
earlier part of our voyage in the “furious fifties,” every one used
sea-boots of leather, rubber, or leather and canvas. A local New Zealand
brand were very comfortable, though heavy, and so long that, as an
envious officer remarked, “they only needed braces to turn them into
trousers.” It seemed almost impossible to get wet in them, but in the
gales we discovered they were waterproof from the quantities of water we
poured out on changing them. This had all swept in from above, but was
just as wet as if it had soaked through in the normal manner!

Every week increasing cold has led to a greater bulk of underclothing,
but little change is apparent in the outer man. With plenty of food,
plenty of blankets, and plenty of rope-hauling, the cold is hardly
noticed so far.

The poop-deck was converted into a barber’s shop the first day outward
bound. Scissors were despised by the operators, who preferred
horse-clippers, with which they simply and thoroughly removed every
possible hair. Ponting (the photographer) has a specially close-cutting
pair of clippers, designed to trim off frosty beards on sledging trips,
and one officer was so pleased with the first cut that he was retrimmed
with the latter weapon. The result was very comic, and called forth
enquiries from ribald youths as to when he was likely to hatch out!

We began the month of December with a spanking breeze in the most
favourable quarter. The fore and main masts were clothed in sails. There
is a huge boom on the mizen mast which swings over the poop-deck (as in
a yacht) when in use, and carries a spanker, but the alterations to the
poop and the presence of the funnel of the auxiliary engine so block the
sails, and indeed to some extent offer the same obstruction to the wind,
that our ship is to all intents and purposes a two-master. Howbeit, we
bowled to southward at a rate of nine knots. The average speed of the
engine is five or six knots, so that the sails were of great assistance.
Indeed, when little cargo is in the hold she has reached the respectable
speed or ten and a half miles per hour.

[Illustration:

  How space was utilized on the steamer.
]

Let us take a walk around the decks in their present crowded condition.
The last day of loading the supercargo announced that the engineer could
have “two inches of coal.”

This amount is not quite so small as it might seem. It was found that
the ship was still two inches off her Plimsollmark (though one of the
advantages of being a Royal yacht, I believe, is that she is, to a
certain extent, freed from ordinary loading regulations), and as each
inch of loading represented nine tons, this meant an addition of
eighteen tons to our precious fuel. The most prominent cargo was,
therefore, this coal, in bags, which were laid wherever there was any
crevice to spare. The “waist”—as the deck between the elevated poop and
foc’sle is termed—was several bags deep where it was not occupied by the
huge motor sledges and cases and cases of petrol. Many bags were
deposited on the for’ard portion of the poop-deck. And over all sprawled
the dogs. Much of this deck cargo—including all the coal—would be
restowed later, the latter in the ship’s furnaces during the first week.
But “much water went over the bulwarks” (to misquote a proverb) before
we reached clear decks.

Under the rising wind on the evening of the first, the water repeatedly
came in board, and the “afterguard,” comprising the non-nautical
officers, were set to the task for which their knowledge was adequate,
that of heaving coal sacks to the bunker manholes below the bridge.
Slippery decks, soaking sacks, and swamping seas—for the wind continued
to increase—made this by no means a pleasant task. It was often
necessary to haul the sacks right over the engine-room from one side to
the other of the ship. A sudden lurch and down would slip a leg between
two cases of petrol while the sack fell on one’s person, and “Peary” (or
“Cook”) assisted in the mêlée. One special mantrap consisted in the
stiffening beams connecting the roofs of the laboratories and the
deck-house. When the deck of the alley-way between was covered with
sacks of coal a man’s head was very liable to crash into these beams in
the effort to escape a sea. I had that misfortune several times, and our
headstrong Canadian friend’s score must have mounted well into the
’teens.

Next day (the 2nd) the wind had veered to the west and south, and had
increased very greatly; in fact, we experienced a full gale. The ship
was hove-to for two days, and though we novices could see well enough
that things were very lively, we did not know how grave a risk we were
passing through. It was rather a rough breaking-in, for by this time our
cabins were swimming in water. At first I rather selfishly hoped that my
_lower_ bunk would be protected from the thirteen Niagaras flooding the
upper bunk by the floor of the latter; but as the storm increased in
violence both were soaked—blankets, tools, books, cameras, everything
except a foot or so at the head end.

Early on Friday (the 2nd) it was obvious that not much more could be
done with the hand-pumps. The seas were incessantly washing over the
waist—where the pumps are placed at the foot of the main mast—and
burying the deck under several feet of water. Casks of petrol were
drifting about and staving in; the hammering on the port bulwarks was
tremendous, and it was a risky business to get from the poop to the
foc’sle. This was, of course, not unnatural in a gale, and would have
caused little anxiety beyond that consequent on conditions of heavy
lading and loose deck cargo. But it can be readily understood that water
was finding its way into the bilge by a hundred channels with the
constant sweeping of the decks by the waves. The poop was repeatedly
washed, giving the helmsman a tough time to keep her head in the right
direction. At this time the pumps all refused duty! A curious compound
of coal-dust and oil had formed into balls and pellets, which collected
in the bilge and choked both the hand and engine-driven pumps. But this
could not be cleared out because the bilge was feet deep in water;
moreover, the suction end of the hand-pumps could not be reached without
lifting the hatches, an impossible expedient under the circumstances.
Thus were we driven to a method almost unique with a ship of 750
tons—that of bailing out with buckets!

Day and night—in two-hour shifts—the bailing went on, until, luckily,
the gale moderated. A very strenuous time, which I never desire to
experience again.

Down in the engine-room floor are some movable iron plates, which cover
a hole about two feet deep. Into this sump the bilge water and normal
leakage drains, and is pumped out with the greatest ease either by the
donkey-pump or by the hand-pumps. But during this gale the water was
nearly four feet deep, covering the whole floor of the engine-room from
side to side, and gradually creeping up till it was in the ashpits, only
an inch or two from the heated bottom plates of the boilers. If these
latter were reached there was great probability that they would buckle,
and practically ruin the boilers. Luckily there was no lack of unskilled
labour in the persons of the afterguard, and they assisted the stokers
by forming a chain from the bottom of the ship to the poop-deck. Three
iron ladders with two intermediate platforms led from the floor plates
to the open air, and a gang of a dozen men occupied this for twenty
continuous hours.

[Illustration:

  Vertical section illustrating incidents in the great storm, January
    2–3, 1911.
]

Outside was the sound of the booming gale shrilling through the shrouds
and ratlines in one continuous shriek. Cold waves washed over the
bridge, but luckily did not penetrate very rapidly through the
sou’-westers, oilskins, and thigh-boots worn by every one. But while the
upper end of the chain was in an Antarctic atmosphere, the heated waters
washing about the engine-room filled the latter with a steamy, oily
heat, so that several of the workers kept their clothes dry by leaving
them behind in their cabins. Down below the sound of the rushing waters
dashing from side to side with every oscillation of the ship was broken
only by a cry of “Water” as the chain of buckets went up, and “Empty” as
they descended rapidly to the bottom. Occasionally some one would raise
a chanty, which was sung vigorously until breath failed through swinging
up the heavy buckets. One of them was a shade heavier than the others,
and it was always a relief to be done with _that_ one for a brief space.
At the hatchway, luckily on the lee side, the end man held the empty
buckets to prevent them washing overboard. He was kept moderately warm
by the water from the emptying buckets, since being in the line of fire
he received most of it amidships, whence it trickled down inside his
boots, forming a novel mode of keeping the feet warm.

Now and again would come a welcome cry of “Spell Ho!” and those below
would climb into the cool air, and those outside dive inside to thaw
themselves. Then to it again till five minutes before the watch ended,
when some one would be sent off to warn the relief. The relieved watch
turned in, into bunks soaking wet in many cases, and by the time one had
warmed up and snoozed a few minutes, there came a cry of “Turn out; your
watch!” However, by Friday night we were holding our own and gaining
slightly on the water. Meanwhile the engineers were working double tides
to cut a hole through the bulkheads so as to get at the lower end of the
hand-pumps. This was accomplished after many hours’ work, and with the
aid of a rat-trap the pumps were brought into use again. This humble
implement was shaped to cover the end of the pipe, and served admirably
to keep the coal-balls from clogging the valves. Soon sixteen men—eight
on each long crank handle—were clanking away despite the incoming waves,
and as the sea moderated the outrush from the hand-pumps assisted the
steam-pumps so that on Saturday afternoon the ship was practically dry.

The toll of the gale was fairly heavy. Two of the ponies in the foc’sle
stalls had died of the buffeting and exhaustion; one dog had been washed
overboard; and the port bulwarks the whole length of the waist (about
thirty feet) had been badly damaged. The after-portion for two panels
(to use a landlubber’s term) had been torn out bodily, while for’ard of
that the planking was washed away, leaving only the framework. Personal
gear suffered greatly. Books and diaries in my bunk had been pulped, a
camera so warped as to be nearly useless, and several surveying
instruments, which I had placed in a canvas rucksack on the wall, ruined
or badly damaged. During the gale I had felt that the rucksack was quite
dry, but on clearing out the bunk a little later I found the bag
contained half a bucketful of a sort of “hoosh”—consisting of rusty
water, aneroids, compasses, and razors well mixed together! Waterproof
bags have their disadvantages under such circumstances. In the log the
gale is given the number 10, 12 being the maximum. We were unfortunate
in meeting with it so early in the voyage; but, now it is all over, one
is not sorry that for half an hour or so, in the words of Captain Scott,
it was touch and go.




                              CHAPTER III
                           LEARNING THE ROPES


Sunday (4th) is a calm, restful day. I think most people on board slept
well after the gale. “Rise and shine, Mr. Taylor, sir,” is the curious
reveillé of the steward at 7.30. I don’t know how we are to shine, for I
haven’t had a wash for three days, except a bucketful of sea-water
caught with my own (by no means) fair hands. Many of us have had all our
suits soaked, and as to-day is really sunny and almost warm, some queer
garbs are seen. One scientist reverted to a fashionable Tudor garb—to
wit, a long speckled knitted tunic reaching the knees, and a pair of
very long thick blue stockings! Now that the ship has stopped rolling
through 40°, it is possible to wedge oneself among the stanchions under
the deck-pump and obtain a bracing bath. But, as the gentleman who
occupies the cabin under the pump ungallantly objects to the water, so
to speak, killing two birds with one stone, and bathing _him_ also, we
are deprived of this pleasure, and revert to the even more chilly method
of heaving up buckets from the vasty deep. The deck-house balcony—an
enclosed strip of the poop overlooking the wardroom—forms our
dressing-room, and was invaluable during the gale as a changing stage
between the howling outer void and the snug wardroom below.

The first duty was to secure the loose boxes and cargo. The coal sacks
were all emptied into the depleted bunkers, and the cases of petrol for
the motor sledges transferred from the poop further for’ard.

A glance at the sketch-plan of the deck (p. 39) will show that the three
enormous cases containing the motor sledges were almost as large as the
permanent structure. Two of them, just in front of the main mast, help
to form the walls of a snug “hangar” or enclosure for the dogs. Large
tarpaulins overhang at the sides, and partly cover the central space;
and here the dogs are snugger than they are likely to be in Antarctica.
On the port side the broken bulwarks have been roughly barricaded by
ropes and planks; the narrow alley alongside being largely occupied by
spare timber and scantling, on which three or four other dogs are
chained.

A prominent building is the ice-house, with a flat roof, on which are
two most important instruments and some half-dozen dogs. The ice-house
has walls a foot thick, and contains carcases of sheep, with, I believe,
just three of beef. It may well be believed that there is little need at
present (latitude 68°) for careful insulation; indeed, half a dozen
carcases have been preserved by hanging them in the rigging; alongside
some penguins, though the latter are not for food, but consecrate to the
taxidermist. Mention has been made of the standard compass—tested by
swinging the ship early in the voyage—by which the helmsman’s compass
and various others on board are verified. In the centre of the ice-house
is the range-finder—an historic instrument, which was used on the
_Scotia_ in her Antarctic explorations. It will be mentioned later, when
the icebergs are described.

Merry are the meals we have in the wardroom. Gigantic meals; four per
diem, and one extra if you are on night-watch. Eight o’clock, twelve
o’clock, four o’clock tea, and 7.30 for dinner. Let me try and give some
idea of a dinner, say, on Saturday night. About three-quarters of an
hour beforehand the steward, who is dressed, as are the officers, in
grey jersey and corduroy trousers, appears with the remark, “Table,
sir!” This is a sign to clear off charts, calculations, diaries, and not
unusually novels, from the oilcloth, that he may set the table. If any
books are missing after this clearance it is safe to examine the
“nursery,” for our steward has a fixed idea that untidiness is a
characteristic of the latter cabin, and so deposits findings on the
pianola, whence they may emerge after many days. Tin mugs, bottles of
lime juice, ship’s biscuits—either captain’s or digestives—butter, and
enamel jugs of water are the table furniture. As the bell is jangled the
afterguard pour into the wardroom. Four men do not get seats, but if you
stand up the range of action is much greater, so that it really compares
favourably with a seat. Captain Scott seats himself in the office chair
at the head, and Lieutenants Evans and Campbell, if they are in time,
sit next him. Dr. Wilson (chief scientist) has a fondness for the stool
out of the pantry. I have a suspicion that his shrewd mind has realized
that this combines the comfort of the seat with the mobility of the
stander. The others sit where fancy lists; geologist next to pony
expert, chemist, and motorman, taxidermist, navigator, lord of the dogs,
doctors, etc., etc., each with his elbows lovingly exploring his
neighbour’s anatomy. Two of our ’Varsity men, from Cambridge and Oxford
respectively, prefer an elevated perch on a “sausage,” or clothes-bag,
at the far corners. Perchance thus they feel like dons at their college
high table. Enamel soup-plates are passed along, and the steward brings
in two enormous jugs of pea or tomato soup. Meanwhile requests—one might
say demands—of a nature strange to a landsman’s ears fly across the long
table. “Carry on with the bread, Marie!” “Give the butter a wind, Jane!”
(pronounced “wined”). “Belay with the biscuit!” “Where’s that drunkard’s
companion?” (This last remark, terrifying to a teetotaler, merely refers
to a knife with a _corkscrew_, a very precious possession.) I should
like to record the ship-names bestowed on my esteemed comrades, some of
whom rejoice in three or four synonyms, but forbear, for personally I
should hate it to be known that I—a staunch Imperialist—have
occasionally answered to the cry of “Keir Hardie.”

Soup despatched, plates of roast mutton are handed out from the pantry,
with potatoes and beans, or some weird fibrous vegetable which was
originally kale, I believe. Limejuice is practically the universal
drink, and is extremely palatable. Indeed, this and the mutton and
butter are most excellent, while all the food is good. There follows
plum-duff, roly-poly, apple pie, or stewed fruits and blancmange, surely
the best sweets, if the homeliest, yet devised by cooks. By this time
hunger’s pangs are dying, and some one starts a chorus. We seem to
prefer choruses of a rousing nature, though “it doesn’t much matter what
words we sing, so long as the tune hath a right good swing.” For
instance, “Rings on her fingers,” etc. (or as the Canadian sings it,
“Fings on her ringers”), is very popular. “My name is Gertrude,” “Did
she plant a tiny seed of love in —— —— stony heart?” (with an honoured
member’s name inserted in the song) are always encored. Then, since it
is Saturday night, “Sweethearts and Wives” is drunk in something
stronger than the juice of the lime by about half the party. (I imagine
this toast does not appeal to the other moiety.)

After dinner some dozen adjourn to the nursery for a concert. An upper
bunk forms the dress circle, the washstand is the royal box, and the
others crowd round the pianist. We have two flautists, two banjoists,
and an expert on the mandolin, but are badly off for pianists. However,
two of us can strum a little and are practising to eke out the
performance. At any rate, there’s no need for the piano except the final
chord of the bar, for the goodwill if not the execution of the other
performers is so great that the piano is lost. After an hour of
“Scottish Student,” the party disperse somewhat, except an enthusiast
who plays favourite music on the pianola. Certainly ours is a
quick-change programme; from “The Tarpaulin Jacket,” rather badly
strummed, to “Lohengrin,” as played in grand opera!

By ten or eleven all but the watch have turned in, and we are one day
nearer the Pole.

The 6th and 7th were days of dull weather, with some rain, and a wind
veering to south-west, but we made good progress under steam, with just
sufficient sail to keep her steady. As a matter of fact, in ordinary
weather, she is a very steady ship, and anticipations of five weeks’
mal-de-mer have in my case not been realized in the slightest. All but
one unfortunate turned out throughout the gale—an heroic effort in the
case of two of the afterguard, who had no interest in the dinner-bell
for over a week.

Indoor work perforce occupied us, except when the setting of sails
required volunteers at the ropes. I hesitate to describe this operation,
for up to the present I have not been able to distinguish the “main
weather braces” from the “fore to’gallant lee shrouds.” However, I am
busy learning them and the words of some of the chanties.

One of the most popular describes the adventures of a mythical hero,
“Ranzo,” who “was no sailor” at the beginning of the epic, but being
taught navigation by an unusually affable captain, ends up by realizing
that proud position himself! The chorus, “Ranzo, boys, Ranzo,” is easily
remembered. Moreover, it is etiquette to pull only during the chorus. No
wonder the sailorman loves this chanty. At the conclusion of the hauling
some mysterious signal passes along the “centipede” of sailors, and the
experts let go, while the novice is jerked forward off his feet by some
one coiling the rope rapidly round the belaying pins. Then we troop back
to the wardroom, leave our oilskins and sea-boots in the “balcony,” and
resume our reading, writing, or embroidery. This last may seem unusual,
but was a fact.

Many of the afterguard were provided with silken sledge flags given to
them by friends before leaving. Others had had them made in
Christchurch. One of the officers, nothing daunted by feminine and
professional examples, boldly set to work and evolved a fine one under
the jeers of his companions. The first sledge flags were carried in the
north on the Franklin Relief Expeditions, and they are all made on the
same pattern. They are three feet long and one foot wide, the end having
a triangular notch a foot deep. At the staff end is worked a square St.
George’s Cross (red on white) while any desired design, such as a
private crest, school shield or professional emblem, occupies the centre
of the flag. A cord or ribbon of appropriate colour runs all round the
flag. Some are very ornamental, and they will make a brave show down
south. A maple leaf, and a map of Australia are patriotic signs. A flash
of lightning adorns the meteorologist’s banner. Shields of the Cambridge
colleges are numerous, and several well-known schools, both in Australia
and England, are commemorated.

Members of the party were soon seized by Dr. Levick in the interests of
science. He was armed with a wonderful array of slips of coloured
glasses, and with a simple telescope, across which the glasses could be
inserted. With these he examined the colour of all our eyes, for it is
maintained that there is a perceptible change in the iris after a
sojourn in polar regions. I do not suppose green eyes would change into
the more popular violet, but on our return we may find we have moved up
or down his scale of colours; just as one learned ethnologist declares
that the hardy Norsemen are Africans decolorised by a changed
environment!

In the evening a few of the afterguard may bring out novels, but there
has been little time except a day or two in the Pack for this
relaxation. It is interesting to see how tastes differ. Some swear by
Conan Doyle and dislike Merriman. Others find the White Company tedious
(though they are rare) and revel in biography. One officer—with an eye
to the penguins may be—is carefully perusing the “Amateur Poacher,”
while all of us have studied the book on Ski-Running. A most acceptable
and suitable gift from Mr. Reginald Smith and others was a complete set
of those handy sevenpenny and shilling books containing almost all the
best English fiction of the last fifty years. They are well printed,
fairly strong and not so valuable that one needs to don a dress-suit to
read them. The strong book cupboard (now on the “balcony”) will be a
most welcome addition to our winter quarters during the long night.

One problem, or set of problems, is engaging the attention of every
class of officer, be he doctor, biologist, or geologist. It is that of
field astronomy, for it is obviously essential that each sledging party
should be able to locate itself fairly accurately by the sun or stars
without reference to the natural features. The latter will probably be
uncharted, or—in the Barrier and plateau journeys—non-existent. It is
not a specially easy business, but bulks largely in exploration, and I
should feel proud if I can briefly explain the two simplest methods so
that a layman can follow them.

_Latitude_ is distance (in angular measure) north or south of the
equator. The South Pole is 90°, and Melbourne 38° (subtended at the
centre of the earth).

The sketch shows a vertical section through the earth, the polar
explorer being supposed at I in the midst of illimitable ice plains. The
position of the sun at midday is shown. With a sextant or theodolite he
measures the angle between the horizon (H_{1}H) and the sun (which
equals SOH). He knows the angle SOP; for this is given in the nautical
almanac for the time of the observation. Now the angle IOE is the
required latitude, and we have all the data needed to get it; as thus:
Latitude, IOE = IOS + SOE = (90° − SOH) + (90° − SOP) (_i.e._ a right
angle less altitude from sextant, added to a right angle less the
almanac angle). By this short calculation the explorer can tell his
exact distance from the equator; for a degree equals sixty-nine miles.

[Illustration:

  The celestial triangle is shaded. The earth is to be considered a
    point.
]

But he does not know whereabouts is his position on this parallel of
latitude. To do this we require the _longitude_. All that is necessary
is to find the difference in time between that at Greenwich and the
local time (as shown by the sun) in the aforementioned illimitable
plain. A chronometer (a watch with a special compensation for
temperature changes) gives him Greenwich time; and the problem is to get
the exact local time and to transform the hours into degrees by
multiplying by fifteen (24 hours = 360°). Our next diagram is on a
larger scale. We have increased our spherical surface so that the sun
lies on its surface at S. A vertical line, OZ, above our explorer hits
this celestial sphere at Z. (The earth is really a mere dot at O
compared with this huge sphere.)

Now we have a problem as clear as that involved in determining latitude.
The position of the sun (S) on the sphere’s surface is determined by the
intersection of two lines, PS and ZS. Of these PS is tabulated in the
almanac, and SZ, between the sun and the zenith (directly overhead), is
measured by the sextant. The remaining side PZ of the triangle PZS is
given by 90° minus the latitude EZ. Hence PZ the colatitude is known
from our previous calculation. Given three sides of a triangle (even if
it be on a curved surface), we can, as in Euclid, determine the angle at
the pole ZPS. But this angle is the angle between the required meridian
of longitude PZE and the longitude of the localities at that moment
experiencing midday. It is extremely simple to find out what the latter
longitude is, since we know Greenwich time from the chronometer. For
suppose our chronometer says it is seven in the morning at Greenwich,
then at this time it will be midday at 75° east (five hours difference)
at Bombay. If our angle ZPS turns out to be 100° under these conditions
(and we know it is midday at Bombay), our longitude is 75 + 100, or
175°; about that of Cape Crozier.

I feel rather proud of this explanation. I have never seen the problems
so described before, and it has passed the critical review of a
navigator. May it help every reader who may chance to be lost with a
sextant and nautical almanac!

After the gale the dogs took some time to recover their normal spirits.
We had heard that the Peary dogs were huge, ferocious beasts, ready to
eat a man on sight. But they tamed down wonderfully, and, truth to tell,
seem somewhat afraid of the stockier Siberian horde. It is prophesied
that they will fall victims to the latter when shore fighting starts,
and consequently they may be sent with the Edward VII. Land (or eastern)
party. They are fed on biscuits, and (lately) on seal meat, and are
certainly not kept very hungry, for one often sees a little food left.
Poor Osman, the leading dog, was very sick after the gale, and was
accommodated with some straw in an iron washing-dish. In this he curled
up snugly, and recovered in a few days. The ponies and dogs consume
about 80 per cent. of the drinking water; but the latter were not so
thirsty as expected, so that for some days each officer was allowed
about as much as a dog in his cabin! Of course, with special soaps it is
possible to get off a certain amount of grime with salt water, but fresh
water is a great treat.

There are several pets on board. Firstly, a beautiful collie, who spends
her time in the foc’sle, snuggled in some sacks. Then there’s “Niggsy,”
the cat, “that walks,” as Kipling says. Imperturbable, as usual, he
tolerates fulsome fondling, and escapes as soon as may be. Smaller fry
in the shape of rabbits and a guinea pig accompany us. Early in the
voyage one of the rabbits seems to have challenged a pony to mortal
combat. At any rate, its flattened carcase was found in the stall. Poor
piggy inhabited a cigar-box on occasion, and this was carelessly dropped
overboard one day, so that unless a crab-eating seal carries him there
he will never reach Antarctica.

During the next few days the geologists were busy discussing the first
sub-expedition in Antarctica. It will probably be of interest to readers
to know how the amount of sledging stores is arrived at. It is a problem
almost as intricate as a determination of longitude! The first factor to
be considered is _time_. We will work backwards. The middle of March is
getting very cold and dark, and this fixes the end of sledging. The
_venue_ of the proposed survey lies around Mount Lister, across MacMurdo
Sound, and towering some 13,000 feet (see Map at end). Here, near Butter
Point, three scientists (and perhaps one other officer) and a sailor
will be landed from the ship as soon as possible after the winter
quarters are well started. This may be about the 20th of January. The
_time_ factor is therefore two months.

Our programme will be approximately as follows:—To leave the ship at
Butter Point and march two days up the Ferrar Glacier to Descent Pass.
Here we depôt four weeks’ provisions, and push on with two weeks’ to the
Dry Valley, which we explore and map. Meanwhile the ship has made
another depôt (near the Dailey Isles) of a fortnight’s stores, which we
pick up on the 1st of March. So that we have to carry with us from the
ship only _six_ weeks’ provisions, and of this only four weeks will need
to be moved over long distances. So much for the distance factor.

A man can drag 200 lbs.; there are five men in the party, and the time
is six weeks. Two pounds of food per man per day is roughly 12 lbs. a
day for the party, giving a total of 500 lbs. food. One gallon of oil
will last five men for a week and weighs with its tin 10 lbs. Hence for
six weeks, say 70 lbs. oil.

Now for equipment. Two sledges weigh 130 lbs.; one tent, 35 lbs.; five
sleeping-bags, 65 lbs.; finneskoes (shoes, etc.), total 50 lbs.;
cookers, 25 lbs.; ropes, repair tools, ice-axes, a spade, etc., total 70
lbs. Finally, since we shall have much rock work and hard glacier ice, a
pair of Day’s under-runners for the sledges—made of =Ꭲ= steel—will be
carried. They weigh 40 lbs., and the equipment amounts to 400 lbs. in
all.

Instruments are essential, and weighty. One of the five-inch
theodolites, specially built for the expedition, only weighs 11 lbs.
Thermometers (two), aneroids (three), clinometers (two), hypsometers
(one), prismatic compasses (three), hammers and chisels will add 40 lbs.
to our load. For personal gear (tobacco, diaries, socks, etc.), one is
allowed 10 lbs. each, totalling 50 lbs. Cameras and oddments, 30 lbs.
Now let us see how the grand total stands:—

                                      lbs.
                        Food           500
                        Fuel            70
                        Sledges, etc.  400
                        Instruments     40
                        Personal gear   50
                        Cameras, etc.   30
                                      ————
                                      1090 lbs.

to be discharged from the ship at Butter Point. This, it will be seen,
nicely balances the pulling power of five men, which (at 200 lbs. each)
equals 1000 lbs. The party live day and night in the clothes they start
off in, so that there is no load due to blankets or change of clothing.
Non-smokers are, however, advised to carry a pair of socks instead of
Navy Cut among their personal gear.

At any time now we might expect to see icebergs and the pack. From New
Zealand we had been accompanied by albatrosses and petrels. During the
gale it was almost comic to glance overboard during a rest from the
bailing, and watch the sea-birds swinging to and fro over the angry
waves or even settling down on them. With perfect unconcern they
carefully tuck in their wings and float quite comfortably in strong
contrast to our position. On the 8th Dr. Wilson hung out a snare-line
from the mizen shrouds. It was merely a long looped thin wire, without
hook or bait. Soon one of the Antarctic petrels, as it swung back and
forth in the wake of the ship, was caught in the snare and pulled in to
join the zoologist’s collection. The bird was dark brown with a white
breast and a particularly fierce action with its pointed beak. So our
assistant zoologist discovered when he posed before the camera and was
requested to let the bird look pretty! The most curious feature was the
central nostril in the form of a bone tube over the beak. This is the
characteristic of the petrels and distinguishes them from the
albatrosses.




                               CHAPTER IV
                        BLOCKED BY THE PACK ICE


On the evening of the 8th in latitude 63° 30′ we saw our first icebergs.
We were just starting dinner when news was brought, and the soup looked
tempting. So many times had “Wolf” been cried, that not a man moved!
However, later some of us climbed the main rigging and far away in the
east we could see two silvery pyramids glistening in the setting sun.
Not even a fortnight’s blockade in the pack has damped our admiration of
the icebergs, and I shall have much to say of their striking beauty.

Early on the 9th of December we entered the zone of pack-ice. On the
horizon was an enormous fragment of the Great Barrier, probably three
miles long, and one of the largest ever seen by those on board who knew
these regions well. It was a tilted berg, so that the upper surface
sloped considerably to the north. Most of these bergs float off from the
Barrier in the shape of huge bricks. In this form they are known as
tabular bergs. It often happens that large fragments of the lower
surface break away, and in that case there is a readjustment of the
flotation line, and the berg tilts over—as in the tilted example just
quoted. Often the old flotation line is exposed on the side of these
bergs as a furrow or line of caves cut by the waves. Still other bergs
exhibit _pinnacles_ and hummocks. It may be that these have actually
turned turtle, or possibly they may be from shore _glaciers_, which have
received ice debris from overhanging cliffs. Another group exhibit a
broad _domed_ surface sloping gradually from the centre. These are
particularly difficult to explain, for neither the barrier nor the
glaciers exhibit a surface of this nature, and it is difficult to see
how it could have arisen after the berg left the parent body of ice.
They may represent the large undulations seen in glacier tongues.

There had been little so far which came into the province of geology,
but from this time forward the three geologists (Priestley, Debenham,
and Taylor), and the physicist (Wright) formed an “Iceberg Watch.” Day
and night since the 9th every berg in sight has been noted and
catalogued as tabular, domed, tilted, or pinnacled. All within three
miles have been sketched and many photographed. Their distance has been
determined by the range-finder, and their height by the sextant.

The range-finder is a tube four feet long, containing a prism at each
end and an eyepiece in the centre. The instrument is mounted on a heavy
rotating standard, and the observer looks into the _side_ of the
instrument (as it were across the middle), and not lengthwise as in a
telescope. Through one prism appears the image of the upper half of the
berg, through the other prism (which can be rotated on a vertical axis)
the image of the lower half of the berg. Obviously, if the object is
very far away, the rays of light constituting these two images are
nearly parallel. If the berg is nearer, the movable prism must be
twisted inwards to make its image fall correctly under that of the fixed
prism. (From the end prisms it is a simple matter to deflect the images
again into the same central eyepiece.) The amount of rotation of the
right-hand prism measures the distance of the object.

A somewhat similar optical arrangement is made use of in the sextant.
Here, however, a mirror image of one object is made to coincide, by
moving an arm of the sextant, with the direct image of another object.
The _angle_ between the two objects—say the top and bottom of a big
berg—is thus obtained. We have found the distance by the range-finder,
and by a simple calculation can get the height in feet. The sextant will
also give the angular _width_ of the berg, and as we know the distance,
as before we can find the width in feet.

Within a few hours of the first icebergs we reached the pack-ice. At
first a few solitary spongy pieces of ice only a foot or two across, and
so tumbled and broken by the waves that we were doubtful if they were
not fragments of one of the bergs in the offing, rather than outliers of
the true pack. But by noon we were cutting through it, and from that
time it got thicker and more formidable as we penetrated southward. In
this region (65° S.) it lay in long streaks across our path about a
quarter of a mile wide, and broken by lanes of clear water. After a
heavy snowstorm at sea one finds the snow collecting into similar belts
across the direction of the wind. The floe was here composed of pieces
of ice about twenty feet across, and varying in thickness from one to
three feet. These have just the appearance of pancakes coated thickly
with icing sugar. The rounded outline is caused by the floes rubbing
against each other, and as a consequence the edges are often slightly
upturned. The contrast of the dark water with the dazzling floes is very
striking. Imagine Gargantuan sugared pancakes floating in a sea of
Stephens’ “blue-black” ink, and you will get an idea of the
colour-scheme of a field of young pack-ice.

As the boat hits this soft stuff there is a hustling and a surging, as
one large piece collides with another, or even overrides it. Sheets of
water sweep across the floes, and freeze almost immediately. The wake of
the ship for a short time remains open, but soon the floes reassemble,
and not for weeks do we see a horizon of clear water. Occasionally a
floe turns turtle, and these deeply pitted lower surfaces of clear ice
are very different from the level snowy surfaces of the undisturbed
pack. The spongy floes on the northern edge of the great pack assume
queer shapes. Here floats a large hollowed fragment like a waterlogged
boat, whose sides project several feet above the water. There is a white
cockatoo sitting on a log, with his crest angrily upraised. The crest
might readily have been dyed yellow—though veracity compels me to admit
it was not—for in places patches of intensely yellow ice, stained by
microscopic plants (diatoms), are numerous. Again a swan sails proudly
by, moulded in snow-white floe; while another bears the figure of a
woman with hands outstretched in mournful supplication.

We have met the pack some fifty miles north of previous expeditions. We
started a month earlier than Shackleton; but the _Morning_, only a week
later, hardly saw any pack at all!

At two o’clock on the 9th there were twenty-seven bergs around us,
mostly of tabular form. As we proceeded south the number of bergs
steadily decreased until none were visible on some days, though usually
three or four were in sight. This is but what one would expect. The
greater part of the heavy floe and nearly all the bergs have drifted
north before the southerly gale from the Barrier. The bergs would be
more affected by the wind than the low-lying floes, and so would take
the lead in this pilgrimage to the north. A month later nearly all this
pack will break away, and the entry to Ross Sea—which is an open sheet
of water even in December—can be made without difficulty or delay. Thus,
in the place of the fortnight we have taken, this belt between 65° and
69° could, under more favourable conditions, be traversed in two or
three days.

For the benefit of the cinematograph, we took the ship close to a
tabular berg which lay close to our course. From the crow’s nest the
officer of the watch was able to see the submarine ice-foot, projecting
like a battle-ship’s ram from the lower portion of the berg. The visible
part of the berg was about three hundred feet long and some seventy feet
high.

Along the water’s edge were several large caves, excavated by the waves
and coloured a vivid blue. A most interesting feature was that the
layers of the ice were horizontal in the upper thirty feet, but quite
steeply sloping in the lower visible layers. This pointed to some change
in position during the growth of the Barrier from which this berg was
calved. There was, in fact, what geologists would term a “strong
unconformity.” “Iceberg” is a loose term to apply to these Barrier
fragments; for they are largely consolidated layers of snow, and one can
detect almost every type of material, in the series from coarsely
granular snow to true ice, in one or other of the bergs.

On the 10th, at 5 a.m., we crossed the Antarctic circle (66° 23′) and
reached the lands (and seas) of the midnight sun. For two reasons I
stayed up to welcome him. Firstly, because I had not had the pleasure
before, and, secondly, because I had to. My particular portion of the
watch lies between the hours of 8 p.m. and midnight—the best watch, in
my opinion. One has not to turn out of a comfortable blanket as in later
watches, and can share in all the incidents of the day, from which
officers on watch are debarred.

The time is 11.45 p.m. I am sitting on the foc’sle with unbuttoned coat
and no gloves. When there is no wind one does not feel at all cold. It
is perfectly bright; not only light, but so bright that the sun’s rays
through the cabin portholes below are too strong on one’s book. In the
south-east is a low bank of grey-purple cloud, whose lower edge is
turned into a vivid golden ribbon by the never-setting sun. We are
threading through lanes between floes some four feet thick. Sometimes we
move bodily through the ice. Occasionally she strikes a floe, on which
our ironshod bow makes no impression. High above us the officer on the
watch cries out, “Starboard, one turn.” From the poop comes the answer,
“Starboard it is, sir,” and our ship sidles her way to port. (This
paradox is a relic of the days of the tiller.) She reaches a crack at
the side of the obdurate floe, and slowly creeps towards the golden
clouds. Far ahead of us two geysers shoot suddenly into the tranquil
air. They appear again to the west and mark the path of two whales.
Around the ship circle two or three snowy petrels, beautiful little
birds that resemble white swallows and never appear north of the pack.

Let us climb into the crosstrees—an unpleasant task with ungloved hands
in any but a calm like this. All around us lies the pack, no longer like
pancakes, but much thicker, and resembling shortcake (to keep to homely
similes). In plan it has been compared to the pattern of our wardroom
tablecloth, that white mackintosh crossed by irregular meandering blue
lines. In the west the moon is reflected deep down in the still, dark
water. To the north the heavens are crossed by arcs of salmon-coloured
clouds, under which we passed several hours ago. The sea is coloured a
vivid brownish-pink between us and the northern horizon. It has an oily
sheen, which reminded me of nothing so much as the appearance of soft
putty—though I fear this is not a very artistic comparison. Looking back
on our course, we seem to have left a long dark line extending
indefinitely to the north. This is the Antarctic shadow of the sun, for
we are steaming straight for the latter. By this time we can notice a
perceptible increase in the elevation of the sun. At home he sets in the
west and rises in the east. In these regions both events may be
described as occurring in the south. Eight bells has just sounded and my
watch is over.

[Illustration:

  ICING SHIP IN THE PACK ON THE STARBOARD QUARTER, DEC., 1910.

  The lifeboat was carried away in the gale of March, 1912. The carcases
    in the rigging are New Zealand sheep. The bridge, protected by high
    canvas screens, is visible behind the lifeboat.
]

[Illustration:

  THE NORWEGIAN DINGHY OR PRAM RETRIEVING BIRDS IN THE PACK ICE, DEC.,
    1910.

  The ship is fastened by the cable to the pack-ice.
]

On our second day in the pack the floes had become much thicker, and
soon after breakfast we heard the cry, “All hands on the floe to take in
water.” The ice anchor—a large bar of iron bent like a rough
fish-hook—was fixed in the floe, and stout ropes looped round projecting
hummocks. This particular floe, in the place of being perfectly flat,
and only a few inches above the level of the sea, was covered with large
blocks of ice some four feet long and two feet or three feet through. A
fragment of these blocks when tasted was found to be sweet, so that
here, five hundred miles from Antarctica, we had an abundant supply of
water, not only for the boilers, but also for drinking purposes.
Probably these fresh-water blocks had dropped on the floe from some
disintegrating berg—for the latter, as explained previously, were
originally beds of snow.

The ship, with its attached floe, drifted gradually to the east, and a
merry scene, lasting some hours, now took place. A sloping board was
placed against the ship’s side, and from this a stout plank led some
distance over the floe. With pickaxes and crowbars the crew and
afterguard attacked the ice blocks. These had a bad habit of splitting
into useless crescent-shaped fragments, but sometimes the crowbars would
wedge off a piece the size of a cabin trunk, and this could then be
broken into fragments of the size of a football with ease and celerity.

The surfaces of smooth ice were very slippery, and led to several
grievous tumbles which awakened more merriment than sympathy.
Occasionally, in prospecting for a fresh quarry, the pioneer’s foot
would slip through the floe, and he would realise with a shudder that
_terra firma_ lay 11,784 feet below him. (We sounded, with this result,
earlier in the day.) However, such slips led to nothing but wet clothes,
and they were not sufficiently novel to excite remark. A chain of men
led from the quarrymen to the plank, and blocks were tossed along to
slide from the plank to the wooden ramp, and up this with a
“Yo-heave-ho” to the deck. Nearer labourers would send their
contributions hurtling through the air, with a warning cry of “Fore!”
that was not always heard. This animated scene attracted our
cinematographer, and his battery opened on us while the sport waxed fast
and furious. In the open lanes around the floe our Norwegian dinghy (or
pram) was manœuvring, retrieving birds shot by the zoologists from the
poop. Nearly a dozen were shot for museums without difficulty, for the
innocent creatures continued to swoop around the ship in spite of the
havoc wrought upon their companions. When some half-dozen tons of ice
had been collected, we cast loose from the floe—now levelled like its
neighbours—and steamed to southward. The blocks of ice were gradually
transferred to melting-tanks over the engine-house, and gradually the
whole heap was converted into water.

Now that our environment had so changed, we met with a different and
much more interesting fauna. I have mentioned the snow petrel, and on
the same day we first met the Adelie penguins and the Crab-eater seal.
We have seen plenty of penguins since, but I shall never forget the
forerunner. He waddled towards us exactly like a tiny child learning to
walk, who runs quickly to his mother, knowing that a topple at the end
does not matter. Then he would stop and flap his wings (I was going to
say arms), and bow and turn his head around in a most human and
unbirdlike way. The most striking feature, I think, was the stiff little
tail which he dragged on the ground, and which probably helped to
support him. It is formed of a few stiff black feathers, consisting of
little but the quill, and adds to the comicality of the bird. The
colouring of pure white breast and black back reminds one of a stout
little man in a swallow-tail coat and white shirt—both much too big for
him!

At three in the afternoon I heard our battery of guns in full action,
and rushing up on deck found that a family of four seals had met their
doom in the interests of science and of the kitchen. A few hundred yards
away lay three of the seals dead in their tracks, but one poor beggar
had crawled to another floe before receiving a fatal bullet. Several
lanes of blue-black water separated the floes, but the pram was quickly
put overboard, and six of us made for the seals. A hawser on to a
hummock on the smaller floe brought the latter near the ship, and then
we dragged the large crab-eater (eight feet six long) to the ship’s
side, where she was hoisted on board by the crew. Then a short passage
in the pram brought us to the other floe, and a similar proceeding
enabled us to get the rest aboard also.

Of the four specimens only one was a male, and he was not full grown.
The largest female was over nine feet long. In colour they were a dirty
yellow-brown above and paler below. The young seals were prettily
dappled. All four had cruel scars a foot or more long on their flanks,
some barely healed, which were due to the attacks of killer-whales. No
one seems to know why they are called crab-eaters, unless perhaps
because they never eat crabs. Their chief food consists of small
shrimp-like animals called _Euphausia_, which they devour in great
quantities. The shrimps live on the yellow diatoms which encrust the
lower surface of the floes. The seals have rather large, strong teeth,
but these are of little use to them, and are a relic of bygone days when
the seal had hind legs like his cousin the otter. Very sinuous and
graceful is a seal in its native element, but on the ice its method of
progression can hardly be called beautiful. It wriggles along with rapid
undulations of its body, more like a large slug than a mammal. In death
this floppiness of structure—I know no more expressive word—made it
difficult to handle the weighty carcases. Before skinning they were
carefully measured by Dr. Wilson and Cherry-Garrard. Clad in overalls
and armed with keen knives, the two set to work, and soon separated the
skin and blubber from the carcases. In these seals the blubber formed a
continuous firm white layer about an inch thick, though in the Weddell
seals further south it is often much thicker.

The skeletons as well as the skins are to be preserved for museums. As
much flesh is cut off the bones as possible, and the remainder gradually
dries into a sort of “biltong,” and has no smell. The flesh was served
to the dogs, who soon got to like it, while the livers were cooked for
the wardroom, and tasted most uncommonly good, even in our present state
of plenty. I can well imagine how a returning sledge party looks forward
to seal’s liver at headquarters.

Next day Dr. Wilson rigged up a “flensing” table for freeing the skins
of the blubber. It is a wooden arrangement, very like a large
saddle-tree, forming a handy sloping surface on which the skin lies
while the blubber is pared away. The blubber was commandeered by Dr.
Atkinson for his patent blubber stove, which is going to help warm the
hut down south. The blubber is fed into a tin dish surrounding the
chimney of the stove. Here it gradually melts and runs down a narrow
pipe, which enters the stove and is curved over the floor of the latter.
Out of this curved “burner” the oil drips continually, and gives a hot
flame. The waste heat passes up the chimney, and renders more of the
blubber; and so the operation proceeds. Of course some coal is used at
first to warm the blubber-melter, but thereafter it seems to burn well,
and certainly gives off very little smell.

During the past few days the “iceberg watch” has been kept very busy.
All shapes and sizes of bergs have we passed, giving rise to many
arguments as to their mode and place of origin.

[Illustration:

  Icebergs seen December 8, 9, 10, 1911, latitude 22° 5′. A. Showing
    vertical points; B. Probably overturned tabular; C. Tilted tabular
    with fine caves; D. Faulted tabular berg.
]

One of the most interesting bergs was about a mile long, and had
originally been tabular. All along the face were enormous vertical
cracks (“joints”) broadening into sea-caves below. These had split the
berg into columns and it was wonderful how it held together. Probably
the portion under water had not been eroded by the waves, and still
remained fairly solid. At each end was an isolated pillar a hundred feet
away from the main mass, and one was over a hundred feet high. It
exactly resembled the classic geological example of coast weathering
“The Old Man of Hoy,” a detached piece of sandstone in the north of
Scotland. The similarity was really not wonderful, seeing that the
method of sculpture on jointed material was identical. Another irregular
berg reminded us of a boar’s head in profile. Two pinnacles formed the
ears and a cave represented the eye. This specimen was probably an
overturned tabular berg. A tilted berg was crossed by cracks, which had
led to “faulting.” The ice between two cracks had slipped down and a
beautiful “fault valley” was the result. These examples of what has
happened on a larger scale in the earth’s crust were very interesting to
the geological members of the party, and are preserved in photographs or
as sketches. Debenham has made a series of pen and ink drawings which
are especially illustrative of their structure.

[Illustration:

  A QUIET SUNDAY EVENING ON THE _TERRA NOVA_.

  From a sketch by D. Lillie.
]

Later in the day a travelling troupe of four penguins entertained us. We
first saw them a few floes away, engaged in a sort of minuet. First they
would meet in pairs, and then all crowd together, and after some setting
to partners they waddled towards us. Soon they came to a break in the
floe, and one ran along it till he saw an edge free from ice-frost. Then
they dived in “follow my leader,” and came up with a “plop,” all
standing, on the next floe. One after another they shot up a couple of
feet and came down erect with a bounce. By this time they had approached
the ship, and formed up in line uttering an occasional squawk like a
crow. We threw down a potato and a lump of coal. Two tackled each
article, and much confabulation ensued. The coal partners summoned the
potato people to a consultation, and when they of the vegetable were
fully engaged the other pair quietly sneaked their property. Penguins
are very human.

On the 11th we were held up all night by the pack, and this experience
occurred but too often in the next fortnight. Let us glance around and
see how the afterguard spend this enforced leisure. Dr. Wilson is seated
on a box in the chief cabin, turning out water-colour sketches of birds
and icebergs. A cry of “Crab-eaters on the port quarter” is raised, and
up rushes “Dr. Bill” with notebook and rifle, ready to use either on the
potential specimen. Nelson is dragging in a large tow-net, in which he
captures medusæ and Euphausia and other wild fowl. Secluded in his
laboratory Lillie divides his attention between the microscope and a
series of extremely clever caricatures of the afterguard, each of which
arouses uproarious merriment in every member save one. Drake is busy
transcribing the ship’s logs, both general and meteorological, and
usually manages to annex a large portion of the wardroom table in the
process. Alongside him Dr. Simpson works out his interminable magnetic
observations. Lieutenant Gran, our Norwegian companion, is busy getting
the ski from the forehold and supplying them with the necessary straps.
On the poop Meares discourses of dog-harness in a weird sounding
language to the Russian grooms. Cherry-Gerrard is skinning penguins and
wrapping the skins neatly in brown paper. The carcases are handed over
to the cook and appear as a pilau at dinner. Day is busy with chamois
leather, coloured glasses and a cutting board, manufacturing spare
snow-goggles. His articles are in much request, for they are more
comfortable than the official pattern. Lieutenant Pennell is in the
crow’s nest, peering ahead to pick out a possible lane through the thick
floe.

In the port after-cabin are held the mysterious consultations of the
officers of the Eastern Party. It is rumoured that there is a capacious
private store in which all unclaimed articles are deposited for their
future benefit. But this is only a base libel, aroused by the orderly
character of Lieutenant Campbell. Priestley’s previous experience is
invaluable to the party. In the foc’sle Major Gates and Dr. Atkinson are
examining the ponies, all of which are doing very well since the gale.
Ponting selects choice compositions for pictorial photography, and
commandeers idle officers to lend life to his studies by disposing
themselves gracefully in the rigging. Debenham is profiting by Dr.
Wilson’s hints, and fulfilling his duties as honorary illustrator to the
iceberg watch. Wright is still engaged on his huge ice microscope,
endeavouring to cut down its ample proportions in readiness for our
forthcoming western expedition. From the “Nursery” come the dulcet tones
of the pianola, under the soulful touch of Lieutenant Rennick. The other
officers are on watch, or perhaps enjoying a well-earned snooze in their
respective cabins.

[Illustration:

  D. LILLIE—SHIP’S BIOLOGIST.

  With Ophiuroidea from the dredge.
]

[Illustration:

  THE NORTHERN FRINGE OF THE PACK ICE, SHOWING THE WAKE OF THE SHIP
    THROUGH OPEN PACK, DEC. 10, 1910.

  [_See p. 58._
]

There are many features of interest which we can study during our
enforced stay in the pack, in addition to the fauna. We have been able
to obtain some half-dozen soundings in this portion of the Southern
Ocean, and to make current measurements. Great also have been the
achievements in ski-running under Lieutenant Gran’s tuition. The
sounding apparatus consists of an iron pipe about a foot long containing
a valve. This is connected to several miles of piano wire, and an iron
weight carries the apparatus to the bottom, where it is released by a
trigger so as to involve less labour in hauling up the valve-pipe. A
small telegraph winch is mounted on the port bow, and here the
afterguard in batches of six have spent many profitable hours winding up
miles of piano wire. Samples of the bottom are caught by the valve.
Reversing thermometers and water-bottles, bringing up samples of water
for analysis, all these are hung at intervals along the wire. On almost
every occasion small fragments of volcanic ash have been collected,
which seems to imply that this forms a constant deposit. There are many
small foraminifera shells (_Orbulina_) in the mud, which can be made out
under the microscope.

[Illustration: Sounding Compass enlarged]

The current-meter is a more unusual instrument, and is a Norwegian
invention. It consists of a small fan-wheel arrangement, which is
rotated by the current, and which actuates some clockwork recording the
velocity. At the back project two large vanes, which turn the apparatus
always to face the current. But most interesting is the method of
obtaining the direction of the current. A compass-box is attached under
the fan-wheel, and the area beneath the needle is divided into radial
compartments. The south arm of the needle has a groove cut along its
upper surface, and little metal balls, released by the clockwork, fall
on to the centre of the needle at regular intervals, and run down the
sloping needle into that one of the radial compartments which is
immediately beneath.

On drawing the apparatus to the surface—where the large directing vanes
give it the appearance of a huge dragon fly—the angle between the fixed
vanes and the compartments containing the balls gives the deviation of
the current from true north. This investigation was usually carried on
through a hole cut in the floe alongside; a derrick, consisting of three
oars lashed together, leading the wire to the winch on the ship.

On the 14th we tied alongside a floe of some three acres. Another ice
quarry was opened up for water, but on completion of this duty almost
every one proceeded to ski, or in current parlance (à la Gran) to go
“mit dee shee op.” We have for a week or more been wearing the
comfortable ski-boots. They are furnished with a deep and broad sole
around which the ski-strap is locked with a patent latchet. The toe is
rigidly fixed in an iron clamp with an over-strap, but the heel can lift
up and down off the ski. I suppose every one has a general idea of the
ski (which word is pronounced _shee_). The chief requisite is that the
wood shall be strong and straight in grain. Our “Chips” has made some on
board which answer very well. The others were brought from Norway by
Lieutenant Gran. They were smaller and simpler as regards straps than
the New Zealand and Kosciusko samples.

We learned from Gran that a knock-kneed man has the advantage in
ski-ing; at any rate we had to keep our knees together to counteract a
tendency of the ski to spread. Gran flapped along like an Atalanta on
pattens, but beginners need to go more cautiously, and not lift the ski
at all. We made a course all round the floe about three-quarters of a
mile in length, and several of us did five miles or so. It would have
amazed our friends at home to have seen us far south of the Antarctic
circle spending an hour on the ice clothed in nothing but a thin vest
and breeches. In this garb we were pleasantly cool, but after returning
to the ship a couple of thick jerseys and a coat were soon donned. When
I was half round the third lap on the further side of the floe I heard a
loud snorting, and looked into the water to see a whale just sinking out
of sight about fifty feet away. Occasionally a seal would put his head
on the edge of the floe, and blow through his nostrils at us before
sinking gracefully beneath the ice.

Sometimes we were not so fortunate in our ski-ing surface. At our next
block the floe was very mushy, and water immediately oozed into a hole
scraped an inch or two below the surface. This did not matter much as
far as ski-running went; I mean it was possible to cross it. But if one
came a “cropper,” as was but too usual in our party of novices, the
sudden shock and decrease in the bearing surface resulted in rather
dangerous cracks, and in a dolorous soaking. Towards evening the
surfaces often hardened appreciably. Of course the best section of
ski-work—that of coasting down slopes—was impossible on the floes. We
tried to coast down little hummocks, but I gave up this pastime after
smashing my ski-stick in a crevice covered with snow.

Meares had out the dog sledges on the large floe, and harnessed eight of
the dogs to the single rope-trace. They pulled vigorously, and were
guided solely by voice, “ka” meaning “to the right,” and “chui” “to the
left.” An unlooked-for happening, however, spoilt their good record.
Cherry-Gerrard had caught two penguins, and was carrying them to the
ship, when the dogs caught sight of him, and bolted for the penguins.
Then might have been seen a noble panorama: Dr. Wilson hanging on the
rope ladder over the deep water to receive the penguins, Cherry fleeing
for his life, the dogs tearing after him at their top speed, in spite of
the efforts of Meares on the rocking sledge; our honoured commander
roughly upset as he tried to stop the procession, and Gran flapping
along on his ski to be in at the death.

On the 18th we reached some fairly open water. I went on iceberg duty at
8 p.m. as usual. There was nothing to report until nine, when we
approached thicker pack. We had been moving at what seemed lightning
speed after our week’s wait. Gran and I were watching a floe bumped by
the ship. The nearer half sank under the blow, and then rose as we
passed. In the middle of the floe was something kicking violently. We
yelled out, “Fish oh!” and as we have not been able to catch any in
Antarctica so far, this small specimen, less than a foot long, roused
much excitement. It was of slaty-blue colour, and had been caught by the
uprising floe. Captain Scott ordered the ship to be sent astern, and the
whole expedition returned about a hundred yards to catch that fish. So
did two snowy petrels and a skua gull. Then might have been seen eminent
explorers, scientists, and sailor-men yelling themselves hoarse to scare
away the birds of prey! We backed on to the floe, and as I was about the
best situated, I jumped down to the ice and secured the fish, just as
the birds were deciding that the unseemly clamour could not hurt them. A
leather bucket on a line received the fish, but unfortunately the floe
started drifting away, and soon was held only by my pull on the
bucket-line. It was rather a comical situation, for if I let go the fish
would probably get adrift, and if they let go I should get adrift!
However, I had to let the bucket go, and luckily—though it filled with
water—the fish did not have time to jump out. Then a heavy rope drew the
floe to the ship’s side across some twenty feet of water—no easy job,
since the floe was twenty-five feet wide, and there was nothing to which
the rope could be tied. The fish turned out to be a blenny, allied to
the climbing perch of the Queensland coast. Whether it is new or not is
a question still to be decided.

[Illustration:

  CATCHING THE FISH IN THE PACK.

  From a drawing by D. Low.
]

We passed some very interesting icebergs during the next few days
(18–20th). I remember especially one long berg on the eastern horizon,
on which the setting sun was shining. It must have been a tremendous
length, and looked like a golden scimitar flung across a dead white
plain. Even our helmsman noticed it, and said, “A white-back, sorr; it
looked like the lights of a great city.” The pack was very heavy
hereabouts, but we made some progress along lanes of more or less open
water. A berg along which we skirted, instead of presenting clean cut
vertical cliffs, was corrugated on its sides, and very rugged on its
upper surface. Probably it was derived from a glacier. A stage of planks
was thrust out from the starboard bow, and on this Ponting perched his
cinematograph, and photographed our progress through the heavy pack.

Later in the day every one was called up on deck to see the magnificent
avenue we were traversing. Each side of the lane was bounded by immense
sheets of iceberg, with low cliffs, fifteen feet high, so strikingly
vertical that they might have been cut to a set square. The bergs were
six in number, and were probably fragments of one huge slab of the Great
Barrier, over a square mile in extent, which had been driven north
before the winter gales. (We novices did not appreciate the danger
involved if these bergs happened to press together, but our leaders had
an anxious time here.)

An Emperor penguin was sitting on one of the floes near the low bergs,
and we tried to stalk him in the _Terra Nova_. Surely with no other game
in the world could one manœuvre for half an hour in full view of the
victim with some hope of success. However, the Emperor did not wait
quite long enough, but dived just when the ship had backed to his floe,
which looks as if he had a sense of humour.

Dr. Wilson carefully preserved the contents of the stomachs of the
penguins. Among biological specimens, such as shrimps and the like, he
found about a dozen small pebbles. These, when carefully examined with a
lens, were readily identifiable by the geologists. There were three
eruptive rocks represented—a dark basalt ash, a denser stuff with little
augite crystals, and, most abundant, a hard felspar porphyry, with
numerous little twin felspar crystals. What geologist would have
expected to have such a fine collection of Antarctic rocks carried to
him in mid-ocean?

We were now collecting penguins also—for our Christmas dinner. Three
were seen alongside on a somewhat thin floe, and Dr. Wilson gallantly
undertook to augment our larder. Meanwhile the afterguard ranged
themselves on the poop, and sang “Rings on her Fingers and Bells on her
Toes,” which often has a calming effect on the penguins.

Perhaps the choir was not in unison; anyhow, the penguins waddled off,
and “Dr. Bill” followed hot-foot. They lay down on their white
shirt-fronts, and propelled themselves vigorously with their strong hind
legs. (“Hind” seems necessary, for in this position the flippers
resemble legs more than wings.) “Dr. Bill” came a cropper, and
involuntarily copied their movements, and then, seeing they were less
alarmed when he was prone on the floe, he crawled towards them, singing
winsomely the while. When a quarter of a mile from the ship, a final
leap, “swift as the striking cobra,” landed him on them, and he grabbed
one. His further efforts, hampered by a lusty penguin, were not
successful, and he returned reluctantly to his comrades, to find them
exhausted with laughing at his comical career all over the floe. Our
chief penguin-charmer (Meares) declares that he can drive away any
penguin by singing “God save,” as he calls it. But this is a _post hoc,
propter hoc_ statement, for we do not permit him to attempt this
dangerous experiment until they show signs of melting away.

Christmas being imminent, we felt it necessary to add to our scanty
penguin provender. A flock of nine were seen about six hundred yards
off, and four of us, armed with a shot-gun and mauser, lowered the pram
(a dinghy with a long upturned prow) over the side and headed for the
penguins.

Six hundred yards does not seem far, but it took a long time to
traverse. There was just about room to turn round in the water alongside
the _Terra Nova_. Then a choked lane led by a zigzag course to a large
sheet of water away to the west. The floes were 100 feet across and the
spaces between filled with spongy floe and by chunks of ice, which were
readily removable by the _Terra Nova_, but which we could hardly move.
However, by dint of pushing and prodding and hauling the pram over
ice-foot we got to the open water and then pulled over to the penguins.
They were needed for food, else it seemed cruel to drift down upon them
singing our siren song. Five fell at the first volley and four moved off
rapidly to the north. Again we skirted the floe and bagged three more.
The fourth was shot also but slipped into a hole, and when we cautiously
tramped over a floe—prodding in front with an oar—we found no sign of
the bird but the reddened snow. However, eight penguins was a fair bag,
and we returned toward the ship. We had had so much trouble rubbing our
way through zigzag gaps in the floes that we ran the pram on to the
larger floe near the ship and hauled her most of the way. It was
somewhat unpleasant to slip in almost to one’s waist in mushy floe, as
happened to two of the party, but otherwise we had no misadventure. A
close inspection of the penguins showed that their surprised appearance
in the photographs is not due to abnormally wide-open eyes, but to the
presence of a colourless eyelid completely surrounding the eye.

Although we made practically no progress south in the days around
Christmas, yet we did not allow this to affect our festivities. Owing to
the coincidence that Christmas Eve and Boxing Day were the birthdays of
two members of the afterguard, we celebrated them also with appropriate
ceremonial. We toasted the victim at dinner, and after much bashful
hesitation he made a satisfactory speech. Then he was “chaired” twice
round the mess (only, as there were no chairs, this consisted in passing
him from man to man shoulder high). He was next lifted up over the main
beam (crossing the wardroom) and passed down again and then left in
peace. Songs for two hours and a scrimmage in the “nursery” (which was
dignified by the name of Lancers!) completed the evening.

On Christmas morning we started off well by pumping for half an hour.
When the furnaces are out, this is done by hand; but she is making very
little water now. Sixteen of the afterguard, led by Priestley, singing
“Ranzo, Boys, Ranzo,” soon cause the valves to give the cheery chuckles
which announce that air is mixing with the water and that the bilge is
nearly dry. Then with a will to breakfast. After the meal was cleared
away, our “pack-ice” pattern tablecloth was replaced by one of noble
blue, and we decorated the wardroom for Christmas. All the sledge flags
were brought out and hung around the walls outside the cabins of their
owners, as in mediæval times. There was great discussion as to the
proper heraldic description of our flags, but the Encyclopædia on board
showed nothing like them in its article on heraldry. Captain Scott’s has
the white square with a red cross of St. George near the staff, and the
other portion divided longitudinally into yellow and blue. In the middle
is his crest of a stag’s head, with the motto, “Ready, aye, Ready!”

The service was read by Captain Scott and differed little from the
ordinary Church of England service, except by the insertion of two
special collects. Then some gifts of tobacco and sweets were distributed
to all on board. They were presented by the Dunedin Seamen’s Mission and
were much appreciated. Many of the afterguard unearthed treasures “not
to be opened until Christmas Day.” Some of these were of an edible
nature, and were seen but for a short space before they passed away. I
think the most noticeable feature of the dinner was the white damask
tablecloth. It supported turtle soup, penguin stew, roast beef, mince
pies, and plum-pudding. We enjoyed the meal thoroughly, but, then, that
is always the case. Songs—some written for the occasion—stories,
chanties, and banjo music filled in the evening.

Microscopic life simply swarms in these Polar seas, to an infinitely
greater extent than in the warm waters of the tropics, though one would
be inclined to the opposite belief. The economic research of German and
Norwegian biologists has shown that there is almost as much
protoplasm—the basis of all life tissues—per acre of ocean as there is
in a well-cultivated crop on land. Most of this floats near the surface
in the form of minute plants (diatoms) and minute infusoria,
foraminifera, and copepods (which are animals). As a result, the
struggle for existence is probably much more strenuous among these
floating organisms (plankton) than it is on land. What may be termed the
cycle of life—recalling the Indian idea of transmigration—is very
evident in the pack-ice. At the basis here, as on land, are plants; for
they alone can convert inorganic material into protoplasm. Almost every
floe in its lower layers is stained yellow from the presence of millions
of little organisms (such as _Corethron_) belonging to the Diatom
family. Our biologist is examining some specimens through his
microscope, and if we look down we see some transparent rods with
indications of granular matter at intervals. These are magnified some
thousand diameters, so that it can be realised how many are necessary to
colour the ice to a deep yellow. Hovering all about the floes, waiting
for the diatoms to thaw out, are the smallest marine animals, of which
the infusoria give rise to the phosphorescence seen in many seas, and
the foraminifera to that beautiful calcareous deposit known to every one
by the euphonious title of “globigerina ooze.” Feeding on these are
animals of a much higher order (crustacea, in fact, allied to shrimps),
and known as Copepods and Schizopods. Commonest of all is the large
schizopod _Euphausia_.

These fellows are so big that we can see them swimming around the floes.
They may grow to a length of two inches, and but for their split
feet—each branching into two, as the name Schizopod suggests—look very
like pale shrimps. They are the mainstay of the better-known animals—the
penguins, seals, and whales. Ever ready to attack the three latter is
the killer whale, a ferocious dolphin, which drives the seals and
penguins to take refuge on the floes. Here they fall easy victims to
man, for they have not yet learnt to expect any enemy except in the
water. Since the killers are credited with attempts to shake some of
Shackleton’s men off a floe into the water, it appears as if _homo
sapiens_ would be relished by these same shark-like mammals.
Undoubtedly, if man reigns on land _Orca gladiator_ is lord of the
Antarctic seas.

Towards the southern limits of the pack the “iceberg watch” was not very
strenuous, and I fear me I played truant at frequent intervals. One
expedition down to the cosy engine-room resulted in a glorious hot bath,
which is quite sufficiently a rarity to be chronicled. The second
engineer warmed a bucket of water by the Fijian method of dropping a
red-hot lump of fire-bar therein. This quiet officer was he who probably
experienced the most thrilling moment in Antarctica. With Petty Officer
Evans he accompanied Scott on his western expedition, and on the Ferrar
Glacier saw his two companions disappear together in a bottomless
crevasse. Captain Scott has told how he managed to climb up the trace,
but I can imagine Lashley’s despair as he grimly held back the sledge,
and thought of the dreadful solitary march that most probably confronted
him. Evans also has returned to his old leader’s flag, and is in charge
of the transport material. Cheetham and Paton have made five voyages
already across the seas, though I do not anticipate that they will join
the shore party. With the Eastern Expedition (to King Edward the Seventh
Land) goes Abbott, a naval man and a champion wrestler. Several other
members of the crew will join us in Antarctica, so that the _Terra Nova_
will seem very empty on her return voyage. She will be under the command
of Lieutenant Pennell, who will be accompanied by Lieutenants Rennick
and Bruce, and by Mr. Drake. They will have the wardroom—now occupied by
twenty-four officers—to themselves, and are trying to impress _nous
autres_ with the comforts combined with elegance which will characterise
the after-deck next March.

On the 27th we were drifting aimlessly in thick pack, but later in the
day the floes seemed to open a little. It was decided to raise steam and
trust our luck—for sail power had merely kept her nose to a big floe
most of the time—though the prospect did not look very hopeful. Towards
evening we met examples of overridden floes, two thin cakes being
recemented, and this seemed to indicate the effects of a recent swell.

Lieutenant Gran is a believer in a mild way in the powers of white
magic. That evening he saw the discarded Bridge pack lying on the table,
and said, “We’ll see how many days before we finish with this ice. If I
draw out a black card it will show us.” So he straightway turned over a
card, and it was the two of spades. As you shall hear in forty-eight
hours we were once more entering on open water! The next day we were
favoured with most beautiful weather. We slowly pushed and broke our way
through the floes which occasionally shook the good ship to her centre,
and hitting the propeller caused a succession of shudders that would
have “shivered the timbers” of any less stout vessel. The sun shone with
almost a tropic heat—there was no wind and a temperature of 37° brought
all the afterguard out on the poop to soak in the sunbeams. Every
available square inch was occupied by basking humanity, and this unusual
phase of our “strenuous life” formed the subject of several photographs.

[Illustration:

  Course of _Terra Nova_ through the Antarctic pack, as far as Cape
    Evans, from December 7, 1910, to January 4, 1911.
]

Until one has been blockaded for three weeks by some such unexpected
obstacle as this mighty width of pack, it is difficult to realise how
closely we scanned its texture for any hint of its boundary. Towards the
evening of the 29th we began to hope that the pack was showing similar
features to those we met with on entering. Very beautiful were some of
the piled up pressure blocks. I remember one of the nature of a
“glacier-table.” A flat-domed slab some three feet across, was perched
on a slender support above the floe. Pendant from the table were
numerous long icicles, consequent on the warm weather. The under surface
of the table, owing to repeated reflection, was a beautiful ultramarine,
which was seen through the curtain of icicles, and the whole structure
reminded me of one of those resplendent medusæ which float placidly on
the sea, with their tentacles hanging from the fringe of the “umbrella.”
Hereabouts the floe became thinner and more uniform. It was broken into
wide sub-angular surfaces, with vertical sides, as when a sheet of
“shortbread” is broken for consumption. At nine o’clock we entered a
wide lane where the placid water we had encountered hitherto was
replaced by an area of short choppy waves. Then an area of “pancake,”
with rounded outline and upturned edges, and, finally, just at midnight
we crossed several east-west belts of “brash ice,” and at long length
entered the open Ross Sea.

The _Morning_ and the _Discovery_ had each entered the pack in latitude
66½°, and emerged in 69½°. Thus they crossed three degrees of latitude,
or a little over two hundred statute miles. We entered it in 64½° and
left it behind in 71½°, which is seven degrees or almost five hundred
miles. Moreover, the width of the pack has this in common with the
height of a range of mountains, that the difficulties increase in a much
greater degree than _direct_ proportion as these factors grow large. For
a great width of pack implies older and thicker floes in the centre;
with an absence of cracks, since the swell cannot penetrate this region.
Four miles of a narrow pack may be traversed in an hour, but the same
distance in the middle of the belt often took us more than twenty-four
hours.




                               CHAPTER V
                          THROUGH THE ROSS SEA


Midnight on the 29th marked our breaking through the pack, and thence we
sailed southward and slightly westward, without further trouble from the
ice. In fact, it was a help, for we encountered half a gale from the
south on the 31st and hove to under the shelter of a drifting belt of
pack. This was necessary for the sake of the weakened ponies. Advantage
was taken of the halt to put down soundings. Bottom was reached at 187
fathoms, whereas the day before it had been 1111 fathoms or 5500 feet
deeper! We hauled up some small pebbles of eruptive rock coated with
polyzoa—a low form of life which was absent on the rocks from the deep
water.

Late in the evening of the last day of the year the officer of the watch
reported “Land in sight.” On the starboard bow was a clouded horizon,
and there, apparently far above the sea line, in a belt of thinner
clouds extended a range of mountains in a vast panorama. There were two
widely separated peaks rising in solitary splendour, and akin in form to
the Matterhorn; but even grander owing to the clothing of snow from top
to bottom. These were Mounts Sabine and Monteagle, each about 10,000
feet high, with their slopes washed by the waters of Ross Sea. They lie
well to the south of Cape Adare, where Borchgrevinck spent the first
winter in the Antarctic.

An hour or two later we kept up the good old ceremony of ushering in the
New Year. At the proper time Lieut. Evans performed on the steam siren,
and others of us, with handbells and other weapons of offence, awakened
the sleeping afterguard. As a grand finale, a march was played on the
pianola, after which we turned in with a pleasing consciousness of
duties nobly done.

New Year’s Day was most beautiful weather. Some portion of it was
occupied in swinging ship to correct the compasses. In a chart plotted
to show the magnetic variation this region is of great interest. For the
last few days every degree of southing has approximately led to a change
of one degree in the magnetic variation. Thus on entering the pack the
variation from north was 40° E.; on leaving it was 60°, while at Ross
Island it has increased to 150°. The magnetic pole—to which the S. end
of the compass needle points—lies inland some 200 miles from Mount
Sabine. On the line joining the magnetic to the south pole the compass
readings are completely reversed. Captain Scott, on his western journey,
crossed this line, and when he sent back a party of men, told them to
find their course _due east_ by following exactly the path indicated by
_west_ on the compass.

During these few days every one is much occupied with letters home.
Special stamps—surcharged VICTORIA LAND—have been issued to us, but as
their number is limited, I fancy few of them will be exposed to the
tender mercies of the post offices of the world. On the last expedition
many of the letters bearing Antarctic stamps went astray, so that on
this occasion two envelopes are being used by those who desire to send
home officially obliterated stamps. The talents of the afterguard as
regards letter-writing vary considerably. One member is sending off
nearly a hundred postcards and letters. Another collected a few
important dates from other people’s diaries—to lend an air of exactitude
to his epistle, he explained—and then proceeded to send off one letter
of no great length.

If it were possible, Captain Scott proposed to make Cape Crozier his
headquarters. In some respects this was superior to other positions. It
was new ground, except for a hasty survey; it was near the Emperor
Penguin settlement. More important, it was permanently connected with
the Great Barrier, whereas Cape Royds is isolated from the south by
impassable cliffs and glaciers in summer.

A _sine qua non_, however, was a firm ice-foot, or sea-ice platform, on
which to disembark the heavy motor sledges and the ponies. The 3rd of
January was a day replete with interest. At noon we had approached near
enough to Mount Terror to see the details of its surface. Erebus lay
twenty miles to the west, and was shrouded in clouds and somewhat behind
Terror. As we steamed in toward Cape Crozier we could see the great Ice
Barrier extending indefinitely to the east. Owing to the numerous
fragments of the Barrier we had met to northward, and to the pictures we
had studied, this giant wall seemed like a familiar old friend. As one
of the men remarked, we seemed to have been seeing it all our lives! At
this point it was about sixty feet high, and gave rise to a curious
meteorological effect.

In the far east, where the lessening ribbon of the ice front reached the
horizon, there was a distinct difference in the sky to north and south
respectively. To the north it was a dark grey, with heavy cumulus, but
in a definite arc over the Barrier this was changed to pearly grey, and
the clouds were almost white. This was, of course, a gigantic form of
ice-blink, but I saw nothing approaching it in size or intensity in our
passage through the pack.

[Illustration:

  Coasting Ross Island, January, 1911.
]

Near at hand were bands of brash ice, forming a sort of miniature pack
just under the Great Barrier. On this bobbing and rotating surface
sported flocks of penguins, performing marvellous feats of equilibrium,
and nowise disturbed by the huge bulk of the ship towering above them.
The Barrier front is deeply undercut by the waves at the water-level,
and small berglets were constantly dropping off above this line of
weakness. Probably they give rise to the broken masses cemented to floes
which we met in the pack; while the large bergs are pieces broken off
from the _whole_ face of the Barrier. From top to bottom the Barrier
would here be about 250 feet deep, I expect.

By this time we had approached as near to Cape Crozier as the swell
would allow. In the angle between the Barrier and the rocky cliffs
buttressing Mount Terror were piled up masses of pressure ice for some
distance back from the sea. The cliffs of dark lava were 250 feet above
the water, and were actually overhanging in places. Further west, again,
the shore line consisted of some low bluffs separating beaches of
considerable extent. Behind these beaches, the rock, instead of being
black, was a light brown or buff colour for a distance of a mile along
the water’s edge, and perhaps a quarter of a mile inland. It was
difficult to realize that this brown area was a guano deposit, resulting
from the presence of a vast colony of penguins. Through the glasses we
could see vast regiments of them, extending far up the hill slopes and
making their way across patches of snow from one rocky surface to
another. Quite separate from the main rookery were two little exclusive
colonies, though why they should move away from their fellows, and so
far from the sea, is difficult to explain. In the background towered
Mount Terror, 10,000 feet high, his summit occasionally appearing
through a break in the clouds.

Captain Scott decided to prospect for a landing-place in a whaleboat, so
a party set off to cover the intervening half-mile. Bits of floe, that
seemed insignificant in the _Terra Nova_, gave the whaleboat a nasty
jar, and the swell quite prohibited our making a landing at any point.
We made for the lowest place in the pressure ice. Here a floe had been
forced up to form a deep sea cave, and along one side was a pathway used
by the Emperor penguins. Hanging head downwards from the roof of the
cave were two dead penguins, which had been caught in the pressure.
Awaiting us were two Emperors, one full grown, and the other a lusty
chick the size of a duck, and covered with grey down. It marched off in
a stately fashion without the ludicrous wobbles of the Adelies; and so
escaped the clutches of Dr. Wilson, who was eager for its scalp as soon
as he saw its plumage. We then rowed west for half a mile under the lava
cliffs. Some lenticular patches of white material among the dark basalt
reminded me of the alternating layers of snow and lava seen in a
volcanic island in the South Pacific. But this white material was not
snow, but a basic ash from which all the iron (the colouring material in
Vulcan’s workshop) had been bleached out. We felt rain falling, and
looked up to see that we were right under the water from the melting
snows of Terror, which dropped 250 feet from the crumbling lavas. Lest
the latter should also fall on us, we moved seaward. A magnificent
series of basalt columns appeared before us. They were long, narrow,
hexagonal rods rather than columns, curved and interlocked, and about a
hundred feet long. For a hundred yards or more, the appearance of this
cliff face reminded me of the fracture of a coarsely crystalline piece
of cast iron. I have not heard of a parallel case of columnar basalt.
There was no hope of landing under these cliffs, so we made for the
ship, and soon put off to the penguin rookeries, where some sea-ice
might be expected to remain. After passing some stranded bergs, we came
abreast of the penguin colonies, and the sea was perfectly full of the
birds cruising about in search of their shrimp-like food. I have never
seen seas so teeming with life. The explanation is that these polar
waters are free from the bacteria which break up protoplasm and so
render it to some extent useless for food. The cold waters act as a kind
of cold storage, and supply unlimited food material for higher organisms
in the form of algæ and protozoa, which quickly vanish after death in
warmer regions. At the other end of the scale of life in the Antarctic
are the warm-blooded killer-whales (_orca_), of which we saw a party of
three busy gobbling up penguins. The cycle involved has been described
by one of the scientists on board in a rhyme, which is descriptive, if
not poetical:—

[Illustration: Black-and-white]

(As will be seen later, the human element in the cycle was nearly
supplied!)

One never sees the penguins swimming on the surface. Occasionally a
snake-like head pops up and looks around for a few seconds, but usually
they are swimming rapidly with their flippers a foot or two below the
surface, or imitating the dolphins in curving leaps through the air. On
the shore near the rookeries the snow was worn into long gutters where
the penguins promenaded to and fro. The winds are too strong for any
economic deposit of guano to arise. We saw brown patches driven by the
wind on to a snow bluff five hundred feet above the rookery.

About 6 p.m. on the 3rd Erebus came into sight. We approached it from
the north-east—an unusual direction—and so, perhaps, obtained a more
comprehensive view of the outer crater than previous observers. It is a
wonderful “Somma” ring, like that of Vesuvius, and being composed of
dark steep rock, it stands out in strong contrast to the inner white
cone and the outer snow-covered slopes. Ponting got a fine photograph of
it, which will be of interest to vulcanologists. Having given up all
idea of wintering on the north-east quarter of Ross Island, we
immediately steamed west to McMurdo Sound.

We were engaged on a survey of the north coast of Ross Island. Bowers
with sextant, Pennell at the compass, Campbell at the range-finder, each
with an assistant, formed a busy group on the ice-house.

All that night we steamed steadily west to Cape Bird, passing Beaufort
Island on the starboard, and then turned south again to Cape Royds.
Beaufort Isle was the scene of an exploit of one of our seamen (Paton),
who was shut in by pack some five miles away from the island in the
whaler _Morning_. He and a mate broke leave to try and reach the isle
across the floes, but had to return without accomplishing their wish. On
his return to civilization Paton found he had become a proud father. The
child was christened Beaufort Paton on the suggestion of Lieut. Evans.

About 5 a.m. we came into sight of the western face of Erebus. McMurdo
Sound was closed in here by loose pack, but the ship threaded her way
through fairly readily. We were keenly interested to see the condition
of the ice at Cape Royds, and two of our afterguard (Priestley and Day)
have a personal interest in the headquarters of Shackleton’s expedition.
Soon after the queer volcanic knob on the end of Cape Barne hove in view
we sighted the meteorological screen, and immediately afterwards the hut
of the 1907 expedition. But the bay, instead of its old-time surface of
sea-ice, was a sheet of open water, with two stranded bergs in one
corner. Obviously it was no better as a landing-place than Cape Crozier
had been. The hut looked in good order, though the door had apparently
been broken in, but we could not see many details, for it was essential
to push south and see how much ice had broken away. An hour later we
reached Inaccessible Island, and here a solid wall of sea-ice prevented
all further progress. Forty-eight hours of coast observation caused one
watcher to retire to his bunk. On returning to the deck I found that the
_Terra Nova_ had come to a standstill against the sea-ice, about a mile
south-east of Inaccessible Island, and the same distance from the shore.
Here on a large area of dark eruptive rock—freed from snow at this
season—we are building our hut. In the future the locality will be known
as Cape Evans.

[Illustration:

  MAP OF THE COAST FROM CAPE ROYDS TO HUT POINT.
]




                               CHAPTER VI
                  MAKING WINTER QUARTERS AT CAPE EVANS


On the morning of the 4th we carried out hawsers, and put in ice anchors
in the ice, over which so many journeys were to be made in the next
fortnight. Captain Scott, Evans, and Dr. Wilson went off to choose a
suitable site for the hut, and returned very pleased with their brief
survey.

Let us look landward from the _Terra Nova_, and examine the locality
where the expedition will spend some six months of the ensuing twelve.
We are drawn close to the ice, which stands about eight inches above the
sea, and some eighteen inches below water-level. It is variable in
texture, that near the ship being rather mushy and honeycombed
below—while several large cracks traverse it. Further away is a belt of
clear hard ice, and then bands of snow-covered and clear ice for a mile
or so, until the shore is reached. Here along the western slope of
Erebus extends a belt of the dark volcanic rock, _kenyte_, and in
consequence of the rapid heating of dark objects by the continuous
sunshine, this is largely free from snow. Immediately at the shore line
is a belt of very soft ice, fantastically honeycombed, and threaded by
streams of fresh water. Crossing a snow-bank, we rise slightly, and
reach the kenyte gravel on which our hut and the headquarters generally
are placed. Walking along this gravel slope, we come to a flowing
stream, falling over a little waterfall—a rarity, as may be imagined, in
Antarctica. Moreover, this stream rises in quite a respectable
lake—which, if not large enough for a regatta, at all events affords
good exercise in chasing the skua gulls, which have been attracted by
the open water. Continuing eastward, the steeper lower slopes of Erebus
are reached. The lower portions are of the same dark eruptive rock; but
a few hundred feet from the sea-level these are covered by a pall of
snow, which extends almost uninterruptedly to the summit of Erebus. The
slope steepens considerably at an elevation of some five thousand feet,
and when the top is clouded over, the lower portion is not unlike the
base of Fujiyama in Japan. On a clear day the steam-cloud capping Erebus
is very obvious. Usually it is seen drifting to the south from a sharp
vertical column arising directly above the crater. Sometimes, however,
the steam-cloud spreads out fairly symmetrically, and on one occasion it
simulated a gigantic cedar-tree, with a central trunk and spreading
branches. To the south are two stranded bergs, which I shall describe in
detail later. As a background to these dazzling white pyramids is the
sombre ridge of Inaccessible Island, which some of us before long—in
spite of its name—managed to conquer. To the north-east is the
cliff-like edge of the Cape Barne glacier, reaching almost to the
curious dark erratic outline of Cape Royds. Fifty miles away to the
west, across the sound, the wonderful glacial valleys of the western
mountains are seen veiled in clouds.

Now began a strenuous time for all on board. It was necessary to get the
heavy cargo off the ship while the floe remained firm. Though the
weather was excellent there was no telling when a heavy wind would send
all the sea-ice into Ross Sea. Gang-planks were run out, and the wildly
excited dogs pulled, pushed, and tumbled into the hands of men on the
ice. Then they went at a gallop over mushy ice to the bow ice-anchor
chain; there they were tethered at intervals of a foot or so. We had not
been at work long when inquisitive visitors turned up. These were the
Adelie penguins, who waddled eagerly forward, and promenaded about, with
their heads bent on one side in a very critical fashion. Unfortunately
the dogs were as keenly interested in them, and simultaneously twenty of
them rushed at the nearest penguin. A scene of wild confusion ensued.
The heavy cable was jerked about so violently that the end dogs were
lifted several feet into the air and hung there a moment suspended by
their chains. Whips, yells, and curses were of no avail until the
miserable bird had been torn limb from limb. For some hours one man had
to be on the watch to warn off trespassers and prevent penguin suicide.

[Illustration:

  SURVEYING THE NORTH COAST OF ROSS ISLAND FROM THE _TERRA NOVA_, JAN.
    3, 1911.

  Photo looking aft from the foc’sle, showing six officers at the
    standard compass.

  [_See p. 85._
]

[Illustration:

  PHOTO FROM THE SHIP OF CAPE EVANS, JAN. 26, 1911.

  The Tunnel Berg appears on the right. Behind is the dark line of the
    Ramp, and
  twelve miles away the cone of Erebus with a small steam cloud.
]

The ponies, with one exception, were much less trouble, and were swung
out in a box on a rope from the yard with great ease. The motor sledges
were transhipped in their cases—which had hitherto formed efficient
walls to the dog “hangar.” Three ropes attached to the mainyard, and
manned by ten men, enabled the case—weighing about a ton—to be swung up,
outward, and downward on to the floe without a jar. The motors were then
taken from their cases, and run further on to the floe, where Day and
Nelson soon had them running. It was their buzzing which annoyed our
high-spirited steed, “Hackenschmidt.” He careered about the waist of the
ship, and was more trouble to land than all the other sixteen. He
continued his career of uselessness during the following busy season.
Ponting found much material here for his cinematograph, and had the
machine clicking merrily most of the forenoon. He has literally miles of
films, and it is amusing to see the way he snips off a foot or so of an
exposed film quite callously to develop it and judge the result. As he
says, it only represents a second which will never be missed in a series
of several minutes.

It was a large hauling job that confronted us. Material for a hut, 50 by
25 feet, with walls and roof of six or eight layers; sledging
equipments, tents, etc., for thirty men; food for two years; fuel
(chiefly a patent coal compound) for the same period; and fodder for the
seventeen horses and for the dogs. All this had to be carried nearly two
miles across the sea-ice on sledges. What now were the means of haulage?
We had many and varied methods. Firstly, the motor sledges; secondly,
the ponies; thirdly, the dogs; and fourthly, man power. Each has
something in its favour. Speed of transit goes to the dogs,
non-liability to accidents to the man power; gross tonnage to the
motors, and general efficiency (with decent specimens) I should award to
the ponies.

[Illustration:

  Sketch from Inaccessible Island, showing the divided steam-cloud on
    Erebus, and the region around Cape Evans, looking north, 11 p.m.,
    January 5, 1911.
]

The man-sledges got to work very early in the campaign. The sledges are
nine and twelve feet long, with runners four inches wide, and upturned
somewhat at both ends. There is a flexible bent prow, and six or eight
vertical stanchions, which support the upper frame—as simple a design as
one could devise. Everything is secured by leather lashings, the
abutting ends being sewn into a sort of leather bucket. A rope loop
projects from the front, but is fastened to the forward stanchions, and
not to the prow-piece, which serves chiefly to guide the sledge over
hummocks of ice. A long rope with broad canvas belts (attached thereto
by tributary ropes) constitutes the harness. When the load has been tied
on by a piece of spun yarn, the leader steps into his belt, adjusts it
over the hips, and, grasping his ski-sticks firmly, gives the word and
plods on. Many a mile have we covered with bodies hanging forward over
the belts, and our spiked boots and ski-sticks barely enabling us to
pull the heavy load through a patch of snowdrift. But over moderately
smooth sea-ice it was quite easy for four men to pull a 1000 lbs. load
on two sledges for a distance of a mile and a half in twenty-five
minutes.

There were two dog teams in constant use, one driven by Meares, and the
other by the Russian youth, Demetri. Their sledges are Siberian, and
somewhat higher in the frame. The chief difference consists in a high
hoop or arch of wood, which is placed two feet from the prow. By this
the driver can twist his sledge around. He also carries an iron-pointed
staff, to be used as a brake and also to guide the sledge to some
extent. The dog teams consist of five dogs—one leader who is specially
trained to obey commands (and sometimes scorns to pull), and two pairs
of dogs toggled to a central rope much as in the man harness. These dog
sledges career about in long sweeping curves, and the air resounds with
barbaric cries of “Ky! Ky!” or “Chui! Chui!” while the ice screeches
under the impact of the driver’s pointed staff. His chief difficulty is
to steer clear of penguins, for awful is the result if they sight an
unfortunate bird! A dog team pulls the driver, so that 150 lbs. must be
added to their load. Each dog pulls about one quarter that moved by a
man, but at twice the speed.

The motor sledges took some little time, naturally enough, to swing into
the ranks. They have fourteen horsepower motor-car engines, four
cylinders, magneto ignition. Most people have seen illustrations of
them, for they have been run in Norway and England previously, though
designed for the expedition. The two axles bear two pairs of cog wheels
about eighteen inches diameter. Around these run two endless bands—one
on each side of the sledge—which carry flat square plates. These plates
constitute the bearing surface, and each plate is actually stationary on
the ground until it comes under the rear cog wheel, when it is caught up
and passed forward to the front cog wheel. Hence the car runs on its own
platform. The flat square plates grip the snow by diagonal bars. There
is a large tool box in front of the engine, and a small elevated padded
seat at the back. Otherwise no top hamper obscures the mechanism. When
not in use the motor wears a huge quilted hood which keeps the cylinders
from freezing.

In work two men are necessary. One drives from the seat, and another
holds the end of a rope fastened to a projecting bowsprit. The latter is
the helmsman, for at a pull sideways the sledge slews around without the
expenditure of much effort. The camber on the plate belts also helps the
turning of the heavy mechanism. The two motor sledges were in frequent
use for the first few days, and hauled most of the hut material to the
shore. They pulled about two tons, and one of their functions (most
fully appreciated) was that of hauling back empty man-sledges—empty
except for the wearied pullers who lay back on the sledges and dreamily
regarded the clear sky on their welcome rest between pulls.

The ponies had been standing continuously for five weeks, and were
therefore not very fit for a few days. They were given a short rest at
the pony lines on the snow behind the hut, but soon came into
requisition, and have done the greater part of the hauling since. The
ponies had, however, many little peculiarities which were troublesome,
not only to those uninitiated in the mysteries of pony-driving, but to
the experts as well. I shall have more to say on this later.

Let us accompany a man sledge from the ship to the hut. The question of
knots troubles a landsman. At first it was not uncommon for the first
jerk to result in the rope parting company with the sledge! The start
was always difficult, for the sledges froze to the ice, and it was
necessary to “break them out” by extra help.

[Illustration:

  THE FIRST HOUR ASHORE.

  Demetri preventing Penguin suicide.
]

[Illustration:

  TWO MOTOR SLEDGES ON THE BEACH AT CAFE EVANS, JAN. 20, 1911.

  The tabular berg has just grounded where the ship lay at anchor and so
    she has steamed off to the north. The motor engine is covered by
    felting. The sea-ice can be seen breaking away.
]

We had not much eye for the beautiful scenery around, but were very
keenly and vitally interested in the surface over which we had to pull
the load. Ten feet of clear ice were less difficult to traverse than one
foot of snowdrift only an inch deep. The party all wore snow-goggles of
amber or green glass to prevent snow-blindness. These fogged from
perspiration, and required frequent cleaning unless the sun were very
bright, when luckily they warmed up somewhat, and the moisture did not
condense so rapidly. At first we would follow the motor trail marked by
staves and empty oil drums. But this was too heavily drifted in places,
so we deviated south to reach clear ice. All goes merrily until we reach
a snow belt. The first sledge touches the snow, and a slight jerk makes
us pull to our belts. Another jerk announces the arrival of the second
sledge, and if we are pulling three sledges the combined resistance
reminds one of hauling three ploughs through stiff wet clay. On this
snowdrift we see the pony hoof-marks and the long furrow cut by the
dog-driver’s staff. Then on to clear ice again, where spiked boots are
essential. We reach a broad band of troubled ice crossing the smooth
surface. This is a recemented crevasse, and is practically as strong as
the rest of the surface.

[Illustration: Sun-holes 2–1–11]

The older ice near the shore is “pitted” in a curious fashion. Imagine a
red-hot horse-shoe planked down on the ice, with the front forced deeper
into the ice. This is the shape and size of these holes, and it seems
probable that they might save a man’s life in a blizzard; for they are
all directed to the south, and would form a sort of compass if he had no
better! The explanation is that they are due to the action of the
hottest solar rays, which, of course, occur when the sun is in the
north. Curiously enough, those small holes have no effect on the sledge
haulage, except that they tear the runners somewhat. On another patch of
snow is a queer “spoor.” A serpentine trail of four or five parallel
lines, with large three-toed footprints, alternating with the curves of
the continuous serpentine trails. Suddenly it changes into a broad,
shallow gutter in the soft snow! What strange beast has made this? It is
of course due to the penguin. As he ponderously heaves from foot to foot
his stiff tail feathers swing in unison. When he is tired of this method
of progression he drops on his breast and propels himself by his
toe-nails. Hence the broad gutter! This trail is very like those fossil
prints set down to gigantic Plesiosaurians in bygone times.

[Illustration:

  Antarctic spoor, January 12, 1911.
]

To our right is a patch of very dark ice with an evil crack leading to a
small pool. We skirt this warily, and are not much surprised to hear a
sudden plop! as two or three penguins shoot out of the water and land at
our feet, and often right in the way of the sledge. A pony-sledge passes
us and then stops—amid our jeers—to breathe the steed, for the ponies
are short of wind at this early stage. We hear a steady droning, and the
motor rolls by. But we beat across country, while the helmsman is
hauling the behemoth on to a new course. The belt is beginning to cramp
our muscles, and the steady stab and drag of the ski-sticks at first
blister the hands. Soon the welcome bamboo at the camp comes into sight.
Snow bridges have been built across the tide cracks just below the hut.
Here the ice rises and falls a couple of feet during the day. We save a
little “go” for the last hundred yards, and rush her at the tide cracks.
“Up she rises,” and several willing helpers from the hut lend a hand,
and so our load pulls up on the belt of snow by the hut. Here Bowers
takes charge, and his gang puts the wood near the hut site, the food on
another spot, fodder here, and oil in the far corner. Then we run the
sledge out of the way to the ice, and if there is no motor returning,
pull it back with light loads and rapidly easing muscles to the ship.

We were returning on Friday evening, somewhat wearied, when Ponting met
us and told us the “owner” wished every one to hurry to the ship, for
the killer-whales were breaking up the floes, and the stores on the ice
would be lost! We ran on and found the sea-ice all broken away at the
stern; but Ponting had not explained his own very exciting adventure.
Two dogs had broken loose and were racing about at the edge of the ice,
when a party of eight killer-whales appeared at the stern of the ship,
evidently attracted by these strangely active “seals.” An _orca_ is
twenty to thirty feet long, and has the most fearsome jaw of all the
creatures that hunt in the high seas. Thirteen long conical teeth are
set in each jaw, each projecting a couple of inches from the bone—and
(unlike those of the crab-eater) built for business. Ponting, ever keen
on good photographs, took his camera along to get a close view of these
fellows. He narrates that they lifted their wicked-looking heads above
the water to look at him, and he was just pressing the button, when he
felt as if an earthquake had hit him. The whole floe was being broken
away by the orcas, and he was separated from firm ice by two feet of
water. He did not stop to finish that photo!

After dinner Debenham and I made a trip across the ice to Inaccessible
Island. This rises sharply from the sea, about one mile south of the
ship, and is usually surrounded by a belt of water—due to the warming
action of the very dark rocks of which it is composed. Here we came
across our first “sastrugi.” They are long, deep furrows cut by the
drifting ice crystals in the sides of snowdrifts as they are driven
onward by the blizzard winds. Thus they lie on the windward sides of the
drifts, and make sledge-travelling very difficult if they face the
sledge. If the drifts are across the path of the blizzards the sastrugi
may cut right through the former. Inaccessible Island was almost covered
with the debris of kenyte lavas, though here and there bosses of solid
rock remained, especially towards the summit ridge. In these cold
latitudes the frost action breaks down the rocks very rapidly, without
destroying the mineral structure to such an extent as is the case in
warmer regions. The kenyte weathered into blocks, which irresistibly
suggested the Easter Island “idols.” Every variety of this rock was
found. Some with large crystals an inch long, others like glass, of a
chocolate colour; vesicular lava, full of bubbles, looking like
petrified bath-sponges, and pieces of kenyte caught up in a later flow
of lava, and burnt just to the tint of a red brick. Just before midnight
we returned to the ship, and labelled our specimens in broad sunlight,
before turning in.

There are two icebergs stranded off Cape Evans, and Captain Scott
arranged that Wright and myself should have some time free to study
their structure while the sea-ice was firm around them. He came along
himself to have a close view, and Ponting brought a sledge, filled with
cameras, to collect photographs. They were both pyramidal, and projected
a hundred feet or so above water. Most probably they had been much
tilted, for a very prominent layer of snow—which from its included air
melted slowly—was now almost vertical. It was obvious that they were
affected by the tide, for a pool filled with brash ice almost surrounded
them, and we could hear the ice fragments creaking as they rubbed
together.

A unique feature occupied our attention most of the time. Traversing the
berg from end to end was an oval tunnel, forty feet high and fifteen
feet wide, so regular in its outline that it looked as though a red-hot
bar had been pushed right through (a distance of 150 feet). The scenic
possibilities of this mass of shadow in the midst of the dazzling white
of the berg were, of course, fully appreciated by Ponting, and I doubt
if any mass of ice has ever been photographed so thoroughly, from the
right, from the left, from above, below, outside and from inside, and
right through it! By a stroke of almost unbelievable luck the view back
through the tunnel just framed the ship at a mile distance. Next day the
berg had swung through 180°, the ship had steamed away, and the sea-ice
had moved out, so that Ponting was rightly overjoyed at the “fortuitous
concourse of atoms,” which has given rise to one of the most interesting
of his studies.

[Illustration:

  Iceberg equilibrium. The tilting of the Tunnel Berg during the winter,
    1911. N.B. The front of the tunnel broke away before September.
]

We were equipped with rope and axes, and cut steps some sixty feet up
the berg until we were well over the tunnel. I was much surprised when
one of the blows of the ice-axe seemed to set free a strip of
orange-peel! Visions of a Japanese hut far to the south floated through
my mind, but on examining the object it was found to be a small
fossilized fish. I dug it out six inches below the surface, and as the
sun melts off quite an appreciable layer every day, this fish may have
been enclosed in the berg for a very long period. The species was
probably _Notothenia_, and somewhat resembles the garfish of Australian
waters. This reminds me of some rather curious biological specimens
discovered by one of the non-scientific members in our little waterfall.
They were white spherical objects, two millimetres wide, which could be
peeled like an onion, and each seemed to enclose a little pearl. But
Lillie identified them as crystalline lenses from the eyes of
_Notothenia_, which were the only things found indigestible by the
omnivorous skua gull, and so accumulated in the stream near their nests.

Both ends of the berg tunnel were fringed by beautiful icicles, many
being branched almost as much as the famous Jewish candlestick. The
exterior of the berg on the more gently sloping side was armoured with a
panoply of plough-shares projecting horizontally, and due probably to
the sun melting the surface differentially, as described in the case of
the sea-ice. It was unpleasant to climb, and a fall would have
precipitated one into a most uninviting pool. As we watched it two
killer-whales rose to the surface, and “blew off steam” through their
dorsal spouts. They moved towards the south, under the solid ice, and we
could see them long after spouting occasionally along a narrow open
crack leading in that direction.

We were very fortunate in our weather at this time. Bright calm days, so
warm that one could sit outside in the lee of a pile of fodder after
lunch—as many of us did—and enjoy a short siesta. From the first day
work was carried on busily at the hut. The foundation was excellent, for
the surface all round our camp consists of kenyte gravel, on which the
snow melts as soon as the sun strikes it; which is porous, so that water
will not lie on it; and finally, is so springy that our food cases were
not damaged, however heavily they were dumped on the gravel. The main
timbers were prepared long before we left New Zealand, and most of the
matchboard was cut to size, tied in bundles, and roughly labelled. The
floor area is fifty feet by twenty-five feet, and the roof is quite
plain, with a central ridge. Three small windows, permanently shut, and
with doubled panes, admit sufficient light in summer; while later on an
elaborate acetylene plant will come into use. Of greater interest were
the precautions to keep out the cold. Vertical tongue and groove
matchboard was nailed both outside and inside the framework, an
air-space thus being enclosed between them. Next, a layer of a patent
quilted seaweed material, made of sea-grass sewn into jute sacking, was
tacked on in two-foot breadths. On the outside this was covered with
weather-boarding, and on the inside by another layer of matchboard. The
floor was made of thicker boards separated by ruberoid, while the roof
has an inner matchboard ceiling—an air-space (with joists, etc.),
matchboard, two layers of seaweed quilt, matchboard, and two layers of
ruberoid. Thus every portion of the hut has many layers, each of which
is fairly wind-tight. The door opens into an air-tight porch, and this
is protected from the south-east blizzards by a windscreen. A large
ventilator on the roof ridge is the only legitimate air-gap, but in one
corner the meteorologist has a sort of external cupboard for his
instruments, which is bound to be cool. Everything went along
swimmingly. The official carpenter and two of the petty officers carved
out the more intricate details of carpentering, while the afterguard
soon became moderately expert at nailing matchboard, chiefly with
geological hammers. One of the scientists (subjected to criticism)
complained that he never could drive a nail straight while any one was
watching him. His tormentor declared that he must have afforded
amusement the whole day, and pointed to a complete series of wilted
nails due to the tyro’s efforts. For the roof-work the spiked boots of
the geologists were in great request, for it was possible for us to
manœuvre over the sloping boards at much greater speed than could
“Chips” and his assistants.

On Sunday (the 8th) occurred an unfortunate accident, almost the sole
mishap since the loss of the ponies in the gale. We swung out the third
motor-car, having freed it from its case while it was inboard.

It was landed on the sea-ice safely, and run smartly away to a firmer
surface fifty yards away. I then left the ship with a one-man
sledge-load bound for the hut. Captain Scott and Lieutenant Campbell
were testing the ice, and warned me to be especially careful of certain
wet patches near them. I got through to the shore without incident, but
this unhappily was not the case with the motor sledge, which started off
immediately afterwards. I was not present, but heard that it was pulled
across on to apparently firm ice near the doubtful portion, which had
just been crossed safely. There one of the men went through, but was
hauled out safely. He declared he felt himself being pulled under the
floe by the strong tidal current. Almost the next moment one corner of
the motor sledge sank, and then gradually the end, and finally the whole
of the machine crashed through the ice; and despite the utmost efforts
of the hauling party it sank in a hundred fathoms. Thus was lost nearly
a thousand pounds’ worth of valuable machinery, and since it is made
largely of aluminium, it corrodes extremely rapidly, and would not be
worth salvage, even if it were possible—now the ice is out—to grapple it
at that depth.

During the building of the hut meals were eaten in a huge brown tent
alongside, and many of the afterguard slept in small tents on the shore.
A new type of these latter looks exactly like a rounded sun-helmet lying
on the ground. The rim is represented by the broad flap, which will be
covered with snow on sledging journeys, though now a handful of gravel
is sufficient to keep them secure.

One evening I strolled into the skuary just behind the camp. Here are
hummocks of kenyte with little lakes and shelving gravelly beaches. In
the lakes a reddish plant akin to seaweed coats the bottom, and dries to
a leathery wrinkled mass. The skuas nest anywhere, not even a semblance
of a nest being perceptible. They resent intrusion very strongly, and
every one is at first slightly intimidated by the tremendous swoops,
rushing wings, fierce eyes, and shrill cries of protest. I wanted a
specimen, and decided to test a method of obtaining it, which smacked
somewhat of Munchausen when described to me in Australia. Taking a flat
slab of kenyte I waited until a skua was approaching. Then, before the
bird arrived, I threw the rock into the air almost straight up. The bird
collided with it as it was falling, and dropped to the ground stunned.
This scheme of hunting is really much more certain than it sounds, for
the bird has apparently no fear of objects above it.

The ship was moved to a fresh berth, some five hundred yards nearer the
hut, and also nearer the slopes of Erebus. Henceforth almost all the
transport was effected by pony teams. There were many incidents at
first, for the ponies did not understand the icy surface, and were by no
means too subdued by their long voyage to object to most of the duties
demanded of them. Hackenschmidt is still obdurate, I believe, but the
others have calmed down, and done their four trips a day as long as it
was necessary. One soon gets to know their characteristics. Fiery
“Blücher” trots through all the work, whether he is pulling an empty
sledge or half a ton through a snowdrift; in fact, the driver is usually
dragged alongside over the ten miles involved. With a slippery surface
and only a single rope halter, it will readily be understood that four
legs can defeat two if the whim seizes him. One gentleman, rejoicing in
the name of “Guts,” broke away three times, just as I had lugged him the
weary mile to the ship, and galloped back unencumbered. But the
least-envied duty in the expedition is a morning in the company of
“Weary Willie.” With drooping lip and stubborn eye, he improves on a
crawl only when his driver precedes him with the halter over his
shoulder, and practically drags both pony and sledge. In spite of a
heavy load of patent fuel, he used to start back two steps to the minute
quicker, thinking he was returning to the pony lines, but this soon
degenerated to a crawl, and his objections to returning for another load
necessitated special help at the turning-point. There was another pony,
whom I only discovered on the last day, who was a happy mean between
Blücher and Weary. He was anonymous, but deserved a baronetcy. The last
loads consisted of patent fuel (in foot cubes) and compressed fodder,
while ballast, in the form of thirty tons of kenyte, was loaded from a
snow-slide and taken back to the _Terra Nova_.

Many of our minor pursuits irresistibly reminded me of a childhood’s day
on the sands. There are little trenches to be dug, to lead telephone
wires to the Observatory hill; pemmican to be poked out of tins in solid
cakes just like the little sand-heaps moulded in toy buckets; miniature
bridges over the tiny creeks; and, most realistic of all, grottoes to be
carved out of solid banks—not of sand, but of hard, clear ice.

The track to the Observatory hill passes along a miniature glacier with
a bank fifteen feet high on the nearer side. In this it was decided to
cut an “ice-house” for the mutton, and for seals and penguins. Next door
the physicists cut out another grotto for magnetic work. Each took about
a week to complete.

A “drive” was made into the ice about six feet high and four feet wide.
At a convenient distance this was widened out to fifteen feet, and we
should probably have cut out a prosaic rectangular chamber, but that we
found that the floor of almost impenetrable frozen kenyte gravel sloped
up very steeply. Moreover, the sun melted the “glacier” at a great rate,
so that we had to leave a fairly thick roof. These restrictions produced
a very pretty style of architecture—a sort of double crypt with a
central partition, and gentle, sweeping curved roof, like an opened
cockle-shell lying with the convex sides uppermost. The sunlight
filtered through the roof and entrance wall, making the ice look like
alabaster.

[Illustration:

  Sketch of two grottoes cut in glacieret near the hut, January 15,
    1911.
]

It was hard work chipping the ice. We were helped by a few layers of
dust mixed with skua feathers—representing very ancient surfaces—along
which the ice broke readily. One half was covered with a rough flooring,
and on this were deposited a hundred carcases of sheep given by the New
Zealand farmers. In the other half a hundred penguins occupy one corner,
and later we shall add seal meat.

A little nearer the hut the physicists excavated an =Ⅼ=-shaped grotto,
of severely rectangular cross section, and lacking those picturesque
sweeps in the roof which were necessary in the other cave. It penetrates
the “glacier” for about twenty-five feet, and is entered by an aperture
some three feet high. One feels very like a rabbit entering its burrow,
but this constriction is necessary to ensure equable temperature. A mild
blizzard was blowing while we were cutting it out, though in the
calm—not to say stuffy—atmosphere of the grotto a temperature of twenty
below freezing had little effect on one’s comfort. To be sure files, and
saws, and other iron tools developed an octopus-like surface, for they
stuck to one’s fingers as if smeared with gum. The wall struts—for the
lining—were cemented simply and effectively by a mush of ice and water,
which solidified immediately. Two large kenyte boulders formed jagged
obstructions on the floor. When foundations for the instrument standards
were being made, it was found that under the layer of gravel forming the
floor was another layer of ice. It is quite possible that our hut may be
built on gravel over a thick ice-sheet. This will be tested by a shaft
in the winter leisure.

On the highest portion of Cape Evans is hoisted the Union Jack. Near by
is the meteorological screen, and two anemometers are merrily whirling
round. We have been laying telephone wires across the space between the
hill and the hut to connect the instruments there to the meteorological
laboratory (“corner” would be a better term) in the hut.

On Sunday 15 work was suspended for a day, for everything was
progressing well. Many of the men took ski on to the slopes of Erebus,
behind the hut, and had a pleasant time, diversified by many tumbles, in
consequence. To the north of these slopes extended the hitherto
untraversed Barne glacier, which formerly blocked all communication with
Cape Royds during summer. Its seaward face is a high cliff of ice,
strongly crevassed, and reaching from Cape Evans to Cape Barne. Wright
and myself received permission to go on the glacier, and providing
ourselves with an alpine rope, ice-axes, food, and windproof clothing,
we set off up the rocky slopes behind the hut. We soon reached an
irregular snow surface deeply pitted where boulders had sunk, with
little runnels of water murmuring below the crusts in ice in numberless
little gullies. As the ice became more apparent we roped up and marched
to the north, gradually ascending the slope of the glacier. Our
objective at this time was the rock ridge behind Cape Barne, about two
and a half miles away. The glacier came down from Erebus in undulations
resembling gigantic rounded steps. It seemed probable to us that the
best surface would occur where the ice was in compression rather than in
tension. Here in the hollows the crevasses would tend to close up, and
we found them quite readily crossed. In the icy surface were broad
ribbons of snow, slightly depressed below the surface, and curving
grandly round the undulations of Erebus. These looked solid enough, but
an ice-axe hardly met with any resistance in the snow, and on sweeping
it away one could see a chasm extending indefinitely down. Higher up the
slope the snow formed bridges, but here in narrower crevasses it was
only of value in veiling the depth. However, it was a mere question of
jumping; the leader gathering in the rope and taking a good leap while
the follower drove his ice pick into the surface and held on firmly. If
there had been any great danger involved, two men would, of course, have
been insufficient, but we progressed in this fashion for a mile, then
crossed another mile of softish snow without crevasses, and reached the
Barne ridge, with rocks running from the coast halfway up to the crater
of Erebus. Here to our surprise we saw nothing but kenyte hummocks and
debris lying between us and Cape Royds. It would not have been human to
have resisted this opportunity of visiting the headquarters of the 1907
expedition. After resting a little among the huge mounds of kenyte
boulders—actually bearing small tufts of red and green lichens—we
tramped quickly across alternating patches of rock and snow, past small
ice-covered lakes, and soon reached Back-door Bay. Here quite a large
stream—for Antarctica—was falling over an ice cliff, and we reached the
first sign of another settlement. This was a bamboo pole planted in a
cairn. Then we scrambled over slopes of kenyte gravel, skirting the
rotten ice which filled the outer part of Back-door Bay. The narrow gulf
at the north-east end of the bay still contained firm ice, and we
crossed this without attracting any remark from a colony of twenty
seals, and so reached Cape Royds. Here signs of occupation were very
evident, though the hut was some distance away on the further (northern)
slope of the hill. A sledge with cases of tinned meat, a ladder, and the
tubes of the hand-boring plant, had been left close to the water of
Back-door Bay. We carried off a tin of beef in case the hut contained
nothing more attractive.

Following some old sledge tracks we topped a rise, and were right on the
hut.

Every one is familiar with the appearance of Shackleton’s hut. It is
very snugly placed in a little dell leading to a small lake, which
empties into the sea over some steep cliffs a quarter of a mile away. It
seemed extraordinary that so many empty boxes and such piles of debris
could have been the result of fourteen months’ stay. I suppose our camp
will appear the same three years after we have departed. We skirted
round the ruined pony shelter, over boxes of cork packing and cases of
empty bottles. The door of the porch had carried away, but the inner
door was standing. A foot of ice sealed it at the bottom, but hanging on
the door was an envelope addressed in Professor David’s hand, “To Any
One who may visit Cape Royds.” It did not enter his mind when he placed
it there that an old student of his would be the first to see this. The
envelope contained a short account of the results of the 1907
expedition, left there “in case the _Nimrod_ is lost on her return
voyage.” I carried the record back to Captain Scott, a very interesting
document, though luckily not of vital importance, since the expedition’s
success was not marred by any accident at the eleventh hour.

We then set about getting into the hut. Cutting into the ice with our
ice-axes we came to a tightly fixed block of wood—which we thought had
been placed there to fasten the door. More chips of ice were removed by
the ice-axes, and we saw that it was merely a broom, which had fallen
down and been embedded its whole length in a foot of ice. There was
nothing for it but to cut away this stubborn sentinel, and then it was
possible to open the door a foot or so.

We entered with much curiosity. All the windows had been covered with
battens, but I did not expect to find it so snug and untouched by the
weather. Not a grain of snow seems to have entered. We opened one
window, and the place might have been abandoned the day before. On the
low table in the centre a meal had been left. Condensed milk, saucers,
biscuits, jam, and gingerbread. The latter were very good, and not
harmed by two years’ exposure. At the back was a tray from the oven with
a batch of scones just cooked, and a loaf of bread. I lifted the latter,
and the whole outer surface peeled away, leaving a ball in the middle.
This is just the way basalt weathers when exposed to the air, and it is
known technically as “spheroidal weathering.” I did _not_ eat the bread.

The 1907 expedition left in a hurry, I believe, which accounts for the
somewhat unkempt appearance of the hut. Boots were scattered on the
floor, books over the bunks, socks drying on lines. In one corner a
roulette machine, in another a packet of paper used in their printing
press. I fear I was most interested in tinned fruits, and searched
through a huge store of unused food in one corner of the hut. Tea,
pickles, jams, milk, onions, sausages, hams, cocoa, delicatessen,
everything but canned fruit. Finally we saw that the dark room was built
of cases of bottled fruit, and in honour of the first crossing of the
Barne Glacier we broached a case and extracted a bottle of gooseberries
and another of currants. It was a queer meal. I had brought bacon and
ship’s biscuit. Wright selected plum-pudding, sardines, and Nestle’s
milk. I found preserved ginger, raisins, and corned beef. We drank
alternately of currant and gooseberry vinegar, and ate through the above
menu. Antarctica is immune from dyspepsia, for we felt none the worse.

We strolled round the headquarters. The penguins were very interesting,
for they were busy feeding half-fledged chicks. There are no nests near
Cape Evans, but the atmosphere is the purer! I was not prepared for the
shape and size of these chicks. They were nearly as tall as their
parents, and twice as large round the most important part of their
anatomy. Huge balls of dark grey fluff, with feeble little squeaks no
louder than a chicken’s—in strong contrast to the indignant cries of
their parents.

After a couple of hours at Cape Royds we turned south and experienced no
difficulty until we reached the crevasses, for we followed our previous
track. The crevasses seemed to have widened a little; we were somewhat
tired, and the farther edge was now higher than the nearer. In some
examples—which we did not tackle—the difference in height reached two
feet. However, we crossed them safely (though in two instances one foot
went through the soft snow) and reached Cape Evans without misadventure.

[Illustration:

  PHOTO OF THE HUT, SHOWING THE RAMP AND EREBUS, JAN. 20, 1911.

  The south annexe built of food cases (on the right) and the stable on
    the left built of coal blocks are just being finished.
]

[Illustration:

  PENGUIN COURTSHIP ON THE ICE-FOOT NEAR CAPE EVANS.
]

Captain Scott had made a journey on a dog sledge to his old quarters
(1902) at Cape Armitage, sixteen miles south of us. Unluckily he found
his hut filled with ice and practically useless, so much so that they
slept outside. He had never seen the locality so free from snow. On the
25th of January he hopes to make a start on the depôt journey to the
south, and on the same day the western scientific party sets out to
explore Dry Valley, Snow Valley, and the Koettlitz Glacier. Captain
Scott has honoured me with the charge of this party, whose personnel I
have described previously.

[Illustration:

  _Traced G T._

  First sketch-map made January 21, 1911 (before any survey), showing
    ice fronts and positions of ship, A-E
]

We have now occupied our hut for a week. Let me close the story of these
early days by describing our life in the hut. To-morrow we leave it for
some months of sledge work, so that we have been very busy for some time
past. From the porch one enters the quarters assigned to the seamen and
cooks. A large galley-stove is placed on the right, and behind it is the
chief touch of colour in the hut in the form of rows of tins of food,
spices, and utensils. A bunk suspended high up from one corner by an
iron rod marks the resting-place of Engineer Lashley. To the left are
many wire mattresses supported on neat iron frames. A queer instrument
like a guitar cut in half is the cherished possession of Anton, the
Russian groom. His comical little bow when you address him—for he speaks
no English—reminds me of the action known as “louting low.”

“For some time the ship had been lying quite close to the hut—about a
quarter of a mile away at the spot C (on the accompanying sketch-map).
The original edge of the ice is shown, and here the ship stayed (at A)
until the motor sank. Then she moved to B, nearer the Barne Glacier. On
the 18th she came along the crack which opened near the stranded bergs
to the position C. But seventeen bergs came into sight, and one huge
tabular, as if desirous of this site, bore right down on her. So the
ship moved across the Sound to get away from the northern wind. In
cruising about here, she ran aground at D off Cape Evans. There was
sixty feet of water under the stern and only seventeen feet at the bows!
That’s pretty steep! They ‘rocked’ her by running across ship in unison,
and after an hour got her off. I photographed her from the Cape where
the land party watched the efforts of the seamen.”

Later I heard that this collision with the reefs of McMurdo Sound tore
out a small splinter a foot deep and about ten feet long! Luckily the
stout old ship could spare this at her bows without grave inconvenience.

A bulkhead of boxes, amid which two branded “sherry” mark the
wherewithal of future festivities, separated the “mess deck” from the
“wardroom.” The latter occupies two-thirds of the hut, and here the
sixteen officers live. A long table extends down the middle and reaches
to a palatial inner room, sacred to Ponting, the photographer. The roof
of the latter is by no means wasted, but constitutes an important
laboratory. At the back are two incubators, not for eggs but for
parasites, bacteria, and other pleasant creatures fondly cared for by
Dr. Atkinson, whom we expect to see brooding for hours over his pets.
The centre of the room is thus accounted for. The right and left are
divided into cubicles. First, on the left, are five mattresses assigned
to Messrs. Oates, Meares, Bowers, Atkinson, and Cherry-Garrard. The
right wall was divided into three compartments, occupied respectively by
Messrs. Debenham, Gran and Taylor, Nelson and Day, Simpson and Wright.
We have to live in this space for six months of darkness, and as we are
limited horizontally to seventeen square feet each, it will not cause
surprise to find that we have imitated the New York sky-scrapers. The
first few hours of our house furnishing were devoted to amassing enough
thick timber to build strong frames for the mattresses. These are built
in tiers, and so each cubicle has some clear floor space. In our own
cubicle Debenham has raised his bunk five feet from the floor, and
underneath this will ultimately develop a whole geological laboratory!
In the far corner is a little oil-engine and dynamo, providing current
for Dr. Simpson’s meteorological apparatus. On a table at one of the two
windows is the “counter,” an important portion of the biologist’s
sanctum. The rest of it is below the counter!

[Illustration:

  SHIP AGROUND ON A REEF OFF CAPE EVANS CLOSE TO THE TUNNEL BERG.

  The whaleboat is trying to tow off the ship, while a skua gull on the
    cape is an interested spectator.
]

[Illustration:

  GRIFFITH TAYLOR IN SUMMER RIG (ON A KEEN DAY) ON CAPE EVANS, JAN. 25,
    1911.
]

Half the left side of the wardroom is in part partitioned off. Captain
Scott has one portion of this. His eastern boundary is a huge
drawing-table under our second window. On the other side of this, and
snugly fenced in by the dark room, are the quarters of Lieutenant Evans
and Dr. Wilson.

Near the dark room are the stove and the pianola. The removal of the
latter from the ship nearly devastated the officers’ quarters afloat.
The stairs were removed, and we had to get into the ship’s wardroom down
a rope during the two days while they struggled with the pianola.
However, it has safely arrived, though just the last few days a new
gramophone has had greater popularity.

During the two months of our absence the hut will be fitted with
acetylene lighting. The four officers and five men who remain have also
a contract to kill (and clean) a thousand penguins and skuas, so that
they will be as busy as the sledging parties.

Outside the hut the sea waves now wash the kenyte gravel. In the last
two days a mile of sea-ice has floated off, and now the _Terra Nova_ is
hovering around only waiting to land the three parties (south, west, and
east) before she turns her prow to the green northern land. All our
preparations are made, and we join her to-morrow morning.

The educative value and the interest of an expedition like this is
inestimable. I have tried to describe some of the features with which I
have been most impressed myself. During the voyage one learns something
of seamanship, of biology, of navigation, and of naval matters
generally. Firsthand information on every conceivable subject from men
who have seen many quarters of the world with an appreciative eye is
obviously full of interest. The biologist discusses those portions of
his subject which touch on geology or meteorology with students who are
as anxious to approach them from other standpoints. In another way also
is this expedition almost unique. It is hardly credible that twenty men
should associate for three months in somewhat cramped quarters without a
jar; yet I can truly say that the best of good fellowship has always
existed. This is the best possible omen for success in the future.

  [NOTE.—This narrative is left in the form in which it was sent back to
  Australia in January, 1911, in the belief that nothing is lost (and
  perhaps some touch of reality gained) by so doing.]




                                  III
                        FIRST WESTERN EXPEDITION

                          JANUARY–MARCH, 1911




                        FIRST WESTERN EXPEDITION


On the 24th of January the ponies went over the sea-ice to Glacier
Tongue _en route_ for the Barrier Depôt trip. Captain Scott and the
western party sailed in the _Terra Nova_ to the Tongue, which we reached
about noon.

Later we were able to study the Tongue in some detail, but we could see
that it consisted of a huge pier of ice about half a mile wide, and
projecting some five miles from the low cliffs south of Turk’s Head. The
surface was undulating, and about a hundred feet above the sea in the
centre. Its origin is doubtful. Probably it is old piedmont ice anchored
on some hidden ridge, but it is added to by blizzards sweeping over the
root of the Castle Rock Promontory and depositing snow on the leeward
side of the cape. We saw sections of it stranded fifty miles to the
north-west later, which proved its partial origin from snowdrifts.

On the 25th Debenham, Wright, and myself marched to Hut Point, where the
1902 hut was situated. We took a light sledge and our sleeping-bags. It
was very interesting to recognize the places of which we had read in the
“Voyage of the _Discovery_.” Castle Rock was very prominent, a huge dark
square “keep” about two hundred feet above the promontory; “Danger
Slope”—an icy slope dropping down to 150 feet ice cliffs—on which Vince
lost his life early in 1903. The conical hill, seven hundred feet high,
just east of Vince’s Cross, was Observation Hill; destined to carry
another cross two years later to the memory of the man who had built the
hut below.

Off Hut Point the sea-ice was very rotten and full of huge holes.
However, we reached the ice-foot easily enough, and pulled up to the
hut. The surroundings were very tidy compared to Shackleton’s quarters,
which was very natural, for the 1902 expedition practically lived in the
ship. It was surrounded by tremendous eaves, which were meant to protect
stores, etc. We found the door blocked by ice, and had to enter by a
window. It was filled with snow to a depth of four feet, which had
drifted in through various openings. We found a bulwark of biscuit boxes
in the middle, and various stores of chocolate, etc. Some brownish
powder, after some cogitation, we determined to be pepper. It had quite
“lost its savour” in the ten years of exposure. Alongside were the
little magnetic huts. Wright commandeered some asbestos sheets for our
own magnetic equipment, and then we set off to see the real object of
our visit.

[Illustration:

  Original geological sketch by Captain Scott (January 19, 1911),
    directing our attention to an unusual outcrop at Hut Point.
]

Captain Scott had noticed an exposure of lamellar rocks of a sandy
appearance among the almost uniformly dark basic rocks of this region,
and, although no geologist, he realized that it was possible that a
fragment of the well-known Beacon Sandstone (a fossil-bearing rock) had
been torn up by a basic lava on its passage to the surface. This would
show the relative age of the two rocks concerned (the lava, of course,
being younger), and so was well worth investigating. We found the
outcrop readily enough from Captain Scott’s sketch, but Debenham and I
decided that it was a weathered variety of eruptive rock, and not of
sedimentary origin.

Two other appearances were noticeable here, which were worth recording
because we saw them later in various other quarters of Victoria Land. We
could not account for them from our first example. On the steep face of
the cliff (five hundred feet high) near where poor Vince slipped to his
doom, were four long horizontal ridges—one above the other—of dark
masses of rock. They resembled lateral moraines left by giant glaciers,
but I believe they are due to debris rolling down to the foot of a snow
slope. The latter varies in extent with varying seasons, and so the
debris ridge may be deposited at another level.

Another very curious feature soon attracted our notice. All the more or
less level lowland around Cape Armitage, as well as the bare plateau of
Crater Heights, was marked out like a gigantic tesselated pavement. I
noted in my journal, “The lowlands of loose black rock appear to be
rolled by a steam roller, while the surface is broken by gutters from
four to eight inches deep.” These gutters marked out hexagonal and
polygonal areas some twenty or thirty feet across. When a light snowfall
had collected in the gutters, the valleys seemed to have been paved with
black tiles united by white mortar.

These symmetrical polygons are due to a slow movement of half-frozen
soil, which has been noted in polar lands, and is called solifluxion or
soil-creep. We saw many examples of these tesselations in the western
moraines.

We walked back to the camp on the sea-ice, pulling the asbestos sheets
on the sledge. There was some cold tea to spare in Nelson’s tent, and we
were glad to make our meal off this and some biscuits. Then, pillowing
my head on a camera, I coiled into my sleeping-bag, and so spent my
first night on trek.

On the next morning we were told that we could ride back to the ship on
the dog sledges. Nothing loth, we tied our sledge behind Meares’, and
soon covered the eight miles.

The dogs pulled rapidly, but seemed to need frequent rests. It was much
more lively than “man-hauling.” Meares’ constant cries, “Tchui—Tchui!
Ky—Ky!” directed the leading dog, and the six pairs behind him swerved
left or right in unison. There were numerous seals on our route, and
Meares had considerable trouble to keep the dogs to the straight path of
duty. One ginger seal especially excited their interest, and ours also,
for the colour is most uncommon. Usually the seals are a dull fawn
brown, though the breast is often beautifully mottled with white spots.

My first seal-killing had been done a day or two before.

After dinner Wright and I had marched off on hunting bent. We walked
over the great South Road—where we had cleared a track for the ponies
over Cape Evans—and reached Gully Bay. Just over the tide crack we came
on three seals; one beautifully dappled, one small and dark, and a huge,
big fellow. We wanted the skin for making sandals, and so attacked the
biggest specimen. There was not much attack about it! You just hit him
hard on the nose, as Wright did with an ice-axe, and then stab him under
the fore-flipper, as I did with my Serbish dagger. To make sure, we
pole-axed him also. Then we skinned him with considerable difficulty,
for two of us could hardly make the body budge! The skin and blubber
were two inches thick and frightfully slippery; you could not grip it.
We had to drive the ice-axe into the loose flap of hide, and so
gradually drag the carcase into the positions necessary for flaying. We
left the hide on the head and limbs, and then cut through the
cartilaginous breastbone and secured the huge liver—about forty pounds
of it, I expect. We intended to drag the hide back with a rope, but all
we could manage was the liver, of which I hung a part on each
forefinger. Then we walked back to the hut, about half an hour’s
journey, and when we arrived I gave the liver to the cook. I soon found
that my fingers were frostbitten, and through inexperience I stayed in
the hut. For five minutes I tramped up and down with an almost
unbearable pain in my fingers very like toothache. Never again did I
expose my hands in the Antarctic in any constrained position, so that
this first slight mishap was a good lesson to me.

On the 27th of January the ship left Glacier Tongue, to carry our party
to the western side of MacMurdo Sound, a distance of thirty miles. I got
a photo of the face of the Tongue—showing queer little bulbous icicles
where the swell of the tide had licked them. The Tongue rises and falls
with the tide, and so there was no very definite crack between it and
the sea-ice at its end. Little did we think that this century-old
natural wharf was to be torn away from its moorings a few weeks later!

Now that all chance of adding to our equipment had passed, we found that
several important matters required attention. For instance, my
ski-boots—in which I had to traverse rocky slopes for six
weeks—developed a hole thus early in the campaign! This apparently
trivial matter bulked very largely in the succeeding journey, and though
they were roughly cobbled on board and stiffened with all sorts and
conditions of nails—none being very suitable—they were a constant source
of worry.

In the afternoon we approached Butter Point, passing through a belt of
“brash ice” to reach it. This curiously named headland is where the 1902
party started to explore the western valleys. Here a supply of butter
was left for the returning travellers to reward them with a toothsome
dish of fried seal’s liver (if they had “first caught their seal”).

Butter Point is really the north-east end of a “piedmont” glacier. It is
a mass of ice—almost stagnant—which covers a coastal shelf some five
miles wide between the foothills and the sea. The snow slopes rose
rapidly to a hundred feet or so, and then more gradually to five hundred
feet. Many unsuccessful attempts to fix an ice-anchor in the hard snow
(covering the glacier) resulted in our moving north a short distance,
where a grip was obtained when the anchors were carried some two hundred
yards inshore.

On the summit of the snow ridge, about half a mile away, we saw the pole
of the depôt left by the 1907 expedition. This was now visited by a
sledge party to depôt provisions for the forthcoming northern journey in
spring.

In the meantime our two sledges were lowered on to the ice, and packed
in readiness for our start. The sledges differed in size, one being
twelve feet long, and the other only nine feet. The latter Evans
evidently regarded as the apple of his eye, but weight for weight it was
much less efficient than the larger sledge, since it weighed almost as
much, but could not carry three-quarters of the load. We had a heavy
equipment for four men, averaging about 270 lbs. each, but as we were
only proposing to take one sledge for a considerable portion of the
journey, this was of little importance.

Our total load was as follows:—

                                                            LBS.
        _Sledges, etc._       Twelve-feet sledge              52
                              Nine-feet sledge                47
                              Two instrument boxes            14
                              Iron under-runners              52
                                                             ———
                                                 Total       165
                                                             ———
        _Food and Fuel, etc._ Oil tins on platform            78
                              One tin of spirits              5½
                              Seven weeks’ food              250
                              Biscuits (four boxes)          196
                              Ready bag (one week)            41
                              Boxes protecting biscuit        52
                              Cooker                          7½
                                                             ———
                                                 Total       630
                                                             ———
        _Tools, etc._         Three ice-axes ...              8½
                              Crowbar and shovel              14
                              Candles                          3
                              Lantern                         1½
                              Alpine rope                     11
                              Bamboos                         2¼
                              Tent and poles                  26
                              Four sleeping-bags              49
                              Repair bag, etc.                14
                                                             ———
                                                 Total       130
                                                             ———
        _Instruments, etc._   Theodolite                     11½
                              Aneroids, etc.                   1
                              Zeiss camera                     8
                              Six dozen plates                12
                              Goerz camera                     7
                              Three dozen plates               6
                              Box camera and films             7
                              Polariscope                      5
                              Binoculars                       3
                              Compass, abney, etc.             5
                                                             ———
                                                 Total        65
                                                             ———
        _Personal Gear_                                       50
                                                             ———
                                                       LBS.
                       Totals Sledges, etc.             165
                              Food, etc.                630
                              Tools, etc.               130
                              Instruments, etc.          65
                              Personal                   50
                                                       ————
                                                       1040
                                                       ————

[Illustration:

  MODEL OF COUNTRY TRAVERSED ON FIRST JOURNEY.

  Outward journeys, Butler Point to Alcove Camp and Butler Point to
    Heald Island, shown. See also folding map at end of book. C =
    Cathedral Rocks. D.I. = West Dailey Island. K = Knob Head. D = Davis
    Bay Depôt. H = Heald Island. N = Nussbaum Riegel. W = Walcott
    Glacier.
]

Several items in this list may be commented on. The heavy steel sledge
runners were designed to fit under the wooden runners of the sledge, to
take the wear and tear when we were crossing the rough ice of the
glaciers. No favourable occasion for their use arose until half our
journey was completed, and then, as will be seen, the trial resulted in
the smashing of the large sledge. We also carried the biscuit tins
enclosed in their stout wooden cases up and down the Ferrar glacier,
with the idea of preserving the biscuits from breakage. The cases were
discarded on our return to Butter Point without any inconvenience from
broken biscuit resulting. These two items alone constituted one-tenth of
our load, and we were glad when trials showed that we could get along
much better without them.

It will be noticed that an exceptionally large photographic battery was
carried. This was necessitated by the character of the problems which
engaged our attention. For instance, Wright was chiefly interested in
the forms of ice structure which we encountered. The most delicate
ice-crystals, which withered at a breath, must needs be photographed _in
situ_. There was no possibility of his bringing back specimens for study
in the hut during the dark winter months. For similar reasons a somewhat
bulky polariscope—in which sheets of ice were examined in polarized
light—formed part of Wright’s load, and accompanied him in a rucksack
wherever he went. Debenham was engaged on the more usual work of
collecting specimens, mapping their occurrence in the field, and
studying the relations of the various rocks. For this purpose another
camera was essential, since in general his investigations were carried
out in the cliffs at some distance from the rest of us. The subject
which primarily interested myself may be popularly described as the
bearing of geology on scenery—in other words, “How has the land surface
been affected by the flow of glaciers, by the action of wind, frost,
water, and ice? How do the resulting features differ from those observed
in more temperate regions where water plays such an important part and
ice erosion is absent?”

During February we obtained nearly a hundred photographs illustrating
the typical valleys, glaciers, moraines, and general topography of the
western mountains, which it is hoped will help to settle the question,
“How do glaciers erode the deep valleys they occupy?” But early in March
our cameras became practically useless, for the cold stiffened the
shutters and the snow obliterated the details of the landscape.

I asked Pennell to take some soundings off the glacier mouth, for it has
been supposed that glaciers cut their troughs out even below the surface
of the sea. Rivers, of course, cannot erode below this level, so that
this investigation was of importance in connection with the Ice _versus_
Water Erosion hypotheses. He found only seventy fathoms (420 feet),
which bears little resemblance to the glacier-cut fiords of Norway, some
6000 feet below sea-level. There is often so much silt and debris
washing down from these valleys, that it may be possible that a deep
rock trough has been filled thereby. But I think it improbable for
reasons which will appear later.

Debenham went off with the eastern party to examine the depôt on Butter
Point. Priestley was able to identify many of the articles here as
having been left by David on the magnificent magnetic Pole journey.
Meanwhile, Wright, Evans, and I got our stores and sledges on to the ice
and started packing. Some of the seamen went off to kill a seal,
accompanied by our doctor, Levick. The latter was to show them a humane
and speedy way of ending the seal. He described the method to us on his
return, but the effect was spoilt by the butcher declaring that the seal
had travelled a hundred yards after Levick had officially killed it!

Debenham had arranged his northern depôt by six o’clock, and then our
party put the finishing touches to our two sledges. With the zeal of a
new leader, I advised donning wind-proofs as evening drew on; but
experience showed later that they were rarely needed until mid-February!

I left my trusty “mousetrap” camera on board, some one snapping a photo
of us just before the start.

About 6.30 we pulled off from the ship across the sea-ice which
separated us from the glacier. The surface was good, and we dragged the
sledges about five miles before camping. We headed for the northern side
of the glacier. The southern side of the Ferrar was really more direct,
but it was cut up into gullies and pinnacles such as made sledging
almost impossible.

I asked Evans to cook during the first week; and Debenham was cook’s
mate, to follow on later. So upon halting Evans took charge of the
cooker and proceeded to light the primus, while Wright and I erected the
tent over him. Debenham filled the outer cooker with ice and then joined
us in piling snow blocks on the flounce of the tent. After seeing that
all was secure on the sledges we dived into the tent, and sitting on our
rolled-up bags proceeded to change our socks. All of us, except the
unfortunate cook, who was too busy mixing pemmican and salt and pepper
and thickers—measuring out chocolate and cocoa, etc.—to have any time to
attend to socks! This was one reason why cooking was not more popular!
Our wet socks were hung on a rope slung upon the sledges, and by morning
the frozen moisture had evaporated (ablated) completely off.

However, on this particular evening, while the pemmican was being
cooked, Wright and I walked a mile or so to the south and reached a
lateral “tongue” or prolongation of the main glacier. There was a sudden
rise of some three feet, and the surface, in place of being level and
comparatively smooth, was carved out into deep irregular bowls with
overhanging margins. These were in all probability giant “sunholes,” and
their floors were covered with a most beautiful carpet of snow crystals.
Examined closely, each crystal plate was like the segment of a fan
strengthened by cross-ribs. These plates were often half an inch across.

The whole structure of sunholes, crystals, and hummocking ice reminded
me of nothing so much as the appearance of a coral reef, and I suggested
the name “coral-reef surface” for the type of ice and snow weathering.

We returned and found the “hoosh” nearly ready. I read the sledging
orders which Captain Scott had given me a few days previously.

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

  Letter of Instruction to Griffith Taylor, Esq.
]

As usual we found the pemmican too rich at first, and I note that I
could only eat three of the biscuits! This delicate appetite did not
survive many days of Antarctic sledging. I slept soundly, only waking
once at four; but the thought that I carried the chronometer and was
responsible for the punctual rising at 7.30 (6.30 local time) made me
uneasy for many ensuing mornings!

We did not expect to return by this route, so that I thought it
advisable to investigate the physiography of the lower end of the
glacier. After breakfast we all went over to the south side of the
valley. Wright was soon busy on hands and knees investigating the
beautiful “fan” crystals. Debenham and I walked on further to some
isolated moraine heaps, which projected about ten feet above the ice. I
made a traverse over the glacier as far as the lower slope of the hills
with the following results. The moraine heaps seemed to be the outward
and visible sign of a large continuous ridge—or sheet—most of which was
buried in old ice and snow. The mingling of fine silts and huge
boulders, some four feet long, was characteristic of a glacial deposit,
and a few doubtful striæ were present. Many varieties of rock were
represented, granites, recalling the famous “Shap” of the Lake District;
splendid porphyries with large almond-like felspars in a brown matrix;
gneisses of many varieties with parallel layers of glistening mica and
dull black hornblende; and some crystalline limestones and much
dolerite; both of which occurred _in situ_ about ten miles further west.
These elongated silt and boulder ridges showed deep cracks along their
sides, indicating, I imagine, considerable movement of the glacier which
bore them.

The next half a mile was rather difficult travelling, through pinnacle
ice and through large lately frozen pools of water. Very striking were
some of the ice-forms here. “Topsy-turvy” icicles, whose original
support had almost melted away—leaving them attached below and
surmounted with knobs like hatpins, and unsupported crusts of ice which
dropped one into a pool of water, were types that made the most lasting
impression. I soon reached the land—a sunny slope facing the noon sun.
Here several merry little brooks hurried down over the powdery silt to
hide themselves beneath the glacier. To be sure, they were only an inch
deep and meandered across little channels a couple of feet wide, but
they were unusual enough to excite interest. Gradually the silts changed
into a pebbly soil, and this into a uniform layer of coarse gravel as I
ascended the slope. Larger stones and boulders became common, and one
specimen seemed of special interest. It was a fragment of coarse granite
some six inches long, with its upper surface weathered to such an extent
that every felspar appeared as a separate glistening brick; yet the
moiety of the granite buried in the silt was as smooth as any pebble
from the beach. I consider it by no means improbable that this
relatively large amount of “weathering” had been accomplished while this
fragment lay in its present insecure situation.

A little higher up the slope I was amazed to see a carpet of green moss,
as flourishing as any in more temperate regions. I sat down on a granite
erratic, and noted that three types of vegetation were present. One was
a veritable moss, to my unbotanical eyes, the ordinary moss of universal
distribution. Of the other two species, which may have been algæ, one
resembled the seaweed called _Ulva_, and the other had a somewhat
fibrous structure. The patch of green was sixty feet long and about
fifteen feet wide, and is possibly the largest area of vegetation south
of 77½°! I was under the impression that these forms were quite common
around MacMurdo Sound, but if I had known that they were inhabited by a
most interesting primitive flea, I should certainly have added some to
our load. However, we obtained thousands of the insects next year at
Granite Harbour.

On my return I found that Evans had laboriously collected the fragments
of a shell, which, pieced together, built up a red scallop. He picked it
up on the moraine, where it may have been blown by the wind.

We inspanned at noon, and before lunch reached the low ridges marking
the junction of the centre of the glacier with the sea-ice. Here we
obtained fresh water for the cooker, by cutting some three inches
through the sea-ice. Evidently at this season the sub-glacial drainage
overpowered the sea-water at this spot, which was eight or nine miles
from the open sea.

To the north of this was that remarkable “Double Curtain” glacier, which
is photographed in the _Discovery_ volume. After lunch Wright and I
decided to walk in that direction, and we soon saw we should be
justified in devoting some hours to its examination; while Debenham came
along later and collected the varied rocks in the vicinity. As we
approached the northern slopes the surface of the Ferrar Glacier altered
in character, and gave place to large lake-like areas of ice, which
exhibited most beautiful figures on close examination. In the upper
layers of the ice were included radiating designs which resembled a
miniature Hampton Court maze in porcelain embedded in glass. These
intricate patterns—which are characteristic of glacier ice—I termed
“Arabesques.” They are due, I imagine, to some variation in the
solidifying water, perhaps owing to air being squeezed into the latest
ice formed—or again show where stones have sunk deep into the glacier.

Somewhat nearer the shore there were more unpleasant surfaces met
with—large dome-covered ponds into which we fell at frequent intervals.
We decided that a tramp over the Crystal Palace would give rise to the
same sensations. Bounding the glacier and separated from the debris
slopes by a wide stream was an avenue or colonnade of gigantic ice
pinnacles thirty feet high. These were traversed by narrow crevasses,
down one of which I had to climb to rescue an ice-axe. The sun
glistening on the icy minarets and beautiful icicles made a most
impressive sight. This ice ridge is due to pressure from the glacier
piling the ice against the cliff higher up. This crenellated selvage to
the more level central level centre of the glacier—moves to the sea with
the main body, and so preserves its lateral position, though no pressure
can exist where we saw it—for it is many yards from the rock.

Between the pinnacle ridge and the slopes was the water-bearing channel
which invariably accompanies a large glacier in these regions. This
physiographic feature is one of the most interesting and most important
in connection with the characteristic topography of Antarctic valleys.
The small valley bounded by ice on one side and rock on the other is
conveniently termed the _Lateral moat_. Hereabouts it was rather
complex, but further up the main glaciers its valley occupied merely a
simple V. After crossing the pinnacles we had to negotiate a stream in
which the water lay in pools several feet deep—though its flow was
comparatively small. Then over a silt moraine and so across another
slight depression to the talus slopes below the “Double Curtain”
tributary glaciers. It seemed a simple matter at first to investigate
the glacier front, but it lay much further up the slope than I had
imagined, and was moreover protected by an icy mantle of frozen thaw
water which surrounded the snout. Wright cut steps across this “mantle,”
and found that the almost vertical face of the glacier was forty feet
high, and composed of layers of snow which had only lately reached the
condition of ice.

[Illustration:

  MY FIRST CAMP IN ANTARCTICA AT THE SNOUT OF THE FERRAR GLACIER.

  Over a mile away is the Double Curtain Cliff Glacier. The Kukri Hills
    are 3000 feet high. The Snout is only ten feet above the sea-ice on
    which is the tent. The socks are hung out to dry on the sledge.
]

[Illustration:

  PHOTO TAKEN JUST BEFORE WE PACKED THE SLEDGES FOR THE FIRST SLEDGE
    JOURNEY, JAN. 27, 1911.

  Note the biscuits in the four venesta cases. The men are wearing
    windproof blouses.

  [_See p. 120._
]

Meanwhile I climbed up the steep rock slopes alongside the glacier. At
first the rocky debris was a confused jumble of granites, dolerites, and
basalt, with occasional limestones and gneisses. At 2500 feet elevation
I reached the top of the slope and stood on the great shoulder which
characterizes the Kukri Hills hereabouts. Here solid rock was
plentiful—the same gray granite traversed by long dykes of dark basic
rock. A wonderful panorama was spread out before me. I could see up the
Ferrar Glacier as far as Knob Head. To the south-west jutted out the
three giant gables—like the roof of a Gothic cathedral—which were so
appropriately named Cathedral Rocks.

I was much interested in my first view of Descent Pass, by which we
proposed to reach the Koettlitz Glacier. Still further to the south-west
the spurless wall of the Ferrar was notched by the “Overflow.” The
latter appeared to spill out through a gloomy curving gorge which
indisputably showed evidence of water erosion. In the far west towered
the massive Royal Society Range, culminating in Mt. Lister. Its eastern
face was carved into rounded “armchair” valleys (cwms) and deep
razor-back ridges—another type of topography which has been recognized
in temperate regions as characteristic of glacial erosion.

On descending to the main glacier I found that the others had collected
several small sponges and shells from the small silt moraine in the
lateral moat. These organic remains are puzzling, for it is difficult to
imagine that such light and fragile specimens indicate a sea-beach,
which could only have raised so many feet above the sea at some far
distant period.

Objects of greater biological interest had been encountered on our walk
to the side of the glacier. In the rough ice we saw many Emperor
Penguins, stolidly motionless and obviously awaiting the end of their
moulting season. We crossed over towards them and found that there were
several flocks, probably totalling one hundred.

In the nearest group were thirty-six individuals, only one of which had
completed moulting.

He was singled out for sacrifice and fell by a blow on the neck. Evans
and I dragged him to our camp, where I skinned and cleaned the carcase
in preparation for a change of diet if our appetite failed on a pemmican
regime. The limbs I hacked off with my new bowie knife, and I was
chagrined to find that penguin bones can chip the best Sheffield blade!

Already my boots began to give trouble. The soft leather sole would not
hold the short nails, which only were available on the _Terra Nova_, so
that I attempted to mend matters by driving in some Canadian lumber
spikes supplied by Wright.

After Wright had taken another round of angles with the theodolite we
moved on up the Ferrar Glacier. The surface degenerated rapidly. The
flatter portions were sun-carved into serried ranks of projections like
plough-shares, and we used the term “Plough-share Ice” to describe this
feature. Although this was unpleasant to walk on, yet the sledges
travelled over it readily—for as a general rule bad walking meant easy
pulling, and _vice versa_. But great holes, two or three feet deep, were
cut out below the general level, and these were closer together as we
moved further west. They were crusted with fan crystals, and indeed
represented a stage of surface evolution which I have described as
“coral reef structure.” We had much difficulty in guiding the sledges,
and they capsized several times before lunch. Every now and again the
sledge runners would jam, sending a jar through one’s frame, so that
this unpleasant experience became known—quite naturally—as a “jam-jar.”

Towards evening we approached the first series of pressure rolls.
Crossing diagonally (from south to north) were four frozen rivers which
formed tempting surfaces, but unfortunately in the wrong direction, for
they led to the broken ice of the Overflow.

We camped in an undulation filled deeply with hard snow, a little below
a fine tributary glacier and nearly opposite the Overflow.

On the 30th we started up some steep undulations. We had anticipated
easy going, for Evans, on his 1902 journeys, had always encountered
clear smooth ice here. But the ice was buried under a foot of snow and
only showed in occasional holes. I made brief notes of the surfaces
throughout the day, at our various halts, and they are characteristic of
glacier sledging and so are here reproduced.

“_First Halt._ Heavy going up the undulations; three of them traversed
already; the surface is smooth but the runners stick to the snow.

“_Second Halt._ We have crossed the head of quite a deep snow-covered
valley crossing the glacier,—on both sides were numerous crevasses, but
they were not wide, the largest being under three feet. I slipped in
twice, and Evans and Wright had similar mishaps (in no case, however,
did both feet go in). Definite snow bridges over crevasses. We halted at
a dead seal, obviously a young specimen and yellowish in colour.

“_Third Halt._ We can see a good lateral moraine at the foot of the
cliffs, for we are gradually rising up a steep slope with a bad surface.
Only a few narrow cracks.

“_Fourth Halt._ Still on the same slope, which is hard going and causes
much sweat, chiefly owing to our rather heavy loads, as the slope is
only three degrees.

“_Fifth Stage._ Same surfaces; stopped for lunch, having done 3600 paces
in three-quarters of an hour (_fide_ pedometer).

“_Sixth Stage._ The surface became less damnable and we did a mile in
which short patches of ice appeared under one inch of powdery snow. Some
‘glass-roof’ ice is appearing into which we fall, and the snow is still
one foot thick in many places.

“_Seventh Stage_ (5 p.m.). We are reaching plough-share ice.

“_Eighth Stage._ Snow is falling on the northern slopes, but does not
reach down to our level.

“_Ninth Stage._ Much better surface, nearly all ice, though the snow has
powdered it to a greyish colour.

“_Tenth Stage._ ‘Arabesques’ are showing in the clear ice underfoot,
they seem to mark fairly old solid ice and indicate good travelling.

“_Eleventh Stage_ (8 p.m.). Crossing the glacier to Cathedral Rocks;
surface good, but the moraine seems a long way ahead.

“_Twelfth Stage_ (9 p.m.). Stopped near the big moraine after heavy
pulling over two inches of soft snow. Camped on big patch of hard snow
by a huge boulder.”

We spent the forenoon making our depôt at this camp. It lay four miles
north-west of Descent Pass, and would be on our route if we decided to
return to the sea by the Pass. We left here what we did not require
during our fortnight in the Dry Valley region. We piled three biscuit
boxes on the smaller sledge, and packed the smaller provision bags under
the sledge. We put the butter inside the instrument box with the spare
photographic plates. Also I decided to leave the heavy steel
under-runners, for so far we had met with no rough ice. The penguin had
been lashed on behind the sledge and had suffered considerably from the
capsizes! Him we buried under some blocks of snow, pending a “hoosh” on
our return. We took a fortnight’s provisions in addition to the
“ready-bag,” and I tied a note to our depôt flag, mentioning the 11th as
the probable date of our return.

Just to the west of the main Cathedral Rocks was a very interesting
tributary valley—the first real low-level tributary of which we had had
a good view. Obviously owing to some difference in the snow-supply, this
tributary is keeping pace with the main glacier, and enters the latter
“at grade.” The majority of the other tributaries have not entered the
Ferrar on a level (at grade) since it was two thousand feet thicker.

The sun was quite powerful, and we had to wear goggles in consequence,
but during our ensuing stay in Dry Valley there was so much bare rock
that we had no need for them. At lunch my unlucky boots fell to pieces
again, and Evans put some scientific sewing into them. But no sewing
held, until continual frost turned the leather into a material almost as
strong as steel.

Towards six o’clock we reached the top of the steeper portion of the
Ferrar Glacier, and found ourselves on a small ice plateau about 3200
feet above sea-level. On the south it rose to the south arm, while to
the north was the entrance to Dry Valley. The col of ice leading in this
direction is of considerable interest, for it shows what conditions were
like near Luzern in the Great Ice Age. However, I will describe this
form of “Twin Glacier” in a later paragraph.

A few miles before we camped we were hauling the sledge along the foot
of the grandest geological section I have ever seen. The cliff was 3300
feet high (as determined by Abney level), and was divided into so many
distinct layers that it resembled a gigantic sandwich! It was capped by
a little triangle of yellowish rock, which represents the most eastern
exposure of the Beacon Sandstone in the valley. Beneath this were two
wonderful “sills,” or horizontal sheets of the basic lava called
dolerite. They could be traced in the cliffs for miles and miles, and
represented flows of lava wedged in between the granites and sandstones.
These dolerite sills were strongly columnar, and near by some isolated
pillars of enormous size were visible on the skyline. Above and below
the lower of these black sills were layers of grey granite, and the
lower portions of the granite were shrouded in a steep slope of brownish
talus which reached to the flashing white surface of the great glacier.

[Illustration:

  The wonderful geological “sandwich” near the Dun and Hedley Glaciers.
    (The 3000-foot cliff at the south-west end of Kukri Hills, February
    10, 1911.) In descending order: _yellow_ beacon sandstone; black
    dolerite; red-grey granite; black dolerite; red-grey granite; dark
    brown talus.
]

I hoped to reach the head of the Dry Valley glacier that evening, so
that we pulled on till 9 p.m., and reached the beginning of the slope to
the north. Here we formed our Fifth Camp just abeam of a tributary
glacier—which, from its shape, we called the “South America” glacier. We
had some difficulty in fixing the tent-flaps, for the glacier was now
practically free from snowdrift, and there was nothing to weight down
the skirt of the tent. But the night was calm and warm, so that I walked
across to the lateral moat without helmet or gloves in perfect comfort.

_February 1, 1911._—To our surprise—after five days’ pulling over heavy
snow in the Ferrar Glacier—we found no snow in the adjoining valley! We
made across the valley a little to reach the medial moraine, and to get
away from the disturbed ice at the corner. At lunch we camped in a huge
hole alongside a giant boulder of granite. Here alone we found enough
snow to secure the tent. Water was obtained from a mass of slushy ice on
the sunny side of an adjacent boulder.

Many points of interest appeared round us. All over the clear ice were
circular patches of darker ice, varying in size from an inch to two
feet. Embedded in the darker ice were the arabesque patterns described
previously. These dark patches marked where stones had gradually sunk
through the glacier, as the sun’s rays—rendered operative by radiation
from their dark surfaces—melted the ice around them. As a consequence,
only the most massive blocks remained above the ice hereabouts, and the
medial moraine—in place of being a continuous ridge of heaped
debris—consisted of a block here, another twenty feet off, a third
somewhat further, and so on along a line down the valley.

On the slopes of the north, under Obelisk Mountain, were two interesting
glaciers. We named them from their shape “Catspaw” and “Stocking”
Glaciers. They spread over a low range of hills shaped somewhat like a
broad terrace, and from my sketch it seems possible to prove
considerable retrogression on the part of the “Catspaw.” In 1903 the
“paw” was furnished with relics of a well-defined “mantle” in the form
of three “claws” prolonging the glacier some hundreds of feet. There was
no trace of these in 1911. The irregular outline of this glacier
suggests that it originally spread out and perhaps joined with the
Stocking (to the east) and other isolated curtain glaciers. Hence the
absence of any trace of a valley below these glaciers. They merely
“spill” over the broad terrace and hang there supinely, quite
unconnected with the main glacier below. This absence of marked erosion
is, to my mind, a very important point, and similar features constantly
occur.

The gullies in the Solitary Rocks afforded an interesting piece of
evidence as to the relation of outcrop to weathering. One of the trials
of physiography is to decide how much of the outline of a valley must be
set down to the varying resistances of the rocks involved, and how much
is due to the generalized type which marks the physiographic age of the
valley. For instance, a narrow gorge usually marks a valley of _late_
origin; but it _may_ be due to a hard band of granite and be quite
local, the rest of the valley having the broader features of the
_mature_ stage of erosion. To return to our local evidence. I was glad
to see that the gullies intersecting the Solitary Rocks crossed the
unconformity (junction) between the dolerite and granite without any
change in their outline, proving that these two rocks offered much the
same resistance to weathering.

As in the Ferrar, the frozen surface streams ran across the glacier
diagonally towards the north-east. Perhaps this uniform northerly
direction was due to the greater melting on the northern side of the
glaciers by the noon sun.

About six o’clock the slope became too steep for the sledges. We halted,
therefore, about a mile from the snout and prospected for a good camp
site. There was no snow anywhere, and the edge of the glacier was a
steep slope some forty feet high, down which it would be little
advantage to lower the sledge. The centre of the glacier was cut up by
surface streams into asymmetric gullies twenty or thirty feet deep.
Along the sunny (southern) side of these gullies were a series of
“alcoves” arranged like the stalls of a choir. They were thirty feet
deep, and about a hundred across, and were most beautiful objects—their
steep faces being fretted into a thousand pilasters and niches.

On the northern side these alcoves were much smaller, but presented the
same features. We lowered the sledge down a convenient gully in the wall
by means of the alpine ropes, and proceeded to pitch our tent on the
rough ice forming the level floor of the alcove. These were ideal
conditions for a sheltered camp—with the exception of the floor. We had
a strongly-running stream an inch deep alongside which led to an amusing
incident one evening. However, it was a good site, and though the wind
howled along the surface of the glacier, nothing was even disturbed in
our sheltered nook.

I decided to spend two days round the snout of the glacier before moving
down the valley towards the sea. The “groin” blocking the valley
attracted my attention, though I was afraid it might prove to be merely
a 500-foot moraine. So we arranged to spend the day in the matters most
interesting to us. Debenham climbed up some 2000 feet to the “coaly”
debris on the Kukri Hills. Wright (and Evans) investigated the physics
of the ice in the vicinity of Alcove Camp. Debenham and I started
together down the glacier, and experienced considerable difficulty in
leaving the ice. Captain Scott had descended easily enough in 1903, so
we kept along the southern edge, seeking a convenient place. The steep
lateral slope gave way to a perpendicular cliff over fifty feet high,
and we had to cross many ridges and small crevasses before we came to a
gully which led to a “silt” fall. Here, partly by slipping and partly by
being lowered by the wickstraps of my gloves, I managed to reach the
lateral moat, and Debenham followed safely. (Afterwards Debenham cut
steps up the less steep face nearer our camp.)

Debenham finally climbed to an outcrop of black lava forming a wall
eighty feet high, and obviously representing quite a late phase of
volcanic activity.

I carried lunch with me down the valley, and ate it under a huge granite
erratic abreast of the snout of the glacier. The slopes of the hills
contracted here, and practically enclosed the glacier save for a deep
narrow gorge just under the 500-foot groin mentioned above. The slopes
were strewn with fragments of grey granite, of fawn granite, and of a
felsite containing hornblende laths and “zoned” felspars. Many of the
basalt fragments seemed to show the effects of wind action, and
exhibited the wedge form of “dreikanter.” The latter are elsewhere
characteristic of desert regions, where also wind action is more
pronounced than water erosion. Many of the large granite erratics
contained felspars three inches long, and every gradation between
granite, gneiss, and felsite seemed to be present.

Many interesting features were shown by the glacier snout immediately
below me. Between the groin—which I named the Bonney Riegel—and the
glacier, extended an oval lake about a mile long, and half that in
breadth. This connected with a much larger lake to the east by a deep
waterway through the Bonney Riegel. The whole lake—some four miles
long—I named Lake Bonney, after the President of the British
Association, himself a climber and student of the Alps. Between the lake
and the actual face of the glacier was an area of distributed silts,
which extended under the glacier; while the latter also contained bands
of silt, which were boldly curved in the form of an arch with the centre
thirty feet above the limbs. Here the glacier can be exerting no erosive
action on its bed, and I believe that for a long period thaw and freeze,
wind and water, have been the chief agents in eroding the Taylor Valley
hereabouts.

[Illustration:

  Moraine material at the Taylor Glacier, looking west.
]

Leaving the glacier and the upper lake, I proceeded east to the Riegel.
As I climbed up the slope of the hill, I was delighted to find that it
was composed of granite _in situ_. This bar across a great glacial gorge
was paralleled by many in the Swiss Alps, and any light which can be
thrown on their occurrence in the path of an apparently irresistible
power like an immense glacier, will be of interest.

In my opinion this bar (or riegel), and the more important one we
discovered some ten miles east, are relics of “steps” in the original
topography. A series of “armchair valleys” (or cwms) were first cut out
in the sloping margins of the newly snow-covered land area. The plateau
ice in the interior gradually grew in extent, and finally overflowed and
drained out through the largest cwm valleys to the sea. By degrees it
eroded many of the cwm features, but it left relics of their presence in
the form of these “bars” and basins. This is what I call the
“palimpsest” theory, and I shall explain it more fully when I describe
the elongated valleys of the Koettlitz ice tributaries.

I slid down the steep eastern face of the Riegel, where King Frost had
gnawed away the cliff and built up a steep ramp of talus, and reached
the channel connecting the two parts of Lake Bonney. This was twenty
feet deep and filled with water, of which only the top six inches was
frozen. Large laminae of dull green algæ covered the bottom of the lake,
and just at the snout of the glacier a bright red alga lent an unusual
touch of colour.

Perched high up on the shoulder of the valley and close to the Rhone
glacier, Debenham made out a small black crater, and I got a fairly good
telephotograph of it from our camp. It is probable that the basalt
debris I found near the lake had fallen from this crater, which was
several hundred feet wide. Its position on this glaciated shoulder is
very interesting, and seems to prove that eruptive action occurred here
since the period of maximum glaciation. I managed to cut steps up the
front of the glacier and so enter one of the many surface gullies. I had
a very unpleasant time getting back to Alcove Camp, a distance of nearly
two miles. I thought perhaps the northern side of the glacier, which was
flatter, would be easier to negotiate. But the sun had weathered it into
a series of small alcoves, whose floors were as smooth as glass and
sloped towards the edge of the glacier, here fifty feet high.

[Illustration:

  The recent crater on the flank of the Taylor Valley. The Rhone (cliff)
    glacier appears on the left, February 7, 1911.
]

The alcoves were bounded by razor-like ridges, and I had to crawl along
from one to the other, where I did not cut steps. The others had
returned to camp earlier, and Evans proudly produced a fossil-bearing
specimen which he called a “whisker-stone.” It certainly showed signs of
organic life, but they were merely fibrous algæ of a type fairly common
in the south, so he did not get the reward for the first fossils. That
evening Evans kindly sewed “toggles” on my sleeping-bag, so that I could
lash it up after I had coiled in. We cut trenches in the ice to lead the
thaw waters away from the tent, and turned in to sleep soundly, though
the wind was howling above us along the face of the glacier. But twenty
feet below, snugly sheltered in the alcove, nothing disturbed us.

Next morning before rising Wright remarked on the severity of his
exercise the day before, which had left him so bathed in perspiration
that he felt clammy all night. On examining his sleeping-place, however,
he found that something had blocked the stream by the tent, and its icy
current had been flowing under his bag most of the night. With the
temperature ten below freezing this hydropathic treatment was by no
means appreciated by him!

_February 4, 1911._—As we could not take the sledge beyond the glacier,
we packed up the tent and sleeping-bags with five days’ food and our
instruments, and carried them down towards the sea. Wright carried his
pack in the Canadian method by a “tump-line” round his forehead. He took
the theodolite. Evans wrapped his goods and the tent round the tent
poles and carried them like a standard over his shoulder. Debenham and I
took the food. I found as usual that the Italian method of carrying a
harp—a strap over the right shoulder—suited my convenience best.
Debenham copied the Australian swagsman with a smaller bundle in front
nearly balancing a roll on his back. We took no cooker, and I left my
camera below the Riegel after taking some photographs of the latter.

We walked along the northern edge of the lake over a belt of smooth ice
about twenty yards wide. The water here was very deep, especially where
steep cliffs fringed the lake. Towards the centre the ice soon became
much broken, and then a large portion of the centre of the lake was
occupied by silt and morainic debris. In fact, the deep water was
probably controlled by the radiation from the dark rocks along the
shore. The valley was by no means steep-sided as a whole, but there was
evidently a well-defined shoulder terrace about 2000 feet above the lake
bed on the north and a less marked one on the south. Above them the
slope was steeper.

Running into the lake at the east end were several small creeks. One I
noticed particularly had cut a fine gully in the moraine of the typical
=ᐯ= shape. This was twenty feet deep, and its debris was deposited as an
alluvial fan or delta. I mention this as an instance of typical water
erosion in Antarctica, though later we saw much larger examples.

We had lunch at the east end of Lake Bonney, which extends four miles
east from the snout of the Taylor Glacier. Here the wide valley was
filled with morainic debris, and several tributary glaciers were close
at hand. A large hanging glacier almost reaches the level of the lake.
It is fed by three separate firn-fields, the ice being precipitated over
a steep craggy cliff, and then reuniting into a broad glacier below.
This I called the Sollas Glacier. Another similar glacier on the
northern side almost reached the middle of the valley, and we passed
just under its snout. The water from all these glaciers drained into
Lake Bonney. I was much surprised to find that after we had passed the
lake, the bed of the valley began to rise. This lake evidently occupies
an area of internal drainage, and we pressed eastward wondering if we
should be stopped by a range of hills. Evans had mentioned seeing in the
distance (in 1903) a glacier which completely blocked the valley, so our
supposition was not beyond possibility.

Immediately east of Lake Bonney the bed of the valley was occupied by
curious areas which Evans’ name of “Football Fields” described quite
well. These were four oval areas about 1000 yards long and half that
width, as level as a playing-ground and composed of a gravelly silt with
insignificant shallow streams winding through each. Separating the
“Fields” were ridges of moraine about fifty yards across. The “Fields”
gradually became higher in an easterly direction, each, however,
maintaining its own particular level. These isolated patches of dead
level in the midst of a wilderness of moraine heaps often a hundred feet
high need explanation. Level areas of silt under _any_ conditions denote
material deposited at base level. (This may be the _permanent_ base
level of all water erosion, _i.e._ the level of the sea, or a
_temporary_ level, as when a river enters a lake, the latter acting as a
base level until it is filled.) The “football fields” represent,
therefore, the last stages of a chain of lakes which occupied the bed of
the valley at this point. Probably Lake Bonney will gradually be silted
up in a similar manner, though here conditions are abnormal, for the
drainage is a thorough puzzle. The lake would seem to have no outlet,
and yet, as we have seen, it is quite shallow except a mere fringe near
the cliffs. In midsummer a great quantity of thaw water runs down from
the main glacier. Possibly evaporation and ablation may balance the
inflow. It seems improbable that the water soaks out through the moraine
in view of the frozen condition of the moraine a few feet down.

From the football fields we passed under the snout of Lacroix Glacier.
This ended in a vertical cliff of ice some thirty feet high, which as
usual rested on debris and moraine material.

This glacier was a beautiful example of an avalanche-fed cliff glacier.
There was very little connection between the upper firm portion and the
lower solid snout of the glacier, the supply being maintained by
occasional falls of ice over the great granite cliffs separating the two
portions.

[Illustration:

  The avalanche-fed Lacroix Glacier in the Taylor Valley, February 7,
    1911.
]

Below the snout there was a steep fall through boulders and fragments of
granite to the centre of the valley, and along this slope hurried a
pleasant little brook three feet across and some three inches deep. It
filled the air with as cheerful murmurs as any stream in more favoured
latitudes. Lying among the moraines within the next few miles I counted
no less than thirteen dead seals in various stages of decay. This fact
was of some comfort to us, for we seemed to be ascending continuously,
and could see no seaward outlet to the valley. Yet the seals had come
through somewhere, and where they could pass, so surely could we!

About three miles beyond Lake Bonney we reached the water parting. The
drainage from these high moraines was partly into Lake Bonney and partly
to the east. Beyond we could see the valley contracting to a defile
while striking knobs—recalling the Bonney Riegel—bounded the narrow
gorge and led to terraces about 1700 feet high. To the south, however,
an extension of these, 3000 feet high, quite barred the large valley we
had just traversed.

It was now nearly six o’clock and my shoulder was aching with my pack.
Judging from the readiness of the others to drop their loads, I
concluded that they felt the same. But we all had an idea that a few
minutes later would give us a view of the Ross Sea. We wondered if we
could pass around the snout of the wonderful tributary immediately in
front. It opposed a face of ice forty feet high; but just where it
butted into the steep south slope of the defile, there was a narrow gap
where thaw-ice had filled in the interspaces between the cliff debris.
Over this we carried our packs; over this the seals must have
laboriously crawled to die further inland. One seal reached no less than
twenty miles from the sea, and ascended many hundred feet on its death
journey. Another, near Solitary Rocks some ten miles further west, at a
height of 2000 feet, may have ascended the Ferrar Glacier—an incredible
journey for a marine animal like the seal.

[Illustration:

  Sketch section across the Taylor Valley at Suess Glacier, showing the
    Nussbaum Riegel which bars it.
]

We scrambled up the slippery ice mantle below the snout of the Suess
Glacier—as we named this striking glacier—and reached the highest
portion of the valley since we had left the Taylor Glacier. The rock
slopes looked full of interest. Here were vertical strata of limestone
and slate, which were the first sedimentary rocks that we had examined
_in situ_. Unfortunately they were so folded and altered that no trace
of fossils could be expected.

We could not see the sea from the crest of the defile, where we were
about 300 feet up, and so moved east down the other slope. We reached
another lake nearly a mile long with a splendid gravelly shore, on which
I decided to pitch the tent. We had brought no floorcloth; but after the
wet and icy floor in the “alcove” we found the warm gravel most
comfortable.

We had a frugal meal of biscuit, butter, and cold water. Our beverage
from the lake was distinctly medicinal, and as the latter had no outlet
we called it Lake Chad.

[Illustration: Looking West up the Dry Valley below Taylor Glacier, from
the 3000′ Bar across the Valley]

I was distinctly troubled over the topography of the day’s march. We had
left a huge open valley—a suitable outlet for a large flow of ice like
the Taylor Glacier—and had arrived at a narrow defile completely blocked
by the tributary Suess Glacier. We reckoned we must be near the sea; but
where was the large open moraine-strewn valley described by Professor
David in 1908? I wondered if we had got into an unimportant tributary
and missed the main outlet of the valley altogether! So after dinner
Evans and I made straight for the top of the ridge (immediately south of
the tent) which seemed to block the great valley. It was a stiff ascent
of 1600 feet over rough blocks of slate. There we reached a flat, bare
ridge with a further ascent to 3000 feet a little further west. To my
surprise I saw that immediately to the south was a broad high-level
valley gradually sloping to the east. I thought at first I was looking
into the Ferrar Glacier, but soon saw that here in Antarctica was an
example of the extraordinary valleys which are so characteristic of the
Italian Alps. As shown by the cross section, the dry valley is barred by
a huge Riegel, which is traversed by a deep defile at the north, and
scooped out to some extent into a huge elevated, rounded channel on the
south. From this ridge, above the mile long defile, Evans and I at last
saw the sea gleaming in the east across some twelve miles of
moraine-strewn valley.

On the 5th, Wright and Debenham remained near the camp, while Evans and
I marched down to the sea to tie the survey on to Ross Island—if we
could recognize any portion of that far distant feature. We each carried
much gear, and the annexed rough sketch shows how a geologist is loaded
when “on trek.”

It was extraordinary to find two more very large tributary glaciers on
the south side of the valley—reaching some way into the ice-free main
valley, and blocking up the main drainage to form a series of lakes. We
named the first the Canada Glacier, and Wright later on clustered the
names of various Canadian men of science on the adjoining peaks. The
second we called the Commonwealth Glacier; and to the small glacier
which we ultimately reached, on the north-east end of the Kukri Range, I
gave the name of Wales Glacier, so that our party’s homelands are well
represented in Dry Valley! We had to climb 400 feet up the slopes here
before we could see anything definite to the east; but then I was able
to sight the theodolite on to Mount Bird, Cape Bird, and Beaufort
Island. It was a long and rough tramp back—across numerous little
streams, running as usual to the north-east,—but we reached camp again
at 9 p.m. and turned in thankfully.

After a somewhat _dry_ breakfast, Wright and I took the theodolite up
to the top of the Riegel. We climbed some 2400 feet, but did not reach
the top of Mount Nussbaum—the central summit,—which I estimated at
3000 feet high. When we reached the scarp facing up the valley to the
west the wind was tempestuous, so that we could not stand against it,
much less use the theodolite. We sheltered under the lee of some
projecting dykes of dark rock for some little time. There came a lull,
and almost before we got the theodolite ready the gale had veered to
the east—diametrically opposite—and continued to blow almost as
fiercely from that quarter. This violent storm would have been
unsupportable on the Barrier, but the party in our camp below
practically felt none of it. Our apparent fine weather was due less to
absence of wind than to the absence of loose snow, and to the
abundance of shelter.

[Illustration: The Compleat Explorer. 8·2·11]

I tramped to the south and found that the “Round Valley” ended in a 1700
foot scarp above the trough containing Lake Bonney. There was little
wonder that we had not realized on our seaward tramp, _viâ_ the defile,
that such a high-level valley existed.

[Illustration:

  “Anorthoclase” felspar, thrown out of Erebus, 2 inches long. The
    characteristic mineral in kenyte.
]

This elevated ridge was comparatively free from debris, but there were
huge erratics of granite with large felspar crystals three inches
across. They were wonderfully scooped out by the wind, and were nearly
twenty feet across in some cases. We also found small kenyte erratics
containing large felspar crystals. These may have been carried across
from Mount Erebus, or some unknown locality in the south.

After supper I took the prospecting dish (which was the last article
purchased in New Zealand) and washed for gold in the gravels alongside
the lake. There were numerous quartz “leads” in the slates and
metamorphic gneisses, and eruptive rocks and limestone were in the
vicinity. This is a juxtaposition which is always promising, and
furnishes the “country rock” of most gold fields. But the quartz was too
glistening and pure. It had not the “kindly” rusty appearance which the
gold-seeker admires, and so I was not very sanguine. However, water was
abundant in Lake Chad and I washed out many pans of dirt. The “tails” of
heavy sand were not promising, even pyrites and magnetite being almost
absent. We knew there would be no water available on the remainder of
our journey, so I depôted the “pan” on a boulder by Lake Chad, where
some future archæologist will discover striking evidence for the lost
kingdom of Sheba!

Next day we started back to Alcove Camp, buoyed by the thought of hot
pemmican after nearly a week’s cold “tucker.” We lunched just at the
east end of Lake Bonney on our old site below the peak of the
Matterhorn. The latter is the most striking mountain in the region. The
conical summit (formed of black dolerite columns) perched on a broader
granite base, certainly gives it a resemblance to its forerunner in the
Alps. We estimated it to be 9000 feet high. Luckily we took careful
angles which we worked out later in the hut. To our chagrin all
observations resulted in a poor 5000! Such is the effect of lack of
trees or any standard of comparison in Antarctic scenery. Continuing
west we found that the penguins seemed to have the same queer habits as
the seals, for we found a skeleton some fourteen miles from the sea.

We reached Alcove Camp about 5 p.m. and saw that our camp site was
ruined by thaw water. We hunted around for a new floor, and the only
available one seemed to be a pile of moraine rubble just like a heap of
road metal! This we levelled off, and when the ice had melted away in
the sun, we pitched our tent upon this stony bed. Then we had a hot
meal, much appreciated after our days of cold food.

We were up at 7.20, Greenwich time (really 6.20, local) and shifted our
gear from the heap of road metal to the surface of the glacier. We had a
good breakfast, though I noted that twelve lumps of sugar did not seem
to sweeten the cocoa. It was difficult to move the sledge, for the dark
straps had sunk two inches deep in the hard ice and there frozen in
again. We managed to get everything ready by 10 a.m., and moved up the
glacier. It was very sunny, and Evans wore a huge “Madeira” straw hat,
quite a yard across—a queer but useful article that his previous
experience had led him to add to his kit.

We had lunch about six miles up the glacier in the medial moraine. I
took careful notes of the latter, which differed conspicuously from
those of temperate glaciers. It consisted of huge blocks of granite with
smaller pieces of dolerite and sandstone. They were often 100 feet
apart, so that this moraine compared with Swiss examples was a very
“tenuous thread.” Comparatively little material can be supplied to these
slow moving or stagnant glaciers, and all the small stones have
undoubtedly sunk into the ice long ago.

The upper portion of the Kukri Hills hereabouts showed by the fragments
of the Beacon Sandstone torn off by the intrusive eruptive rock dolerite
that the latter was newer. The relative ages of the other rocks could be
deduced in the same way. For instance, the dolerite sent “dykes” into
the granite, so that the latter was older. These points are well shown
in the section I sketched.

Near the Solitary Rocks the glacier was moulded into a gigantic furrow
or longitudinal undulation. We followed this up toward the ice-falls
from the upper glacier and camped for the night on a small patch of snow
in the lee of some large boulders of the medial moraine. These boulders
had lee-ridges of snow, which, we were interested to see, were generally
turned into solid ice and formed part of the glacier itself. This shows
that nothing but a maturing process (resembling that of wine!) is
necessary to convert snow into glacier ice.

[Illustration:

  The age of rocks. The granite (Gr.) is the oldest; it is penetrated by
    flat sheets of dolerite (D) at the junction with the main mass of
    the latter. The beacon sandstone (B.S.) has also been torn up and
    surrounded by the dolorite (below A and B), and has probably been
    lifted up by the lava (to B.S.). The talus (Ta) of loose rock is the
    latest deposit. From a sketch of the new end of the Kukri Hills made
    February 1, 1911.
]

Wright and I went over to the Kukri Hills while the others pitched camp.
I wished to measure the “lateral moat.” Near the edge of the glacier
there was a thick coating of snow. At the actual edge there was a sharp
curve downward, and carefully peering over we could see that there was a
frozen stream at the bottom of the gully, over 150 feet below us. I
determined to measure the slope and angle accurately, and for this we
had brought the alpine rope and ice-axes. Wright lowered me over the
edge, which I found was a snow cornice projecting over six feet. Under
the cornice was a well-defined platform a few feet wide—which, however,
narrowed on either side—and then came a long slope to the bottom. Wright
paid out the rope, and I let myself down to its end. There I started to
cut steps, but unfortunately slipped and fell the last thirty
feet—luckily without damage except to my knuckles. I can remember
thinking that an ice-axe was an uncomfortable companion in this roll
down the slope and so threw it away for fear lest it should claim close
acquaintance with my person. The stream was over a hundred feet wide,
and then I reached the foot of a steep rocky slope formed of dolerite
blocks fallen from a bold crag a few hundred feet up.

I climbed up the glacier side again, and then found that the large
snow-shawls of the cornice prevented my getting back—for as Wright
hoisted me the rope merely cut deep into the snow and soon my head was
pulled into the lower parts of the huge cornice! I crawled along under
the cornice, devoutly trusting it would not avalanche on me, but
ultimately had to retrace my steps down to the stream. Again I slipped,
and this time lost the skin off my other hand as I rolled once more into
the moat. Luckily some few hundred yards north I saw a place where the
cornice had fallen off, and here I was pulled up by Wright with such
vigour that the ice-axe entered my leg!

The huge cross-section of these “moats” is worthy of note. They
definitely prove that no _lateral_ erosion of any importance is
occurring in this portion of Antarctica. After returning to the tent the
glacier treated us to rounds of volley-firing! These were due to the
opening of contraction cracks as the ice shrank in the colder night
temperatures.

Wright and Evans spent the morning of the 9th over near the ice falls
from the upper glacier. These we named after the famous Cavendish
laboratory in Cambridge. They had to cross a surface compounded of
“plough-shares” and “thumbmarks,” which they found intensely slippery,
so that even surefooted Evans fell and nearly broke his elbow.

Debenham and I cracked sandstone boulders, but found nought of interest
save worm burrows in some shaly bands. However, these indicate damp
conditions for some portions of the Beacon Sandstone, and so show that
the latter is not perhaps of desert origin.

The most extraordinary feature in this small ice plateau near Knob Head
Mountain is that the moraines here lead down into Taylor Glacier. Hence
they cut right across the upper portion of glacier above Cavendish
Falls, and show that the ice west of the latter is almost wholly flowing
into the Dry Valley region and not into the lower Ferrar, as was
supposed. This looks as if the “South Arm” and the glacier from the
north side of Mount Lister formed the main supply of the Lower Ferrar,
while the northern portion (_née_ Upper Ferrar and Dry Valley) is a
distinct glacier now temporarily united with it after the fashion of the
Siamese twins. This type of union is by no means unknown, and indeed
explains the structure of Lake Luzern—that beautiful high-cragged chain
of lake basins in central Switzerland. Here also two independent
glaciers (the Reuss and the Aar) cut out deep parallel gorges as they
moved to the north.

[Illustration:

  Plan of the bygone _twin_ glaciers of Lake Luzern, whose overflow led
    to the break through the high range near Vitznau. A close parallel
    with the conditions near Knob Head between the Ferrar and Taylor
    Glaciers.
]

They spread out laterally, and ultimately the Reuss Glacier overflowed
to the west, and cut through the high ridge forming the picturesque
cliffs of the Rigi and opposite shores.

As I have explained elsewhere (p. 280), when, after our return, I
described this interesting parallel between Lake Luzern and the
“opposed” glaciers at Knob Head, Captain Scott was good enough to honour
me by naming the northern “twin” the Taylor Glacier.

That evening we camped near the ice divide between the glaciers. We had
intended to ascend the South Arm, but after making our way in that
direction for some time, we saw that a snowstorm was brewing, and so
turned towards the Kukri Hills.

They seemed to me less than a mile distant, but knowing the difficulty
of judging distances, I suggested we should camp under the slopes,
“about a mile and a half on.” Wright, with his Canadian experience,
thought this would be well over two miles, and I remember the distance
turned out to be three miles! Thereafter I calculated apparent distances
with great care, and when convinced I had allowed for everything I would
use a “factor of safety” of 3—and come out about right!

Debenham finished cooking, and being already an adept, had very properly
saved some “thickers” for his final “flutter” at breakfast. So Wright
started with the evening meal. He imparted a scientific and physical
aspect to the operation by suggesting a “drop test” to estimate the
viscosity of the pemmican; an observation of its meniscus (or curved
surface) to see its sticking power; notes on colour and taste; and—added
one of his hungry audience—“I suggest 50 per cent. be subtracted from
the cook’s allowance on account of grits!”

Perhaps as a result I had a dream in which my astral self did some
logical reasoning! It is a fact that the fossils called trilobites
gradually become more supple and less clumsily built as one traces them
through newer formations. It occurred to me in the dream that this also
held true for man and his monkey ancestors, and that the stiff, clumsy
orang-outang, etc., developed into the limber human acrobat. Not a very
epoch-making correlation, but the best my _astral_ self has accomplished
to date!

On the evening of the 10th we reached our depôt at Cathedral Rocks. We
could see our flag from five miles off with the glasses. On arrival we
found the food uncovered, so that the sun had melted the pemmican and
butter. The skua gulls had found the carcase of the Emperor, and our
chance of a variation of the menu had departed with the skuas.

That evening we discussed literature. Seaman Evans had read many popular
works, and was far superior in this respect to any of the other seamen
with whom I had much to do. He had read some of Kipling’s poems, and
“had no use for them,” nor did Dickens appeal to him. As was perhaps
natural, he preferred books with more “plot” in them; especially did he
delight in the works of the French writer whose name he anglicized as
Dum—ass!

Our sledging library was quite extensive, for each of us had devoted a
pound of our personal allowance to books. I will give the catalogue, if
only as a caution to later explorers. Debenham took my Browning and the
“Autocrat”; Evans had a William le Queux and the _Red Magazine_; Wright
had two mathematical books, both in German; I took Debenham’s Tennyson
and three small German books. The _Red Magazine_, the “Autocrat,” and
Browning were most often read; Evans’ contribution being an easy winner.
Somehow we didn’t hanker after German.

On the 11th Wright and Debenham carried out a very important operation
to determine the movement of the Ferrar Glacier. They fixed stakes right
across the glacier which were aligned on two prominent peaks. Some six
months later Captain Scott re-measured this line, and found that very
considerable movement, amounting to thirty feet, had taken place during
the winter.

Meanwhile P.O. Evans and I prospected for a route up the steep snow
slope of Descent Pass. Evans had been with Armitage when he used this
route in 1903. We found the conditions very different. Soon we were
sinking nearly two feet at every step in soft snow, through which I knew
it would be almost impossible to drag the sledges. The slope soon
increased to 11°, so that we found some difficulty in progressing even
unencumbered. There I first made the acquaintance of the “Barrier
Shudder.” Every now and then a shiver would shake the surface, and we
could hear the eerie wave of sound expanding like a ripple all around.
Sometimes one could see the whole snow surface sinking slightly, and at
first the effect was very unpleasant.

We had been roped for two miles and were still ascending. We now began
to get among crevasses, though few were visible through the thick sheet
of snow. Quite suddenly I slipped in to the thigh, and sounding with the
ice-axe just in front found two inches of snow over the crevasse and
very little more behind me. I was evidently standing in a narrow bridge.
At the same time Evans called out that he was over another about fifteen
feet behind, so that for a few moments things were rather involved. He
got back on to firmer ground and hauled me back, and when we saw the
surface begin to cave in bodily we decided, in Evans’ graphic language,
to “give it a miss.”

We seemed to be in the least impossible part of the pass, and I could
see plenty worse ahead. So I decided to abandon this route and continue
down the Ferrar to Butter Point, and so reach the Koettlitz Glacier
_viâ_ the Piedmont Glacier.

During our absence Wright had also slipped into a crevasse while fixing
the stake nearest Cathedral Rocks. We inspanned after lunch, and moved
down the glacier to our old camp at the mouth of the Ferrar.

The morning of February 13 was bright and clear. We could see no change
in the sea-ice filling New Harbour where we had crossed it a fortnight
before. I therefore headed south-east towards Butter Point. Here we had
an experience that might have ended our journey prematurely.

We got along at a good rate for two miles, when Evans drew my attention
to something black sticking up in the ice just ahead.

We had noticed an unusual creaking sound, which I put down to ice
crystals falling, but this strange object demanded investigation. I ran
forward a little, and the black spike was obviously the back fin of a
killer whale. The creaking was really a warning that the bay ice was on
the move. Meanwhile the ice I was on moved off with a jolt, a mark of
attention from the killer which we did not appreciate. However, I jumped
the three-foot crack which resulted, and we hastened to the fixed ice
nearly two miles south. It was a case of “_festina lente_.” We could not
drag the heavy sledges more than two miles an hour, and were continually
crossing cracks where the oozy snow and creaking showed how insecure was
our passage. Soon after we reached the Butter Point piedmont the whole
bay ice moved off in great floes to the northward, so that seven miles
of it had broken away since the ship landed us. It is quite impossible
to tell whether sea-ice is solid or not, for the first cracks are so
small and the elevation of the eye so little that the only safe way to
traverse sea-ice in late summer is to keep off it!

We expected to find the Butter Point piedmont an easy level surface, but
of its kind it was the worst I met with down south. All the afternoon we
were plugging up an interminable snow slope. Just as one got one’s foot
braced to draw the sledges through the clinging snow, it would break
through a crust and sink nearly to the knee. Then we would meet a few
yards of firmer surface and bet whether we could make a dozen steps
before the soft “mullock” started again. Even worse was the jar when you
expected deep snow and found a firm crust one inch below the surface. I
carried a pedometer, and when we had done 27,500 of these paces I felt
we had earned our supper.

Blue Glacier now confronted us. P.O. Evans and I prospected across the
snout, and were glad to find that though it showed crevasses in places,
yet it was so free from snow that we should have no great difficulty in
crossing them. They curved round parallel to the coast, and, of course,
lay along the line of our march, so that we came on to them end-on and
fell in several times. But by the evening of the 15th we were safely
camped in the rugged ice south of the crevassed portion. Evans as usual
enlivened us with navy yarns. He illustrated the kindness of the
sailorman by a story of a mate of his who started a poultry-farm. To
Jack’s disgust the ducks in his yard had no belief in altruism and with
their broad bills gave the hens no chance. “So,” said Taff Evans,
“evenchooly he gets a file and trims their bills like the hens, and then
everything went all sprowsy!”

If any one had asked us what we should like sent post haste from
civilization, there would have been a unanimous yell of “Boots!” The
rough scrambling over the rocks and jagged ice of the past fortnight,
and the alternate soaking and freezing they had experienced, had ruined
mine completely. Deep constrictions formed in the leather across the toe
and behind the ankle and raised great blisters, and even boils in
Debenham’s case. I had no sole on the right foot, but within the next
day or so the temperature fell considerably and the thin leather lining
froze as hard as steel and so protected my foot. For days a loose
boot-nail which had accidentally been pressed sideways into the sole
when it was wet clung like a leech!

[Illustration: The Morphology of frozen Ski-boots. 15 2 11]

Each morning we had a painful ceremony when it was necessary to don our
frozen boots. Remarks more fervid than polite flew about the tent, and
some of us found that quotations from the poet philosopher lubricated
the process.

         “... Gritstone,—gritstone a-crumble:
         Clammy squares that sweat, as if the corpse they keep
         Were oozing through”

was supposed to be a very potent incantation. We carried no blacking,
but this ceremony was called “Browning the Boots.”

Open water washed the face of the Blue Glacier. Black snaky
heads—reminding me of prehistoric plesiosaurs—could be seen darting
about amid the brash ice. They were Emperor penguins, which swim with
their bodies submerged.

To the south of us stretched the sea-ice, which was evidently rotten and
ready to move north. Beyond the Blue Glacier on the right stretched a
broad fringe of moraine which extended fairly continuously along the
north side of the Koettlitz Glacier. Immediately ahead of us was a
fifty-foot ice cliff, but some distance to the south we found a lower
place and managed with the Alpine rope to lower the sledges down to the
sea-ice. We crossed the “pressure ice”— where great cakes had been
up-ended to form a frozen rampart—and reached a good sledging surface at
last. Near by was a great pool of water containing many seals, where
jostling ice pancakes were surging about, so there was obviously no time
to lose. We pushed gaily south and camped that night in a little
gravelly dell among the moraines.

This crater-like dell was occupied by a frozen lakelet of greenish ice,
the colour being due to algæ. On the slope above the lake was a blanket
of alga forming a sort of peaty layer an inch thick.

The latter was apparently _in situ_, for it extended uniformly for about
ten feet. This occurrence of peat points to an elevated old lake bottom,
and we saw similar examples later on our journey. Even in Antarctica at
present we see that considerable organic material is deposited, which
might form a thin coaly layer in succeeding ages under suitable
conditions. Indeed, the kerosene shale deposits of Australia are
supposed to originate in some lowly plant-form like these algæ.

_February 17, 1911._—We had a calm, clear night, and all slept very well
on the soft sand of the moraine crater. Just to northward was a little
bay filled with pancake ice having two-feet motion. We made south across
little bays over a very good surface, which was intersected by
cross-channels of clear ice. Seals were very numerous along this coast.
We counted one group of thirty. We could now see the first of the Ice
Slabs (described in 1902), which seemed in its lower portion to run
parallel to the coast.

Wright espied some white material in the moraines, and we walked across
to see this. It turned out to be a huge deposit of Mirabilite (sodium
sulphate), about ten feet across and fifty feet long. It was granular in
texture, and the dip of the bed was quite high. The Mirabilite was
originally a level deposit in a saline lake, so that, just as in the
case of the algæ, we have evidence of strong upheaval of the moraine
silts, since they experienced a long-continued phase of equilibrium. The
granular mass was not unlike rock-salt in appearance.

We proceeded south and crossed the mouth of the large bay marked on the
Discovery map. We halted off the southern headland for lunch.

I had a small adventure which might have been serious. On
outspanning—which consisted in freeing one’s harness from the sledge—I
walked over to look at a seal which had crawled about a hundred feet
from the tide crack. He shook his head angrily at me, so that I made a
loop on my harness—still attached to my belt—and lassoed him with
unexpected ease. The seal bolted for the tide crack—and for a short
distance they can “lollop along” fairly rapidly. It was amusing, at
first, being pulled by an angry seal; but it suddenly struck me, “What
will happen when the brute dives into the pool?” I could not get the
loop off his neck, and had as much chance of stopping him as a railway
train. I experienced some anxious moments before I managed to get ahead
of him and jerk off the lasso, for it was impossible to slip out of the
broad waistbelt in time. This adventure furnished considerable amusement
to my unfeeling comrades, and became the subject of one of Wilson’s
sketches in the _South Polar Times_.

After lunch we took a round of sights from this low headland. It was
composed of moraine heaps with numerous circular sheets of water, which
reminded one most strongly of crater lakes. On descending from the cape,
Debenham found that the steep little cliff near the tide crack was
formed of ice covered with a mere veneer of moraine silt. Probably a
large portion of the promontory was ice, and we saw other examples of
this pseudo-moraine further up the Koettlitz. As Debenham suggested, the
crater lakes were due, in all probability, to the melting of the
foundation ice. Probably the sun’s rays acting on the silt in a shallow
pool have a powerful effect in deepening the lake when it is once
initiated. The drainage of such a lake presents some difficulties, for
though there was usually an apparent outlet, many were quite enclosed by
a circular wall of debris. Steps of silt, appearing as small terraces,
were common among the heaps. These probably represent crevasses in the
underlying ice, and we actually saw several such crevasses in the ice
exposure noted above. Perhaps these crevasses account for the (hidden)
drainage, for ablation could not empty many of the lakes. The whole
question of the origin of these unusual lakes is of great physiographic
interest.

We could see fairly rough ice ahead, but hoped to be able to get the two
sledges several miles further before depôting one during our work on the
Koettlitz.

We proceeded somewhat to the east over blue ice. This soon became
rippled and degenerated rapidly into a fearful “glass-house” and
“bottle-glass” surface. We started to fall through the ice into hidden
channels, and in some cases there was a foot of fresh water awaiting us.
Things got worse and worse. We wriggled round ice “mesas” with vertical
walls, over huge curved platforms which threw us all together in the
centre and then dropped beneath us. We thought it might be better nearer
the land, but at last had to lower the sledge down two feet to the lower
level, which was silt covered and all the harder to sledge on for that
reason. The “mesas” showed three layers. A flat cake of solid ice on
top, then a few inches of very much weathered ice, and below a solid
pedestal about three feet high. We hoisted the bamboo and flag and
spread out to prospect. The ice became worse towards the coast, but
Wright reported somewhat better going towards the centre of the gulf.
However, it was obviously unwise to drag our unnecessary sledge further,
so we turned in our tracks and crossing many “glass-houses” (into most
of which we fell, though with little damage) we made for the headland
where we had lunched.

It began to snow and looked very threatening around Mount Discovery.
There was an ugly luminous patch in the sky to the south-west, and a
heavy snow cloud with a very ragged edge. On Erebus alone was a red-gold
ray of sunshine. From these portents Evans prophesied a blizzard. We
reached land without undue difficulty and crossed the pressure ice,
pitching our tent in a dell not unlike our last camp, though it was
flatter and more exposed to the east. We carried the smaller sledge well
inland, but left the large sledge below on the sea-ice, for we should
have had to manœuvre it round an open channel, and we did not need it
for laying our depôt here. This channel along the coast was about twenty
feet across with a five-knot current in it, which was flowing strongly
north. Seals swam up it quite frequently, and often used to halt and
observe the strange visitors alongside. While the pemmican was cooking I
went on to the ice and killed a seal and extracted his liver.

This camp marked the end of the third week. We celebrated it by eating a
pound of mixed chocolates. Wily Evans led us to believe that _he_ was
the donor; but as a matter of fact, each sledge had a box of them packed
in for birthdays and feastdays.

The snow stopped about 8 p.m., but later in the night a strong wind from
the south-east blew much sand on to the tent. We had an argument as to
whether this was a blizzard or not, for there was no snow in the wind.
Personally I now think it tends to prove that the snow in the blizzards
is largely _old_ snow caught up again, for the force and direction of
the wind were just those of typical blizzards. We were protected from
the open barrier surface by Brown Island and the Koettlitz glacier, and
this region is one of small snowfall in any case. So we were not
inconvenienced by such blizzards as blew on this western coast.

The food was lasting out well. The first tin of biscuits was finished,
and had lasted from the 3rd instant. (We had, however, an extra bag of
loose biscuits.) I started my week of cooking on the 18th, and as we
reached Hut Point in the seventh week I had only one turn at this duty.

_February 18, 1911._—It seemed advisable to get a good view of the
Koettlitz from some high peak, so I decided to spend a few days in the
vicinity of this camp before marching up the big glacier. We had a “make
and mend” morning—sadly needed by our boots. I had saved some staples
from the venesta boxes (thrown away at Butter Point) and found they were
satisfactory in holding the soles together. Luckily the others’ boots
were very much better, though Debenham’s were much improved by some of
Evans’ sewing. We had a large fry of seal’s liver in butter, and
Debenham and myself decided that as raw blubber tasted passably, we
would fry liver in blubber for the next meal off seal meat.

In the afternoon Wright and I crossed Davis Bay to the mouth of Hobbs
Glacier (about two miles to the north-west). The promontory on which we
were camped was about a quarter of a mile across, chiefly built of
basalt fragments rich in olivine.

The shore of the bay below Hobbs Glacier was in the form of an
extraordinarily flat alluvial fan. This uniform level extended almost to
the glacier for three-quarters of a mile, though it narrowed greatly
away from the bay. It was mapped out in square “tesselations,” and at
the sides were striking terraces about five feet higher with strongly
marked, clean cut edges. The whole topography had a very recent
appearance; but the only explanation I can give for these levels points
to a period when Davis Bay was dammed by ice so as to raise the
waterline to the levels of the various terraces. A parallel case of
terraces in a waterless region is given in Utah, where the hills around
the great basin are fringed by similar deposits indicating a bygone
lake.

Down the fan ran a creek from the glacier, which cut into the silts at
the shore to a depth of several feet. Evidently the base-line has been
lowered by this amount since the fan was deposited. From the hill above
the bay it could be seen that there were two fans, one of a lighter
coloured silt being derived from the next valley to the south. We could
also see that our camp was really on an island which corresponded to the
stranded moraines south of Butter Point.

[Illustration: My footgear, 19·2·11]

_February 19, 1911._—I cut out some sealskin from the carcase near-by to
make a pair of “brogans” to cover my boots, lashing them over the sole
with yarn, and over the sealskin I bound my iron crampons (steig-eisen)
on. Then we all started to explore the valley immediately west of Davis
Bay and south of the Hobbs Glacier. Leaving the sea-ice we reached a
lighter coloured “fan” by a sharp step of five feet. Emerging through
this broad gravel fan were “nunataks” of large stones which had
evidently been deposited before the fan. They rose twenty or thirty feet
above the fan, forming ridges leading towards the valley. We reached a
gully about 500 yards from the bay, which was entirely water-cut, and
was fifty feet deep. It had steep sides and its bed sloped considerably.
The latter was filled with large rounded boulders, one or two feet in
diameter, obviously waterworn. The account of the summer streams in
1903, given by Dr. Wilson, explains this striking example of ordinary
_water_ erosion, which I was unprepared to meet in icy Antarctica.

The gully wound about through the morainic foothills, and widened
considerably about a mile higher. Here it was occupied by an ice-sheet
some 300 feet wide. In this sheet narrow little canyons four feet deep
had been cut by the water, and very generally these canyons were roofed
with ice. In other places the whole ice-shell had been undercut for
thirty or forty feet by the relatively warm water.

Gradually the valley—which I named after Professor W. M. Davis—became
wider, and a tributary joined it from the north. (See folding map at the
end of the volume; and also p. 175, section No. II.) It drained the
lowest slopes of the foothills, which extended to the scarp of the
Western Mountains. These lowest slopes are largely covered by a gigantic
deposit of moraine matter. This deposit extends many miles along the
foothills, and can only be due to the great Koettlitz glacier.

Four or five miles from the coast the steep hillsides formed of solid
rock rise somewhat abruptly from the moraine slopes to a fairly uniform
height of 3000 feet.

The sides of the valley along which we were walking were marked by
lateral ridges in several tiers. These were about thirty feet high, and
in some cases certainly contained much ice. At one spot the silty
covering of the side of one of these lateral ridges was marked by
vertical stripes of darker silt, as if the whole ridge had moved
slightly and cracked along these lines. These ridges followed the
contour of the hill between the tributary and the main valley, and
reminded me of the parallel roads of Glenroy (though on a very small
scale, of course). They are, I think, like terraces or beach deposits
due to a bygone ice dam across the mouth of the main valley, such as one
sees in the Märjelen See above Fiesch in Switzerland. Later we saw
“pocket editions” on Cape Evans.

Continuing up the valley we found it bounded between solid cliffs of
limestone, which were altered in places to a marble. We called these the
marble cliffs, and they culminated in a double peak of a fawn tint,
which we called Salmon Peak from its colour. I kept along the base of
these cliffs while the others walked up the thal-weg 200 feet lower. We
soon saw that the upper portion of this “dry” valley was occupied by a
glacier whose snout was forty feet high.

Some light snow had fallen lately and occupied the furrows of the
“tesselations” which ornamented the floor of the valley. For some reason
(probably the direction of the wind and sun’s rays) only the north-south
furrows were now filled, and these white zigzag markings on the black
basalt-debris resembled so many white snakes!

The Davis Glacier snout was about six miles from the sea. A range of
mountains 4000 feet high blocked the upper end of the =ᑌ=-shaped valley.
I was very anxious to see whether the glacier really came into the
valley from some hidden angle, for if not this glacier was of great
interest. Here was a glacier which could not be more than eight miles
long, which had cut out a valley 3000 feet deep and a mile or so broad.

We separated here, Wright and the others taking the theodolite up a 3000
feet hill to the south, while I went a couple of miles further into the
range to see the head of the glacier.

[Illustration:

  Empty hanging valley, on north wall of the Davis Glacier, showing
    catenary curve due to former glaciation, February 19, 1911.
]

Everywhere were the signs of recent recession of the Davis Glacier.
First I had to cross the mouth of a side valley opening 600 feet above
the glacier. This was quite free from ice, and was a perfect
“bowl-valley” or cwm. On the opposite side was another “hanging valley”
at a lower elevation, with a most symmetrical =ᑌ=-cross section. It was
abruptly truncated by the plane surface (35°) of the marble cliffs under
Salmon Peak. I now climbed round the top of a cliff of ice which
descended smoothly for 1000 feet to the glacier at an angle of 30°.
After ascending over many outcrops of limestone schist, granite, and
basic dykes, I reached the head of the glacier and saw that it
originated in a cwm about three miles from its snout. Its snowfield was
very circumscribed, but reached the summit of the bounding ridge in
several places. The glacier up here was not crevassed, and the main
surface lay only two hundred feet below me. After making some rapid
sketches I returned to the snout of the glacier where the others had
already arrived.

This Davis valley contains a typical example of the “ice-slabs”
mentioned by Ferrar. But I do not agree with his description of them. He
writes, “They are the relics of glaciers which once drained the snow
valley; but owing to diminution of ice-supply, this has now become an
inland basin, and its overflows have slipped away from it, leaving a
subsidiary watershed bare.”

In the first place, the head of this glacier was a typical cwm, with
steeply sloping sides, and to all appearance a sharp crest to the ridge
at the back. It did not resemble the discontinuous lower portions of the
Lacroix and Sollas Glaciers in Dry Valley, which fully deserve the title
of ice-slabs. The latter lie supinely, one might say, on a gently
sloping hillside, in which they have cut no definite trough. The method
of erosion of these curious valleys became clearer to me as we saw other
examples in the next fortnight.

_Monday, February 20._—We spent the morning making a depôt on the
Ice-Borne Moraines. We left the camera legs with a flag thereon, and
cemented them into the gravel by the simple method of pouring a cup of
water on to it! The seal’s liver we put under the food stacked in the
small sledge, and I left a note of our whereabouts in the instrument
box. We took eighteen days’ food with us.

We crossed about one mile of good surface and then reached
“glass-houses,” “craters,” “pools,” etc., through which we struggled
till two o’clock. After lunch Wright and I prospected and found some
“plough-share” ice about a mile to the south-east. We made for this,
having to cut tracks along the bottom of the channels connecting
“glass-house” areas. Debenham and I pulled on short traces while the
others lifted the sledge over the constant succession of obstacles. The
sledge fell two feet into a hole and capsized, but the brunt of the
shock was absorbed by the empty oil tins. We were always falling, and
occasionally disappeared a foot below the glass-house surface.

[Illustration:

  TRYING TIMES ON THE KOETTLITZ GLACIER, FEB. 2, 1911.

  The sledge has fallen through “glass-house” ice into a thaw water
    channel.
]

[Illustration:

  TABLES OR ICE “MESAS” IN THE LOWER KOETTLITZ CUT OUT BY THAW-WATER.

  [_See p. 157._
]

Later we halted in a slight snowstorm. We were cheered to hear Evans say
that it was the worst sledging surface he had ever seen, even though he
added that it was not fit for sledges. I wore my iron steig-eisen all
day, and so was able to hold my own somewhat; but the others preferred
to slip about, for the irons certainly made one’s feet very sore.

For an hour we had fair going over “plough-share” and shallow
glass-houses, during which we changed direction somewhat to the south. A
thick snowstorm blotted all ahead, and we reached a region of
“basket-work” ice structures, which we called “fascines,” and all sorts
of ice tables. One shaped like an Armadillo standing on a pedestal was
especially noticeable, and after pulling the sledge over three
“roof-pillars” (the roof having long ago fallen in) we cried “enough,”
and camped in the shadow of the “Armadillo.”

“It is fairly warm to-night, the others smoking peacefully. They have
almost given up trying to make me smoke. I had a difficulty in getting
Wright to eat some extra pemmican! ‘Sugar Vat,’ ‘Liver Chewer,’ and
‘Pemmican Tub,’ are common ekenames. And so to sleep.”

[Illustration: How Evans won his bet. 20·2·11]

During the next four days we struggled up the middle of the Koettlitz
Glacier. It was a strenuous time, but I recall a pleasant noon halt when
P.O. Evans earned an honest penny. We saw him playing with the rope
which lashed his sleeping-bag. Says Evans, “I’ll show you how to make a
clove-hitch with one hand, and I bet you a 1_s._ 3_d._ dinner (our usual
currency) you can’t do it after you’ve seen me do it six times!”
Debenham took the bet, and we all watched Evans closely. Then “Deb”
tried, and to our joy succeeded, for the handy-man was rarely “done.”
But he never turned a hair, and booked the bets that now filled the air.
Again Debenham proceeded to try, and failed—and Wright and I were
equally unsuccessful. Evans made quite a haul, but after saying he had
never seen any one do it by sheer luck before, he proceeded to teach us
the dodge; and later Debenham became quite a knot-master under his
willing tuition.

“A fine sunny morning, the first for many days. Even this scene of
desolation looks cheerful.” Thus my sledge diary for the 21st. But the
route did not improve. I wrote: “We got going on awful stuff—rounded
pools of ice, between tables. It got worse and worse, and after many
bumps and leaps and falls I decided to prospect. We had done half a mile
in the hour.... We started again about 3 p.m. Awful heavy work over
‘glass-house’ and leaping three-foot chasms, between high fascines and
across decomposing rivers of ice.”

About 4.30 we saw a ragged piece of skin projecting from under an
ice-table, and found that it was part of a large fish. We spent half an
hour chipping it out, and recovered the dorsal spines, skin, tail, and
the vertebræ. These were preserved in a yellow fatty substance smelling
like vaseline and quite soft. I made rather a ludicrous mistake here. I
carefully preserved a very hard irregular mass coated with this flesh,
thinking it was a bone, but later, after we had carried it for days on
the sledge, we found that this “pelvic bone,” as we called it—melted in
warm water! No head was found, and in this respect the fish—which was
possibly about four feet long—agrees with the four large headless fish
found by the _Discovery_ Expedition. We had a hot discussion in the hut
as to this problem of decapitation, but came to no definite conclusion,
for it seemed too far for seals to carry it.

That night we slept at Park Lane Camp. We had been traversing a frozen
park, set out in circular beds with winding paths in every direction.
The “flower-beds” were represented by elevated masses of ice thirty feet
across, exactly like an apple pie with a raised crust—even to the four
cuts made by the housewife across the top! The last two days we had only
progressed seven miles, and for five of them we had carried the sledge
rather than dragged it.

Next day, however, we found that to the south the glacier was nearly
continuous. It had not been dissected by thaw waters to nearly the same
extent, and by 4 p.m. we managed to advance ten miles to the south-west.
We camped on a platform of weathered ice, so rotten that it resembled a
layer of honeycomb. We found that this honeycomb ice was very common in
this part of the Koettlitz.

We tried to find an easier way out of the numerous undulations which now
characterized the surface, but unsuccessfully, and so plugged on
south-west. We used to “pully-haul” up one side (_i.e._ hand over hand)
and then toboggan down the other. P.O. Evans was an expert steersman,
while we others used to keep the ropes clear. But we had some nasty
falls, especially Evans, who got a cut deep in his palm from a piece of
“bottle-glass” ice, in spite of his thick mits.

At noon we came across a picturesque tunnel in the ice, about three feet
wide, seven feet high, and one hundred feet long. It had been cut out by
thaw waters which had now drained away.

In and out wound the lanes, forming a regular network through all sorts
of picturesque pinnacles. Here was one like a yacht on stocks, there a
perfect wedding-cake twelve feet high, again a lady’s bonnet, and so on,
in infinite variety.

The long promontories of “bastions” along which we skirted are probably
dissected undulations of the original glacier surface, fifty to a
hundred feet high. They are all steep to the north, and covered with
sloping plough-shares on the south. The bergs which we left ten miles
back were like _jumbled_ blocks, and were not separated by simple
channels—which looks as if they had been floating separately at some
period and then frozen together again. This may explain the presence of
the sponges and fish which we found so far from any open water.

On the 24th I wrote: “This is the day of my release from the joys of
cooking! We have done four weeks. A rotten night, cold, and pillow (of
books, etc.) slipping away on the smooth surface. Every one restless.
Smooth ice no good to sleep on, though I had a jersey under me. Bright
next morning, and we took photos till 10 a.m. Then we made across
country towards a hanging valley. Some of the lanes were overhanging,
and I took a photo of Debenham and Evans sitting under a ledge. Sheets
of plate-glass projecting from low bastions were common, but there was
no undulating country. More common were sharp bottle-glass angles
sticking up abominably from about eighteen inches to two feet, and
impeding the sledges, while pot-holes (due to the sun eating round black
silt) caught one’s boots.

“Lunched in this mullock about two and a half miles from the coast. Then
on practically straight, making fair progress with Evans and C. S. W. at
the sledge, lifting while we pulled. We had several upsets, and the
rucksack was jerked off, but the fossil fish has survived so far.

“After a final dash up over steep silt-bank between pinnacle ridges
(where the sledge balanced rockingly!) we reached a broad avenue between
moraines and Stonehenge pinnacles of ice. I went back for my brogans,
and fell a frightful ‘cropper,’ getting a spike in my fifth rib.

“After half an hour or so we plugged on steadily up a beautiful surface
for two and a half miles. The moraines were getting bigger and wider,
and were now about three hundred yards across. We finally reached a
fifty feet silt ‘col,’ and had to portage the sledge. It was mighty
heavy, and flattened our crampons. Later we reached a _cul-de-sac_ among
the moraines, and after a survey I decided to make a final camp, as we
were now favourably situated to explore ‘Snow Valley’ and Heald’s
Island. I don’t understand the ice-slabs or the promontory on the 1902
map. I guess it is wrong.

“The sun clouded and snow began. We put the tent in a sandy dell. It was
so small that we had the tent like an old sock at the side! However, we
are on earth again, and not on cold wet ice, even if one post of the
tent is on a huge stone.

“I cooked my last meal. Raisins in excess (× 2), sugardust about right,
cocoa × 2, chocolate short ¾, cornflour three portions left, cheese
short ¾, biscuits right, and pemmican two feeds left. Butter short owing
to seal-liver feast. We had a good hoosh and drank thick chocolate.

“My week’s cooking done, Praise Be! 9.20, snowing now and pretty cool.”

Next morning was devoted to a “make and mend.” All our sleeping-bags and
finnesko were wet with the sloppy icefloors of the last week—for we had
not been able to find any snowdrifts on which to camp. They are much
warmer and drier than ice.

Behind the tent to the north were slopes about 1000 feet high leading to
empty “hanging” valleys. These radiated from the base of the Lister
scarp, which rose in one steep face 10,000 feet to the summit. This face
was pitted by gigantic “armchair” valleys or, as they are technically
called, cwms, and presented a spectacle which probably could be
paralleled nowhere in the world.

Looking southward across the Koettlitz from the mouth of one of these
hanging valleys one could see some sort of plan in the icy maze which
had so bewildered us. Above Heald Island the valley was filled with the
glacial stream in a normal uniform mass, interrupted only by crevasses
and falls. But to the east of Heald Island it took the form of a glacier
“delta.” Below the falls the ice descended to the east in a series of
broad undulations, a portion of which we had traversed on the 23rd. Long
promontories of ice fifty feet high extended from the unbroken glacier
mass and probably represented the crests of the undulations. These
degenerated at the ends into icebergs and monoliths of ice, and these
again had weathered into the bastions and pinnacles. Lower down the thaw
waters had etched these into still smaller units, and along the coast
just below me the streams had formed a well-defined if narrow avenue of
smooth ice, which promised us an easier return.

On these slopes I found an ice-scratched block—the only specimen I had
seen in a hundred miles of moraine debris.

I walked along the margin of the glacier, and was amazed to see
seal-tracks in the fresh snow. We were over twenty miles from the sea,
and had not seen any possible route for seals on our outward journey.
Yet here were two seals—asleep as usual—on the old glacier ice. I
disturbed one of them to see what it would do. He sneezed and grunted at
me. When I teased him further he began to warble! I heaved a lump of ice
at him, whereupon he lolloped twenty yards to a wet patch, lay over on
his side, and produced a whole octave of musical notes from his chest,
ranging up to a canary-like chirrup. Finally he crawled under a deep
ledge, and vigorously butting with his shoulders, opened out a hole and
flopped under the avenue ice.

Later I came out among the moraines, and was unable to make out where
our tent was. Soon I saw Wright’s footprints in the snow—two sets, one
going each way. By Sherlockian logic, I decided to follow the
shorter-pace footsteps, judging that the weary owner would walk with
less “vim” returning, and they seemed to be “slurred” also. Finally, a
mile ahead I saw some skua gulls wheeling about, and sure enough below
them I found our tent.

When I reached camp I found that Wright and Debenham had both met
parties of seals. We all thought of the constant stream along the tide
crack by our last depôt, and came to the conclusion that this was
largely fresh water, and formed the main drainage of the Upper
Koettlitz. By this sub-glacial stream the seals penetrated nearly thirty
miles inland up the Koettlitz Glacier.

_February 26, 1911._—It seemed advisable to take the sledge as far up
the Koettlitz as we could without waste of time. So we portaged all our
loads out of the _cul-de-sac_ over a moraine col and so reached the
outer margin of the low-level moraine, where another avenue of smooth
ice ran parallel to the Grand Canal which we had been using. About two
miles to the west we passed a seal and its hole. Soon the pinnacle ice
came in so close that there was barely room to squeeze in between it and
the moraine. We had one spill within a few yards of our final camp, and
unfortunately it resulted in the destruction of the focussing screen of
my camera. In a sheltered bay among the moraine heaps we pitched our
furthest camp, where we remained four days.

About 2.30 we started for Heald Island, which lay three miles to the
south across a tumbled sea of ice practically impassable for sledges.
(This island is placed too far to the south on the _Discovery_ Map.)

First we crossed the definite line of high pinnacles which extended
almost continuously for twenty miles parallel to the coast. This we
called Stonehenge structure, for many ice masses strongly recalled the
Druid monoliths. Then over a comparatively level area of honeycomb ice
between low bastions. Finally we reached wide level lanes with a thirty
foot wall on the side facing the sun, while the opposite wall sloped
much more gently and was fretted into plough-shares.

Looking back towards our camp we were facing north towards the sun, so
that we saw the _sheltered_ side of the moraine heaps. The whole surface
seemed to be snow-covered. Yet from the opposite aspect the moraines
seemed to be bare. I expected this constant thawing on one side of the
moraines would have resulted in some asymmetry in their shape, but I was
not able to detect any such characteristic.

We had not much difficulty in traversing these lanes, and crossed
several cols, down which Debenham and I—who were not wearing
crampons—had to slide in somewhat undignified positions. Here we
separated, Wright and Evans making for the lateral gully north of the
island, while we moved more directly for its eastern face. We had been
steadily rising up the lanes and came to the divide near to Heald
Island. Here a narrow water-cut channel led down to a broad frozen river
100 yards across, which fringed the island on the east.

Debenham collected along the slopes while I pushed on to get a summit
view. This end of Heald Island was 1100 feet high, and the slope was
very steep, for the most part reaching 30°. It was covered with a talus
of schists, limestones, and basalt, the latter being erratic, while the
former were _in situ_ on the top of the hill.

I got good views of the topography from the comparatively flat top of
the island. The surface was scraped fairly smooth by glacial action, and
only a thin veneer of basalt rubble was present in this eastern portion.

I carefully noted the features towards the S.W., and was satisfied that
the slope glaciers (Walcott, Ward, etc.) headed in sharp ranges 6000
feet high, which joined to the scarp of Lister without any intermediate
longitudinal valley, such as was indicated on the 1902 map as “Snow
Valley.” The surface of the glacier through which we had passed was very
interesting. I could now see that it would take days to get the sledge
up the glacier to a spot where our view would be materially increased,
and judged it better to investigate fairly fully the features in this
interesting region of the valley.

The island evidently blocked the glacier greatly, for this was 700 feet
higher on the south-west face than where we had crossed it.

Next morning was foggy and cold, and there had been snow in the night.
We boiled the hypsometer and found that the camp was only 100 feet above
sea-level. At 11 a.m. we started off to explore a large tributary
glacier which we could see across the low-level moraine. Debenham had a
sore heel, due to the deep ridges which developed in our frozen
ski-boots, so that he did not move far afield for the next day or two.

After crossing two miles of moraines we reached a lake. It was drained
by a stream which ultimately reached the pinnacles of the Koettlitz
glacier.

Between the ice cliffs and the lake this stream for a considerable
distance flowed under the moraine, and ultimately entered the seals’
sub-glacial stream and so reached the sea. Coleridge’s lines entered
one’s mind:

                   “Where Alph the sacred river ran
                   Through caverns measureless to man
                     Down to a sunless sea.”

So we christened this stream the Alph River.

We marched along the lake and up the gully beyond. Here a tributary
entered from a large cave in the moraine wall to the north. The roof of
this cave was coated with most beautiful ice crystals, which resembled
pine twigs in shape and were about two inches long. Many brownish ice
stalactites and stalagmites fringed the walls of the cave, and Wright
was lucky in obtaining some beautiful photos of these structures.

At 4 p.m. we reached our goal—the steep face of the Walcott glacier, but
as the weather looked stormy we had to retreat immediately. Wright and I
compared compass readings here. The needles swung extremely sluggishly,
but we found they were reliable to four degrees—which is about eight
times the ordinary error. The fact that magnetic south was nearly due
north also complicated matters here! We marched back by a different
route and discovered a strong outcrop of basic lava about fifty feet
thick, which was rich in olivine and had caught up fragments of garnet
rock in its passage through the earth’s crust.

It was a cold cloudy morning on the 27th when we started off for a tramp
over the ancient low-level moraines. We could see a big tributary
glacier about twelve miles away, whose vertical front was separated from
the Koettlitz by two miles of bare moraine heaps. Debenham, with his bad
heel, stayed around the camp where there was plenty of collecting.

We went a short distance along one of the moraine avenues. Then we
climbed eighty feet up and proceeded over the more or less level moraine
debris for two miles. There we came on an interesting outcrop. It was
very unexpected to find a deep gully 100 feet below the general surface
with water still flowing in the creek at the bottom. The walls were
largely composed of ice hereabouts, and they were melting merrily in the
sun.

This stream originated in the lake which we had seen a day or two
before, and we reached it viâ some beautiful meanders. At its outlet was
a cave twenty feet deep cut in blue ice.

Evans and I had a bet as to the length of the lake, in which I recorded
a win; but “Taff” usually came off best in these encounters!

_February 28, 1911._—We awoke to foggy and cold weather, which was
unsatisfactory, as one of our chief objects was to climb a peak and get
a good view of the hypothetical Snow Valley (between Descent Pass and
the Walcott Glacier). Wright and I went back to Alph Lake some miles to
the west, while Evans and Debenham made another journey to Heald Island
and traversed it almost to its western end.

I investigated the cave in the silts at the lake outlet. The cave seemed
to be due to a block of ice breaking away at a silt band, for the roof
was filled with stones, while the mass above was clear ice. The interest
lies in the fact that these silts were obviously laid down in water, and
the large boulders arranged in uniform layers indicated that a strong
current had been operating.

I left Wright at the lake, which he crossed later to examine the
“crystal cave” we had seen previously. Meanwhile I climbed up the steep
delta of the stream leading to the “Ward Hanger,” and visited the latter
valley.

This gully was about a mile long with steep sides sloping thirty degrees
at first. I made for a black exposure which I could see ahead where the
gully cascaded down from the hanging valley. This was a bed of
decomposed basic lava, about twelve feet thick and pointing to fairly
late volcanic action.

Then I proceeded up the gully, scrambling over large rounded boulders. I
hurried to the top of the slope and found that a very definite dam
blocked the hanger, just as in the adjacent valley. These dams were, I
think, high-level lateral moraines left by the Koettlitz glacier, and
not _terminal_ moraines of the small tributary glaciers. I could see
that the latter (Ward) glacier now lay about five miles up the valley,
and resembled the others which we had observed previously.

Wright and I then traced the Alph River from the lake down to the
glacier opposite Heald Island. We had to climb over several rough
barriers of silt-coated ice, under which the stream flowed. The relative
movement of the frozen surface and overhanging ice cliffs led to very
queer twists and bends in numerous icicles, thus forming a striking
example of the plasticity of ice.

The water was flowing strongly with musical gurgles under a lacework of
crystal-edged ice. We got very wet boots by slipping through on our walk
at the foot of the steep slopes fifty feet high. The river ended in a
little round lake separated from the Koettlitz by the silt-covered
pinnacle described previously.

We walked along the glacier edge towards the camp. At one spot the water
was welling up through holes in the ice, and appeared to indicate a
slight tide, for it had spread out to varying boundaries at various
times. Probably a variation in temperature would account fully for the
difference in supply.

We reached the tent about a quarter past six.

The weather had been dull, and it was useless to expect a good view of
the western scarp and valleys. I decided to wait until the 3rd if
necessary to climb up for this view. The hills were now snow-covered,
and we had several valleys to the north to investigate before our
return.

The month of March opened with a bright sunny morning, just suited for
our proposed climb up one of the hinterland ranges. We climbed up the
slope about eight hundred feet and soon reached the level floor of the
hanging “valley” just behind the camp. We marched along this to the
north end of the valley towards a prominent peak on the eastern ridge. A
stiff climb over snow slopes and rugged granite led to the summit, which
we reached at 1 p.m. The aneroid made this 3000 feet above sea-level. It
was a beautiful day and we could see Erebus, Discovery, Morning, and the
Pyramid up the Koettlitz. Lister itself, as usual, was in the clouds,
but nearly all below was visible. We could see numerous hinterland
ridges reaching from the Lower Koettlitz to the Lister scarp, and
satisfied ourselves that no lateral “Snow Valley” existed below the
scarp such as has been indicated in earlier maps.

It was very cold on this hill (which we called Terminus Mountain); and
after swinging the theodolite and taking several photographs we hurried
back to the tent down Ward Valley.

On March 2 we started our homeward trek; nothing could be worse than our
outward track up the middle of the glacier—though we were able to study
the changes of the glacier ice and so did not regret it. I therefore
decided to hug the coast on our return, though near the depôt the ice
was so full of silt from the moraines that we had not seen any feasible
route along the coast thereabouts.

For the next few days we followed the course of the sub-glacial Alph
River. Some four miles down-stream from Terminus Camp a rampart of ice
pinnacles commenced, which recalled the monoliths of Stonehenge. These
walled off the rough sea of the Koettlitz Glacier from the frozen
surface of the “river.” This broad lane was here a quarter of a mile
wide and consisted of a level surface broken up by deep sunken “paths.”
The more elevated areas were preferable for sledging, for the paths
occasionally let us through into water. The whole structure was due to
the drainage of water away from rivers and lakelets whose surface had
frozen.

This splendid track—which we called “Alph Avenue”—enabled us to proceed
with unexpected ease, and each day we halted and explored one of the
numerous tributary valleys which characterized the hinterland.

Each valley was of the same type. A great bar of debris, some three
hundred feet high, blocked the mouth of the tributary. Within this was a
bare rounded valley extending to the foot of Lister. Some five miles
from the coast was the snout of a tributary glacier which had originally
deposited the moraine, but now was shrunk back to a mere shadow of its
former self.

All along our route were groups of seals, and numerous skua gulls
enlivened the surroundings. Coming back from one of our détours I was
much amused to see Wright crawling about among the seals in his
investigation of the ice—while thirty skuas were anxiously awaiting the
demise of this obviously crazy seal!

The summer was over now and we were getting fifty degrees of frost in
the nights. The weather was gloomy, the sun rarely appearing till it had
sunk below the level of the pall of stratus.

We had an eventful lunch just before reaching our depôt. We pitched the
tent and fastened the door to keep out the wind. I was sitting next
tothe door with my precious lumps of sugar on the floorcloth when I
noticed that water was creeping into the tent. In a few seconds it was
several inches deep. We bolted our raisins, pocketed the lumps of butter
and sugar and rushed out with the sleeping-bags. There was a small lake
all round us, rapidly rising round sledge and tent. The water was
rushing out of a crack one hundred yards below us, probably driven back
by a high tide. We had quite a pilgrimage to get our sledge packed
again, having to walk round the newly formed bay.

The avenue petered out here, after furnishing us with a magnificent
highway for twenty miles. We had some pretty rough work for the next
mile or so, but reached our depôt safely on the evening of the 5th.

Having now described many of the glacial valleys it is interesting to
see if we can discover how their peculiar topographies have arisen. One
great problem confronting geologists is to explain how the giant “steps”
and “basins” of the Swiss glacier valleys were produced. In Antarctica
the _gradual_ change in the character of the valleys as we proceed
northward from Mount Discovery has led me to put forward a theory which
I think holds good for these huge glaciers in latitude 78° S., and may
help to explain those in 45° N.

In old Greek manuscripts one can sometimes discern traces of an older
script half obliterated by the later writings—this MS. is called a
_palimpsest_. Just so in Antarctica—I think that beneath the largest
_outlet_ glaciers, such as the Ferrar and Taylor Glaciers, we can
perceive the relics of an earlier _cwm_ erosion.

[Illustration:

  The “Palimpsest” theory. Generalised sketch sections, showing the
    chief types of valley erosion. I. Early erosion like that shown by
    Walcott Glacier, 78° 10′ S. II. Headward erosion producing a
    “finger” valley, shown by Davis Glacier, 78° S. III. Plateau ice
    overwhelming the cwm glaciers giving profile like the Ferrar
    Glacier, 77° 40′ S. IV. Pronounced erosion by “thaw and freeze” (=
    nivation), as shown in the Taylor Valley, 77° 30′ S.
]

Near Heald Island is the gigantic scarp of the Royal Society Range
10,000 feet high. Cutting into its face are simple cwm glaciers such as
the Walcott glacier. This stage is shown in section I. As the snow
accumulates (and turns into ice _in situ_) we get a gnawing process, in
the moat, etc., at the margin of the glacier, which gradually extends
backwards and eats out a long parallel valley such as the Davis Valley
(section II). If the plateau ice-cap increases sufficiently it will
drain to the sea as an _outlet_ glacier. This will obviously tend to
follow the lowest contours and so would naturally overwhelm a series of
cwm glaciers (such as shown in II). Hence we get a glacier falling over
steps (and cutting gradually through them) which were originally heads
of cwm valleys (see section III). Finally, these big glaciers may
retreat very slowly, and at their snouts—in a somewhat complicated way
which I have explained elsewhere—further erosion by nivation will
produce basins with level bottoms, such as those in the Taylor Valley[2]
(section IV). In the maximum of glacier flow (for which we have to go to
temperate climes for good examples) there is much “planing” by the
glacier, but not in Antarctica under the present conditions. At any
rate, the conclusion I have reached after two summers’ sledging, is that
considerable frost, wind, and water action is occurring in the Ross Sea
area, and very little true glacier erosion. Moreover, the gradual
succession of types of valley erosion which we investigated makes me
confident that some such cycle of evolution as sketched above is not
only possible, but has taken place in the south.

On arrival we swept the snow from our old ground and camped on the bare
gravel, for our floorcloth was quite soaked. I went over to the seal I
had killed a fortnight earlier and managed to cut through the frozen
hide. Evans and I then managed to prize off some blubber with the spade.
The blubber was quite soft where it was protected from the air. Evans
and Wright were frankly sceptical as to the value of blubber as a means
of frying!

[Illustration: Forks for Blubber 5·3·11]

“After cleaning out the aluminium base of the cooker, Debenham cut the
blubber into strips and heated it up. It soon began to melt and gave off
much steam at first. The smell was like fried herrings and not
unpleasant! We had thawed out some liver from my cache, and at +2° F. it
was as hard as iron! I cut it into strips and we cooked it in the
blubber for a quarter of an hour or so. Debenham tasted it, and then I
ate the first piece.

“Jolly good! Absolutely no taste of fish or oil, which was curious in
view of the smell of herrings. Evans took his bit gingerly, and then
handsomely acknowledged that he had been sold. He reckoned their cook
had tried to poison them in 1902. We used safety pins as forks, and my
bowie knife to turn it over. A vote of thanks to Deb was passed by the
company!

“With luck we shall camp in the middle of the Dailey Isles to-morrow
(Monday). On Wednesday get to Hut Point, and then two days to Cape
Evans.”

This prophecy was rather feeble! We took nine days to reach Hut Point,
and five weeks elapsed before we saw our own headquarters!

_March 6, 1911 (Monday)._—A fairly sunny morning with a temperature of
−8° at 9.30. We spent some time in packing all our depôted goods. I
carried an empty biscuit tin to the nearest large moraine heap, and
buried it halfway in the gravel with a note of our journey. The sun,
glancing on the bright metal surface, made this a very distinct landmark
some distance from the moraines.

We had now two sledges to pull, but the surface was very good. We made
for the nearest Dailey Island. After one and a half hours we reached old
ice at a higher level than the sea-ice we had just left. Here I mounted
a hummock and saw that open water extended to Davis Bay, and was
practically within one mile of our track. We were rather astonished, for
this ice (around Blue Glacier) had not been out for several years. We
pushed on and camped two and a half miles from West Dailey Isle for
lunch. Another two miles brought us to a most interesting locality. All
around us were heaps of large sponges half buried in snow and ice. The
three largest heaps were about 8 feet long and one and a half feet high.
The sponges were a foot in diameter, and among the long spicules we
found Bryozoa, Brachiopoda, Serpulæ, Molluscs, and a fine solitary
coral.

How did these marine animals come to be entangled in the old ice on
which we found them? The ice was apparently normal fresh-water
glacier-ice, but may have been originally sea-ice from which the salt
had drained out. At any rate, it was floating—for half a mile further
east was a succession of grinding ice-cracks. I believe the sponges were
pushed up (from a depth of twenty feet or so below water) by the edge of
the Koettlitz glacier, in some palæocrystic age when its snout was much
less advanced.

We pushed on about a quarter of a mile, and reached irregular ice
crossed by a deep gully due to tide cracks. Here we left the sledges,
and all climbed up the West Dailey Island. We attacked the nearest
snow-covered slope, though later we found it was the steepest portion of
the island. There was a fair route along the snow, however, and we soon
reached the top. Two asymmetric valleys crossed the island, whose cross
section seemed to indicate glacial erosion from the south-east. Blocks
of marble, kenyte, and gneiss were scattered over the island, which was
itself composed of basic lava. We were most interested, however, in the
view towards Erebus, for we hoped to see a clear route to Cape Evans.

[Illustration:

  Map showing our journey round the breaking barrier.
]

Four miles north of us was a prominent crack leading east and west. All
the ice to the east and north-east was rough, pinnacled stuff as far as
we could see. In the distance Inaccessible and Tent Islands appeared
clearly, and also a curtain of frost smoke. We could not detect the
latter much south of Tent Island, and hoped this meant that the ice had
not gone out behind Glacier Tongue.

1 decided to camp after another mile, and then skirt along the pinnacle
(bearing towards Cape Royds) until it appeared feasible to cross to the
east. I photographed the little valleys on the island, and then we
returned down a much easier slope to sea-level. Here we saw a young skua
practising its first flights under the eye of two older birds.

We camped in the snow amid troubled ice just off the north-east corner
of West Dailey Island.

_March 7, 1911._—We had a wakeful night, for the pressure ice at 2.30
started groaning and creaking just under our heads. We had a temperature
of −13°, and the night was quite dark, though a glow was apparent to the
south. In the morning a cold wind from the south-east arose.

I had to prospect across half a mile of bad surface, but found a fair
route for a single sledge before the packing was concluded. The sledges
stuck badly on sharp snags, and we had to relay through tables and over
snow-covered ledges and crevices. Then we reached a glass-house surface,
which was fairly stable owing to the thick covering of snow. We held
along the west side of the broad tongue of bad ice and made fair
progress. It was pretty cold, however, and Debenham suffered two
frostbitten toes.

About 4.30 I felt that we ought to be near the end of the Pinnacle Ice
as shown on the map. So we pulled towards it, and reached high ridges
rather suddenly. We camped here, and Wright and I penetrated the ice for
a mile, making for a specially high pyramid. The surface was frightful,
consisting of big rough undulations much broken into snags and pyramids,
and crossed by frozen rivers with window-glass buried in snowdrifts. We
could see no difference in the distant east. It was evident that we
could not cross here, and must make still farther north. We felt that
the whole broad tongue had moved north. It was necessary, therefore, to
turn back and go rather to the north-west. Hence we called this Keerweer
Camp, after the Cape Keerweer where the old Dutch captain retreated from
Australia.

_March 8, 1911._—We moved off along the edge of the pinnacle to the
north. We did about one and a half miles, and got bogged in bad country.
A prospect ahead showed that we had entered a sort of _cul-de-sac_. We
could see frost smoke rising all around us, and heard seals; and,
apparently, orcas blowing and grunting, much closer than we could
explain, for we could see no water. Finally, we decided to keep to the
smoother ice, and so for the next mile or so were heading for Butter
Point, directly away from our destination at Hut Point. Soon we turned
more to the east, and topping a small rise, were confronted by a large
bay of open water in the pinnacle ice, in which several orcas were
apparently enjoying our discomfiture. The water lay right across our
path, and we made as rapid a course as we could lay for the further side
of the bay.

Before going many yards into the pinnacle ice we came on a labyrinthic
river of salt water fifty feet or so below the general level of the
pinnacle. Luckily the pancake had jammed in this valley, and it was
strong enough to carry the sledges. We had to haul up the sledges by
hand on the further (southern) side. Here we lunched, and soon after
came to a fifteen-foot drop, which necessitated casting off one sledge.
I prospected ahead, and the other three followed almost as quickly as I
could pick out a feasible route. Every now and again I climbed a
pinnacle, and got a fair view, and so we got along much more easily than
I had anticipated.

The grade was good, but necessitated much winding about, and very often
drifts of sand covered the ice and played havoc with the runners. The
drifts of snow, eighteen inches deep, were no trouble compared with a
thin film of sand on an ice ridge.

We could hardly get a fragment of ice hereabouts which was not full of
sponge spicules, which did not improve the hoosh. It was very curious to
see the skuas pecking at the numerous sponges lying around, while they
neglected the small frozen fish (Notothenia), of which I saw a dozen!

By six o’clock we brought up our second sledge to the site I had chosen
for a camp. Just north of the camp was a large cavern excavated in the
side of a thirty foot cliff by a meandering river, now frozen. We had a
fairly sheltered position for the tent, but there was no snow for the
flaps. However, ice blocks made that all secure. Before turning in we
took a round of angles, which should fix the position of the edge of the
open water quite accurately.

_March 9, 1911._—A comfortable night, the temperature only falling to
−3°. We picked a pretty fair route across the meandering gully. At one
place a snowdrift had built up a track above the undercut edge of the
river. Then we went down-stream a quarter of a mile, and then hauled the
sledges up the further bank. We could see quite a large patch of smooth
snow towards Observation Hill, and made in this direction. As we were
not more than sixty feet above sea-level, I judged this to be four miles
off, which turned out to be the case, though it took us nearly two days
to reach it.

We pulled in relays, doing one and a quarter miles with the light sledge
in less than an hour, and then returning for the heavy sledge with some
knowledge of the conditions ahead. Twenty-five minutes took us back to
the other sledge, and sixty-five minutes more with the heavy sledge
brought our whole equipment one and a quarter miles nearer Hut Point.

Bad sandy patches still annoyed us, but the ice was gradually becoming
more level as we penetrated further south. In the afternoon we did a
longer relay, with less sand but more snow. We had to cross several
creeks, and had some upsets, but at the end of our day’s work a climb to
a pinnacle showed up smooth sea-ice no great distance ahead in the
direction of Tent Island. Six hours’ hard work—largely hand-hauling—had
only given us three miles of progress. However, we were able to enjoy
the chocolate provided by Evans in honour of his own birthday, and we
christened the camp Birthday Camp in consequence.

I feel that I cannot more fittingly describe the last few days of our
First Journey than by transcribing my sledge diary. The style is
“choppy,” but if the reader will picture the conditions under which the
journal was written he will perhaps excuse lapses. We were now coasting
the breaking Barrier edge, just where Bowers’s party had gone adrift a
week before (see p. 197). It was getting very cold, and we had been
sledging six weeks—over really awful surfaces since mid-February—and
were feeling stale and in need of some comfortable rest at night.

“... _Friday, March 10._—I am writing this on the morning of the 11th,
after a rotten night. The tent is flapping and C. S. W. wears a worried
look as the icy aluminium pot sticks to his finger. I have filled the
cooker with powdered snow. There is drift everywhere, an eighth of an
inch thick in C. S. W.’s bag, who got out to survey the scene. I have a
blistered ear, and am wet everywhere owing to perspiration. There is no
joy in us, though sounding merry. I slept on the outside, where Debenham
has slept hitherto. However, I could get my back warm against him, which
is not the case when we reverse!

“We moved off about 11 a.m. with the light sledge. Debenham prospected
one-third of a mile, and then returned to say that we could go on with
both. So we pulled up the heavy one, and in less than half an hour
reached the level ice, about 11.45. Hence we traversed about six miles
of pinnacle ice. We had heavy going for a mile, owing to deep snow
between hard patches, occasionally knee-deep.

“Now a long argument arose as to the course. Debenham wished to head
straight for Glacier Tongue, and reach Cape Evans same night maybe. I
judged it not much further to Hut Point, and we were rather near the sea
edge. Evans felt frostbite in toes, but said later it was due to
chocolate-paper stuffing!

“We camped for lunch at 1 p.m., with good hopes of getting all ‘sprowsy’
by night. The others put on finnesko, as all very cold. My feet troubled
me least of all. Good ho! so I didn’t change from boots, though blisters
very raspy when one’s foot slipped into a deep crack! Left about 2.30
and surface got much better—patches of hard white snow and some ice. We
decided to get to Hut Point or bust! About 5 p.m. we decided to bust,
for there was apparently five miles of open water before the Hut! So we
deviated with what speed we might to the south, gradually veering
further south in the teeth of a young blizzard, which made much drift
and at times obscured land. We donned coats and windproof, and during
the last hour got very wet with sweat. Rather tired when at 6.30 we
stopped near snowdrift, being four miles from the sea.

“We had to put up the pole first and then the tent, which nearly blew
away, and the floorcloth afterward. I got into finnesko and got fairly
warm, though the primus went out several times through draught, etc.
Huge blocks of snow on flap. Rather slow prospect of a week or two at
Hut Point, when we felt yesterday pretty sure of getting to Cape Evans
in two days! Wind moderated at intervals in the night. Good sunset and
fairly clear, so this is not a true blizzard.

“_Saturday, March 11._—Fairly clear, still some snowdrift and gusty. Up
early. Every one uncomfortable in the night. Hope to reach the Hut _viâ_
Pram Point about 4 p.m.

“Drift packed hard round the tent, and had to dig out it and sledges.

“Made an early start at 9.45 a.m. Saw mists rising apparently all way
from Hut Point to White Island. One column of dark cloud very
persistent, the rest varied with wind somewhat. So we made for east
centre of White Island over poor surface owing to fairly soft snow.

“Finnesko nice and warm, felt as if one’s feet bare after boots. We did
six miles and camped where we seemed to see the crack petering out. Then
two miles in the hour to (3.45) where we deviated from White Island.
Here Castle Rock was occulted by Observation Hill. I thought end of
water would be only three-quarters of an hour away! We saw a black dot
and cairn of snow and decided it was the Barrier depôt.

“We had crossed one crack, probably an old one. The depôt turned out to
be a fawn-chested seal, active and bold, which moved off rapidly (4.30).
(The open water was here only half a mile away.) The cairn was pressure
ice, probably old line of permanent ice. About a mile further came on
sledge tracks of _depôt_ party.[3] Don’t see their depôt anywhere. Not
possible it has gone out, as undoubtedly some of Barrier has. At 5.30,
after doing about four and a half miles, we reached southern end of
broad bay of water.

“C. S. W. took photo here, but so cold that spring shutter didn’t work,
I fear. Then on for two miles further to our Barrier camp.

“_Sunday, March 12._—Rotten night; slept about four half hours and
shivered, sore ear, cold knees and back, everything wet (on outside).
Helmet a mass of ice, and so wrapped my head in windproof pants. Others
better. Dreamt six individual dreams, including our relief by a rival
party of kids! I got up to read aneroid and so acquired merit!

“Primus a great bother in the morning.

“Quite foggy and snowing considerably. Not safe to say where we’ll be
to-night!

“We left about 10. Foggy everywhere and drift blowing, but could see
sun. Went (S. 40° W. magnetic) for two miles or so, then steered by sun.
We saw a black object on ahead. Evans said an ice-foot; I said boxes.
They turned out to be bales of fodder nearly covered and an empty
dog-biscuit box. From here tracks of five sledges (no ponies) lead to
Pram Point. We piled up fodder higher, and left map and note tied to our
depôt pole.[4] By this time wind getting stronger.

“We marched on over undulations, mostly heavy going. Wind from the
south-east. About 11.30 a.m. followed sledge track right to a narrow
gulf leading into Barrier, with broken block sticking out. Ice twenty to
thirty feet above water, some snowy, new ice in the open gulf (elsewhere
all clear water). The shore went nearly due west from here. We crossed a
strong crack rising several feet. C. S. W.’s foot went in here. I
deviated to north-east from here, and pulled three-quarters of an hour
in worse wind and drift. Camped at 12.45, about four miles from main
edge and one and a half from crack (and edge). Very blowy and blinding,
and cold. Had lunch and no better! Stayed in tent, and here we are held
up indefinitely only six or seven miles from the Hut! We tried dancing
to warm feet. Played cards, sang, changed socks. Finally, about 4.30,
all went outside and filled cooker with snow. We decided to have an
early supper and turn into our wet bags. We lit the Primus, and let the
flames singe our feet to warm them. Talked of Cambridge cake and tea and
other delights. I put on pyjama pants for the first time. It may prevent
chills to-night, but I doubt it. Evans told cheerful tale of snow wall
round tent at Cape Crozier, when they were pinned in for five days in
September in 1903!

“We can’t see a hundred feet anywhere. The rime is dripping down my neck
and covering our bags. Drifts are slipping off the tent. Wind veering
somewhat southerly from south-east. Now and again we peeped out of
doors. No improvement. Couldn’t get into shore probably to camp, as
water is evidently exceptionally far to east. No camping on slopes, I
understand, and daren’t try to reach the Hut (eight miles or more round)
in this damned young blizzard. Guess we’ll shiver it out. Underpants
make much warmer, but toes nearly as cold as ever. 5.30 p.m. Booming of
lid of biscuit tin outside is like Inchcape Bell.”

[N.B.—13th and 14th written later in Hut.]

“_Monday, March 13._—Pretty miserable all day. Stayed in bags till 10 or
so. Tent flapping wildly. There had been a lull in the night; slight
shift to south-west at times set the door swinging. Couldn’t get going
at all. Had lunch at 12 (no breakfast). I didn’t like the idea of
Barrier edge being only one mile away, and we are on a bad crack; but as
thirty feet cliff, probably ice is eighty feet thick. Couldn’t see the
sun all day till late in the p.m. Evans told yarns as usual. We had
supper about 5 p.m., after trying a melancholy game of Rickety Kate, in
which we couldn’t deal in mits, and got frostbitten if we took them off.
I managed to read a bit of “The Great Plot.” C. S. W. cursed baccy, and
Deb lay low and felt cold. We turned into the bags very early, though
the sun appeared about 5 p.m., and could get a sight of land above the
drift.

“Evans said curious wind never to south-west, and so _not_ a real
blizzard.[5]

“_Tuesday, March 14._—Another night nearly as bad as the previous, with
sore backache added, for everything damp. Used to put head and all
inside bag for ten minutes and _hot_ up bag. Then open nose hole to get
oxygenated again!

“We got up at 7 a.m. and had early breakfast, but it came on very badly
about ten, and as we knew directions we decided to make for Castle Rock
anyway within half an hour. We dug out sledges and the tent flap. A long
lee snow slope lay a hundred feet to north of sledges. Instrument boxes
and tank full of drifts of snow, of course.

“Bags thrice proper weight. Mine worse split than ever, so I have no
hood now. We marched on rather difficultly, but wind helped us
considerably over small sastrugi and drifts. Helmets tight over head,
but _under_ chin[6] (_i.e._ not coldest). All our duds on—a mistake as
one gets so sweaty and it is tiring. Went on and on. Could see ice bluff
on left, passed it and approaching slopes. Wondering if we’d have
trouble at the tide cracks, which Evans described. All lost to sight in
fog about 1.30. Plugged on steadily, had hallucination of hawthorn trees
just behind one. (Why?) Told C. S. W. we were ascending, and wondered
where the tide crack was. We had steered for the cone all the way to
reach the incline as used by Evans (day of Vince disaster, 1902).

“Just about 2 p.m., I guessed we were over the tide crack, and the sun
appeared and showed us we were one-third way up the mountain! So we
joyfully had lunch in the strong wind. Then transferred all necessaries
to the big sledge (including ski boots), and left about 3.30 for the
climb to Castle Rock. Not half so bad as expected, steady pull up eight
degrees (about four miles), only two stops. Reached the top at 5.30,
without trouble except for some slipping on hard snow. We zigzagged a
bit. Castle Rock is composed of agglomerate with brownish outer zone,
over a darker centre. Height about 150 feet (boss). We had a short rest.
A very strong wind blowing across us now. Evans evidently had Vince in
mind, and wouldn’t let us pull quickly, though on a broad platform. We
saw here a team track, apparently a dog team with sledge-meter. We had
arguments as to its meaning and decided only one unit back. C. S. W.
reckoned all the ponies ‘gone under’ as no tracks. Plateau one and a
half miles long and one thousand feet high. Then we saw four men over
towards Crater Heights. A great sight, though comic, to see arms
swinging and fat wind clothes. Not like Penguins! They came towards us.
We guessed the names all wrong, except Birdie. (They were Dr. Bill,
Atch, and Cherry.) We heard all were safe and back, that the queer
tracks were due to rescue of Bowers, Crean, and Garrard. They took our
sledge down Ski Slope. Dr. Bill said, ‘Go and see the Owner.’ They were
just expecting us. I put on crampons and met Scott. He told me of loss
of ponies. Of the eight, three died in blizzard, three lost on floe, so
only two left. We got to the hut about 7 p.m. Found it all cleared out
by Atch and Keohane; very dark and sooty from the blubber stove. Only
one lantern, we sat around; and pots served out in fixed order. Owner
arranged for us to sleep in the ‘Sanctuary,’ opposite window. We had one
lantern over stove, and then turned in to wet bags and slept fairly.
Gran gave us finnesko. Will get Gran and Garrard’s yarns after.”




                                   IV
                   A MONTH IN THE OLD _DISCOVERY_ HUT

                           MARCH–APRIL, 1911


[Illustration:

  ALPH RIVER CUTTING THROUGH THE MORAINES AND ANCIENT ICE.

  [See p. 170.
]

[Illustration:

  “DISCOVERY” HUT, JAN. 25, 1911.

  Showing the ice slope above the bay leading from the Gap to the Hut.
    Note the eaves of the hut on left.
]




                   A MONTH IN THE OLD _DISCOVERY_ HUT


While we had been engaged on the western journey, Scott had made his
depôt at One Ton Camp, and had returned north to Ross Island, a
fortnight before we arrived. During February the sea-ice had broken away
far to the south of Glacier Tongue—which marked the water’s edge in
January—and it was now impossible to return to Cape Evans by the route
they had marched south.

Moreover, the icy slopes of Erebus were seamed with crevasses, and many
ice-falls lay at the root of Glacier Tongue, so that an overland journey
was out of the question also. Luckily the old _Discovery_ Hut had been
placed on the long rocky southern promontory of Ross Island named Cape
Armitage, and even under present conditions, with the water reaching to
Pram Point, it was possible to get to this hut from the Barrier
surface—as, indeed, the last chapter has shown.

A queer little hut indeed is this, compared with our palace on Cape
Evans! It is square in plan, and rises to a central peak. All around is
a sort of verandah, with outer walls reaching halfway to the ground.
This was designed to hold stores and protect them from the blizzard
snows. But the hut was hardly used at all by the 1902 expedition. When
we first saw it in January, 1911, it was filled with snow and ice to
within a few feet of the ceiling, and did not look by any means an
attractive place of abode.

During February, Dr. Atkinson and Crean had spent a large portion of
their time excavating the hut, and had ultimately cleared it completely
of ice. A great heap of ice blocks and chips marked the extent of their
labours. They had piled up the boxes of captain biscuits into a barrier
enclosing the north portion of the hut, and in this dark retreat the
western party found the depôt party on the 15th March.

We reached our refuge about 7 p.m. It was almost dark outside and quite
so inside. An acrid atmosphere of blubber, smoke, and soot enveloped us
as we occupied the rough planks grouped around the heart of the hut.
Here was built up a primitive blubber stove, crowned by a chimney whose
vagaries formed the chief topic of conversation among the inmates. Only
one dim candle in a sooty lantern illumined the scene. The windows were
deeply frosted, and it was getting on towards winter now, so that only
in the middle of the day could they give much light.

[Illustration: Sketch-map of the Environs of Hut Point in March April
1911]

As will be seen by the plan attached, our dining-room was at the north,
furthest from the blizzard winds. There were two bedchambers. One on the
_west_ side, where six of our sleeping-bags were disposed like sardines
in a tin; and another _central_ boudoir, rigged up out of antique canvas
left in 1902. This the occupants called—as it seemed to us west-enders
on a _lucus a non lucendo_ principle—Virtue Villa!

[Illustration:

  Plan of the rejuvenated _Discovery_ Hut, March, 1911.
]

In the semi-gloom of the hut it took me some days to find out my
direction, for inside one seemed to be twisting as if one were in a
maze. In fact, to reach Teddy Evans’ quarters one had to return
practically to the door, having circumnavigated Virtue Villa.

That first evening we sat round the reeking stove and thankfully ate
seal hoosh out of the tin mugs, helped down—though little it needed
it—by unlimited captain’s biscuit nearly ten years old. Captain Scott
allotted the new-comers quarters in the west end, and we turned into our
soaking bags and slept fairly well in spite of the drips from the roof.
Each sleeper unconsciously rolled away from the drops, and many were the
territorial arguments caused by the drips from the ice-covered roof.

Next day at 6 a.m. the cooks (Meares and Keohane) turned out to prepare
the breakfast. The others got up an hour later, to find a thick pemmican
of seal meat and curry awaiting their attack. Thereafter we each had a
mug of cocoa. Work starts immediately, for we are literally living from
hand to mouth. So Wilson and most of the men go off to Pram Point to
kill our dinner. Teddy Evans with two mates puts in the morning cutting
up seal meat, while the western party set off to fetch in our second
sledge from the slopes below Castle Rock.

From the top of the promontory by Castle Rock we got a good view
northwards to Cape Evans, distance about twelve miles. There was open
water this side of the Tongue, but ice was forming on it. Further north
it looked more solid, and I lugubriously wrote, “It will be a fortnight
before we get off, I fear.”

The worst feature about Hut Point was the approach thereto. It was about
twenty-five feet above the waterline, which here was bounded by an ice
cliff twelve feet high at the foot of a quite steep icy slope. This
slippery route fringed the bay, and was of necessity traversed by any
one approaching from the north or east. As there was usually a blizzard
blowing directly down this slope to the water, it took us some days to
traverse “ski slope” with equanimity. We put rope grommets (brakes) on
the sledge runners, or the whole outfit would have sidled over the edge
into the water. By 5 p.m. we had brought all our specimens and
instruments safely to _Discovery_ Hut.

The other party had killed eleven seals, and returned two hours later.
We had a grand feed of seal-liver seasoned with peas. A box of dried
peas was one of the relics of the 1902 expedition, which was dug up from
the snow; and though the outside was black and mouldy, the heart of the
box furnished us with magnificent dishes of “pea-doo.”

The blubber stove worked better every day. One “fid” (or slab) of seal
blubber would soon make the iron top red-hot. So we were actually able
to wash the pannikins! Only those who have drunk cocoa and tea for
months out of mugs, used also for pemmican and blubber fry, can
understand the luxury of a _clean_ drink.

Never shall I forget my feeling of comfort that night. We had managed to
dry our bags in the midday sun, and I can still recall the springy
warmth of the reindeer bags, after so many days of what at best was
clammy discomfort.

[Illustration:

  The blubber stove in the old _Discovery_ hut, March, 1911.
]

On the 16th Evans led a party to Corner Camp, about thirty-five miles to
the south, to get some fodder for our two ponies, and also some stores
for the sixteen men in our little community. He asked Wright to join
him, so that our mate was soon in the thick of the blizzards again.

Just outside the door were the dog-lines. The dogs lay in “rifle-pits”
dug out of the icy slopes above the bay. Poor fellows, their fur was
clogged with ice, and their short commons on the Barrier made them
woefully thin. Very miserable did they look for some days, for their
hair is normally so thick that it lends them a fictitious size. I
assisted Meares to dig the holes deeper, and build up barriers to the
south. It was pleasant to see how the rest and abundance of seal meat
soon improved them out of all recognition. Many of them were loosed when
we went for a walk. They would start out with us, and lend a touch of
home to the dour landscape, but they were not very companionable, and,
except for brown Tsigan, they always left us behind as too slow, and
later bolted for the hut.

In a day or two our party swung into routine in the old hut. We could
not move more than a mile or so from Hut Point. We had nothing here but
fragments left over from 1902, and some sledging rations, and yet the
time passed not unpleasantly, for there were a thousand and one jobs to
be done. I will quote my diary fairly fully for 17th March, for it was
typical of the next few weeks.

“We got up rather late, so that I read the thermometer at 9 a.m. instead
of 8 a.m. After that had breakfast of porridge and a ripping ‘hoosh’ of
liver. Then a cup of cocoa, to which three pills of Gran’s saccharine
gave a sweet inky taste. I next sewed up a six-inch tear in my
sleeping-bag. I did not sleep well last night, nor did Scott, who was
next; I will try fur _inside_ to-night. It is blizzing again, and I am
glad I am not on the Barrier with Evans, Wright, and the rest.

“Then I pared some sealskin soles thin (the fresh skin is just like soft
leather) and sewed them into the old finnesko presented to me by Gran.
We played “shut-eye” for a tin of marmalade. [I ladled out a spoonful,
and Scott, with shut eyes, said whose it was; and so on.] We had two and
a half spoons each, and as it was Keohane’s birthday I gave him the tin
to scrape out.

“At lunch we had a great discussion on Browning and Tennyson. My simile
comparing them to a rough rare mineral and polished rubbish was not
accepted! Scott preferred Keats. Meares opened tins with my dagger in
military fashion, as he had learnt in South Africa [_i.e._ he made a
fulcrum of a bar of wood beneath the blade]. Scott tried to improve the
lighting by smearing blubber on the windows, which at any rate made it
easier to flake the fresh ice off each day. Dr. Bill is mending gloves
with pared sealskin. Gran is making a ski-stick from a piece of bamboo
he’s found. Debenham is tidying the kitchen, and puts up racks to hold
the ‘spirtles’ (_i.e._ porridge-stirrers). I rifled the 1902 magnetic
huts, and cut out lids for the porridge-pans from sheets of asbestos.
Our literature consists of _Contemporary Reviews_, _Eclectic Magazines_,
_Girls’ Own_, and the _Family Herald_.”

We spent some time trying to make the hut snugger. We piled heaps of
snow and ice against the walls to keep off the blizzards. Among the
debris I found ancient dog biscuits which reverted to their original
purpose, and an old bag of oatmeal which went into our menu. A great
discovery was a torn copy of “My Lady Rotha.” The first and last
chapters were missing, but I gathered the loose pages and dried them,
and enjoyed reading it again. Curiously no one else in the hut had read
it, and as we had only about three books, every one read Weyman’s novel.
I couldn’t remember quite how it ended, for the plot is very
concentrated to the end; the elderly hero not having found a son or a
second wife; and the lady debating between the ancient count and the
lunatic lover. I am afraid I finished it off in several ways to various
applicants, none of which would have pleased the author!

There was another book which Gran had taken sledging and had torn off
the first few pages for pipe lights. This was “Springtime,” a romance of
medieval Italy. A good yarn, and Scott guessed it was by Hewlett. I
disagreed, but couldn’t remember the writer—who is H. C. Bailey, I
believe.

It was very curious how useful were the 1902 remains. That expedition
wintered on the ship, but some articles had been left ashore, and the
hut had only been used as a hospital.

However, we found old _awnings_, which Taff Evans used as arras (or is
it _arrases_?) for our bed-chamber! There were asbestos sheets with
which we levelled the floor, and made pan lids; brass nails, also from
the magnetic hut, which had not rusted of course; long stove pipes and
asbestos cement, with which we ultimately made a smoke-free blubber
stove. A dubious mass of brownish glue turned up under some snow. Bowers
tested this, and ultimately we had bovril flavouring in all our hooshes!
And there was of course the definite depôt of captain’s biscuits left in
1903, and also a few wholemeal biscuits which Shackleton had depôted in
1908. The latter swelled like muffins on the red-hot stove, and we used
to have one with butter as a special luxury. Those Shackleton biscuits
were a dream!

On the 20th seals were reported just under Hut Point, and of course were
much handier than the rookery at Pram Point. So Scott and four of us
went off to get them. We lowered Keohane and Evans down the steep cliff
below Vince’s Cross on to a piece of fixed floe, and the two seals were
killed with a few blows on the nose with a pick handle. Dr. Bill and
Meares went down to help cut them up, and Scott and I hoisted the flesh
up by the ropes. Just as we were finishing three more seals appeared,
and one crawled right up to the shambles. He stayed there all the time,
and only left when the carcases were thrown overboard.

That night there was a wild storm. Spray was blown up over the cape and
over the hut, where it instantly froze. It cemented the snow heaps, and
would have encased some of the dogs if they had not been freed from
their chains. Next morning I had to chip my way down to the shelf where
I had left the thermometers. We had to cut out fresh holes for the dogs,
during which operation one aggressive fellow got hold of another by the
neck, and the combined efforts of the sapping party could not drag him
off.

When the weather permitted we went off to get seals or to have some
exercise. A strong wind used to blow almost constantly towards the hut
through the “Gap.”

Often when one was loaded with seal blubber, or camping material, the
icy slope between the gap and the hut was dangerous work. By this time
our crampons (spiked overshoes) were useless, for the spikes had worn
quite blunt. The wind would catch us, and irresistibly slant us down the
ice slope to the sea. On several occasions, when one of the Western
Party was wearing his iron _steig-eisen_, an unfortunate crampon-wearer
would clutch hold of him and accept escort over this giant “slide.”

[Illustration:

  _Photo by H. G. Ponting._]

  CRATER HEIGHTS, THE GAP AND OBSERVATION HILL AS VIEWED FROM THE OLD
    “DISCOVERY” HUT.

  The catenary curve of the Gap, due to glaciation, is well shown. In
    the foreground is the icy slope which ended (abruptly on the right)
    in open water.
]

[Illustration:

  _Photo by H. G. Ponting._]

  MOUNT EREBUS FROM THE OLD “DISCOVERY” HUT.

  The steam cloud is blowing to the south-east against the prevailing
    surface winds. The small craters of Cape Armitage are shown on the
    left as stumps of lava. A series of false moraines crosses the
    picture (due to rock fall). In the foreground are the “tesselations”
    due to soil-creep.
]

What long discussions we had! Scott was interested in everything, and I
note that one evening we discussed Mormonism, the medieval ramparts of
Aigues Mortes, and the pronunciation of ancient Greek!

On the 23rd March the Barrier party returned. They had experienced
temperatures of −42° F. Wright told me that it used to take three hours
to get warm—after they had thawed the ice out of their bags. On leaving
the tent in the morning in a clammy wet state, the instantaneous
freezing of their clothes felt like an electric shock!

I made a tour to inspect the “moraines” on Crater Heights, accompanied
by Dr. Wilson. I believe they are due to differential erosion of lavas
of varying resistance, and have not been left there by an upward
extension of the Barrier Ice Sheet.

[Illustration: Steig-eisen 11·2 11]

Dr. Bill told me of the loss of the ponies. He and Meares with the dog
teams made straight across to the hut over the sea-ice from the Barrier
camp. They noticed cracks every thirty feet or so, and so deviated
sharply to the east, and reached _terra firma_ at Pram Point. They then
started cutting a track up the ice slope for the ponies. Meanwhile
Bowers, Garrard, and Crean had not noticed the dog teams swerving, but
had turned back later. They had to camp on the sea-ice, because the
ponies were too “done” to get back two miles to the Barrier ice. They
woke in the small hours of 1st March to find that one pony had vanished,
and they were adrift on a broken floe. They drifted about all night and
next day, while Wilson could do nothing but watch them from the top of
Observation Hill. Wilson went off and met Scott, who had come to the
open water, and was able to tell him that there was a chance yet.

The pony party spent four hours or more trying to get to a large piece
of ice to the south, which seemed to be separated from the firm barrier
by a narrow crevasse. They left the ponies and went off to prospect, and
found the space was sixty feet wide and full of grinding floes! There
was a big swell all around, but Bowers gave Crean permission to try to
cross the gap. He managed to do so by some amazing jumps, and with the
aid of two ice-axes he climbed the edge of the Ice Barrier, and so
informed Scott of their danger.

Meanwhile Cherry and Birdie took things philosophically. I heard how
Birdie took angles with the theodolite to determine the position of
their floating island. A skua gull settled near them, and Cherry thought
it well to annex this food supply, and did so. I was told that Crean
made some stiff cocoa for them while they were trying to rescue the
sledges. In the dark he mixed the food bags and a strong decoction of
curry resulted. Nothing daunted, the Irish sailor declared it was as
warming as the other, and drank it off.

On the afternoon of the 1st the rescue party managed to communicate with
them, and Bowers and Cherry and most of the sledge stores were saved.
But the ponies had to be left that night with feed bags to comfort them.
Next day the three ponies had drifted to a more favourable spot farther
to the south-west. Here the rescue party busily set to work and cut out
a path up the face of the Barrier. Nobby was jumped from floe to floe,
and at length reached the firm ice of the Barrier. But the other two
ponies were weaker. The second jumped short, and though he managed to
scramble on to the floe again, he was too cold and weak to stand, and
fell into the water again. So, too, the third pony. All round were
eighteen killer-whales waiting for the end. To save them from a worse
death their owners pole-axed them as they feebly struggled in the icy
waters of the Sound.

[The tracks on the breaking edge of the Barrier were seen by us on the
11th March, just before the blizzard caught us and held us up two days.]

There were now again sixteen men in the old hut, and sleeping quarters
were arranged as follows. Scott, Evans, Taylor, Debenham, Wright, and
Forde slept in the West End; Wilson, Meares, Bowers, and Garrard in
Virtue Villa; while Gran, Taff Evans, Keohane, and Crean lay around the
stove.

[Illustration:

  BOWERS’ PARTY ADRIFT ON THE SEA-ICE.

  From a drawing by D. Low.
]

With so many human furnaces at work, the temperature inside the hut rose
to 46° F. on one occasion. As a natural result, our ceiling dripped
abominably. We laid hands on all the empty tins about, and tied them on
strings to the ceiling under the more obnoxious drops! Very skilfully we
each tried to lie between two small cataracts, with the result that
boundary commissions were frequently necessary to decide on encroachment
into foreign territory!

The activities of the geologists incited all the other officers
to emulation. Bowers was the most indefatigable of these
“pseudo-scientists,” and was always bringing some huge specimen along to
Debenham or myself. “Here you are,” Birdie would say of a particularly
uninteresting block, “here’s a gabbroid nodule impaled in basalt with
felspar and olivine rampant.”

The sun was giving us his farewell before winter. Very beautiful were
the sunset tints; and on the 25th I wrote: “Over Mt. Discovery are bands
of stratus, across a black sky, while in the foreground are pools in
thin ice looking like bog lands. To the south the sky shows
orange-yellow to white tints; to the north, beautiful lemon-green
verging into grey and yellow on the east. To the west, grey-green, with
a bright orange band against which stands the purple line of Mount
Lister. D—— fine, only I’d rather have two feet of solid sea-ice, and no
lemon-green reflections in the pools!”

Later in the day, Wilson gave Oates and myself a talk on tone-values. At
6 p.m. the landscape was rosy pink everywhere where the sun glanced on
the snow-fields, salmon to buff colour on the open water, and on the
newly freezing sea iridescent like tar. The shadow of Brown Island was
lemon-green, changing to purple on Mount Discovery—while for a few
minutes our own shadows were the most vivid bright blue!

It is impossible to imagine how striking if evanescent these colours
were, and as possibly some critics believe that Wilson’s sketches erred
on the bright side, I have here copied my notes made on the spot, while
Dr. Bill was drawing his sketches.

Next morning I was cook with Wright and Titus Oates. I lit the blubber
lamp and a candle while Oates set the fire going. Some chips and a page
or two of the _Quiver_ rubbed in blubber started it that morning. It was
then only necessary to put on a fid of fresh blubber from the tin
alongside, about the size of a bath bun. The blubber sizzled merrily on
the grid, a big hot flame sprang up and licked the blubber and melted
fresh supplies, and soon the stove was going strong. The hoosh was a
porridge-biscuit dish with a few bits of seal in for luck. After
breakfast I washed up the pots and cleaned the cookers.

[Illustration: The Sackcloth Helmet. 29·3·11]

Captain Oates apparently had a Spartan objection to our comfortable
clothing. I shall have something to say about his canvas trousers, but
his objection to our helmets resulted in a Dutch sackcloth affair which
was designed and made in the old Discovery Hut.

About this time Debenham was discovered to be an expert cook, and
thenceforward presided over the culinary mysteries. His speciality was a
confection known as “chupatties.” These were a kind of unleavened
currant scone, made of flour and biscuit-dust and some cornflour. We
used to have about four to a man, so that sixty-four of these took some
making.

Some of our fireside arguments were quite lengthy. I raised the question
of city design, advocating the cobweb pattern. I found that Wilson
agreed with me, while Scott and Wright took the opposite view. Belfast
and American cities, Paris, Melbourne, London, and even unborn Canberra
(the Australian capital) were dragged into the debate. After it was well
started we drew back and enjoyed the “cag” between Dr. Bill and the
Owner, each backing his own views with great pertinacity! On another
evening we had the oft-arising problem as to whether Lord Kelvin was a
Thompson or a Thomson, and I won a stick of chocolate through chancing
on the right spelling.

Towards the end of March the ice in the bay by the hut commenced to
freeze. On the 28th Wright was lowered on to the Bay and found the ice
three to four inches thick, so that we began to have hopes of getting to
our own headquarters in a week. Dr. Bill and Birdie made a remarkable
feast which they called seal-rissole. We indulged largely and—probably
in consequence—vivid dreams were retailed next morning.

There is nothing so boring as dreams, I am aware, but I am going to
quote my diary! “I was back in a suburb of Sydney, and in the distance
saw an acquaintance of mine (H——). He moved away hurriedly. I caught him
up, and told him I was really in Antarctica, but wanted him to note the
time when I astrally visited Sydney. I remembered his name was Rupert.
Guess this was the effect of the rissoles.”

[Illustration: Blubber-Lamp made from tin matchbox 22·3·11]

Every evening before sleeping, Scott, Wilson, Debenham, and I had some
sort of a scientific discussion, usually on a local geological
problem—such as the origin of Castle Rock—for many such confronted us.

For these evening occupations we used home-made blubber lamps. A
favourite make was based on a tin matchbox. Two ordinary wax matches
served as wicks. As usual with blubber, the black oil leaked everywhere.

On the 31st Wright and I found that Discovery Harbour had 7½ inches of
ice over its surface. The ice looked just like cocoanut ice and was no
harder, but was very elastic and supported us safely. We walked across
to Observation Hill, and saw a seal near the shore. I wrote, “Charles
smiled at him, and as he fainted I pole-axed him. He wriggled twice or
so and then died.” We climbed up and over the Gap, and got down on the
east side. Then we walked two miles to Pram Point. Here the ice varied
somewhat. In places huge splashes of slush had frozen; in others ribbons
eight inches thick had overridden each other. All seemed bumped up by
swinging against the fixed ice-foot. Black wedges of clear ice grew out
into the water channels, and the edges of the latter were often warped
and twisted. In Pram Bay there were numerous seals; one barked or
growled, another opened his jaws nearly 180°, and his tongue shivered at
us. A third gurgled musically, but only on one note. Later I saw one
menacing his neighbour and barking at him.

About 200 yards inland was a cache where we had seven seal carcases
ready for consumption.

As we returned I found some small fish, about eight inches long
(_Notothenia_) buried in the ice, and three smaller fry lying on the
surface. The stakes left by Ferrar in the ice across the Gap still
seemed to be in line, so that there had been no movement of the ice
since 1903. On reaching the hut we reprimanded Dr. Bill and Bowers for
collecting “gabbroid nodules,” etc., when their zoological tastes should
have sent them fishing. After which we exhibited the frozen sprats.

I began the month of April by helping Bowers as cook. I write: “At 7.15
threw back sleeping-bag after uncoiling my jersey from my neck. Put on
coat and finnesko, and was fully dressed. Curious that one feels no
worse for lack of a wash, bath or change, for over two months.”

We had a tasty bovril hoosh, flavoured by some of the treasure trove.
Debenham and Wright dived deeply into their pots and brought up chaff.
(Birdie’s joke for April 1st!) The seal we had killed was declared to be
suffering from liver complaint, and weak heart. Hence his susceptibility
to sudden shock! Anyhow the dogs ate all but the flippers and seemed
none the worse.

Wright and I went further south on our next walk, right beyond Cape
Armitage. I took to finnesko finally, for conduction along a big nail in
the leather boots had frostbitten my toe, and for months afterwards I
had little sensation in it.

“We saw an emperor penguin walking towards us with a rolling gait. He
retreated as we individually surrounded him, then bolted on his belly
with snaky neck vibrating amid squawks. He turned on Wright, who killed
him with two whacks on the neck and two picks in the brain. I pithed him
with my penknife. Unfortunately he bled muchly and spoiled his yellow
tie, so we dug a little pit and laid his head therein, to save the
plumage.”

Off the end of the Cape were many open pools of water, but I crossed
between easily enough. The water was washing across, and had perhaps
thickened the band of ice. Here I found many of the fish on the ice
surface. Probably they were chased into the mushy ice by seals, and
froze fast. I proceeded round to the east, and then climbed Observation
Hill, finding Dr. Bill on the top busily sketching.

As the sun sank below the stratus cloud the golden beams shone past the
Hut and showed up beautifully on the snowy surface of the Sound. We saw
this tawny area gradually advance to the fixed ice and give it a
rose-pink flush. The deep purplish shadow from Hut Point enchanted Dr.
Bill, who made a complete sketch in about ten minutes. The sun’s low
shadows on the slight corrugations of the ice and the elongated shadows
of Wright with the sledge were very striking.

Later Scott returned and complimented us on getting round the Cape
safely; in fact, he said that he was glad there were pioneers ahead when
he tackled it!

On the 2nd Scott reported the first aurora at 3 a.m. He said it extended
to within ten degrees of the zenith from the south, was of a reddish hue
and like a curtain with two folds. Birdie saw it later and said he
thought it was a peculiar cirrus cloud! So I felt that the colours could
not have been very brilliant.

Scott, Oates, and myself never aspired to be considered cooks, but it
was pleasing to see the anxiety of the others to earn a _cordon bleu_!
But I was quite willing to help if others shouldered the ensuing blame!
For instance, at lunch on this particular day Wright and I made what he
christened a “cheese sponge.” “We stirred it about an hour in hopes of
getting it to ‘jell,’ but it remained obdurately granular. However, by
carving off lumps of our butter it went down O.K. But a quarter of a
pound of butter for sixteen men is little enough!”

Lieutenant Evans started to cut a road down to the bay ice through the
twelve-foot ice cliff. We dumped the ice from the excavation on to the
bay ice, hoping to build up a ramp. The ice was in layers alternating
with snow, the former probably representing spray-cemented snow. Soon
the sea-ice cracked under the weight of our delta, and the latter sank
more and more. It was like filling the ocean, and at 7 p.m. only a few
jagged blocks showed where we had piled all our excavated material.

We had some of our penguin for supper. He weighed 92 lbs., and was about
a record.

The “pseudo-scientists” were keen collectors. Some augite crystals being
found on the side of Observation Hill—we geologists did not strain our
consciences much by assuring them that they were gems! As a matter of
fact, I once wore an augite as a stud; but it would only appeal to a
geologist. However, Birdie and Cherry spent several hours crawling up
the slopes of the hill. The augites took much finding, for they were
rarely half an inch long. “Dry-blowing” and scraping in the snow and
ashy rock with frozen fingers and colder toes was the method of work.
Some of the specimens picked out of a red tuff showed very pretty
crystal faces. But the mineral is nearly black and rather brittle, so
that their value is purely scientific.

One morning we were promised a new dish of “whales on toast” by the
indefatigable chefs. These were biscuits fried in butter and crowned
with two sardines. Unfortunately they all got burnt, and the many
requests for biscuits _au naturel_ disconcerted Birdie! In the evening
Evans and Wright laboured long at a dish which they finally labelled
“glue” in disgust, though they had hoped it would turn out a stew. So
Meares enlivened the gloom by a yarn. “A man went into a shop in our
town and took off an article on approval. Unfortunately he left no name.
The assistant said, ‘Whom shall we charge it to?’ The proprietor said,
‘Put it down on every one’s bill, and we’ll soon find out who didn’t
take it.’” Meares stopped, and we asked, “Well, how did it work?” “Oh,
the last I heard, forty of them had paid for it!”

On the 7th, Scott asked if any one wanted a walk round the sea-ice to
Castle Rock. Atkinson and I volunteered, and we got on our crampons and
_steig-eisen_, and I took an ice-axe. We went down to the sea-ice over
the ice cliff, using the old hawser left there in 1903. The ice was
about four and a half inches thick, and Scott tested its bearing
strength by the simple method of jumping on it hard. It bent
considerably, and water gurgled up through the holes, but this new ice
is fairly tough.

The surface was mottled, due to its being largely composed of cemented
pancake ice. The ice was mushy, and overriding was very common.
Occasional retreats and breaks led to leads of open water. Scott pointed
out to us where Vince was lost in 1903 on the icy slopes to the south of
Castle Rock. We discussed what a man should do if he fell into the sea
and was rescued, and Scott said the only thing was to keep on the move.

[Illustration:

  Testing the sea-ice off Castle Rock, April 7, 1911. Atkinson, Scott,
    and Taylor.
]

We crossed several “leads” of black ice, which I tested first with the
ice-axe. “I chipped at the next and saw that the ice was more than an
inch thick, so I boldly ambled across. I made a long step and one leg
gaily went through and the other followed, but I hung by my arms fairly
comfortably. Luckily I had an ice-axe. Atkinson stretched out his
ski-stick, but I drove the pick in and pulled over to the further firm
ice and managed to slide out, while Scott was getting over further to
the north. The water was not cold, and I didn’t feel excited at all. I
went in up to the armpits and was dripping, but only my toes were cold.
Scott said he was just going to tell me not to try there; and I told him
the practical experience should balance the foolishness!” Cherry
returned with me to the Hut about two miles south. Luckily there was no
wind, or twenty-four degrees of frost would have been serious. My
notebook was well inside my wind clothes, and the chronometer was not
hurt at all.

That evening there was a strong blizzard, and every vestige of ice blew
out to the Ross Sea. It was lucky that the wind did not spring up six
hours later, for Scott had decided to start off this very morning for
Cape Evans _viâ_ the sea-ice. As a result he determined to try a land
route along the promontory to Hutton Cliffs, and so reach sea-ice where
it was more land-locked and protected by Glacier Tongue.

[Illustration: From Castle Rock to Cape Evans 9–14–11]

Gran and I went off to Castle Rock to see what the ice looked like in
the bays to the north. We arrived at the base of this 200 feet crag
about 1 p.m., and decided to climb it. Gran was wearing boots and so
could get a grip, but I had on fur finnesko and found it a tough job. In
fact, Gran had to spread-eagle himself on the face of the cliff, and I
got up by climbing up him, like a human ladder.

This old landmark is 1340 feet high, and is built up of volcanic
agglomerate. There is an almost sheer drop of 1200 feet on the west; but
the top is nearly flat and offers a fine view. I could see a little
patch of sea-ice in the bay near Hutton Cliffs, but north of Glacier
Tongue the sun was in our eyes and we could not see if ice or water lay
between the Tongue and Cape Evans.

[Illustration:

  OVER THE HUTTON CLIFFS TO TEST THE SEA-ICE.

  From a drawing by D. Low.
]

On the 11th of April nine of us started for our own headquarters,
leaving Wilson in charge of a party to bring over the dogs and two
ponies. [The track is shown on the map, p. 88.]

“The ‘relics’ helped us up the two snow slopes. Birdie and Bill arranged
signals with fireballs at 10 p.m. on the first clear night in the next
three. Dr. Bill had an understanding with Scott that he should not move
with the ponies and dogs until the sea-ice had stood a blizzard. We
passed Castle Rock and were going strong at noon. I had been leading,
giving Scott my shoulder, but here he shortened my rope and I pulled
just behind him. Beyond Castle Rock all the land is untraversed. We kept
for one mile along a steep snow slope, seeing no crevasses, and easily
reached the flat top of the promontory. After about four miles we
approached Hutton Cliffs and could see patches of blue ice on the slopes
ahead. Soon we met some crevasses, and both of us fell into small ones.
We got to a ridge of boulders which showed where we were to get down to
the bay ice, if anywhere.

“Quite suddenly it began to drift heavily from the south, and we had to
put up the tents and camp. We had some tea and then prospected for a
route to the cliff edge. There were huge crevasses zigzagging across the
blue ice below us, but when the drift stopped we found a good track and
soon reached the cliff edge. Here it was thirty feet high with snow
whirling over on to the bay ice. Further south it was a little lower,
and here Scott lowered me on to some fallen blocks on the sea-ice. Then
Evans, Wright, and Bowers followed, and we guided the sledge down, fully
loaded, without difficulty. Two bamboos were stuck in and the rope
passed round. Crean arranged this, and Scott came last, being lowered
from below.

“We left the Hutton Cliffs about 5 p.m. and pulled north over two miles
of soft sea-ice to Glacier Tongue. We anticipated trouble climbing the
Tongue, but found a spot where its edge was only ten feet high. Evans
and I were lifted up, and in ten minutes both sledges and men were on
the Tongue. It was good fun crossing the Tongue, for there were numerous
crevasses to jump, none of which was particularly risky, though Evans
fell into one. We camped on the north side about 6.45. It was pretty
dark, but after some tea Scott decided to push on for the remaining five
miles.

“We had to steer across the bay ice by observing a star, for it began to
grow thick near the surface. I tested the ice with my axe fairly
frequently. We pulled all we knew, for occasionally our only beacon (the
star) was almost obscured. About 10 p.m. a black patch showed up, which
we guessed must be Little Razorback Island. Here Scott decided to camp.
We had a difficult job gathering mushy ice to weigh the tent-flaps, but
all turned in on the wet ice before midnight.”

[Illustration:

  The two tents on the ice-shelf at Little Razorback Isle, April 12,
    1911 (looking south).
]

I don’t think many of us enjoyed the situation. We were camped on new
ice and had not the faintest idea how far off the open water lay, and we
had practically no food with us. Next morning, before it was properly
light, a blizzard came up to add to our discomfort. We could not see
Cape Evans or tell whether there was ice or sea in the intervening two
miles.

I climbed up the Razorback, cutting steps up the soft ashy rock with my
bowie knife. Bowers and I explored an ice-ledge on the south side of
this little islet. On reporting to Scott he inspected it, and in the
afternoon we shifted camp up on to the ledge, whence we could not drift
out to sea if the blizzard increased.

“I snoozed about an hour during the night, pulled the flaps of my bag
tight, and apart from frozen toes—partly owing to my home-made sealskin
finnesko being too tight—and shivers in the back, and the soppy nature
of all my clothing, I was pretty comfortable!

“We roused at 7 a.m., and I had to wait half an hour before my fur mits
thawed out enough to be wearable. We finished up our pemmican and
biscuits. Birdie was cook, and as usual took too little for himself, and
made a fuss about filling up his own pot.

“We packed up at 8.15, and found that the wind helped us materially. The
ice seemed firmer here, and near Inaccessible Island we crossed tracks
and a silk line, evidently due to Simpson’s balloon experiments. We
rounded Cape Evans and saw the open water less than a mile off, so that
we were pretty close to it at Razorback.

“Another hundred yards and we saw the hut with two men moving about. We
went on silently (by order), and saw Lashley stand up, look our way and
stand rigid. Then he spoke to Anton (who phlegmatically took no notice)
and bolted into the hut. Soon they came streaming out in all sorts of
overcoats, etc., Demetri and Lashley leading, Day next, Ponting, Anton,
Simpson, and Hooper!”

Nelson was asleep, and Clissold too interested in some cooking!

We learnt that all had gone well except that one pony (Hackenschmidt)
had died of inanition and a bullet!

We pulled on, and Birdie fell into the broad tide crack. I got across
safely with the ice-axe and so to the hut.

I noticed the fine door-knobs, and the wooden number [Illustration: 1]
on our front door. The kitchen looked O.K. with bright tins and
acetylene lighting, and all else was much about the same.


                      _Postscript_ (that evening).

“Here am I in the hut, using my fountain-pen again after twelve weeks
without refilling—only it’s made a blob! It is midnight and I lie in my
bunk. ‘Marie’ Nelson is taking meteorological readings, and remarks that
the Skua Gull (_i.e._ G.T.) has resumed his predatory habits. The others
are sleeping except Ponting, from whom I got my candle. But everything
feels too warm and clean for sleep! Clocks are ticking everywhere!”




                                   V
                 IN WINTER QUARTERS WITH CAPTAIN SCOTT

                          APRIL–NOVEMBER, 1911


[Illustration:

  Plan of hut, 1911, showing nicknames and bunks of Explorers.
]




                 IN WINTER QUARTERS WITH CAPTAIN SCOTT


After our return from the summer’s sledging a new phase of Antarctic
life began. For the next seven months we were practically confined to
Cape Evans, and often to the hut itself.

During our “habitation enforced” it was rare for any man to be addressed
by the name inherited from his parents or chosen by his godfathers and
godmothers! The nicknames of the fifteen of the afterguard had by this
time become standardized, and I think merit a little attention.

Captain Scott was invariably known as _The Owner_, a naval term always
applied to the captain of a warship. Dr. Wilson (baptized Edward Adrian)
was always known as _Bill_. _Doctor Bill_ at first, _Uncle Bill_ later,
as one grew to rely on him more and more. Lieutenant Evans had four
pre-initials, but was always called _Teddy_, which eminently suited his
cheery frame of mind. Dr. Simpson was early caricatured as _Sunny Jim_
by Lillie, and soon every one, including our leader, called him nothing
else. Captain Oates was _Titus_ to all of us, except to Bowers, who
called him _Farmer Hayseed_, while Captain Scott usually referred to him
as _Soldier_. Ponting was _Ponko_, and his chief aim in life (to get us
to pose for him in all sorts of uncomfortable places) is perpetuated in
the verb “to pont.” Nelson was _Bronte_ naturally, and more obscurely
_Marie_ from some theatrical star met with in his varied career. Bowers
was _Birdie_, from his outstanding features and Titian crest. Atkinson
was shortened to _Atch_, or at times _Jane_. We were short of female
society—which lack also accounts for _Jessie_ Debenham as an alternative
to _Deb_. Cherry-Garrard was always _Cherry_—though an affectionate
variation was _Cheery Blackguard_, while the seamen—baulking at the
hyphen—called him Mr. Gerard! Our Canadian Imperialist, Charles Wright,
bore with equanimity the name of _Cousin Silas_, though perhaps
_Carolus_ and _Tranter_ (_Toronto_) were more to his taste. _Bernardo_
Day and _Trigger_ (Tryggve) Gran were less remarkable ekenames. I gave
up counting my own. _McCormick_ (Skua—alluding to the rapid
disappearance of some apricots), _Keir-Hardy_, _Sharn-Gatch_, and _Old
Griff_ were but a few.

Before we had time to change into semi-civilized garb the indefatigable
Ponting had us outside to “pont” for him. Luckily there were no melting
icicles available, and he was content to get us standing near the
sledges. Some of the others had already shaved off their beards, much to
Ponting’s disgust; but mine was so rudely criticised that I kept it most
of the winter to show _my_ opinion of it! I assisted Ponting to the best
of my ability by adding a touch of verisimilitude to Debenham’s
photograph, and threw some snow at him at the critical moment; but most
of us looked such pirates, that there was no need for any further touch
of Antarctica about us.

I spent the day sorting gear, “... and about 1 p.m. I had a gorgeous
bath—the first for three months. Funny thing, no effect from no wash, no
change, no hair brush, etc.”

I suppose the cold accounts for no ill consequences, but I have ever
since felt more sympathy for the Southern European peasants, for their
ablutions are equally simple; they also do without a lot of impedimenta,
and are equally healthy!

Ponting took his plates off to the dark room, and submitted proofs next
day! “Debenham says he looks just like an aboriginal—and far be it from
me to contradict him.” Captain Scott and Seaman Evans seemed to develop
an Irish appearance, while I scorn to repeat the comments on my
portrait.

On Sunday afternoon I had a stroll with Nelson, who told me how the nine
at the hut had spent the time. Dr. Simpson was in charge, and had
converted the newly built hut into a palace of mystery. In his corner to
the south-east a small Gardiner oil-engine was clacking away. This was
used primarily, in conjunction with a dynamo, to charge accumulators for
his electrical recording instruments. Mysterious clicks and gasps and
ticking galore warned us that chronographs and other wild fowl, to be
described later, were brooding over meteorology yet _in ovo_. Ponting
had “raked in every little bit” available, including some magnificent
studies of surf breaking on the ice-foot. Day and Nelson roused our
envious admiration chiefly by the condition of their common cubicle. No
old beams from the stable framed their bunks! They were supported by
carved and polished standards, encased in veneer (of venesta casing);
and below were some fine specimens of joinery in the shape of two
capacious drawers!

[Illustration:

  _Photo by H. G. Ponting._]

  CAPTAIN SCOTT WEARING THE WALLET IN WHICH HE CARRIED HIS SLEDGING
    JOURNALS.
]

Day had equipped the hut with acetylene. The generator occupied a corner
of the enclosed porch, where one could hear it gurgling as one entered
the hut. If the outer door were not shut properly the fact was made
evident by the dimming of the light! For the water in the generator soon
froze if a blast of −40° struck it from the outer darkness. We were
prohibited from carrying candles through the porch into the verandah
storeroom for fear of explosion.

Nelson and I initiated the survey of Cape Evans on that stroll. The
lakes had diminished greatly; not by ordinary evaporation, but through
the removal of ice particles by the process of ablation. The margin of
the lake ice was fringed by “blobs” of ice united into a lacework, and
day by day one could see this fringe vanishing. It was curious that the
small animalcule (_Flagellata_, etc.) should in some cases belong to the
same genera as in English ponds!

Cape Evans is a low promontory of triangular shape. Its average height
is only about twenty-five feet above the sea, though Windvane Hill rises
to sixty-five feet. The southwestern portion consists of rocky ridges of
kenyte with steep cliffs adjoining the sea, but to the north-east is a
gravelly plain surrounding Skua Lake. Quite abruptly on the east and
about half a mile from the western extremity, rises a steep bank of
gravel (the Ramp) to a height of 150 feet. A few hundred yards of slope
studded with quaint cones of rubble brought one to the edge of the great
sheet of glacier ice which covers the whole western side of Mount
Erebus. This was our domain, and to this cape we were practically
confined during the ensuing six months (see Map No. 4).

Patches of ice covered portions of the cape, but the rest of the surface
consisted for the most part of kenyte gravel with ridges and bosses of
solid lava (kenyte) projecting through it, especially to the south-west.
These dark lavas undoubtedly represented an earlier offshoot from the
volcano of Erebus, probably a subterranean flow; while careful mapping
later on showed us that the little sheets of ice were not haphazard, but
were “glacierets” fed by blizzard snowdrifts.

The most ingenious apparatus in the hut was due to Clissold the cook.
This was an electrical device to tell him when the “bread was riz.” He
used to make the dough in the galley and place it in a big pot,
puncheon, or pan. This was supported on a little trolley and stood at
his bedside. The dough mixed, Clissold turned into bed, and left the
rest to the yeast cells.

When the dough rose sufficiently it pushed up a disc which overbalanced
a gutter. Down this ran a lead ball which made contact and rang a bell!
Further, the bell actuated a pulley and wire and made another contact
whereby a red light appeared at intervals above his head! All this
apparatus was made in the hut, and we never found out where certain of
the “works” were hidden. Anyhow the bread was very satisfactory.

[Illustration: The Electrical Breadmaker 17.4.11]

On the 17th April Scott took a party back by the same route to the
Discovery Hut. Scott, Bowers, and Crean returned there, accompanied by
Day, Nelson, Lashley, Hooper, and Demetri. Debenham and I went in charge
of two ponies who were to pull the sledges as far as possible.

There was a fine moon, so that it was quite light at 8.15 a.m. We
crossed several cracks, and I tested the ice with an axe. A moderate
wind was blowing from the north—always a safe direction, for the
blizzards invariably came from the south. The surface had improved
greatly in the last few days, and the ponies had no difficulty in
pulling along at about four miles an hour.

Erebus was clouded, but occasionally we could see a red glow when the
mists dispersed. Rarely was there so much sign of _heat_ visible, though
the steam banner often spread out a hundred miles.

[Illustration:

  Changes in wind direction, March 17, 1911.
]

Opposite Turk’s Head (six miles south) the wind changed to a west breeze
and then lulled, but a little further, near Glacier Tongue, there was
quite a strong southerly, and we could see the drift sweeping over the
promontory above Hutton Cliffs.

Here Scott sent the ponies back in our charge. The others marched on,
and had a cold, rough time reaching the Discovery Hut. Their
difficulties in climbing the ice rampart at Hutton Cliffs in the teeth
of a smart blizzard is well shown in one of Dr. Bill’s sketches in the
_South Polar Times_.

A small villa had been erected in our absence, to carry the
magnetometers. This was built of asbestos or similar material, and held
together by brass nails. It also formed a _camera obscura_ for
meteorological purposes. A lens in the roof projects the clouds on to a
sheet of squared paper. This sheet is rotated until the clouds appear to
move along a set of lines, and by comparing this with a compass the
direction of their movement is obtained accurately and quickly.

That evening I helped to festoon the hut with telephone wires. While so
engaged I saw my first aurora, and it did not impress me. “Like a huge
broad cirrus cloud right across the sky from W.N.W. to E.S.E. No colour
or movement, and it only lasted five minutes.”

[Illustration:

  A sketch showing the balloon unwinding the black silk threads from the
    two conical reels.
]

Wright and I assisted Simpson to send up a _ballon sonde_. This seemed a
complicated business at first. We had to carry out a queer theodolite
with the eyepiece inserted at right angles to the telescope at the side;
and a large tank for generating the hydrogen; and the inner tube of a
bicycle tyre—and various reels of silk, etc., etc.; not to mention a
small tissue-like deflated balloon of red gutta-percha.

The tank was filled from a convenient tide crack in the sea-ice, and
then Charles filled the cycle-tube with calcium hydride. This compound
is analogous to carbide, but gives off hydrogen instead of acetylene. He
attached it to the top of the generator, and squeezed it to push the
lumps of hydride into the water. The balloon was attached to an outlet
pipe, and gradually lost its dejected appearance and became a red sphere
of some two feet diameter.

In about ten minutes the balloon was inflated. This was merely a test,
and after tying a piece of silver paper on the balloon it was set free
and rose rapidly. With the theodolite the vertical and horizontal angles
could be plotted, and thus the path of the balloon charted
approximately.

The sun was setting (at 3 p.m.) while we were doing this, and gave a
yellow glow to the steam-cloud on Erebus, which was drifting to the
south-east. When the balloon was about 4000 feet up we could follow the
flashing paper, and saw that here the air currents were opposed to the
direction of the steam-cloud at 13,000 feet elevation.

[Illustration:

  SIMPSON SENDING UP A “BALLON SONDE,” Nov. 12, 1911.

  The meteorograph stands on the box. Inside the latter are the two
    conical reels of silk. In the background is the magnetic hut, the
    Grotto Glacier and Vane Hill.
]

[Illustration:

  THE EAST CORNER OF THE HUT SHOWING THE EDDY TRENCH SCOOPED OUT BY
    BLIZZARDS ON THE WINDWARD SIDE OF THE HUT, SEPT. 14, 1911.

  The stores annexe appears just on Clissold’s right, and the “weather
    cupboard” on the right of the picture.
]

The next afternoon there was a furious blizzard of fifty miles an hour,
and a temperature of −7°. We kept to the hut, and made a start at winter
occupations. I was busy writing a narrative of the western journey for
Captain Scott. In this I proposed to discuss the physiography in some
detail. When I had written twenty pages on the _first_ day and a half, I
wondered if the “Owner” would live through a report 840 pages long!
Luckily the rule of three responsible for this forecast did not hold
throughout!

Inside the hut the temperature was +47°. This was not exactly hot, and
poor Ponting was delighted when some of the new-comers advocated
lighting the small stove near his dark room. He said that developing
photographs with water down to 47° was not the pleasantest job on earth.
The blizzards hit his side of the hut, so that the inside of the dark
room was festooned with icicles, giving it a most picturesque but
uncomfortable appearance.

Things were getting straight in our cubicle. Our floor space was about
eight feet by eight. We built a small table opposite the door and put
shelves over this. Gran occupied a bunk over mine, and the legs of his
wire bedstead hung over my head and feet, and caused many bruises at
first. Debenham’s bunk was raised six feet off the ground, and was
supported on two stout wooden cylinders, on which the linoleum had been
rolled. He climbed into it by a primitive ladder. His sea-chest was
under the table, while mine half blocked the doorway.

On the rubbish-heap outside I found a small tin which served as my
wash-basin. In this I kept a sponge, and normally it stood on my chest
below Debenham’s bunk. We were able to get about half a tea-cup of water
if we found the cook in a good humour, so that it was rather a dry rub.

Secretly I was rather proud of my morning wash, but it did not seem to
improve my appearance. I soon discovered the reason. Watching Debenham
one morning before I arose, I saw him finish his ante-breakfast pipe and
casually knock it on the edge of his bunk. The ash obeyed the laws of
gravity, and fell into my sponge with great accuracy, and as if it were
accustomed to do so!

When the chest was thereafter freed from my ablutions, it was seized by
Debenham as a petrological laboratory. For hours he might be observed
rubbing down fragments of rocks on a glass plate with carborundum
powder.

He had a microscope, and was able to examine the many thin sections thus
produced without awaiting his return to civilization. It is most
interesting to see a dark rock gradually becoming transparent as the
section gets thinner. First the quartz and felspar show up like clear
and milky glass respectively. Then the green or brown colours of the
mica hornblende or augite appear, while the characteristic green fringes
to the clear olivine crystals or the absolute opacity of magnetite
define those minerals. And then under the polarized light of the
microscope even the colourless minerals show wonderful colours—from the
pale greys and yellows of quartz and felspar to the vivid blue and
purple of the olivine and pink and neutral tints of white mica.

Thus Debenham classified the numerous rocks from the western mountains.
_Kenytes_ rich in lozenge crystals of a beautifully banded felspar;
_granites_ showing brown cleaved crystals of hornblende and mica among
the quartz grains and simple felspars; _basalts_ with numerous crystals
of olivine and magnetite in a felted mass of little felspar
laths—gneisses, granulites, etc., etc., each and all can be pigeon-holed
by picking out the relative proportions of the few minerals specified
above.

By far the most interesting instrument in the hut—consulted by scientist
and layman alike—was the “blizzometer.” Such was the name we used for
“Dines Pressure-tube Anemometer.” We could all see a roll of paper on a
rotating drum, on which a pen was always scratching lines giving wind
velocity. But the expert could tell lots more. He could say not only how
heavy each individual gust had been during the past twenty-four hours,
but he could tell from the character of the graph whether the wind were
from the north or south, and, more awkward still, he could tell when the
night watchman had neglected his duty and let the inlet become choked
with drift!

[Illustration:

  Copied from Simpson’s diagrams at his lecture in the hut, June 3,
    1911.
]

You could not bluff Simpson or the blizzometer. The blizzard gave a
thick series of vertical lines, so close together that a broad ribbon
almost resulted. The north wind was never so strong, and the lines were
shorter and less close together.

To understand the working of the blizzometer, let us accompany the night
watchman. He has been engaged on his diary, maybe, till nearly midnight,
when a complete set of observations are to be taken. He goes to the
blizzometer to see what particular virulence of blizzard he has to face,
and sees that the pen is motionless at the bottom of the paper—having
dropped down after tracing gusts of sixty miles an hour. The night
watchman feels depressed. He has to go and inspect thermometers and
barometers and various other -ometers, but had hoped he would be spared
“clearing the head” of the blizzometer. However, he wraps up well, and,
carrying an electric lamp, ventures out round the south of the hut. He
reads the thermometer at the most exposed corner, and then glances up to
the roof ridge and wonders whether he’ll be blown off or not. In a
sheltered nook he finds a brush of wires, and clutching this he climbs
up a ladder to the roof. He feels the hut vibrating under the blizzard,
and the drift shoots past him to the north. He clutches a metal tube
projecting two feet above the ridge, and proceeds to prod the wires into
its orifice, which faces the blizzard. A plug of drift snow breaks
loose, and the wind once more drives freely into the nozzle of the
blizzometer. It rushes down the tube into the hut and enters the base of
the instrument. Here it passes under and into a metal bell floating in
paraffin. The pressure raises this float, and of course raises a piston
attached to it above. The piston passes through a gland to the outside
and carries the pen at its upper end. Thus with every gust the piston
(and pen) rises and falls, and a record is made directly on the rotating
drum. The watchman warms his hands inside his jacket, and when feeling
has returned to them he trudges into the hut, and devoutly prays the
“head” will remain unchoked all night.

At this period our hut interior looked neat but not gaudy. Later, the
continual tramping in of boots carrying snow and gravel, somewhat
detracted from the neatness; but luckily, in the absence of brilliant
illumination, no one was perturbed by the accumulation of “matter in the
wrong place” which soon collected in the corners. But one object in the
hut looked rather incongruous, and that was the Broadwood Pianola, lent
us by the Broadwood Company. It was intended to keep this on the ship,
but our unloading was done so successfully that some time could be
devoted to transhipping the pianola. By dint of dismantling the
wardroom—removing the stairs bodily—Rennick and his assistants managed
to hoist the pianola on deck, and so got it eventually into the hut.

We were a strikingly unmusical crew. Ponting on the banjo and Nelson on
the mandolin were the best. No one but myself ever used the piano. I had
three pieces of music and speedily lost one—it was found under the
pianola buried in grime six months later,—so that there was rather a
sameness about my performance. I grieve to state that my two pieces
became less rather than more popular as winter advanced!

However, I rather thought I might shine as a pianola player, and started
to practise as early as April. After listening for some time, my
scientific colleagues, who occupied bunks immediately back of the
pianola, were moved to remark, “For Heaven’s sake, Griff, give that a
miss, and let some one play who can keep time!” Perhaps I should have
persevered, but they could throw too straight, and I never attempted
pianola-playing again.

On the 21st Scott returned from Hut Point, leaving Meares, Nelson, Day,
Forde, Keohane, Lashley, and Demetri in the 1902 hut with the ponies.

They had had bad weather going—as I expected. Very thick drift hampered
them, and the new chums, especially Hooper, had been severely
frostbitten. The latter had two angry red sores on his neck where the
blizzard had caught him between his helmet and jersey. To climb the
cliff at Hutton Cliffs they had to empty a sledge. Crean and Lashley
held it up at arms’ length like a ladder, and Scott managed to climb up
it, and cut steps over the cornice. They reported that the others
expected to stay a fortnight more, and they augured badly for the
commissariat under Meares, because “he’s so very sparing with the
butter!”

Ponting kindly developed my western negatives in his dark room. They
were no worse than I expected, being, however, all rather thin. Half a
dozen were broken, and I had improved on a common error by putting
_three_ on one plate. We had such a rush before starting our journey
that neither Debenham nor myself could test a single plate under
Antarctic conditions. It seems simple now, but we had many failures
before we gauged the best method. Previous Antarctickers had recommended
plates and not films. I now disagree with this advice _in toto_, at any
rate for sledging. We broke the plates. They scratched easily. Changing
them in our bags was an unmitigated nuisance and filled the dark slides
with hairs. Lastly, the glass plates weighed so much that they were
always left behind when we had to cut down weights.

We had an idea that the quickest exposures would be advisable with
snowscapes. Ultimately we took most of them at half a second or
thereabouts!

A typical scene would largely consist of a skyline of snow mountain
backed by a blue sky more or less covered by grey or white clouds. The
foreground was usually also snow with bluish shadows. Everything was
blue or white. There was little contrast, and owing to the photographic
value of _blue_ being almost the same as that of _white_, the resulting
photograph was of a dismal flatness and one could not distinguish land
from sky.

Of course this pointed to yellow screens to cut out all blue and give it
the effect of black. We had much better success thereafter, but this
necessitated the slow exposures I have mentioned previously.

My chief camera was a Zeiss Minimum Palmos equipped with all modern
features, taking telephoto pictures, stereoscopic, ¼ plate or panorams
(7½ inches long). It had a focal plane shutter calculated to give ¹⁄₁₅₀₀
of a second; but the rubber shutter froze stiff, and my exposures were
largely made with a red handkerchief presented to me by Wright.

At the east end of the hut Ponting was busy at a huge instrument which
looked like a cross between a barrel organ and a butter churn. It was
really a “washer” for cinema films. The films were wound on a cylinder,
placed in the washer, covered with a lid, and then rotated by a handle.
When this operation was finished we all admired Ponting’s ingenuity, for
he emptied out the water and placing a rug inside the hybrid, converted
it into a most comfortable lounge chair.

The 23rd was Sunday, and Scott held Church service as usual. He and Dr.
Bill would consult as to the hymns, and Bill acted as choir-master. He
and Scott would test the key by striking several notes on the pianola
before service. Then just before we started the hymns Bill would sound
the note again and Scott would lead off with the first line. He had a
tenor voice and could sing much higher notes than most of us, and made
no ado about remarking, “We’ll have this a few notes higher,” between
the first and second verses.

Early in the winter Dr. Atkinson started physical measurements, which
were always the source of much interest and amusement. They were taken
every alternate Sunday or Monday, and a list of the figures for those
present on the 24th April may be of interest.

In addition to ordinary measurements, tests of the grip by the
dynamometer and breathing power by the spirometer were also recorded. In
the former an oval spring-frame is compressed and a rachet and cog
actuates a finger which indicates the grip. The spirometer consists of a
small enclosed vane which is blown round by the pressure due to one
expiration.

I got the heights of the officers and recorded them on the wall of the
“owner’s” cubicle. The other measurements are given in the table
herewith.

                               APRIL 24, 1911.
 ──────────────┬───────────────────────────┬────────────────────────────────
     Name.     │ Height.   Weight.   Dyn^r.│Waist. Arm. Chest. Spir^r. Calf.
 ──────────────┼───────────────────────────┼────────────────────────────────
               │Ft.  in.  Stone lbs.       │ Ins.  Ins.  Ins.          Ins.
 Captain Scott │  5  9·05    11   6½    320│   30½  14¼    39¼   294·5   15½
 Dr. Wilson    │  5  10·5    11    0    275│    29   13     36   287·3   15¾
 Lieut. Bowers │  5     4    12    0    280│   32¾  13⅛     40     230   16⅛
 Cherry-Garrard│  5    9½    11    6    300│    30  13¼    36¾     267    15
 Atkinson      │  5  6·75    11   0½    270│    30  13⅚    36¾     265   15¼
 Debenham      │  5   8·4    11   0½    305│   29½  12½    38¼     261   13¾
 Taylor        │  5  10·6    11    7    350│33¾[7]   13    36½     307   14¼
 Ponting       │  5   7·5    11   2½    275│   30¾  14¼     37   238·5   14¼
 Oates         │  5  9·35    12   4¾    270│   31½  13½     40     266   15¼
 Evans         │  5  6·85    11   13    350│ 34[7]   14    40½     270   15¼
 Gran          │  5 11·05    13   3¾    300│   31½  12¾     40     335   15½
 Wright        │  5  10·8    11   12    345│   30½  12¾     38     329   14¾
 Simpson       │  5 10·95    11   2¾    260│    30   13     37     308   13¼
 ──────────────┼───────────────────────────┴────────────────────────────────
 Day           │
 Nelson        │absent at Hut Point.
 Mears         │
 ──────────────┴────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Wilson, Bowers, Taylor, Ponting, Gran, and Meares were non-smokers, and
Wilson, Bowers, Taylor, and Simpson were teetotalers, though several of
the others swore off alcohol except on high days.

At noon the northern and western sky was very beautiful, and I made an
effort to record the colours by means of chalks in my diary. The
dominant note was yellow shading to lemon-green in the west. Over the
western mountains was a rose-pink flush verging into lilac-grey through
salmon-red. To the north the band of salmon-red flanking the yellow
changed into slate-blue and pale blue overhead. The sun’s rays shone
gold through clouds over the Barne glacier, which exhibited magnificent
purple and blue shadows.

It is sad to think that Bowers’ sailor-like criticism of the magnificent
study in reds and yellows was that it reminded him “of a mess of eggs
that had carried away,” meaning thereby a dish of fried eggs which had
been upset.

Captain Scott instituted an aurora watch on this date. It was desirable
to discover if periods of great magnetic disturbance (as shown by the
magnetometers in the ice grotto) were accompanied by striking displays
of auroræ. There were fifteen officers in the hut, so that each man’s
turn came along about once a fortnight. He was to go out at every hour
and sketch the aurora if present, and of course attend to the
meteorological instruments, inspect the ponies, keep up the fire, and
generally mount guard from 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. A feast of sardines heated
on a bunsen burner was promised to the gallant watchman.

The most imposing objects near the cape were the stranded icebergs.
Ponting and I walked across to them in the afternoon. First we reached
the Arch Berg just before it fell in and became the Castle Berg, the
Arch Berg, in which the major portion of the arch had fallen, leaving
only a narrow elevated strip uniting the two moieties of the berg. There
was a magnificent view, looking back at Erebus through this white arch,
and Ponting promised himself some particularly pleasing views when the
sun returned.

[Illustration:

  CAPTAIN SCOTT’S AUTOGRAPH LIST FOR THE AURORA WATCH.
]

Later we went over to the tunnel berg, which Wright and I surveyed in
January. It had also broken up, and had tilted up some twenty feet on
the southern side, owing to readjustments in the equilibrium. The once
vertical tunnel was now only half its length, and lying at an angle of
45° (see Fig. p. 97).

Two seals were lying in the lee of a small berg near by. As we
approached they took to the mushy water immediately surrounding the
berg. They lay there on the sea-ice submerged by the pressure of the
berg above it, being just under water, and not worrying to get through
the ice into the Sound beneath.

[Illustration:

  The Arch Berg just before it fell in and became the Castle Berg, April
    27, 1911.
]

Later in the day a wandering Emperor was led in by a strap round his
neck, and I held his wings while Dr. Bill pithed him by a lancet in the
brain.

“The last bunk has been added by Oates. He brought in some boards from
the stables—not needed now owing to the decease of the six ponies—and
has built an erection which presumably satisfies him. We all remark that
it is only held up by a small plank nailed to Bowers’ bunk; but Oates is
quite imperturbable as usual, and no whit disturbed by ribald remarks as
to a ‘deadfall’ trap baited with oats.”

I had been reading Cherry’s set of Kipling, and there was such a clatter
of talk from our rivals across the hut that I publicly christened them
the Banderlog. Birdie retaliated by criticizing my pronunciation; but I
said I had no objection to calling them the “Bunderlohg,” and did so for
the rest of the winter.

Debenham fixed up a terra-cotta curtain across our entrance which had
been presented by Ponting, and now we were hidden from the vulgar gaze,
though one frank critic said our sanctum looked like nothing so much as
an opium den. Day had run in a branch acetylene light, and Debenham had
stained everything stainable a dull red-brown with that beauteous dye,
“Condy’s Fluid.” Not to be outdone, Gran fixed red linen borders on the
shelves made from photographic “window” material, while I draped my bunk
with a deep blue hanging, which had originally formed part of the Sunday
tablecloth. We put down all captious remarks to jealousy; and the
“Ubdugs” were more secluded than any other coterie in the hut.

Immediately north of Cape Evans the coast-line consisted of alternating
rocky crags and snowdrifts, but about half a mile away this gave place
to the vertical wall of the Barne Glacier. In places this ice barrier
rose to 180 feet, and was fissured with crevasses from which frequent
falls took place. These varying features were named later on, and
Wright, Debenham, and myself were never tired of examining the silt
bands, and included blocks, crevasses, debris slopes, etc., which
characterized the vicinity of High Cliff.

The summer sun acting on some of the dark boulders included in the ice
face had etched them out until they appeared like giant gargoyles
projecting three or four feet beyond the general plane of the ice wall.
I made a rough pencil sketch of these “gargoyles,” and on my return to
the hut asked Dr. Bill to show me how to improve on this attempt.

On the 27th an important institution was inaugurated, which was
afterwards called _Universitas Antarctica_. Captain Scott had sounded
Wilson, and then he called up Simpson and myself and asked us if we
would be willing to help carry out a scheme of winter lectures which he
had drawn out.

We had a notice board on the side of the “Owner’s” cubicle, and on this
he appended the following notice:—


                            WINTER LECTURES.

  Some members of the community have very kindly consented to give a
  series of lectures during the forthcoming winter, the programme of
  which is attached hereto.

  These lectures are arranged for each week, to be given on Mondays,
  Wednesdays, and Fridays, after the evening meal.

  It is proposed that each lecture should be followed by a discussion,
  conducted on ordinary debating lines, and regulated by myself as
  chairman. The time occupied by the lecturer will be about one hour. It
  is not thought advisable to attempt to impose a time limit on the
  subsequent discussion. Attendance at lectures is purely voluntary, and
  neither the lecturer nor the chairman will feel aggrieved if any
  person prefers to read a novel or otherwise employ his time.

                   WINTER LECTURES AND DISCUSSIONS.
                                Subject.                Lecturer.
 Monday,      May 1. Antarctic Birds                E. A. Wilson.
 Wednesday,    „  3. Halos and Auroras              G. C. Simpson.
 Friday,       „  5. Physiography                   G. Taylor.

 Monday,       „  8. Future Plans of the Expedition R. F. Scott.
 Wednesday,    „ 10. Illustrated Lecture            H. G. Ponting.
 Friday,       „ 12. Mineralogy                     F. Debenham.

 Monday,       „ 15. Penguins                       E. A. Wilson.
 Wednesday,    „ 17. Management of Horses           L. E. G. Oates.
 Friday,       „ 19. Ice Problems                   C. Wright.

 Monday,       „ 22. Evolution of Sledge Rations    H. Bowers.
 Wednesday,    „ 24. Parasitology                   E. L. Atkinson.
 Friday,       „ 26. Biological Problems, I.        E. Nelson.

 Monday,       „ 29. Illustrated Lecture            H. G. Ponting.
 Wednesday,    „ 31. Tips on Sketching              E. A. Wilson.
 Friday,    June  2. Meteorological Instruments     G. C. Simpson.

 Monday,      „  12. Surveying                      E. R. G. R. Evans.
 Wednesday,   „  14. Volcanoes                      F. Debenham.
 Friday,      „  16. Biology II.                    E. Nelson.

    _Also_ Motor Sledging (Day); Whales (Wilson); Midwinter Illustrated
    Lecture (Ponting); Physiography II. (Taylor); Horses II. (Oates);
    General Meteorology (Simpson); Beardmore Glacier (Taylor);
    Radioactivity (Wright); Scurvy (Atkinson); Lantern Lecture
    (Ponting).

    The Cape Crozier sledging party probably leaves on July 1. The
    programme for the remainder of the winter will probably be regulated
    according to this and other circumstances. It is hoped that the
    lectures named below can be duly arranged, so that every one may
    have an opportunity of hearing and discussing them.

    Central Asia (Meares); Magnetism (Simpson); Constitution of Matter
    (Wright); Mineralogy II. (Debenham); Physiography III. (Taylor);
    Biology III. (Nelson); Bacteriology (Atkinson); Evolution of Polar
    Clothing (Bowers); Seals (E. A. Wilson); ending on September 1st.

                                                   (Signed) R. F. SCOTT.

  Three lectures a week rather terrified some of the party, and it must
  be admitted that when a lecture was “on,” there was not much room for
  private reading! Anyhow, none of the officers ever absented
  themselves. The seamen attended the first two, but most of them “gave
  it a miss” thereafter, being probably intimidated by the title and
  probable aridity of the third lecture, “Physiography, by Griffith
  Taylor.”

  To the south of Cape Evans extended a long and narrow belt of cliff
  hemmed in “betwixt the glacier and the deep sea,” which we called
  Land’s End. This extended about a mile; and thereafter was a face of
  glacier ice for four more miles similar to, but not so imposing as the
  Barne Glacier face.

  Gran reported marvellous ice caves beyond Land’s End, so Ponting, he
  and I went off to investigate them. When we reached the crevassed face
  we found that the caves were really the exposed ends of crevasses.
  However, this seemed much the best way of entering a crevasse, so we
  crossed the mushy tide crack and passed through the narrow entrance
  which was half blocked by a tree-like mass of ice. At the back a huge
  Stonehenge pillar supported the roof, and outgrowths from the walls
  were connected to the flat floor by huge stalactites. Sticking
  promiscuously to the central column was a slender slab of ice, which
  seemed to indicate that there had been no movement of late, or it
  would have fallen. This was comforting, for Ponting made me “pont” in
  the interior for several minutes while he tried a flashlight. Near by
  I spotted a crack in the ice face covered by ice stalactites cemented
  together. I chipped out an entrance till it resembled what
  cave-explorers call a “fat man’s misery,” and then squeezed inside. It
  was another pretty little cavern, and the colouring was very striking.
  “The most magnificent blue light filtered in through the outer wall,
  as vivid and glowing as it is possible to imagine.”

  Cherry-Garrard now began his most arduous winter employment as Editor
  of the _South Polar Times_. He had brought down a typewriter, and
  proposed to continue the Antarctic publication, of which two volumes
  had already appeared in 1903–4, in Scott’s First Expedition. His
  notice read as follows:—

                                  NOTICE.

                            _South Polar Times._

    THE first number of the _South Polar Times_ will be published on
    Midwinter Day.

    All are asked to send in contributions signed anonymously, and to
    place these contributions in the box under the looking-glass as soon
    as possible. No contributions will be accepted for this number after
    May 31st.

    A selection of these will be made for publication.

    It is not intended that the paper shall be too scientific.
    Contributions may take the form of prose, poetry, or drawings.
    Contributors whose writings lend themselves to illustration are
    asked to consult with the Editor as soon as possible.

                                                             The Editor,
                                                               _S.P.T._

  A tin receptacle was nailed under the notice board, and labelled the
  Editor’s Box, and Cherry set to work on his editorial pending the
  avalanche of contributions. Three issues appeared in 1911, and one
  other in 1912, but I shall describe _S.P.T._, as it was familiarly
  termed, in greater detail later in the narrative.

  I commenced duty as night watchman on the 28th. I used to spend some
  of the long hours in writing my journal, so that there is never any
  dearth of notes of what happened about that period!

  I wrote on this occasion, “It is not the sinecure that I imagined.
  Primarily I have to go out every hour and observe the auroræ. If they
  are really on tap, I have to stay on Wind Vane Hill (a quarter of a
  mile off) till they’re over! (I hope it stays overcast!) There was a
  fine display at 9 p.m. Sunny Jim had taken me out to see the
  spectroscope test. Behind Erebus it was going strong, and I could see
  a bar in the yellow-green of the spectrum which is particular to
  auroræ. I wrote the following in the log-book:—

      “’At 21.10 (= ten past nine) a fine display along the whole sky
      behind the Erebus mass. At first isolated greyish streamers
      reached over 8°; they had a reddish tinge, but were not bright
      enough to give a bright line in the spectroscope. The whole
      brightened until almost a continuous band of (almost yellowish)
      light. It concentrated with a movement to the north, reminding one
      of a caterpillar’s motion as the more vivid mass of light
      undulated towards Erebus. At one moment it clotted into a globule
      of light not unlike a meteor, pointing to the crater with a
      streamer extending up, and slightly to the south. There was a
      tendency for the more northern streamers to point the same way. At
      21.16 the display was over. There was perceptible orange and
      traces of purple (_fide_ E. A. Wilson) in the borders. During the
      maximum, the streamers were over 20° from the horizon.’

  “Clissold and Birdie retain me to keep the fire going in the galley. I
  put coal on twice (say at 2 and 4 a.m.) and rake out the ashes at 6
  a.m. Wake the cook (Clissold) at 6.30. Wright says look to the
  acetylene apparatus. If it gets below 32° F. in the porch, open the
  inner door and let in a whiff to the mess deck! If the drum rises
  three feet and there’s risk of explosion, pump out the water, if vice
  versa dump in some water, for the bell won’t work. Teddy Evans is to
  be waked at 7 and Sunny Jim at 4 and 7.30.

  “I intend to have a bath when Scott and Evans turn in. The former is
  reading and the latter plotting Inaccessible Island—a scandalous
  proceeding at 12.30 a.m.! For my bath I have to get ice from the old
  tin bath outside and replenish the galley boiler. I tried to get
  tinned fruit for my 4 a.m. repast instead of sardines, but it was no
  go! I can boil water on the little acetylene bunsen, if it’s worth
  doing.”

  _Later._—“I have sketched the N.E. corner of the hut, and tried to
  write a poem and failed. Been out five times and seen no auroræ. Had a
  hot bath and filled the boiler with ice. Stoked up the fire and
  examined the acetylene plant. Sunny Jim awoke at four. Finds something
  wrong with the ice grotto lamp, but has gone off to sleep. The
  temperature in here is +49° F. There is bread and butter, sardines,
  and possibly cocoa awaiting me. Clocks tick everywhere, and wriggles
  and snores are universal. I am yawning my head off.”

  _Later._—“I turned in at 7 a.m., so ending my first watch, and stayed
  till 11 a.m. cutting breakfast.”

  I helped Cherry to build a stone hut on the beach before lunch. The
  weather was quite calm, and yet before we had finished the meal there
  was a furious blizzard blowing up to fifty-six miles an hour—gale
  strength being thirty-eight miles. It lasted just twelve hours, but
  the sudden rise was very characteristic.

  One morning Captain Scott summoned a council of Dr. Bill, Teddy Evans,
  and myself to christen officially the main features of our winter
  quarters. The officers who had spent the summer on the Cape had
  already named some of the beaches and lakes. Teddy Evans had started
  surveying, and fixed stations on outlying points, while the geologists
  had cruised about the moraines to the east and so had some knowledge
  of the topography there. Land’s End and Seal Rock for southern
  features were agreed to. The two lakes kept Nelson’s names of Skua
  Lake and Island Lake. The hill where the screens stood was changed
  from Vane Hill to Windvane Hill. North Bay and South Bay were obvious,
  if not novel. Oates’s pursuits were considered in the names of the
  lowlands near the hut, for these were named The Paddock and The
  Course. I begged that the rugged crest across the S.W. be called the
  “Backbone,” but I never heard any one use the term! Finally the steep
  scarp 150 feet high and continuous from High Cliff to Gully Bay came
  up for discussion. Scott said, “Now this is why I summoned you,
  Taylor. What do they call this in Physiography?” I could think of
  nothing but “scarp”; but Scott gave it the euphonious name of the
  Ramp. “Going up the Ramp” was one of the commonest remarks during the
  succeeding months. Part of the Ramp to the north was a sheet of snow
  and ice, and for this I suggested Slippery Slope; while, later, a
  series of steps I cut up the face was known as the Golden Stairs!

  Later in the day Wright and I filled a balloon which Simpson and
  Bowers let off. The procedure was now more elaborate, and in place of
  merely testing wind direction the balloons carried up a meteorograph
  and miles of fine silk thread.

  In a small aluminium cylinder about eight inches long is contained a
  small aneroid (for pressure and height) and a small two-metal
  thermometer. Levers attached to these scratch two fine lines on a
  copper plate, and by suitable enlargement these lines give the
  temperatures at varying heights. The black silk unwinds like a
  Penelope thread and trails after the balloon. After some minutes a
  fuse burns through and liberates the balloon. The meteorograph falls
  to the ground with its record.

[Illustration: Balloon Meteorgraph]

  Theoretically all one had to do was to follow the silk and pick up the
  instrument. Actually it led one to the water’s edge and there
  vanished, or crossed the seracs and crevasses of the Barne Glacier and
  vanished again; or, worse still, started southward, and broke in the
  first quarter-mile on the rugged blocks of kenyte on the Cape! Simpson
  and Bowers were indefatigable in searching for the graphs, and
  recovered about half of them, often walking ten miles to get a record.
  A notice that any one finding a meteorograph would be presented with a
  box of chocolates resulted in no great diminution of our store of that
  attractive comestible!

  It was good fun sending up the meteorographs in the earlier months,
  and the vagaries of the balloon gave rise to much chaff among the
  operators which in naval parlance is called “hot air.” It was an
  excellent school for “rounding off rough corners,” for each member had
  his mannerisms so dinned into him that he could not be said to err in
  ignorance.

  On the 1st May Dr. Bill gave the first lecture on Flying Birds of the
  Antarctic. It was postponed from 8 p.m. till 8.15, while the sailors
  (in the “mess deck”) washed up! The ribald youth spent the
  quarter-hour drawing “dicky birds,” which we passed along to Dr. Bill
  to keep his mind occupied, and so save him from stage fright.

  Dr. Bill shut off suddenly at 8.45, to the Owner’s pretended
  amazement. The discussion lasted till nearly ten, each man being
  called on by Scott in the order in which he happened to sit at the
  table.

  As the birds have no enemies down south their white colour did not
  seem necessary for protection. I suggested that it was because white
  plumage would radiate out less heat than black (which seemed to recall
  some old physical experiment I had done!). Oates said, “Talking about
  birds, why were all Shackleton’s ponies grey?” Bowers wanted to know
  how the second skua chick was killed in its first week. Did its
  brother gobble it up? Ponting instanced an example of more than two in
  a clutch. He had photoed a chicken and two eggs in a nest near the hut
  last January! I inquired into this phenomenon which interested Dr.
  Bill much, and after some minutes broke it to Ponting that I had done
  the deed, taking pity on a motherless chicken and placing it in a warm
  nest near by! A yarn that amused them was an experience in the islands
  off South Australia. Here 5000 young cormorants were slain by an
  adjoining colony of terns in a few hours. Where were the parent
  cormorants? asked some one. They had all abandoned their offspring at
  sight of the visiting members of the Australasian Association!

  On the 2nd May we held our first football match. The game was
  “Soccer,” and curious was the composition of the teams. There was
  little five-foot Anton, our Russian groom, who knew no English and
  probably had never seen a football. Somewhat of a contrast were Crean
  and Taff Evans, about six feet high, and two of the biggest men in the
  navy. Moreover, Evans was a noted Welsh player. Wright’s knowledge was
  based on ice hockey. I had played rugger in 1905, and now found that
  the rules differed considerably. Atkinson was our star player, though
  Gran had played football for Norway.

  We played on the sea-ice in North Bay, which was still badly cracked,
  and not very thick, so that there was a chance of our game being a
  moving one in several senses!

  I dare not give my opinion of the game. Every one seemed to be
  offside; the more so the better. I followed hard on the ball, which
  later I was told was inadvisable. Anton got one idea into his head,
  and merrily kicked the ball to the middle of the field wherever he
  happened to be. At halftime a blizzard started, and helped our side
  materially. I had on windproof jersey and singlet, but as there was
  forty degrees of frost I did not get particularly hot. In fact, I
  could feel my arm “going” every time I stopped running, which was
  unfortunate, for I had a collision with Crean which took the last of
  my wind. Scott was playing just behind me, and was very urgent that I
  should follow him up, but grinned cheerfully when I said I was too
  winded! The blizzard nearly blew the ball off the ice. It rose to
  forty miles per hour, but there was little drift, and it stopped when
  it couldn’t help our side, so naturally we won by three goals to
  _nil_!

  Lectures alternated with football, so that next day we heard a very
  interesting lecture from Dr. Simpson.


                   LECTURE ON METEOROLOGICAL INSTRUMENTS.

                              BY DR. SIMPSON.

                              _June 3, 1911._

    On the 3rd June Simpson described very clearly the various
    meteorological instruments in use at Cape Evans. He illustrated his
    lecture with simple diagrams, which are reproduced in the figures on
    p. 221.

    He started with an amusing instance of error in measurement. It is
    an obvious principle that the measurement itself must not alter the
    condition of the experiment. Thus, if you want to know the length of
    your own trousers, you introduce an error if you bend down to
    measure them!

    There are three methods of measurement in general use—by
    photography, by moving a lens, and by various mechanical methods.
    Lastly, the time must be accurately recorded, and this is usually
    done by a chart carried on a rotating drum, which is clock-driven.
    The whole apparatus being called a chronograph.

    In determining temperatures we need that of the air itself, and we
    must eliminate the direct effect of radiant heat. Thus a thermometer
    placed near a newly kindled fire records the access of heat long
    before the surrounding air is warmed by the fire. Hence we must
    bring a large quantity of air into contact with the thermometer. The
    method while sledging is to use a “sling-thermometer.” Here the
    thermometer is enclosed in an aluminium case of which the opened lid
    forms a handle, by which the thermometer can be swung rapidly for
    some minutes in the air.

    In self-recording thermometers it is more usual to suck a large
    quantity of air past the thermometer by means of a little fan, as
    shown in Fig. B.

    If, however, a check is kept by frequent comparisons with standard
    thermometers at the same place, this is not necessary. Thus the
    thermograph at Wind Vane Hill consists of a bimetallic coil fixed at
    one end, as shown in Fig. A. The inner strip is of brass, the outer
    of steel. When the temperature rises the brass expands most and
    straightens the coil, thereby deflecting the lever and pen, and so
    marking a graph on the rotating drum.

    Another form of thermograph is shown in B, which was placed just at
    “Simpson’s corner.” The large brass bassoon and copper coil were
    outside the hut in the “weather cupboard,” while the small float and
    drum were inside the hut. The air drawn into the bassoon by the fan
    affected the volume of the alcohol in the copper tube, and so raised
    or lowered the little float, and so actuated the pen. It needed to
    be checked also by frequent comparisons.

    To determine wind velocity we had several instruments. On the hill
    were the Robinson Cups, which whirled round merrily and were
    registered by clockwork. Every six miles there was a signal sent
    electrically to a chronograph inside the hut. Here we had a more
    unusual instrument, called in full the Dines Pressure Tube
    Anemometer, but early named the Blizzometer. Its records, owing to
    its more sheltered position, were one quarter lower than those on
    Wind Vane Hill.

    On the roof two vertical tubes were visible. One pointed into the
    wind, and another (not shown) pointed away from wind, and was worked
    by its suction effect. The outer tube is sketched in Fig. C, and the
    lower end of this long pipe communicated with the blizzometer inside
    the hut. A practical experience with the blizzometer in a blizzard
    is given in another paragraph (p. 222). Since the resulting pressure
    varies as the square of the velocity, it is necessary to arrange the
    inner capacity of the drum to suit. It has, therefore, a paraboloid
    vertical section (being wider lower down), so that the heaviest
    gusts do not raise the piston (and pen) disproportionately high on
    the graph. The essential details of the apparatus are shown in Fig.
    D, the instrument being about a yard long. In Fig. E is shown the
    ingenious method for obtaining a continuous record of wind
    direction. The wind vane on the roof as it swings twists a cylinder
    on the same axis. This cylinder was situated in the porch in close
    proximity to the acetylene plant, over which we had to climb to
    regulate the instrument. On this cylinder was wound a sheet of
    metallic paper. At the side was a sliding point which made a mark
    when pressed on this paper. It was actuated by a clockwork which
    gradually lowered the point to the bottom during a period of seven
    days. With a steady wind a vertical ribbon was marked on the chart,
    and in our case nearly all the marks were confined to the south-east
    or north quadrants.

    Simpson next proceeded to explain the instruments for detecting the
    electrical condition of the air. This was merely a variant of the
    quadrant electrometer, which is rather too technical an instrument
    for the layman. The magnetic measurements are also open to the same
    objection. The Dine’s Meteorograph is, however, a very ingenious
    instrument, and I have given an account of it in a preceding section
    (p. 234).

  There was a crowded and enthusiastic audience, and the experiments
  were most striking in view of Simpson’s limited material. As a
  preliminary Ponting nearly blew us up with his acetylene lantern, and
  canny Dr. Bill sought shelter under the table!

  In the second football match, I tried the effect of wearing light
  American shoes in place of heavy ski-boots. I don’t think it improved
  my speed much, though I managed to give Crean two “busters,” which
  pleased me greatly. Simpson did not appear, and later we found that
  Wright had seen the door of the magnetic hut unfastened, and had
  locked it while Simpson was within! My tight thin shoes naturally made
  my toes “go,” but by diligent rubbing and gradual warming before I
  entered the hut I managed to bring them back without any great pain.

  My first lecture was on the principles of physiography. Dr. Bill
  assisted me to draw some sketches on large sheets of paper, which I
  pinned on the pudding-board. This rested against a chair on the table,
  and was lighted by our acetylene branch! Cherry drew a sketch of the
  author and pinned it on the gas-jet as a screen. I discussed the
  evolution of a land surface from an “infantile” plain, such as that of
  Red River, Canada, through various stages of uplift to the “senile”
  condition of a peneplain.

  I had made several small models in plasticene, and believe the lecture
  was fairly successful; for Simpson said he started sleepy and ended
  wide awake!

  I based most of my lecture on my recent work on the geology of the
  Federal Capital Territory in Australia, and the substance thereof is
  given in the following paragraphs. This region (about 100 miles each
  way) illustrates almost all the new concepts in the evolution of a
  land surface.

  Before the faulting the rivers flowed over fairly open country as the
  Upper Yass River does now. The Murrumbidgee River rose on the north of
  the Tindery Range and the Snowy River on the south. An ancient fault
  plane assisted the Murrumbidgee to capture the snowy tributaries at
  Tharwa. The country was broken by two main north-south faults. Thus
  the head of Yass River was cut off to make Lake George. Molonglo River
  managed to saw its way down through the scarp (as it rose) and so
  formed the Molonglo Defile. All the old snowy tributaries (Upper
  Murrumbidgee, Gudgenby, etc.) preserved their southward direction as
  they cut deep gorges in their uplifted beds. These tributaries form
  “boat-hook” bends where they join the big river. The present divide at
  Cooma is an insignificant wind-gap.

  The old river-bed draining the Lake George area (which is seventeen
  miles long) is preserved as a deposit of huge quartz boulders two
  hundred feet above the lake at Geary’s Gap. This may be termed a
  “_dead_ river.” The silts of Lake George are still being added to, and
  hence this country is below base level, and may be described as
  _embryo_ topography. The narrow gorge of the Molonglo and those of the
  Cotter and Gudgenby exhibit _infantile_ erosion features. The lower
  Molonglo River flows through a deep but wider valley with a _youthful_
  facies. The Yass River is flowing through undulating or _mature_
  country. The Upper Molonglo, winding over a dead-flat plain of silt
  (held back by the rock bar at the defile) is meandering over _senile_
  topography. In every case the cross section of the valley gives the
  key to the method of its formation _and date_ of its present form.

  After the lecture Captain Scott’s attitude was rather amusing. He said
  physiography was too novel to accept at once, and he would like to
  hear if it agreed with the teaching of older geology? Dr. Bill was
  very cordial, and said the onus lay on the geologist to disprove the
  tilting and faulting which I had instanced in the Australian federal
  territory.

  It is a point of some interest as illustrating the growth of a special
  physiographic outlook, that I had quite forgotten to mention the
  _geological deposits_ above Lake George, which corroborated the
  evolution of the surface as deduced by pure physiographic reasoning!

  Simpson discussed the question of the rain factor in physiography, so
  I told them about our gigantic rain gauge in Lake George, near
  Canberra. This is about twenty miles long and five miles wide. At some
  periods it is thirty feet deep, and contains murray cod several feet
  long. Again—as at present—it is covered with grass, and inhabited by
  sheep and less desirable immigrants in the shape of rabbits and foxes.

  Next morning I was very pleased at a kindly remark of Scott’s:
  “Taylor, I dreamt of your lecture last night. How could I live so long
  in the world and not know something of so fascinating a subject!”

  Atkinson had been having successes with the fish trap, and I went out
  with him to see the sport. We tramped about half a mile over the ice
  to the north-west. Here was a hole in the ice three feet across. It
  was filled with new mushy ice, but we soon chipped this out and flung
  it to one side. Then we hauled at the rope and pulled up the trap. It
  was a cylinder of wire netting about three feet long with re-entrant
  ends, so that the fish could enter at the centre, but (nosing along
  the walls) had not sense enough to get out again. It showed beautiful
  phosphorescence as it rose out of the water, for the days were, of
  course, quite dark now.

  There were twenty-one victims this time. Atkinson had caught two
  batches of forty-one and forty previously. We put them in a bucket,
  where they froze immediately. The change from +29° (in the water) to
  −20° outside was too much for them, and in their last gasps their
  gills swelled out to an enormous extent. These fish were about eight
  inches long, the same _Notothenia_ we had met with before. In shape
  they resembled “Miller’s Thumbs.”

  Atkinson found some parasitic grubs in some of these fish, and took
  them over to Dr. Bill. The latter was engaged on some wonderful sunset
  sketches, but abandoned this task and nonchalantly proceeded to make a
  lifelike water-colour of pink parasitic grubs on a purple background
  of liver and gall!

  I received a commission from Ye Editor to write the introductory
  article for the _South Polar Times_. “On Ross Island and the Ice
  Barrier. What it was like, is like, and what it’s going to be like!” I
  started seriously with petrology and volcanics, etc., and then gave up
  and went in for romance out of my head. Cherry seemed very satisfied
  with it, and authorized me to write as much as six pages of
  print—illustrations to be contributed by Bill!

  Captain Scott gave his first lecture on the 8th of May on the “Plans
  of the Expedition.” He had thought out all possible details, and
  ultimately carried out his plans exactly, so that I do not need to
  give full notes. He relied on the ponies essentially, and frankly
  confessed that he was disappointed with the dogs, though he added that
  this may have been due to their food.

  With regard to the motors, he hoped they would help; but he was not
  using their loads in his calculations. He realized that he was here
  carrying out an experiment to benefit future expeditions.

  He felt it best to adhere to his original plan and proceed as if
  Amundsen were not in the field.

  He said the great difficulty would be on the plateau. “Shackleton was
  five weeks there, and was nearly done, while the Pole party will have
  to spend ten weeks on the plateau. If we have bad weather,” he added,
  “no one can stick it. One last point: you will see that this will take
  144 days. If we start on November 3rd—and earlier will kill the
  ponies—we can’t get back till March 27th. Now, no ship can remain in
  the Sound as late as this, so that inevitably the Pole party must stay
  another year; and if a small party stays, there might as well be a
  large party to carry out further explorations.”

  There was a long discussion on the possibility of getting ponies up
  the great Beardmore Glacier. It turned largely on the character of the
  glacier—so Dr. Bill came out with a base suggestion that the
  physiographer be deputed to read up all the available information, and
  give a lecture thereon!

  Ponting asked if the pony food could not be in part edible by men. He
  was questioning our cavalry captain, and boldly suggested that oats
  should be eaten—which _double entendre_ amused the House.

  Simpson has been wandering around disconsolately getting people to
  smell a liquid in a bottle. Something is wrong with the petrol engine,
  and all the engineering talent, including the cook’s, is at fault.
  Finally it was decided that this doubtful liquid from the tank was
  kerosene, and not petrol, and that perhaps a fresh supply of more
  suitable diet would remedy matters.

  Ponting gave a lantern lecture on Burmah, which was interesting to all
  of us. However, it had no bearing on Antarctic topics, so that I made
  no notes thereon.

  I had been busy for some time on a series of maps, which I proposed to
  send in to the editor of the _South Polar Times_. It was evident that
  among the fifteen officers in the hut there were many travellers, and
  it occurred to me that we had practically covered the world. So I drew
  three maps, and in place of the geographical names I inserted the
  names of the travellers. Finally, I made a table of countries visited,
  and those who were near the head of this table were quite keen to see
  who was the greatest traveller—in this limited sense. It was soon
  evident that the contest lay between Captain Scott, the oldest, and
  Gran the youngest of the party! The “Owner” called out several times
  after I’d got his list, “Did you put me down for Peru ... and Azores,
  etc.?”

  The final results were—

       ─────────────────────────────┬────────────────────────────
                                    │        Chief areas.
       ─────────────────────────────┼────────────────────────────
       Captain Scott,    59 mentions│First in Africa and America.
       Gran,             53    „    │Second in Europe.
       Lieutenant Evans, 42    „    │First in Europe and America.
       Meares,           39    „    │First in Asia.
       Taylor,           33    „    │First in Australasia.
       Ponting,          32    „    │Second in Asia.
       Bowers,           31    „    │Second in Africa.
       Garrard,          27    „    │Second in Australia.
       ─────────────────────────────┴────────────────────────────

  There was then a considerable drop to the remaining seven men. We had
  about two hours’ violent discussion when I read out the list. Simpson
  objected to the sailor-men being placed so high, for obviously in most
  cases they merely touched at the seaports, and saw little of the
  country proper. He said he would arrange them as follows: Meares,
  Taylor, Ponting, Scott, Garrard. At any rate, Simpson could claim the
  widest polar experience, for he had spent a year within the Arctic
  circle studying the meteorology of Lapland! Scott, Wilson, and Day had
  been many months in Antarctica before; but unfortunately this is
  no-man’s land, and I only allotted each of them two marks for all
  this!

  My second night-watch occurred on the 11th. It was blizzing outside at
  forty miles per hour. Hooper provided me with a fine repast, which I
  sketched to fill in time! There was cocoa and bread and butter—a sort
  of currant-pudding (euphoniously termed “Bugs in Bolster”), jam,
  honey, and milk. No sardines, so that it was evident that I had got on
  the blind side of the commissariat.

  Cherry yells out, “Didn’t you get it away from the cliffs, Sunny Jim!”
  which indicates that he’s dreaming of tracking balloons.

  In the wee smaa’ hours I wrote “Valhalla, a celestial medley,” for the
  _South Polar Times_. This skit on the manners and customs of the
  Antarctickers met with undeserved favour in Scott’s eyes.

  On the 15th Dr. Bill gave his second lecture, of which I took full
  notes, and give them herewith.


                           LECTURE ON PENGUINS.

                              BY DR. WILSON.

                             _May 15, 1911._

    There are many varieties of penguins, but they are all restricted to
    the Southern Hemisphere. Although a number of fossil forms have been
    found, they are also not known north of the Equator. With the
    exception of the Galapagos Islands and the southern shores of the
    continents, they are chiefly found on the sub-antarctic islands.

    Fossils occur in South America, where many genera have been
    identified. For instance, six come from Seymour Island (Graham Land)
    and five from Patagonia. In New Zealand there are fossil skeletons
    six feet high, which were first described by Huxley. They occur in
    Eocene limestones.

    The origin of the penguins is obscure. They began to specialize very
    early in the history of birds, and all relationship to other
    families is obscured. Probably they could fly once, but now the
    wing-feathers are not of the type used for flight. The requisite
    muscles are degenerate and the tendons have become ligamentous. Its
    feather tracts are distributed like a lizard’s scales, and the
    arrangement is in no way so advanced as in that of a domestic fowl.

    The earliest bird, the _Archæopteryx_, had teeth, and one or two
    modern birds (_e.g._ the goosander) have makeshift teeth to grip
    slippery fish. One hopes to find real teeth in the embryo of the
    emperor penguin, though none are present in the adult bird.

    Some of these early Cretaceous birds were divers, and so had adopted
    aquatic habits. Their shankbones were formed of three parallel
    parts, and this structure is exhibited in the emperor, though in all
    other birds the shankbone is solid.

    Probably New Zealand was the original home of this type of bird.
    Their nearest allies are the petrels and divers, but the
    relationship is doubtful.

    _Groups._—There are three main groups of penguins—

       (1)     Emperor,                           { From 53° S.
               King,                              { to the
               Pygosceles.                        { edge of the Pack,
                    ┃                             { _i.e._ 78° S.
              ┏━━━━━━┻━━┳━━━━━━━━━━┓
              ┃        ┃        ┃
           Adelie.  Ringed.  Johnny.

       (2) Crested Penguins with long golden        { From 38° S.
           (_a_) Royal. }  feathers over each eye.  { to
           (_b_) Great. }                           { 55° S.

       (3) Jackass Penguin.                       { 50° S. to
                                                  { the Equator.

    _Breeding._—The Emperor lays one egg and incubates it between the
    feet and the breast-flap. The Johnny penguin seems to have the same
    habit. The Adelie scratches a bare hole in gravel. The Crested
    penguin makes a grass nest, while the Jackass burrows.

    _Migration._—The Antarctic penguins spend about eight months on
    shore and four on the pack-ice. They usually remain within fifty
    miles of land.

    The Adelies arrive in Ross Island in mid-October, the scouts
    preceding the main army by some ten days. After about ten days
    choosing nests the first egg is laid, and then the second soon
    after. They are hatched in a month.

    _Feathers._—The Emperor chick has two sets of down feathers. The
    earliest is pushed off at the end of the new feather in a few days.
    And then the final feather forms the base of the down feather.

    The Adelie moults at the end of February.

    _Food._—The Adelie gathers a crop full of shrimps, and then has to
    run the gauntlet of all the chicks to reach his own nest. You can
    see his terror that none will be left for his own, for they are
    meanwhile digesting! The young birds remain on land until starvation
    drives them to the water. It is inexplicable how they know where to
    go!

    The Emperor lives on fish, and so has a different-shaped beak. They
    obtain their food by diving down through cracks in the Barrier ice.
    For one adult hatching an egg there are a dozen unoccupied. And
    there is such a rush to claim a lonely chicken that the latter
    simply hates the whole proceeding!

    Three-quarters of the chicks have died by the end of October.

    From our visit to Cape Crozier in 1911 we know that the young do not
    shed their down till January. The bay ice is moving out all summer.
    By January most of it has gone north, and the penguins have gone
    with it. The chickens are not fit to enter the water in their down
    feathers, and after their free ride north they live on the pack-ice
    for some weeks before commencing to swim.

    Penguins swim under water, and breathe with open beaks as they make
    their frequent “dolphin” leaps.

  The dogs and ponies turned up from Hut Point on the 13th—just a month
  after we left them there. Meares arrived first. He had been lost in
  the drift, but had wisely coasted along by Turk’s Head and got through
  all right. We welcomed them with their favourite gramophone records.
  “They all went into the Shop” to cheer Meares, and then “Prehistoric
  Man” to see how exactly Huntley’s voice agreed with Nelson’s!

  Dr. Atkinson started testing us for scurvy. We submitted our first
  fingers, and he jabbed them with a pointed glass tube till the blood
  flowed. I grieve to state my thick skin or sluggish blood necessitated
  five pricks. This blood, if healthy, should be quite alkaline, and its
  alkalinity is tested by neutralizing the blood with dilute sulphuric
  acid. Anyway, I didn’t think much of it! For if most of the fellows
  were extra good—I was medium only, while Scott and Wright (two of the
  toughest specimens) were the worst!

  Several of the officers were recalcitrant, and refused all the Owner’s
  cajoling to lecture! Oates only gave in after much importunity, for he
  hated public speaking in any form. However, his lecture on “Horse
  Training” was awaited with much interest. He solemnly arose and
  commenced lugubriously with the words, “I have been fortunate in
  having another date set apart for me for a second lecture,” which
  raised a shout of laughter.


                             LECTURE ON HORSES.

                                 BY OATES.

                              _May 17, 1911._

    In feeding the ponies during the winter we must run no risks. The
    pony’s stomach is very small, and he stores water in a cæcum between
    the guts. In a natural state he grazes 20 hours out of the 24, hence
    it is advisable to divide up the meals as much as possible and give
    it them five times a day. This is inconvenient here, but we feed
    them three times a day.

    Compressed chaff made from _young_ hay would be very good, but our
    Australian hay was not likely to be cut very young. (“Oh!” from
    Debenham.) Bran tends to dry the mouth; oats are good, because he
    must chew them; and oilcake is very nutritious.

    The pony meals are as follows:—

    _Morning_: Chaff.

    _Noon_: Snow, chaff, oilcake, or oats. Always give them water on an
    empty stomach.

    _Evening_: Snow at 5 p.m.; branmash with boiled oilcake or boiled
    oats and chaff.

    With regard to the famous continental training, our English polo
    teams can beat the foreigners, as was shown by Colonel de Lisle. It
    is a Munchausen tale to speak of “lifting” a horse over a fence with
    the bridle.

    Here are two horses, drawn by Uncle Bill for me. One is “balanced,”
    the other not. The better horse puts most weight on the hind legs,
    which are the propelling members. One should make them walk fast. If
    necessary, dig them under the ribs! (Birdie plaintively interjected,
    “Where is a man to walk to be ‘in command of a pony’s head and ribs’
    if he’s short in the arm?” And Titus solemnly answered, “Midway.”)
    Cherry’s and Birdie’s ponies are balanced, but it would take a giant
    to train “Weary Willie.” If you want to back a horse touch him on
    the front shin. The French school of _haute école_ is rather in the
    nature of trick riding.

    In his second lecture (August 10, 1911) Oates discussed pony
    psychology. Said he, “Consider the thing a horse has in place of a
    mind. He has no reasoning powers but has a very strong memory. Their
    vision is not strong, but they do all by hearing. If they hear a
    shout they connect it with some excitement. To shout ‘Woh!’ when a
    horse is backing is both ludicrous and useless—I’ve done it!

    “It might be a good thing to dye the forelock to prevent
    snow-blindness. As to whether they should be groomed here, I think
    not. The grease in the coat protects the body. It is best to cut it
    once and then it will grow thick later. Litter might be an
    advantage, but they don’t lie down much.”

  Atkinson came in and reported having seen a meteor fall just beyond
  Erebus. Simpson’s precise mind led him to ask, “Did it really fall?”
  Wherefore Day interjected, “You mean, was it pushed!” Thus do the
  “pseudo-scientists” hold their own.

  On the 18th we played our penultimate game of football. The sun had
  vanished, but there was a little light at midday. It was, however, so
  dark that on our return I chaffed Nelson for funking it, and he
  retorted that he’d been playing just behind me the whole game!

  Our routine was now much the same each day. I will quote my diary for
  May 19.

  “A calm morning, but snowing. Wakened by Hooper at 8.15. ‘Rouse and
  shine, Mr. Taylor, sir.’ All, however, lie low, except Birdie Bowers,
  Evans, and Sunny Jim. Then Birdie starts chirruping and keeps it up
  solid, chiefly directed at the opposite diarists’ den. This is
  inhabited, according to him, by the ‘Rubbly Ubdugs.’ I go out to
  breakfast and find penguin feather flavour in the water, tea, and
  milk. (This is due to a layer of feathers in our glacier supply.) So I
  make a repast on porridge and marmalade. Nelson and Captain Scott
  arrive later. I retreat to my bunk and read Edmund Gosse; Debenham
  starts rock sections; Gran peruses maps to decide where he will go
  next.

  “Our den is invaded by ‘Titus’ Oates, ‘Mother’ Meares, ‘Birdie’
  Bowers, ‘Sunny’ Jim, Bernard Day, and ‘Silas’ Wright, from which they
  are with difficulty ejected, and then I start ye eternal narrative of
  the Western Journey.”

  The next lecture was on Ice Problems, by Wright. He showed fifteen
  slides, including some made from views on our western journey.

  We had a long discussion on the flow of glaciers, which lasted till 11
  p.m. Discussions were in the air nowadays, and no one had a greater
  belief in them than Captain Scott. He was quicker to see the weak link
  in a chain of argument than any man I have ever met. In my own special
  study of the glacial geology of Antarctica, his practical knowledge
  quite balanced what I had gained from books or travels among glaciers
  of the temperate zone, so that I had many talks with him, and owe him
  much scientifically for his help in criticizing and so strengthening
  my main conclusions.

  Physical measurements took place again on the 21st. There were loud
  cheers when Atkinson announced my waist as 35 inches. I had “gone
  steady” on food during the past few weeks and knew this was another
  libel, and when he corrected his statement I was proud to rank with
  Dr. Bill with a waist of 29½ inches!

  “_May 25._—It has been blizzing all day, and I will describe the
  doings in the hut. I am sitting on my bunk in the pose photoed by
  Ponting, using my little drawing-board as a table. Gran is writing one
  of his six diaries with Deb’s nib, which he blunts. He has a patent
  plasticene pen rack, which doesn’t improve the handle. I told him to
  learn Russian, or write an Antarctic novel in Norwegian, for he will
  be at a loose end until ski-ing is possible.

  “Debenham is painting his third masterpiece. He uses my plane-table
  sheet on which to paste down his papers. His little terra-cotta
  water-pots (shrimp paste!) are much admired. He is rather fed up,
  because he has just found that he is painting on the wrong side of his
  drawing. I tell him that won’t make any difference! Day also is busy
  elaborating his sketches. Marie Nelson is writing a voluminous
  lecture, and making certain of all future arguments by questioning
  Atkinson, Bill, and Titus (_re_ horses, etc.) beforehand. Dr. Atkinson
  is groping among encysted ‘mully-grubs’ at his half of the table,
  while Silas Wright wrestles with pendulum details on the other side.

  “Simpson is writing up weather for _S. P. T._; while, I believe, Dr.
  Bill has finished the ‘hot-stuff’ sketches of geology, etc., for my
  _S. P. T._ article. He has copied most of them from my rough sketches,
  photos, or specimens. Cherry is flapping away at _S. P. T._ on the
  typewriter and chortling muchly.

  “Teddy Evans is plotting a graticule for the southern survey, while
  Ponting has just perpetuated the ‘Teamsters’ in the stable where Titus
  entertained Meares to tea. Birdie Bowers is writing reams for his
  lecture on sledge-foods—guess it will make a book! The ‘Owner’ is
  reading in his cubicle as usual.”

  On the 23rd Nelson and I started off for his biological station about
  a mile to the south on the sea-ice. I carried a plane-table, for I
  wanted to plot the four islands off the Cape. It was a fine clear
  morning, with tints of yellow, pale grey-blue, and deep blue enriching
  the sky. Nelson had a special sledge equipped with a winding drum and
  various boxes of “gadgets,” as he called his instruments. With this
  apparatus he was surveying the depth of the sound, and found that it
  varied very abruptly from place to place. Next day we went off again,
  and I obtained further angles from different stations, being unable to
  find the flag at east base. Finally, I found it beaten flat by the
  blizzards, the 1½-inch thick standard of solid male bamboo being
  snapped to splinters.

  On Queen’s birthday Captain Scott informed me that he was afraid I
  should be able to do very little science on the southern trip. “You
  would only be able to go up the Beardmore and down again, so your time
  would practically be wasted.” So that he decided that I should go west
  to Granite Harbour, at which I was very pleased, though it was rather
  rough on Debenham, who was to have had charge of a party in that
  region. Dr. Bill pointed out that Debenham and I were fully occupied
  with different aspects of geology, so that there was room for both of
  us, and Scott arranged that I was to take Gran and Forde as the other
  members of the party.

  My report of the western journey was approaching completion, and I
  devoted some time to making a portfolio out of purely local
  ingredients. From the rubbish-heap I got me a Venesta box, built of
  tough 3-ply wood. I brought this into the hut, and with much labour
  pulled off the galvanized binding strips. Then I cut out suitable
  portions, leaving thereon the stencil of Beach’s jams. I scrubbed them
  free of strawberry jam, and then worried Day to give me a nice piece
  of sealskin. This I pared down thin and soaked it in alum overnight.
  Later I riveted it with bifurcated rivets from Shackleton’s hut, and
  the net result was interesting, if not aesthetic!

  “It is really the ‘long winter night’ now. I should say the real
  darkness began about the 20th, but you can still see to read outside
  at midday! I nearly got frostbitten paring that sealskin by
  candlelight in the outer storeroom. Only I kept my fingers in the
  candle flame fairly frequently!”

  Birdie Bowers’ lecture on Sledge Foods was very good.

  He poked fun at the “medical faculty” on every possible occasion. I
  deplored the inability to speak with authority on sledging rations,
  for in the west I had permitted our butter to be eaten instead of
  leaving it in a depôt, as the southern party had done! But the chief
  event was the appearance of Debenham as an advocate for an official
  tobacco ration while sledging, and when this was settled by the Owner,
  a fresh argument on the relative values of tea and cocoa between
  Birdie and Seaman Evans made more merriment.

  Late in May Ponting made some of his most picturesque studies. On one
  occasion we marched out to the west over the sea-ice to photo the
  icebergs. We carried a lantern, and were thus able to cross the
  numerous cracks in the sea-ice safely. There had been rather high
  tides lately, and these had surged through the cracks and deposited a
  mushy layer, which was apparently very salty and did not freeze very
  hard. We could hear the shish, shish of Debenham’s ski, but were
  unable to see him. Ponting had two huge cameras, and had just set up
  his apparatus when Captain Scott, Gran, and Bowers arrived. The Arch
  berg had weathered greatly, and the top of the arch had caved in on
  the fifth with the noise of an avalanche. The berg was rising out of
  the water and had tilted up great cakes of sea-ice. Ponting wanted a
  figure in the picture, but one wondered if the berg would choose that
  moment to overturn! When the flash went off, however, I had moved over
  too far, and so no scale appeared to give an idea of the gigantic mass
  of ice.

  The last day in May was characterized by a sharp blizzard. It had been
  quite calm all the afternoon, and Atkinson went off to catch fish. We
  caught a whole _one_, and the weather was so warm (only 18° of frost)
  that he was still moving when we reached the hut! This weather lasted
  till 5.15 p.m. Then in _two minutes_ the wind rose from calm to
  forty-five miles per hour with snowdrifts like driving rain.

  Next day we went out to a new hole cut in the 3 feet ice. There was a
  forty-mile blizzard, but as there was no drift we got out to the hole
  easily enough, though as it was drifted over we had to be careful not
  to fall in. Our huge hopes from the new ground resulted in three fish!
  We had much more rope to haul in and found it rather hard work.
  Atkinson was much amused by the old yarn of the Irishman’s remark
  while hauling up his mate: “Hold on, Mike, while I spit on my hands!”
  This was apropos of my having to stop hauling to warm my nose. Atch’s
  went further, and he had to stay outside the hut until the pringling
  subsided!

  Dr. Bill gave us a fine lecture on sketching, illustrated by numerous
  samples of his own and by copious allusions to the trials of the
  budding artists in the hut! He pointed out that one aspirant had done
  a fine sketch of an iceberg with a splendid reflection showing in
  _stormy_ water. I backed up my unfortunate colleague by showing Bill a
  portrait I had made of himself, which turned out “handsome” instead of
  “lifelike.”


                           LECTURE ON SKETCHING.

                               BY DR. WILSON.

                              _May 31, 1911._

    Sketching down here is very different from this class of work
    elsewhere. We are limited in our tools, being confined to pencil and
    chalks; and even with these we can only finish a sketch on the field
    in midsummer.

    Accuracy rather than the making of pictures should be our aim in
    Antarctica, especially as our sketches are largely connected with
    scientific work. Nothing can be done with colour, though on the 1902
    expedition I carried forty coloured crayons and tried to use them
    out of doors. Nansen, however, managed to do some useful crayon
    drawings in the Arctic.

    My method is to make pencil drawings in as great detail as the
    temperature will allow, and to scribble over a sort of artist’s
    shorthand. I use very few colours, and can indicate Prussian blue,
    for instance, by pr. b., etc. Even in temperate regions you have to
    use somewhat similar shifts, for you can’t sit down to paint a
    brilliant sunset. This “shorthand” I practised largely in Norway in
    1897. One gets into the habit of realizing quickly what colours will
    mix to give the required shade.

    In Antarctica every topic requires a different method of treatment,
    and all require accuracy. Now here are some tips that you may find
    useful.

    Every line is to be criticised as a part of the whole lot, which
    means you musn’t scribble haphazard. It is a good test if you can
    discover something in your sketch which you did not realize when you
    drew it. Always try to analyze the gradations and colours; this
    power is largely a matter of habit. You can’t overdo the exercise of
    your power of “seeing,” and down here the shades are so subtle that
    you get very good practice.

    No coarse methods will reproduce snow, ice, or distant mountains.
    All these take time, and I notice that surveyors and physiographers
    fail here!

    Now I will try to point out why some sketches fail.

    There is a promising art student present who drew an iceberg. He had
    not attempted one before, and so did it carefully and successfully.
    But beyond this are waves and sky, and he thinks he knows them. So
    we find him showing the berg reflected in waves! He should have
    roughed in bits of the waves and sky and made notes. Here we see the
    necessity of a first sketch which shows you bits of every feature of
    the whole.

    The pencil is the only thing to use here, though in other regions
    you would also make a rapid sketch to show colour contrasts. Don’t
    try to draw with a brush.

    To reproduce your sketches, you use H and F pencils. It is very
    difficult to grade snow and sky with ink. It is best to use a hard
    pencil so that you don’t get into a smudging way, but make each line
    distinct.

    Do your outlines in very faint lines so that they will disappear
    when shaded, and without the use of rubber. If you want a straight
    line or circle use a rule or a compass. Be careful to get the
    horizon level or you will spoil the whole sketch. Remember that
    nature relieves everything by shadow and colour, but not by _lines_.


                         _Principles of Sketching._

    You will find Ruskin’s book very helpful. One should have them
    instinctively, as in the case of so many Japanese and all good
    artists. The rest must acquire them.

    1. _Accuracy_, by attention to small details and differences.

    2. Methods. Pen and ink is difficult for snow and sky, and soft
    pencil is easier.

    3. Outlines are the edges of shadows.

    4. Perspective is not of much use in Antarctica.

    5. Use an empty picture frame to gauge size and position.

    6. Colours are mostly snow-white or blue-grey, but occasionally even
    shadows may be orange or the brightest blue.

    7. In shading, first practise with a square on white paper and hatch
    it. Be careful never to go over the edge.

    8. To test the inaccuracy of your eye carefully copy a maple leaf
    and then superpose it on the original.

    9. If using pen and ink outlines only, never thicken a line. Use
    even lines, and remember that it is imperfect because there are no
    outlines in nature.

    10. There is no _royal way_ to do trees or clouds, etc. Be careful
    not to adopt mannerisms.

    11. Clouds are solids with a light side and a shaded side; and also
    with perspective.

    And he ended up with a sly reference to myself. “In drawing land
    forms you tend to become a physiographer”!

[Illustration: Evans teaches us to cobble.]

  I spent the next morning on a “make and mend.” My Russian felt boots
  were wearing out from the usual cause: not through rough surfaces, but
  from scorching when drying near the stove! So I borrowed Wright’s
  sewing awl, and Taff Evans coached me with this weapon. It always used
  to worry me how cobblers sewed a boot when they couldn’t see the
  inside thereof! Anyhow I made a sketch of the method, and afterwards
  sewed boots, bags, camera cases, and all sorts of gear with complete
  success.

   _Procedure._—(A) Push threaded awl through first hole and pull one
                      end of thread out on inside of boot. To this
                      attach a stiff point, _i.e._ a nail.

                (B) Pull back awl and push through next hole.

                (C) Make two loops of the awl thread (see sketch)
                      _inside_ the boot, and put the nail through the
                      loop, whose end is attached to the boot (the other
                      loop is in the supply thread), and so on.

  Then I darned four socks, using string instead of wool, for with
  _four_ pairs on, and with our hardened skin, the roughness was
  immaterial.

  Whit-Sunday came along in due course, and we had Church service. This
  consisted of the usual Morning Prayer with the special Antarctic
  Collect and two hymns. Absolutely the chief lack in the hut was a
  hymnal with tunes! We had a Broadwood piano and a dozen hymn books,
  but no music except three or four songs, such as “Asleep in the Deep,”
  “Old Madrid,” and “Alcala.”

  Captain Scott asked me to vamp some tunes for the hymns. I could
  really have risen to hymn _music_, but was unable to vamp, and told
  him so. I tried to invent an accompaniment or two but failed dismally.
  Cherry next negotiated it, and managed one or two quite successfully;
  but each fresh tune needed such a lot of practice that he gave it up
  after a few Sundays.

  However, there seemed no end to the tunes known to Scott and Bowers,
  and these with Wilson, Debenham, and Lashley formed quite a
  respectable choir.

  The Owner was very keen on the hymns. On one occasion he gave out
  “Onward, Christian soldiers,” and was so dissatisfied with the result,
  that he specially repeated the same hymn next Sunday till we were more
  in unison.

  The _South Polar Times_ was now finished as far as the letterpress,
  and was in the hands of the binder. The whole production was supposed
  to be a secret, but it was necessarily a very open one! We could all
  see Day manipulating sealskin and Venesta board—in his bunk; though I
  don’t think that any one expected he would make such a really artistic
  job of it as he did. Ponting printed four of his finest photographs on
  very large sheets and then moulded them and trimmed them as plates,
  and they added greatly to the beauty of the resulting volume.

  I had handed in my official report on the first western journey to
  Captain Scott, and now busied myself with a comparison of the
  meteorological results of the 1902 and 1910 expeditions.

  The temperature curves are very interesting and are shown in the
  annexed figure.

[Illustration: Diagrammatic illustration featuring a horizontal
measuring scale with evenly spaced vertical ticks and branching lines
above it, suggesting plotted data or a schematic layout.]

[Illustration: Sections of Fossils Beardmore Gl. 1908]

  On the 5th of June, I gave a lecture on a place I had never seen and
  probably will never see—the Beardmore Glacier. I had to spend a
  considerable amount of time in reading it up in Shackleton’s book.
  Scott had lent his copy to Campbell, so that mine was the only copy in
  the hut, and was naturally consulted by everybody. It is a unique
  copy, for all the expedition signed it, so that it forms the last
  collection of such autographs; and later Sir Ernest was good enough to
  write a brief letter therein on the opposite page.

  Curiously enough there was one aspect of the Beardmore on which I
  could speak with some authority. I had spent two years in Cambridge
  doing paleontological research on some Cambrian corals from Central
  Australia. Among the specimens which Shackleton had brought back from
  the farthest south rock was a small pebble of green marble. In this
  were some minute fossils, and they turned out to be the same
  “ancient-cups” (_Archeocyathinæ_) as I had described in Cambridge. So
  this unique specimen was handed over to me for description, and I was
  able to tell our fellows the “habits” of the Beardmore corals.

[Illustration: Fossil ‘Sponge-Coral’ from the Beardmore Glacier 84°S.
1912 (Restored).]

  These queer fossils seem to unite the characters of the two great
  families of sponges and corals. They died out in the Cambrian age, but
  are of world-wide distribution in deposits of that period.

  I had drawn an enlarged map of the Beardmore, and I read extracts from
  “The Heart of the Antarctic,” describing the position of the crevassed
  areas, etc. My next “old master” was a fine effort—a sort of panorama
  of what you would see looking back down the Beardmore. I had
  commandeered it from the _Sphere_; but it seemed unnecessary to say
  so!

  Then from some notes given me by Professor David, I was able to
  describe the geology of the rocks fairly fully.

  Two contrasted longitudinal sections of the Ferrar and Beardmore
  glaciers showed the immensity of the latter and its comparatively
  slight slope. I even had a specimen to exhibit! a small piece of the
  original fossil-bearing green marble hung as a pendant on my
  watch-chain. This was examined by all present, and the southern party
  swore to pick up all the green marble they could carry, on the off
  chance of it containing my pet fossils! I may be allowed to mention
  that this specimen now adorns a lady’s ring, and is mounted after a
  design which I owe to Lady Scott.

[Illustration:

  The most southern fossils: archeocyathinac marble set in a ring.
]

  The question of collecting specimens was important, especially as no
  geologist was going south. However, I asked them to collect fresh
  pieces (which need not be large), and from rock _in situ_ if possible.
  A description of the physiographic data most required finished the
  lecture.

  Dr. Wilson raised a question as to the meaning of the word
  “glaciated.” “Is Erebus glaciated?” he asked. I said “No, not in the
  strict sense”—for the word applies to regions laid bare after a
  glacier has retreated. Scott thereupon said that a new name is needed
  for glacier-covered lands. (I think the word “glacierized” is
  permissible for this type of country.)

  The Owner and I had a great cag as to the shape of the ice at the
  mouth of the Ferrar Glacier, which he had explored in 1903. I said in
  1911 it had a _tongue_ jutting out to the south-east; he thought there
  was a _bay_ here! “This is very queer,” said Scott. “Well, I can’t
  make it out! I expect I shall continue to believe I’m right, and you
  will believe you’re right.” I said, “I can do better than that. I
  believe we are both right, and it’s these incomprehensible glaciers
  that are wrong!”

  It was late when I turned in and most of the others were asleep. Some
  were dreaming, for Cherry cried out suddenly, “But look here, those
  horses are quite unloosed!”

  Titus Oates was awakened in the next bunk and inquired anxiously,
  “What’s that about the horses?”

  It will have been gathered that there was some touch of the navy about
  our life in the Hut. I may, without breach of confidence, say that I
  had been warned by a former explorer against the “side” of the naval
  men. This advice seems most amusing on looking back at our
  experiences. Apart from Scott the naval men were younger than the
  scientists, and their attitude may be gathered from their
  nickname—which they bore with considerable complacency—of the
  “pseudo-scientists”! But it was a case of give and take. A naval man
  would wish to learn some branch of science, and one of the most
  amusing evenings was when one naval student underwent an examination
  by one of the geologists and successfully attained honours, through
  the whispered promptings of the other geologist.

  The account of the lectures will show how catholic were our interests.
  Practical meteorology and navigation are two subjects in which I
  received kindly assistance from the respective experts. Dr. Bill, as I
  have shown, was willing to devote hours to any of us who wished to
  learn to sketch. Ponting was always ready to train the southern party
  so that they might obtain a satisfactory photographic record of the
  Polar dash. And so on right through the community, including the
  seamen and others in the mess deck. I am sure the latter enjoyed the
  free life. It must have been a topsy-turvey experience for them to see
  the weary watchman—who was always one of the officers during
  1911—nodding or shivering over the stove, while they snugly slept
  through the night.

  Occasionally, if the unfortunate officer fell over the fire-irons, or
  otherwise disturbed the “mess deck,” the sailor-men would permit
  themselves the luxury of caustic remarks behind their curtains—well
  knowing that the chance of scoring off a member of the “afterguard”
  would not occur in a less socialistic community. I remember playing
  off a game of bezique with Taff Evans, who rather prided himself on
  the game. At first, to my amazement, he was beaten, and the mess deck
  crowded into our cubicle to jibe at Taff! However, he soon got
  “topsides” of a mere geologist. Dr. Atkinson was keen to learn
  Russian, and we used to hear him chanting vocabularies with the two
  Russians in the mess deck.

  If we wanted any repairs done, it was always easy, with a little
  blarney, to get round Evans, or Crean, or Lashley, or one or other of
  the petty officers, and all the scientists learnt something of many
  handicrafts through contact with the stalwarts of the navy.

  Debenham and Gran went off to visit Hut Point, and bring back the
  specimens we had left there in April, so that I had the Ubdug cubicle
  to myself. The enemy took advantage of my lonely condition, and just
  as I had got off to sleep a great beam of wood, six feet long, was
  pushed into my bunk by some base villain. I arose in my wrath, and
  seeing that “Marie” Nelson seemed somewhat conscious in his bunk, I
  pushed it on to him, and added a chair or two, and various other
  movables. He fell upon me, and we rolled about over the main table
  until I skilfully deposited him up against the Owner’s cubicle, when
  he had to desist for fear of wrecking it. Birdie Bowers, Meares, and
  Oates were hugely delighted, the more so because Birdie had done the
  foul deed!

  Such were the cowardly tactics of the Bunderlohg. I was too tired to
  attempt to chastise Birdie, and turned in again, merely remarking that
  he would not have dared to do this if my honourable colleagues had
  been present.

  It was quite an accident, but almost all the scientists and non-naval
  men were on the port side of the hut, while the naval men and
  “Teamsters” were on the starboard side. Dr. Wilson was out of place in
  the ranks of conservatism; but as he used jovially to egg on both
  sides, we rarely knew his opinion on the burning questions of the day!

  Curiously enough, the right arm of the conservatives (“reactionaries”
  _we_ called them) was our biologist Nelson. He and Bowers argued
  largely, until Birdie became too deeply immersed in the question of
  stores to attend to much else. But I was credited with a nimble
  tongue, and Simpson was always crushing, with his inside knowledge of
  social problems, so that the Progressive Party was by no means
  unrepresented. We could always rally a strong colonial contingent in
  the persons of Debenham (Australia) and Wright (Canada); and never
  have I had such amusing arguments (cags we called them) as during the
  Antarctic night. Woman’s Suffrage I have known argued _ad nauseam_
  from dinner-time (7 p.m.) till midnight, when Nelson and myself were
  left still opposed, and still full of argument. Prayers for peace
  never deterred Nelson from preaching women’s inferiority. Boots were
  the arguments that usually drove him to seek his cubicle and sink to
  rest.

  In mid-June there was bright moonlight, so Wright and I decided to
  visit Cape Royds, and get a few things from Shackleton’s hut. I
  started with balaclava and wind helmet, and two pairs of gloves. As
  there was no wind, and only −8° temperature, I shed first the helmet,
  then the balaclava, and then the thick and thin pairs of gloves! It
  was about six miles only, and of course much easier by the sea-ice
  than _viâ_ the crevassed Barne Glacier (our route in January). We got
  some gas tubing, which Day wanted, some ginger for Atkinson, tracing
  paper and a chisel for Charles, and I bagged a carpenter’s rasp. It
  reminded me of Crusoe’s visits to his old ship, for it was great fun
  poking about in cupboards, not knowing what treasures might turn up.

  We soon turned south to our own hut, meeting Birdie and Cherry also
  off to Cape Royds. On our left Erebus looked like a great cone of
  white sugar against the blue-black sky, where the moon shone
  resplendent. Charles rudely scoffed at my poetic wish that Luna were a
  mirror and would show us how the world were progressing!

  Debenham and Gran returned next day after an absence of six days at
  the Discovery Hut. On arrival they found one of our dogs (Macaca)
  lying in the porch. He had been lost for a month, and was naturally
  pretty thin! They fed him on some biscuits, and then got the blubber
  stove going. In the whole time they had only had three hours decent
  weather! In the same time we had only experienced three hours bad
  weather. But every day was showing us more and more clearly that the
  weather conditions were extraordinarily localized in the Ross Island
  area.

  They had started back on Sunday, but were caught in a snowstorm when
  about two miles off, and so took their bags off the sledge and bolted
  back for safety! Monday was very thick; and later Debenham woke, and
  his watch said 2. The only clue as to whether this was 2 a.m. or 2
  p.m. was that the dog seemed very hungry, which made them think it was
  morning. So they rushed off without breakfast, and expected to arrive
  in time to have it with us; to find us just getting ready for supper!
  It was a quaint coincidence that Birdie and Cherry had also lost count
  of time, and came in expecting breakfast at 7 p.m. Such is the
  pernicious effect of the sun’s absence for four months!

  For some weeks I had been helping Simpson in the magnetic hut. Each
  Thursday he secluded himself in the little asbestos hut, and proceeded
  to obtain absolute measurements of the magnetic field. He had a small
  stove to warm the hut, and kept the temperature at +65°, so we were
  comfortable enough, except that a wind of sixty degrees of frost
  sailed in through the hole in the wall by which he viewed his stadium.

  At Cape Evans the magnetic variation was about 150° E., which means
  that the north-seeking end of the magnet pointed to the south-east! In
  other words, we were far to the southward of the south magnetic pole.
  In fact, when we were at Knob Head Mountain, up the Ferrar Glacier,
  the variation was nearly 180°, and we were close to the line joining
  the south magnetic pole to the end of the earth’s axis—which is the
  real South Pole.

  The procedure in the magnetic work was too technical to be inserted
  here. However, Simpson estimated the dip of the needle by accurate
  measurement of the angle of rest of a magnet swung on a horizontal
  axis. Then he got the horizontal factor. This controls the position of
  an ordinary magnet, as usually swung on a vertical axis.

  The results were used as a check on the continuous record obtained
  from the magnetometers in the ice grotto. At certain fixed dates
  Simpson and Wright carried out “quick runs.” All the chief
  observatories in the world were doing the same work at the same
  instant, and Simpson’s work, so near the magnetic “hub of the
  universe,” was obviously of prime importance in this connection.

  The Cape Crozier party were now busily engaged with their preparations
  for the midwinter journey to the haunt of the Emperor penguins. For
  some weeks Cherry had been practising hut-building near Skua Lake. He
  used the kenyte boulders, which lay scattered around the hut. It was
  roofed with sealskin, and in one corner he managed to maintain a
  blubber stove.

[Illustration: Bill’s Nose-nip 17·6·11]

  Uncle Bill was busy making a patent nose-guard to withstand the
  blizzards of the Barrier.

  “Extraordinary the affection a fellow gets for a pair of old pants!”
  says Birdie, who has spent all morning darning a pair for the
  midwinter journey. Dr. Bill glances at them, and says drily, “Most
  extraordinary!”

  Some one else chimed in, “It’s queer the way your clothes vanish in
  this hut, even if they are _marked_!” We all agreed that the only safe
  way was to wear them. Gran pathetically remarked, “And dey do seem to
  go den too!”

  Said Meares caustically, “Never mind, you’ll find them when you have
  your next bath” (which sounds unkind, if you don’t understand the
  difficulties of bathing in the hut; for Gran melted down bits of
  glacier for a wash as often as most of us!).

  I went out to South Bay to see how Nelson’s biological station was
  progressing, and carried a thermos flask with me. The moon gave a
  little light. His semicircular wall (called the “Igloo”; quite
  wrongly) was built of mush ice from the hole, and was now six feet
  high, opening to the north. It was curious how the blizzard drifts
  rebounded from the wall and left a windward trench all round the
  latter, though a great pile of drift extended many yards north (to
  leeward).

  He picked at the new ice with a crowbar and ladled it out with a sort
  of net. Then he pulled up his nets, which phosphoresced beautifully
  from transparent _Siphonophora_. It must be understood that though our
  air temperature in winter was below −30°; yet the salt water was
  always +29° (or 59° warmer!). So that a sound scheme would have been
  to have had a diving-bell retreat and go down under the sea-ice, out
  of the blizzards at minus thirty. This was, of course, just what the
  seals did!

[Illustration: A characteristic Portrait in a Bliz.! 18·6·11]

  He emptied the animals into the thermos flasks (which were intended
  for _our_ comfort), and so got them back to the hut without their
  being damaged by freezing.

  Then we returned to the hut, facing the keen north wind; so that a
  characteristic photograph of _any_ explorer under such conditions is
  shown in the annexed sketch!

  Debenham and I had some arguments as to the temperatures in the hut. I
  felt cold in my bunk, whereas he said he was always warm in his.
  However, we got a thermometer and tested the temperature at various
  levels.

[Illustration: Vertical Temperature Gradient in Hut 19·6·11]

  Near the stove it was 55°, but on the floor in our cubicle it was 35°,
  only a degree or two above freezing. No wonder our toes got cold. My
  bunk was 42°, the table was 45°, and his bunk (six feet above the
  floor) was 52°. So that naturally he was warmer in the belt of
  ascending air. However, the elevated bunks were (like the “gods” at a
  theatre) not specially well ventilated, so that I preferred my cooler
  sleeping-place.

  Next day Simpson and I went off again to look at the Igloo. There was
  only a faint starlight, and we could neither find the Igloo nor the
  Cape when we turned back! However, we steered by a star and got back
  to the hut by a longer route, during which I fell three feet into the
  tide crack between the sea-ice and the hut.

  That evening Day lectured on “Motor Sledges.” It was good to hear him
  so optimistic. Scott told us of his experiences at Lauteret in France
  with the “Antarcticker” Charcot. (Quite recently a statue to Captain
  Scott has been erected by the French in this region.)

  I had agreed to sketch the movements of the steam cloud from Erebus
  during the winter, but I note on the 20th June, that it was about the
  first time for a month that I had been able to see the top of Erebus.
  Ponting reported that it was glowing strongly during the day; but no
  colour was visible when I went out to look at it, while Debenham spent
  a long while outside on the off chance of an eruption. But −35° cooled
  him off, and he came in unsuccessful.

  “_Midwinter Day, June 22, 1911._—Here it is Midwinter Day, and except
  in my sleeping-bag sledging, I have not felt specially cold down here,
  sixty below freezing without wind is perfectly comfortable. But this
  morning a nippy north wind made my thumbs ache while cutting out the
  fish trap, and Atch’s and my noses are getting red-tipped and sore.
  Still, I’ve known that happen elsewhere! One never gets ‘chaps’ here;
  I wonder why? However, August is the coldest month and the stormiest,
  but it will be lighter then.

  “This afternoon, at 3 p.m. (Greenwich) there was a strong twilight to
  north. Light red (a clear non-yellow colour) along the horizon. Then
  indigo—probably a cloud—then clear pale blue, and above this
  slate-blue merging into the star area. No moon or sun. But an hour
  later all this had vanished.

  “I am on night duty. Dr. Bill was up till 1 a.m. He heard me cursing
  because I couldn’t find my towel after my usual bath, and came to help
  me. Bathing at 6° above freezing-point, you don’t care to wait about
  much! I have on my Jaeger coat, felt boots, two pairs of wool socks,
  wool helmet, two jerseys, thin flannel shirt, and thick singlet, thick
  underpants and thick corduroy trousers. By keeping my feet up on a
  chair out of the cold ‘floor air’ I keep comfortably warm, but will
  probably go into the kitchen galley.

  “2.30 a.m. Just been putting in half an hour with the confounded
  stove. I added compressed fuel at midnight, but later found it nearly
  out. I’ve devoted one of my two weekly candles to it, but it only
  flamed weakly. So I waked Clissold. He says it’s due to the cold ice
  I’ve just put in; but adds, ‘Let her rip!’ So I don’t care. The
  porridge won’t be properly cooked, but most of them like it so!

  “I suppose the gramophone will be celebrating to-day. They are fine
  records. I like the opening chorus to the ‘Dollar Princess’ best,
  though I can only hear the words ‘across the water,’ but the minor key
  is O.K. Margaret Cooper’s ‘’Tis folly to run away from love’ is the
  only clear girl’s voice. Robey on ‘Golf’ and ‘Prehistoric Man’ are
  very popular. Oates always calls for ‘The Sergeant of the Line’ and
  ‘Why should I marry at all?’ Both are good bass songs. The Anona-Banjo
  dance is fine. Meares likes ‘We all walked into the Shop,’ while Gran
  prefers a Creole wail, ‘Ma Honey’ and ‘Madam Butterfly,’ which I can’t
  stick! We have a few hymns, and the ‘Night Hymn at Sea’ is grand.

  “Debenham, Ponting, and Cherry (especially the latter) are good at the
  pianola. It works usually from 5 to 6 and 12.30 to 1.30, while the
  gramophone runs from 8 to 9 if there’s no lecture. We don’t have any
  sing-songs, and they are really not needed with the three or four
  hundred tunes on the two instruments.

  “I snoozed peacefully after my night-watch till noon on the 22nd. Then
  we had lunch, and Cherry produced the first number of the _South Polar
  Times_ and handed it to Captain Scott.

  “He had typed all the prose, and (cutting out alternate pages from a
  day-book) had pasted the sheets in the book between clean pages. There
  were fifty pages of typescript. Then Day had bound it splendidly in
  Venesta board. It was edged with sealskin, and he had cut a cameo
  monogram, _S.P.T._, through the outer layer of venesta into the dark
  _middle_ layer of the three-ply boards.

  “There were about ten full-page illustrations, and many drawn by Bill
  in spaces left in the text when typed.

  “The guessing at authors was very funny. Gran was rabidly curious. I
  fear no one thought I had done ‘Valhalla,’ which is a mixed
  pleasure—for all seem to enjoy it; while Nelson put down the
  ‘Protoplasmic Cycle’ to Debenham, though he had actually read the
  verse in the Pack in my diary! Bill’s illustrations are tiptop,
  especially the three Egyptian tablets. The latter are frightfully
  clever apart from the draughtsmanship. Every line is a history in
  itself.

  “The _first_ sketch shows three of the debris cones on the Ramp. One
  is labelled—in honour of our cubicle—the Ubdugs, while Birdie, in his
  green hat, crowns another.

  “The _second_ shows Keohane painting (he did the yellow funnel on the
  ship). He stands on Forde. ‘Chippy’ carries the hut, and Abbott (with
  frosted hair) helps him. Day on his motor has his long legs and arms
  disposed in true hieroglyphic attitudes. Meteorological signs for
  thunder and lightning surround the engine.

  “In the bottom corner is the western party sledging. Three men pulling
  hard, while one lanky individual provided with a long beard is
  sketching instead of working! This is a foul and funny libel on
  myself!

  “The _third_ represents Birdie, Crean, and Cherry (with spectacles)
  adrift on the floe. This is labelled with the sign * (for ice) to
  prevent any mistake. The killer-whales are going for Birdie’s fat
  legs. Then there’s the 1902 Hut bulging out with ice, with drip-pots
  to catch the thaw, and ‘Hoosh’ labelled in Beaufort scale letters.

  “In the other corner a screaming drawing of the ‘Little Perisher’
  (Atkinson) caressing a frostbitten ear and nose which is labelled with
  the ‘glazed frost’ sign. They are the funniest pictures I have ever
  seen, and beat Hogarth into a cocked hat for detail.”

[Illustration:

  “SOME ANTARCTIC ARCHIVES.”
]


                  EXTRACT FROM SOME ANTARCTIC ARCHIVES.

   1. And it came to pass that in the month of January,

   2. Scothe-Ohnah took up wintak-watahs on Ros-is-land.

   3. And there was great barkinofdogs and neighinofhorses

   4. With phufphuf of motahs.

   5. The Hut was raised by chypechap, fordandkohane.

   6. Abbottelped.

   7. All said “Itwa s’dam cold”.

   8. After Three Weeks (E’Linag Lyn) it was done.

   9. Then twelve under Scothe-Ohnah started South,

  10. Fourundah Sharn-Gatch for the West.

  11. Theship departed.

  12. The Cobbos parted, Kreen-an-Ephans.

  13. Birdibow-Ahs of the mighticaluph reached the furthest.

  14. Withim Soljah-an-gran.

  15. Bur-de-Cherry and Crean “chaunst their arm”.

  16. Olswell.

  17. Allah-ad-diris.

  18. Sharn-ledwel and kambaque.

  19. Theoldh-utwas full. Itliqued. Itwa-so-dakh.

  20. Soljah-fash-son-ed a stove.

  21. It burned with blubber and did nearly all the cooking.

  22. Hu Ra. Hoosh. Hush. Hoosh.

  23. Thesephroze.

  24. Scothe-Ohnah and with him eight others left for Kapevans. Thalef
        thejonah.

  25. Theice bluout.

  26. Phrostbit nosears and phace.

  27. Thisis thethir tieth.

  28. Garnfroste phace!

  29. Daian Marie came sledging.

  30. They got phrostbit. Algot phrostbit.

  31. Bill Esau sumemp-Rahs.

  32. Enuphsasgudas-a-phest.

  “Gran is very funny about Valhalla! He has been sounding Birdie and
  Ponting as to the home of the northern gods! Marie Nelson had never
  heard of Valhalla, but was going to work to find out who coined the
  word ‘pont.’ The Owner read the greater part to us. He can make a good
  speech and write well, but he’s no reader, as he confessed! Ponting’s
  plates are splendid. Gran thinks he did the ‘Sleeping Bag Medley’; but
  I doubt it strongly. However, probably my guesses are as wild as any
  one’s and the whole thing is very good fun.

  “After lunch I went out for a stroll to see the Antarctic in darkest
  night. No one else seemed keen. I walked to South Bay over Island Lake
  and back over Skua Lake.

  “There was a twilight, grey-blue to the north—an arc extending from
  about Granite Harbour to Cape Royds, and this gave some light. I wore
  my felt boots, which are warm though slippery. I came one cropper
  through not seeing a drop of two feet down a snow ridge. As I walked
  up the next snow slope, it gave out an octave—the notes descending the
  scale! I could just see Tent Island, but could not make out the edge
  of the cliff close by. It was so calm that I walked part way back
  without a helmet. I came another cropper, hurting my shin and elbow
  and so to the hut.

  “On my return, I found them draping the hut with sledge flags. My
  ‘blood-stained banner’ and Debenham’s (both made by my sister) were
  hung over the table. Atkinson and Birdie made their own flags. (Atch
  has a black tree on a white silk flag.) Ponting and Gates have none.

  “Then we had dinner, while Ponting manœuvred the cameras to get a
  photo. He moved away all nearer than I was, so I was left in the
  foreground, and unfortunately practically spoilt the picture! For I
  meekly cast my eyes down as the flash went off, and am obviously blind
  drunk! They don’t know that I only had a quarter-glass of awful
  lime-juice, while the others had champagne!

  “Then speeches began. The Owner made a ripping speech, pointing out
  that we’d done half the time, and must realize that we could only do
  about as much more. Dr. Simpson wished health to the southern party,
  and we who were going west drank it with him. I arose with an apology
  for saying, ‘Captain Scott, Gentlemen, and Non-scientists.’ This dig
  at Oates, Birdie, and Co. brought down the house, for they have
  occasionally opened by saying, ‘Captain Scott, Scientists, and
  Gentlemen.’ Atkinson and Wright failed lamentably, except that Charles
  said (_à la_ the discussions), ‘I have no remarks to make, sir, in
  addition to those stated,’ while Atch said, ‘I endorse that.’ Debenham
  discussed the colonial representation on the expedition. Cherry
  reminded us of the home folks drinking our healths.

  “Birdie had moved off to the foot of the table, and said he couldn’t
  make a funny speech, so he was going to _show_ us something funny.
  Therewith entered four of the seamen with a unique Christmas tree.

  “It was built of a ski-stick draped with bunting, with penguin feather
  foliage, hung over with candles and candied fruit. The gifts were from
  Mrs. Wilson’s sister, and were perfect. Birdie’s distribution was
  magnificent.

  “Every second present or so was a necklace or earrings for ‘Miss
  Jessie’ Debenham. Meares got many wedding-rings in memory of his
  refrain, ‘Ting! Ting! You buy the ring.’ ‘Marie’ Nelson had a huge
  fan, while Dr. Bill got a book of drawing copies. Titus got a popgun,
  and ‘Silas’ Wright an envelope marked ‘In memory of my native land,’
  containing the Stars and Stripes! This, as a loyal Canadian, he threw
  away with contumely.

  “I got a ‘Physiographic outfit’ of shovel, axe, and pick for ‘our
  Griff,’ and a packet of shaving paper for ‘the Lord High
  Physiographer,’ and (I blush to state) a trumpet with a note which I
  scorn to set down!

  “Then the table was cleared away, after we had pulled crackers, and we
  sat down to look at Ponting’s slides of events to date. They were
  admirable, especially the Ice-foot and Pancake ice. I was exhibited
  rather frequently, and the incipient beard excited much hilarity.”

  A few of the seamen became rather merry by this time, and a set of
  lancers was not a great success, my partner finding the floor
  unsteady. We all turned in before 2 a.m. (except Dr. Bill, who was on
  watch), and so ended our Midwinter Feast.

[Illustration: How we found Midwinter.]

  On the next day I spent some hours trying to find the exact time when
  the sun _was lowest_. As we had not seen him for two months, this may
  seem difficult! But from the Nautical Almanac it was possible to plot
  the sun’s position (declination) for three or four days each side of
  the 22nd. This came out a parabola, of which we could not find the
  exact apex (or date of lowest sun). However, by adding the curve of
  the _variation_ (as suggested by Wright), the date came out readily
  enough at the intersection of two straight lines.

  “The result at Greenwich was ⅒ of 24 hours after the noon of June 22 =
  2h. 24m. p.m. Our clock[8] keeps Greenwich time (though we are not
  quite on 180° meridian), so that this time by our clock was the
  critical instant of midwinter. Hence Dr. Bill was the only one awake
  at that interesting moment!

  “However, Thursday’s dinner on the 22nd was the nearest to the exact
  time of lowest sun, so we were _en règle_. Meares insisted that I was
  thus particular because I wanted another feed on the 23rd! This to me,
  who ate nothing and drank less!”

  Gran and I had a competition, as to who could guess the most authors
  in the current volume of _S. P. T._, the loser to give a dinner on our
  return. I stipulated “no alcohol,” but, on Gran’s remonstrances,
  agreed to “Australian wines.” I thought I should win, for he hadn’t
  contributed, and I knew three of the thirteen with some certainty! I
  wrote out a list, and so did he, and we asked Cherry to referee. He
  was not to be drawn from the silence of the editorial chair. Finally
  he said our bet was off, because we were equal. Teddy Evans, however,
  declared that he knew most of them, as they’d been discussed by Bill
  and Cherry in his cubicle. He said I got ten right and Gran nine. At
  any rate, the first suitable place for a dinner was my own town
  (Sydney), where, of course, I was host, so that Gran came off best
  ultimately.

  Late in June I gave a lecture on the “Physiography of the Western
  Mountains.” Ponting kindly made two dozen slides for me, and he put
  these through the lantern, with the addition of some maps I drew on
  glass, and one extra (by Gran), which was a libel on the
  physiographer! The problems discussed in this lecture have already
  been described in my sledge narrative.

  On the 27th June the gallant midwinter expedition started. Dr. Wilson
  was in charge, and was accompanied by Bowers and Cherry-Garrard. Their
  object was to visit the Cape Crozier Rookery, and to study the habits
  of the Emperor penguins during the nesting season. No one had ever
  seen them nesting, nor had any eggs, except long-abandoned specimens,
  ever been found. Wilson hoped to get embryo chicks, and thus study the
  early stages of these birds, which in some ways are the most primitive
  existing, and which therefore exhibit features linking them to the
  reptiles.

  They took two sledges, pulling a heavy load of 253·3 lbs. per man.
  Numerous bamboos, specimen bottles, penguin-nets, special clothing,
  etc., accounted for the load; but they proposed to be absent five
  weeks and would need extra provisions in view of the extremely low
  temperatures. No such trip had ever been made before. No one realized
  what they would have to encounter, and I hope no one will ever again
  attempt to do anything so close to the confines of human endurance.

  Nelson, Gran, and I accompanied them nearly to Glacier Tongue. We
  could just make out the black crags against the white snow. I had a
  bet with Bill that we could see Little Razorback Isle. I lost, for it
  was the 500-foot cliff of Turk’s Head, and this was a pity. I was so
  sure, that I bet him the small amount of £40,000,000!

  “When we stopped I called for three cheers for the Cheery Winter
  Knight, the Short Winter Knight, and the Long Winter Knight. When they
  saw that I meant ‘Knight’ (and not the surrounding gloom!) they
  laughed muchly, and we left them cheery.”

  In the evenings we went in for games of various sorts—though never
  _cards_, for some unknown reason. Captain Scott and Atkinson used to
  play a couple of games of chess each evening. Nelson was our “star
  performer” at any game of skill, and could beat any of the others at
  chess. I should think Debenham and I probably played most chess.
  Wright and Simpson occasionally indulged, and were of about the same
  class. Gates and Debenham were fond of backgammon. Evans, Gran, and I
  played Matador a great deal, until I found myself getting beaten with
  monotonous regularity, when I decided that dominoes wasn’t an
  intellectual game, and stuck to chess!

  “We have just been discussing Jules Verne on the shooting of bears
  with mercury bullets! The temperature is now −40° F. (seventy degrees
  of frost), and the feat would be possible, at any rate, as far as
  loading went!”

  Outside “Silas” Wright is busy getting “time” from star occultations
  with a patent telescope. His station is near the rubbish-heap, and is
  connected by telephone to the hut. It is a cold game, as may be
  imagined, and to manœuvre in light gloves with delicate screws would
  try the patience of a saint. I never heard of a Saint Silas, and when
  Wright’s light blows out, the gentleman inside the hut (with the
  chronometers) blushes at the language carried by the telephone wire.
  There was a yarn (which it is not necessary to believe) that the said
  wire had to be drenched with water at regular intervals to prevent the
  heated remarks from fusing it!

  Wright had one of Colonel Sterneck’s gravity pendulum equipments, and
  for this he needed to know times to 0·000001 part of a second! Thus he
  could tell whether his pendulums swung quicker or slower in Antarctica
  than in New Zealand. If they swung quicker, then they were nearer the
  centre of the earth “down south.” Thus the good old simile in which
  the shape of the earth is compared to a flat-ended orange is deduced
  scientifically by a frostbitten scientist at “seventy below freezing”!

  As soon as Simpson had equipped his main station he fitted up a
  thermometer screen above the Ramp on the icy slopes of Erebus. Later
  two more were placed on the sea-ice —one towards Tent Island and the
  other in North Bay. These were labelled A, B, and C at first, but
  these seemed prosaic names when one had literally a chance of losing
  one’s life when one paid them a visit during disturbed weather in the
  long winter night. So that the screen in North Bay was dignified into
  “_Archibald_,” “_Bertram_” lived above the Ramp, and “_Clarence_” was
  “way out in the country” to the south.

  Ponting and I introduced ourselves to Bertram on the last day in June.
  He lived beyond the rough moraines, so we had to put on leather boots.
  One of the dogs (Tsigane) accompanied us. We could just see, and
  managed to climb up the 150-foot Ramp, with some diminution of wind,
  and in half an hour had reached Bertram, 250 feet up.

  There were two thermometers—one registering maximum temperatures, one
  giving present reading and also (the most interesting reading) the
  minimum temperature. On this occasion the coloured alcohol showed −20°
  F., −27°F., and −37° F., respectively. In calm weather it was usually
  from five to ten degrees colder at the Hut than at Bertram, for the
  cold air sank to sea-level. But in rough weather all the air was
  churned up, and the temperatures were much the same at all four
  stations.

  We read the thermometers by a candle, for it was a calm day; but my
  toes began to go, and so we hurried back to the Hut, when I decided to
  go in for more socks.

  After this I read Bertram fairly regularly when the weather seemed
  promising. Scott definitely ordered that no one should visit the
  screens if there seemed risk involved, for the Hut thermometer
  recorded continuously and the others were only for comparison, and got
  less important as we noted the regularity of their characteristic
  differences. After a few visits I used to glissade down the icy Ramp,
  though I could never see when I had reached the bottom, for in the
  dark you cannot distinguish a vertical from a horizontal plane of ice.

  “We had service on the 2nd of July. With our three chief songsters
  Crozierwards, there is less harmony. I followed Day in the hymns, and
  he afterwards confessed that he had forgotten the tune; so my help was
  not valuable! Meantime Simpson had a duet in the corner with Wright.
  ‘Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three’ ... etc.; he counted the
  seconds through the ’phone to Wright, who was cussing the stars
  outside. The only accompaniment we had now that Cherry was away was
  the telephone bell.

  “The combination would have been ludicrous if it hadn’t been
  necessary, for Wright had to abide by the transits of the stars, and
  they occurred service or no service.”

  The most noteworthy feature in the Hut was a strong propensity to
  argument. I think Nelson and myself were the chief offenders, as we
  disagreed on every topic under the sun, and let each other (and also
  the rest of the Hut) know the reasons! I remember one cag resulted
  from a night-watch supper. About this time I used to watch from 8 p.m.
  till 2 a.m., and “Marie” Nelson from 2 till 8 a.m. We went shares in
  the supper.

  Here follows a verbatim report of an argument whose only merit is its
  accuracy and representativeness.


               _Scene_: Breakfast in the Hut, July 3, 1911.

  _G. T._ (grabbing a fragment). “This isn’t your bread, Teddy?”

  _Teddy Evans._ “Yes, it is.”

  _G. T._ “Chuck over a bit in your lily-white fingers, Marie!”

  _Marie._ “Now _that’s_ what I call a well-cut piece of bread. It’s
  symmetrical about its axis.”

  _G. T._ “Why don’t you call it by its crystallographic name? It’s an
  _enantiomorph_!”

  _Marie_ (mentally broken up, but stubborn!). “You’re taking refuge as
  usual in long, meaningless words; anyhow, that’s a rotten word; _ante_
  is Latin and _morph_ is Greek. You don’t know _how_ to cut bread.”
  (Then he proceeded to explain how I maltreated the loaf of our
  combined night-watch supper.)

[Illustration: The Night-Watch Supper 3·7·11]

  _G. T._ “I know no one else is interested, but I don’t see why _I_
  shouldn’t bore them also! (Loud cheers.) That bread crust projected
  six inches, and I only ate the overlap. You’ve had all your own
  suppers, and mine too, all the winter, you miserable, cynical
  reactionary. Anyhow, _enantiomorph_ is _all_ Greek, and means
  ‘mirror-reflection.’ So it just suits the case.”

  (Marie subsides, the Owner pushes off to his cubicle, and I proceed to
  tease Ponting. Then the cag is continued in my bunk by Marie _solus_,
  until I cry _pax_.)

  And that’s how the long winter night passes!

  “_July 4._—Have just been ragging ‘Silas’ Wright as an American (?) on
  this auspicious day. Whereupon he fell upon me and succeeded in
  tearing my pocket. It is a snorting day. Wind fifty miles per hour and
  temperature −29° F. I went out for a few minutes with bare hands, and
  it took me about five minutes in the Hut to get them right. Yet it is
  warmer than yesterday, when bare hands were possible. The wind does
  it.”

[Illustration:

  SNOWDRIFT ON CAPE EVANS SHOWING THE DEEP EDDY ON THE WINDWARD SIDE,
    SEPT. 9, 1911.

  The drifts all lie on the south sides of the kenyte boulders. Four
    miles to the south appears Tent Island.
]

[Illustration:

  DEBRIS CONES ON LAND’S END (ONE MILE SOUTH OF THE HUT), SEPT. 9, 1911.

  Each is 30 feet high and due to the weathering of a huge boulder of
    kenyte. In these two specimens the process is only half complete,
    the core of the erratic still remaining. Erebus Glacier on right.

  [See p. 291.
]

  We finished the day with the most exciting experience of the winter.
  Life in the Hut, as will have been gathered, was comfortable enough,
  and with such splendid mates, I felt it so pleasant that I had to keep
  on reminding myself that I was in Antarctica in the middle of the long
  night. Yet occasionally, as on this day, Nature warned us that she was
  not to be trifled with.

  Atkinson and I went off to read Bertram, leaving about 4 p.m. There
  was quite a lot of drift, and we soon lost sight of the Hut, but
  luckily there was no mistaking the Ramp. The end of my nose was nipped
  with −25° F. and the gale of wind. (You can apparently feel something
  “go with a ping,” just as if the blood froze in the end of your nose.)
  Anyhow, it soon got warm again when covered by my mit. It was worse on
  top, and we soon lost sight of all rocks and cones. The wind kept
  fairly steady and we steered by that. After about half an hour I
  counselled return, and we turned back to regain our bearings, and
  after being out an hour and a half we found Bertram. The fusees which
  we carried just burned long enough to read the temperatures (minimum,
  −38°, maximum, −25°).

  We reached the Hut about 6 p.m., and my task was over. Atkinson was so
  pleased with our success that he decided to go off 800 yards to
  Archibald. I tried to dissuade him, but he said he’d be back in twenty
  minutes, and would just return _against the blizzard_, and so couldn’t
  miss the Hut—or at any rate Cape Evans, which extended a quarter of a
  mile each side of the Hut.

  Gran also started to go to “Clarence” about the same time, but
  realized it was impossible, and managed to find Cape Evans again,
  though quite at the wrong place.

  About 7 p.m. Nelson and I went out to have a look round for Atkinson.
  It was very thick but not blowing so hard. We informed Scott of his
  absence, and he immediately organized search parties, realizing better
  than we could the seriousness of the event. Atkinson had been out an
  hour, and we could not imagine what had happened. Day took up tins of
  oil to the top of Cape Evans, and burnt great flares every few minutes
  for hours. Debenham, Gran, and I walked along the top of the low
  cliffs on the Cape with candle lamps.

[Illustration:

  Lost in the blizzard, July 4, 1911.
]

  We felt sure that he must have got to the coast, for it stretches for
  thirty miles along the east, and that he was perhaps sheltering in
  some cranny. We formed a long chain from Cape Evans to Inaccessible
  Isle, and it was only by marking an arrow in the snow that I could
  remember which way safety lay. For the wind had died down, but the
  thick drift and the benumbing cold made us more and more anxious as no
  news came in. From 8.30 till 10 p.m. the blizzard was blowing again,
  and we began to feel hopeless. Captain Scott arranged for two sledge
  parties: one, under Lieutenant Evans, went south along the Glacier
  cliffs for six miles; the other, with Seaman Evans, went north to
  Shackleton’s Hut. They carried tents and sleeping-bags. Wright went
  round the cliffs of Inaccessible Island. Ponting and I searched the
  Cape Barne glacier. We thought he must have fallen into a tide crack
  or sprained his ankle, for now the moon began to show a bit, and at 11
  p.m. it was clearing somewhat. We could see Day’s huge flares on the
  cape from a distance of several miles. Just as we reached the big
  cliff of Barne Glacier two rockets went up, and we knew that he was
  found. We learned that Atkinson was quite dazed, though he had got
  back entirely unassisted, and had not seen any one until he reached
  the Cape Evans cliffs and saw Debenham above him. His right hand was
  badly frostbitten, with huge blisters on each finger—just like a
  condor’s crest.

[Illustration:

  “BLIZZOMETER RECORD” DURING THE SEARCH FOR ATKINSON, JULY 4, 1911.
]

  He had walked off towards Archibald with the blizzard, but halfway
  there turned back, feeling it foolish to persist. He got back quite
  safely to the tide gauge, which was only a stone’s throw from the hut.
  Then he was completely lost. The wind had dropped somewhat. He tried
  to keep it full in his face; and, perhaps, owing to eddies around the
  cape, he must have wandered due west away from the hut and towards the
  open sea. After some hours of helpless wandering, where he had to keep
  moving to prevent his freezing to death, he came to some high cliffs.
  He thought these might be the walls of Inaccessible Island, but there
  is little doubt that he had wandered south now, and was skirting Tent
  Island. He tried to burrow into the snowdrifts here, and so got his
  hand badly frostbitten. Then the moon showed faintly, and he owed his
  life to the fact that he remembered to have seen the moon over Erebus
  (and therefore east) on the preceding night. So he staggered towards
  the moon, and after about an hour and a half he reached Cape Evans,
  and was safe. We had imagined that the blizzard, constantly blowing
  from the south, would have enabled him to steer east to the coast;
  but, owing to lulls and to eddies, and finally to his dazed condition,
  he lost all sense of direction, and would have undoubtedly perished
  but for the moon. The search parties got in by 2 a.m., and then the
  blizzard fury increased nearly to gale strength, and continued all
  next day. It was only during the six hours while Atkinson was lost
  that it lulled sufficiently to permit of any one venturing away from
  land. If it had kept up to its original or final strength, we might
  easily have had other casualties in the search parties.

  The recital of dreams, as furnishing outside interests of a sort, was
  occasionally tolerated in the hut. I wonder if most people go through
  my dream evolution? As a child, a feeling of terror, often that
  primitive idea of falling and never hitting anything, which is a
  survival of tree life. Later, the growth of a belief that the dreamer
  himself never gets hurt. And then in the late ’teens the comfortable
  realization that it’s only a dream, to be followed by “dreams within
  dreams”; and, finally, at the age of thirty by logical reasoning while
  dreaming.

  I noted that we had been south six months before I began to dream of
  snow and ice, and this perhaps is of psychological interest. In one
  dream “I was climbing up above Grindelwald, aided by a New Zealand
  guide, in company with Dr. Bill. We got ‘bushed’ on a high peak near a
  hay-stack. I had a talk with Dr. Bill, in which I said that I had
  dreamt that the guide was going to take us down an easy way, which he
  wanted to keep dark, as he’d discovered it and wanted to keep it for
  _rich_ tourists. We both smiled at this fool dream. Then I really
  awoke, and I suppose my sub-conscious self is still smiling on
  ‘Haystack Mountain’ in the Grindelwald!”

  The ponies were snugly housed in the stable along the lee side of the
  hut. Their stable was built of the blocks of compressed fuel, and was
  quite a snug abode. They were rather vicious little beggars, and a
  walk down the narrow “aisle” meant a risk of a bite or a kick. Oates
  and Meares spent a lot of time in the stable making blubber and seal
  pemmican for the dogs. The western party had nothing to do with the
  ponies, for only those who were leading the ponies _south_ were
  responsible for exercising them. In midwinter some “fearful wild fowl”
  took cover in their shaggy coats, and occasioned Captain Oates much
  trouble.

  I noted this in my journal as follows—


  “Baron Bernard du Day, Messenger from Captain Titos _Oates_.

  “Greetings to _Debenham_.

  “Wilt thou peril thyself so far as to visit the stable, and for
  payment of one straight-cut cigarette an hour, comb the manes of ye
  Siberian ponies to catch ye intrepid and adventurous louse?

  “Debenham meekly leaves his rock sections, and hies him hence!”


  Some of the game from the Pony Coverts was exhibited by Atkinson under
  his microscope. They resembled white ants in wind-helmets! No legs
  appeared in the specimen, so I asked if they had been worn off in the
  chase, but the indignant exhibitor was silent.

  During the autumn another grotto had been added to our outlying
  villas. This had been cut out in the glacieret to house Wright’s
  pendulums. We called it the “Cave of Pendullum.” It was usually
  drifted up, and we had to cut down to the sacking door, being careful
  not to chop the telephone wires. Inside, in one corner, was the
  telephone box, well crusted with ice, through which he could hear the
  ticking of the sidereal clock in the hut. There was also a delicate
  apparatus from the Cavendish Laboratory at Cambridge to register the
  “ionization of the air,” and a microscope and micro-camera. On an ice
  bench was the chief instrument, a stand carrying four short pendulums.
  Each was mounted on an agate knife-edge, and was surmounted by a
  mirror. The time of swing of these pendulums was very delicately
  measured, and gave the _pull of gravity_ at Cape Evans, thus leading
  to an estimate of the shape of the earth.

  This account is somewhat brief, and this is explained in my journal as
  follows: “This description has been greatly interrupted by the
  irruptions and incursions of the Anti-Feminist, who _will_ pour out
  his antiquated views on ‘Woman’s Mission in Life’ into the unwilling
  ears of Debenham and myself. His only semi-sane argument is, that as
  all laws rest on an appeal to force, and as men are physically
  stronger than women, therefore men must protect, must rule, and
  (apparently) therefore must control and administer all the laws! The
  rest is pure selfishness.”

  Tuesday (11th July) was Jam Day, as I write with glee. There are two
  articles of diet to which I am not particularly addicted, and they are
  cheese and sardines. We got cheese _solus_ for four lunches a week,
  and sardines every night-watch. So that I used to reckon by Tuesdays!
  I proceeded to translate German glaciology as usual, but unfortunately
  Debenham and Nelson started a cag on the merits or demerits of
  Australian tennis champions; and when that was over we had another as
  to which was the worst storm in the _Terra Nova_. Nelson said it took
  place off Cape Town, Wright said off St. Paul, Atkinson said south of
  New Zealand. All this talk occurred in our cubicle, and as Debenham
  and I had not experienced the two earlier excitements, we were not
  violently interested, and tried to push the debaters out, with
  complete lack of success. I did very little German!

  On the 12th of July we had a record blizzard. For over twelve hours
  its mean velocity was above forty miles per hour, and it rose above
  seventy miles per hour at 9.15, 11.15, and 5.30. At 9.15 p.m. it
  fairly boomed over the hut. Luckily the hut is so surrounded by
  “lean-tos” and great snowdrifts that the wind is led gradually on to
  the Hut, else it would surely have blown us into the sea.

  This blizzard was accompanied by relatively high temperatures. It
  roared all that day, but after lunch, on 13th, I write: “... it is
  getting cooler; none of that oppressive heat of +8° F. (24 degrees of
  frost), and is now much nicer (-7°); so that the leaks have stopped,
  after damping Gran’s mattress considerably.” The lunch was evidently
  cheese, so that I confined my attention to brown bread, dripping, and
  cocoa. We were able to leave the Hut in the afternoon, and walked up
  to Bertram. Skua Lake was so brilliant, I thought at first it had
  melted, but it was merely polished like plate-glass by the furious
  drift.

[Illustration:

  The Twin Glaciers (copied from diary, July 15, 1911).
]

  Teddie Evans had been engaged for some days on plotting the chart of
  Dry Valley on the first western journey. He made a fine drawing, with
  “form-lines” inserted, so that the shape of the glacial valley showed
  up splendidly. Captain Scott, Evans, and myself discussed the naming
  of the new glaciers, etc., now first charted. We had given some of
  them provisional names on our journey, and the Owner chaffed me
  somewhat, but said he didn’t mind a bit. There were two distinct
  glaciers included in the Ferrar Glacier, which Scott had named in
  1903. He asked me if the one entering Dry Valley was going to be
  described as a type; and I said that its exposed bed was probably
  unique in Antarctica. Then he said, “We’ll call it the Taylor
  Glacier.” So that on 15th July I became a cartographic entity!

  One of the most interesting paragraphs in the German tome through
  which I was laboriously wading tended to show that the world was
  approaching another Ice Age rather than leaving it behind.

  In the Swiss Alps the Germans have shown that there were no less than
  four Ice Ages included under the last glacial epoch, separated into
  three inter-glacial periods. The general temperatures can be obtained
  by studying the depression in the snowline and the position of the
  moraines in these four Ice Ages. It really looks as if we were now in
  an _inter-glacial period_, rather than permanently free from glacial
  conditions. However, the next Ice Age is seventeen thousand years off,
  even by the lowest computation.

[Illustration: The future Ice-age 18.7.11]

[Illustration:

  Similar reversal of the steam banner of Erebus at noon, May 1, 1911.
]

  I was able to make a characteristic sketch of Erebus on the 18th July.
  The steam cloud extended across an arc of 90°, and appeared to be
  drifting _to_ the south. The banner was possibly a hundred miles long.
  On the surface there was a cool southerly wind, in just the opposite
  direction. Several fine undulations showed in this banner, and at
  times a hummock of steam over the crater pointed to extensive
  outbursts of vapour. Far to the south the banner was very faint, and
  reminded one of the Milky Way.

  The dawn colours were very beautiful. We were not to see the sun for
  over a month, but over his position were belts of crimson lake, dull
  red and green, with pale blue above.

  Sometimes the dogs would accompany us up the Ramp. Atkinson and I went
  up to read Bertram on the 21st, while Stareek and Tsigane trotted
  alongside. The latter is quite sociable, while Stareek, one of the
  leaders, is one of the most imperturbable. According to Atch, he has
  been seen admonishing Tsigane for his undignified behaviour!

  These walks were good exercise, but the weather was getting colder
  (though midwinter was past) and −35° was quite common. My first
  occupation on reaching the Hut was to go and hold my head over the
  stove. After some minutes the lumps of frozen breath which surrounded
  my mouth would melt somewhat, and I was able to free my beard from the
  flannel of my helmet!

  After Church service on the following Sunday (23rd), Ponting gave an
  exhibition of cinema pictures in his dark room. It was a very select
  show, as there was only room for an audience of four! His films were
  _negatives_, so that the black and white were reversed. Under these
  circumstances the seals appeared white and more slug-like than ever,
  while the white shadows following the penguins were most uncanny.
  While we were in the dark room Simpson called out that the wind was
  still rising. It reached eighty-four miles per hour at 8 p.m., which
  was the record during the first winter, though this was easily beaten
  in 1912.

  The 26th of July was a splendid day, and without doubt marked the
  return of daylight. Simpson and I visited Bertram and were able to
  read the thermometers without recourse to fusees. We marched on the
  Erebus Glacier some distance, and found numerous pot-holes in it, due
  to stones sinking therein. On our return I continued plotting the
  chart of the Koettlitz Glacier. Wright is obtaining interesting
  results from his ice sections by “rubbings” of the ice striæ with a
  soft pencil. These photograph quite well.

  We were well stocked with books in the Hut. Almost every officer had
  taken down some standard novels in addition to a few text-books, and
  curiously enough there was very little overlapping. For instance
  Cherry had a row of Kipling’s works which almost all of us
  appreciated, Day had Dickens, Debenham had four or five poets, and
  more popular still—a collection of thirty “paper-back sixpennies,”
  which every one was always borrowing. He kept them in a box under his
  elevated bunk, and I remember one evening after we had turned in, some
  one came into our cubicle and started burrowing about. Debenham said,
  “Now then, what are you after down there?” A voice replied, “Where do
  you keep those sixpenny novels, Debenham?” It was Scott, who couldn’t
  sleep, and wanted some light literature!

  I had two or three of Wells, Browning, Tennyson, and “Martin
  Chuzzlewit.” However, though _my_ library was small, I used the
  official library more than any one! I have mentioned elsewhere the
  splendid little library of standard fiction presented largely by Mr.
  Reginald Smith. This consisted of about 250 portable volumes published
  by Smith, Elder and Co., and by Nelsons. There were Merriman’s,
  Brontë’s, and Conan Doyle’s, and all the shilling editions of
  noteworthy books by authors like Gosse and Belloc. Mr. Mackellar gave
  us many other volumes, especially some small art books. These lived in
  Day’s bunk. Then Admirals Markham and Beaumont presented us with many
  rare copies of books on Polar Exploration. These were constantly being
  read, especially by Bowers, whose lectures on sledging rations and
  polar clothing led him to read every word. Candidly I must admit that
  it was not cheering—when the blizzards were booming over the hut and
  all was dark around us—to read of Greeley’s awful suffering in the
  Arctic, where forty out of fifty men perished; or of the loss of the
  _Jeannette_ and her crew in Siberia; but still the volumes were always
  being referred to by one or other of the officers.

  We had several larger books, Haydn’s “Dictionary of Dates,” which
  didn’t seem to be much troubled, and Harmsworth’s Encyclopedia, which
  was always in demand. Cherry had the large _Times_ Atlas, and we had
  Paul’s “History of the 19th Century,” and Harmsworth’s “History of the
  World.” Oates brought along Napier’s “Peninsular War,” and rarely
  seemed to read or need aught else. I had a bet with him that I would
  finish Paul’s six volumes before he had read through Napier. However,
  neither was completed, though Oates was a long way ahead! Scott had a
  shelf of poets and a number of foreign novelists, chiefly Russian and
  Polish.

  I had finished all the lighter literature in about three months, and
  thereafter was able to advise some of the others as to works meriting
  their fleeting attention! It occurred to me that it would be amusing
  to try and discover the tastes of the fifteen officers of the hut.
  Books were naturally often discussed. Oates must have been reading
  some of Merriman, for I find that Simpson took exception to his praise
  of the latter’s works on meteorological grounds! This seems rough on
  Merriman; but Simpson said it was not possible to see the _midnight
  sun_ at Tver, and he also objected to the wrong use of the word
  _parhelion_. I’m afraid I’d missed these “professional errors,” but I
  remember what seemed a serious flaw to _me_ in Davis’ “Soldiers of
  Fortune” (otherwise a rattling yarn), was the author’s weird
  geological description in the first chapter! Similarly we expected
  Captain Scott and Seaman Evans to revel in Kipling’s sea yarns,
  whereas they were not enthusiastic. Both made the same criticism;
  Evans saying that there seemed to be a lot made about a little, and
  that, “anyway things isn’t so concentrated-like in the Navy!”

  I hope living authors, if they ever read this, will rise superior to
  our criticism! Debenham didn’t like “Kipps”; in fact, except for
  Wright I couldn’t get a word in favour of Wells. Even Nelson, who
  liked reading “Anne Veronica,” declared it was a piece of satire from
  beginning to end, in which Wells was obviously gibing at his readers!
  The only book Nelson and I liked in common was Gissing’s “Born in
  Exile,” and I grieve to state that the “Owner” characterized this as
  “Tosh!” “Richard Yea and Nay” is loved by Debenham. I couldn’t read
  it, and declared it was not free from gross errors. (_Pace_ Hewlett!)
  Challenged thereon, I said I had visited the castle at Gisors, and
  that it was still a well-preserved ruin, whereas in the novel it is
  “_razed to the ground_.” This, of course, led to a cag on the meaning
  of the word _razed_, in which all the hut took part, and I’ve no
  recollection as to who was supposed to have won! Any Canadian novel
  that was appreciated by one man, would be caustically slated by
  Wright. I think we were all better at criticism than appreciation.
  Chambers’ “Fighting Chance” was damned “because the hero kisses a girl
  under water”!

  However, as a result we began to get some idea as to each other’s
  tastes in literature. I was a sort of referee, in that Ponting, Day,
  Debenham, Wright, and Simpson, would sometimes read a book on my
  recommendation, while Meares, Oates, and Nelson, always went for what
  I didn’t like!

  We had very strong winds about this time, and were very anxious to
  know how the Cape Crozier party were progressing. They were due back,
  and had had awful weather judging by our experience. On the 29th
  Atkinson and I made our usual excursion up the Ramp to “Bertram.”
  There was no drift, but the wind rose to fifty miles per hour at
  times. We could hardly keep up on the ice, and I was actually blown
  bodily off the little cone on which Bertram was erected. Later we went
  out to “Archibald,” letting the wind blow us there. Scott said he saw
  us start, and when he looked again in a few minutes we “were mere dots
  on the horizon!”

  But it was not so easy getting back, and I only managed it by bending
  double and watching our outward tracks.

  On the 1st of August I went on night-watch at 8 p.m. Most of the men
  were turning in, when Hooper called out, “Here’s the Cape Crozier
  party.” So we all rushed out and there were the three of them. Cherry
  staggered in looking like nothing human. “He had on a big nose-guard
  covering all but his eyes, and huge icicles and frost stuck out like
  duck’s bills from his lips! They had been away five weeks and a day,
  and it had been hell all the time practically. After leaving Meares
  and Sunny Jim, they had pushed on and camped four miles this side of
  the 1902 Hut. The next day they camped on the Barrier. There had been
  but little snow on the sea-ice, though a snowdrift led them up on to
  Barrier. Here awful soft snow began, and it was very cold. They had to
  relay most of the way, and sometimes even with one sledge they could
  hardly get a move on. It was like pulling in soft sand, and often they
  only seemed to be marking time.

  “It took them three weeks to get to Cape Crozier, and they remained
  there ten days. They were unable to get any blubber and had to return
  when only one tin of oil was left. Blizzards held them up off Mount
  Terror, and here Birdie is credited with sleeping three days and
  nights (bar meals). The other two didn’t! They spent three days
  building a stone igloo, and pitched the tent to leeward. A tremendous
  blizzard came up and blew their tent away! They had now a poor chance
  of getting back, and proposed to dig snow holes each night and cover
  themselves over with the floor cloth. Luckily they found the tent a
  quarter of a mile away, just on top of the sea cliff! They had camped
  just south of the big cliff under which we had rowed in January, 1911.

  “All the ice blew off the Ross Sea with the force of the blizzard.
  They were only able to get down to the Emperor penguins on one day.
  These were nesting—if such it can be called—on a piece of old sea-ice
  between the cliffs of Cape Crozier and the high Barrier Ice. They had
  to crawl down between the Barrier and the Rock Cliffs, and here Birdie
  stuck as his clothes had frozen so stiff! There were only a hundred
  penguins there, instead of 1000 as they had expected. They spent two
  hours getting down and could only carry away six eggs, of which three
  broke. Cherry says his mits were made warmer thereby! The temperature
  was down to −77° F. (a sledging record) and often below −60° F. Their
  sleeping-bags froze stiff, and they couldn’t roll them up, while
  Cherry’s was too big and never thawed except where he touched it;
  moreover, they tore badly when they were getting into them.

  “On their return they could only make one mile on the first day, and
  Birdie went down a crevasse to the length of his harness. They managed
  to get him up by a bowline on the alpine rope. On the last three
  nights Cherry said that no one slept. They used to doze on the march
  and over their meals, but were too cold in the bags. On emerging from
  their tents they had to be careful to hold their heads as they would
  bear them later, for their clothes froze and held them like a coat of
  mail!”

  About three miles to the south lay _Tent_ Island; so called because in
  1904 the men cutting a canal through the ice had their tent there.
  Atkinson and I walked over there early in August, to see if we could
  find his belt, which he had lost on July 4th. I carried a plane-table
  to continue my survey of these islands. It was extraordinary to see
  footprints in the gravel, which must have been made by Priestley in
  1907, though they looked as fresh as my own.

  We visited Clarence on our return, and found it to be much less
  imposing than Archibald or Bertram. Merely a little box at sea-level,
  containing two thermometers, but no stand or cairn. It was getting
  gloomy and we just returned in time, for Atkinson’s feet were pretty
  well gone in his old finnesko.

  It is a queer fact that both Atkinson and myself dreamed that the Cape
  Crozier party were returning on the night before they arrived. In _my_
  dream I modestly went out and pulled their sledge back. However, I
  don’t think we published their approach on the strength of these
  dreams, else we might have claimed some credit for our superior
  intelligence!

  When there was no wind it was quite pleasant strolling about by the
  light of the moon. In the long winter night it was cheering to realize
  that we could tell _where_ the sun was even if we hadn’t seen him for
  over three months, for the moon’s brighter face of course points to
  the sun. This comforting deduction led to the following astronomical
  effusion in _S.P.T._:—

                          THE ERRANT SUN.

                        Throughout the night,
                        Nor life nor light,
                          E’er chases gloom away;
                        But still the moon
                        Foretells full soon,
                          Arrival of the day.
                        For each bright ray
                        Shot to the day,
                          By Luna’s silver bow,
                        Transfixes straight
                        Her lucent mate,
                          The errant sun below.

  I wrote at the foot for Dr. Bill’s edification—

  “If your artist can rise to the occasion will he please illustrate
  this poem (_sic_) with a sketch?” and to this note there hangs a tale
  as shall appear later.

  Wright and I went off for a tramp towards Inaccessible Island. We came
  across some of the queer snow stalactites which I called “Cold Feet.”
  They were due to snow collecting on the ends of icicles where they
  were somewhat sticky. The snow built out a “foot” to windward, and
  they looked exactly like long white stockings.

  Near the big icebergs Gran pointed out to us an Emperor penguin and
  yelled to us to kill it. On approaching it, however, it objected
  strongly, having legs and arms and answering to the name of Lieutenant
  Evans!

  The pressure of the sea-ice had raised great ridges of ice around
  Inaccessible Island. Some cakes of ice were most precariously perched
  on the top of these six-foot hummocks. The queer structures resulting
  from the buckling and cracking of this six-foot thick sheet of ice
  reminded the geologists very strongly of the type diagrams used to
  illustrate the major folds and earthquake cracks in the earth’s crust.

  On the 4th of August we made a real start for the summer campaign by
  taking the two motor sledges out of their winter quarters. “It was
  frightfully heavy work and took about twenty of us to move one a foot.
  I wouldn’t care to go over a snow-lidded crevasse in one.”

  Simpson gave us a good lecture on General Meteorology in the
  Antarctic.

  I thought Simpson didn’t lay enough stress on the purely _local_
  character of our storms. I said that he reminded me of a minnow living
  behind a stone in a big river, wildly excited over every eddy and
  paying more attention to them than to the river as a whole. This “cag”
  between the scientists greatly delighted certain of the ribald, and
  Simpson was referred to as the “minnow in the eddy” for some time
  thereafter.

  The usual occupations filled our time during the first fortnight of
  August. I was busy mapping the vicinity, translating German geology,
  calculating sledge stores, and writing a long article on the Inmates
  of the Hut for _S.P.T._ On the 14th I wrote, “To-day is a beautiful
  day, with a temperature of −38° F.; but with no wind, so that one can
  stay out quite comfortably. It is very light now, for the sun is due
  in five or six days. Erebus is very active, and is puffing up big
  gouts of steam. Debenham measured one which rose 4000 feet in ten
  seconds! The banner then sweeps south and east. It is lit up by the
  hidden sun in a most beautiful manner. I say the colour is tawny, Atch
  says russet, Birdie burnt sienna, while Bill says it’s a mixture of
  vermilion and yellow ochre! Anyway it is very pretty, and Debenham
  says he can see inside the crater.”

[Illustration]

  Through falling into a small crevasse I found some beautiful ice
  crystals above the Ramp. Later I turned up some slabs of ice which had
  covered old water channels and their lower surfaces were sparkling
  with beautiful basket crystals half an inch across. In some cases
  these were branched like candelabra. Wright managed to photo some of
  them satisfactorily, for unlike our rock collections, _his_ specimens
  were extremely fragile and hard to preserve. I renovated my smaller
  camera which had suffered so in the gale. After I fitted it with a
  simple “flip-flap” tin shutter, this piece of apparatus was always
  called the mousetrap.

  By this time most of the diarists had lost their early enthusiasm. The
  Owner wrote an hour or two each day. Gran and myself were probably the
  most voluminous writers. Debenham, Cherry, Wilson, and Simpson also
  kept records; but most of the others affected to despise diaries.
  Wright would bring his along once a fortnight, sometime when I was
  engaged on mine, and look through it for references to himself. We
  often went for a walk together (invariably towards the Erebus
  Glacier), so his diary was often something like this—

                  Aug. 1.—Went up the Ramp with G. T.
                   „   2.—Ditto.
                   „   3.—Ditto.
                   „   4.—No entry.

  I suggested he should fill in his blank days with “Did _not_ go up the
  Ramp with G. T.”! The “illiterate” took a great, if transitory,
  interest in our labours. Birdie seeing me stuck for copy on August 13
  sang out, “Write—Turned in, turned out; ditto, ditto. That’ll fill
  your diary!” Atkinson assisted as follows: “On night-watch; slept till
  10.30; woke up and was very pleased to see Atkinson, because he’s such
  a good fellow!” Cherry’s quota, “We have many cags on scientific
  subjects and so acquire much merit.” While Uncle Bill, with a merry
  twinkle, added, “And next week we’ll get on to some serious work!”

  I think the seamen enjoyed life in the Hut as much as any of us. The
  night watches must have pleased them immensely. To see a weary officer
  nodding and shivering all through the night, while they were snugly
  rolled in blankets and enjoying an uninterrupted night’s rest, was
  just the state of things they would appreciate! As I have noted
  already, some of them unconsciously imitated Kipling’s Emanuel Pycroft
  in “Bonds of Discipline,” feeling they might never have the
  opportunity of reprimanding an officer again, they would pour out
  (from the shelter of a bed curtain) the vials of their wrath on any
  unlucky watchman who fell over the fire-irons or discomposed their
  slumbers! It is fair to state that in the next winter they cheerfully
  took on night watches, and were quite equal to reading all the
  meteorological instruments.

  The 15th was a rather threatening morning; the wind coming from the
  west, which was most unusual. “Debenham says this implies a blizzard.
  Every one has a different theory of blizzard forecasting. Mine is
  simple! If you’ve had four days fine, you’re sure to get a blizzard!
  This works well in winter.”

  “Last night we had an addition to our Antarctic family. Innumerable
  pups accrued to us, descendants of our long-haired collie, ‘Lady,’ and
  the Siberian dog, ‘Beely-glass.’ They occupy a corner of the stable,
  and add life to our ménage. Julik went off some time ago, and is
  undoubtedly lost; though it is difficult to see how, unless he got
  into a deep crack. The other day Peary and Cook and another dog
  (harnessed to the cook’s light sledge) bolted. They tipped Clissold
  into the tide crack, and made for Cape Royds. Luckily, Atkinson
  managed to catch them. Tsigane, Peary, and Cook are the only dogs I’d
  care to take back.” The others were too unsociable, and though by no
  means savage when well fed, they were little interested in their
  owners’ doings, and exhibited none of the so-called dog-like
  affection.

  Wright and I walked south over Cape Evans, and above the curious belt
  of moraine, which we called Land’s End. It was pretty cold, for Evans
  found the mercury frozen that day at Clarence; but as there was no
  wind this did not affect us after the exercise made us warm. Sometimes
  one could feel one’s nose “go with a ping,” as if the blood had really
  solidified in one’s veins. But vigorous rubbing and nursing in the
  warm palm of one’s hand usually restored circulation. As long as one’s
  heat energy was abundant there was no risk; but when vitality was low,
  through fatigue and hunger, frostbite was certain in any cold
  extremity.

  As we walked over the Erebus Glacier we noted numerous circular dark
  patches in the ice. These exhibited maze-like patterns (arabesques),
  and marked where stones had sunk through the ice. There were no stones
  visible on the surface, and no source of supply, so that either these
  were very ancient, or else they were due to the effect of the sun on
  stones deep buried _in_ the glacier ice. The Land’s End Ridge was a
  mile long and only a hundred yards wide. It was most precariously
  placed between the glacier and the deep sea, and was perched on a line
  of cliffs which were just uncovered by the retreat of the glacier.

  Monoliths of kenyte lava and ash (tuff) were scattered along the
  moraine. Great debris cones, capped by huge unweathered blocks of
  kenyte, rose to thirty or forty feet high. The Land’s End cliffs
  abutted on the crevassed piedmont glacier to the south, and from their
  150 feet elevation we could see the curving crevasses crossing the
  glacier, and could determine that the “ice caves” were but these
  crevasses seen in vertical section on the ice front.

  To the south extended a fine view of Turk’s Head, and the long
  promontory to the Hut Point. We returned towards our hut, and
  attempted to reach the sea-ice from the moraine. In the dim twilight
  we judged that there was a twenty-foot gully between us and what
  looked like an iceberg. When we dropped into it, it was only four feet
  deep! So deceptive is a snow surface in the absence of light and
  shade.

  The next day was cold again (-35°), and Gran and I climbed
  Inaccessible Island. I carried a theodolite, and fixed it on the top
  (521 feet). It was awfully cold work. I had to remove my fur gloves,
  and my fingers “went” very soon, and standing still made my toes lose
  feeling also. By the end of an hour I could do no more, and was so
  numb that I could not put the theodolite back properly in its case. My
  fingers and toes ached badly all the way home, but had recovered on
  arrival.

  I went out to the rubbish pile and commandeered enough material for a
  book-binding kit. I bound up some glacial pamphlets into two pieces of
  “venesta wood” from a packing case. The rest of the case made the
  sewing frame. Two iron clamps, lent me by Simpson, made the press,
  while I had found a queer residue in the glue pot, which I used in
  default of better. Towelling for head border, and tent cloth for the
  back completed it. Next day I wrote _Hoc Pegit_ in what is probably
  the first book professionally stitched and bound in boards in
  Antarctica.

  Atkinson gave us a clear and concise account of scurvy, from which I
  gather that our chances of seeing any are few.

    LECTURE ON SCURVY

    BY ATKINSON

    _History_: Scurvy was a dread disease about the end of the 18th
    century. Anson lost 300 out of 500 men from scurvy in 1795, but
    about that time Blaine introduced the use of lime juice, and since
    then it is practically unknown in our navy.

    _Symptoms_: It is a general non-febrile disease, and not contagious.
    It is marked by mental depression, syncope, and debility, and the
    morbid blood arising often causes characteristic patches on gums,
    thighs, etc., like bruises. Atkinson modestly ascribed the cure to
    the Naval Medical Corps (loud cheers!). He said that immunity was
    possible, and was assisted by plenty of lemons and other vegetables
    (_sic!_).

    _Detection_: Ralph found that if you gave too much acids to animals
    they got scurvy, and Wright also believes it is a form of acid
    intoxication. Serum is obtained from the clotted blood of the
    patient. This should be alkaline in reaction, and its alkalinity is
    tested by neutralizing it with various strengths of sulphuric acid.
    Thus ¹⁄₃₀ or ¹⁄₅₀ normal strength of acid should be neutralized by
    alkaline serum. If only ¹⁄₉₀ normal acid (N)/(90) is necessary to
    neutralize, then “you have your scurvy.”

    _Prevention_: Fresh meat alone does not prevent scurvy, since they
    had plenty of horse in the siege of Paris, and yet suffered heavily.
    Possibly it is too acid. Fresh vegetables seem to contain an
    alkaline salt which is helpful, and possibly sodium lactate is a
    useful drug. Nansen, however, believed in change of diet as being
    very helpful.

  In the discussion Uncle Bill said that many of the symptoms noticed
  after sledging were purely due to the lowering of tone. If one entered
  upon hut life gradually by living for a day in the annexe you wouldn’t
  feel funny feelings in your toes! “I asked if a vegetarian diet would
  do down here? We have no fresh vegetables, but we have bread, butter,
  cocoa, sugar, jam, porridge, tinned fruit, tinned milk and cheese. (I
  lived on a less varied diet in Cambridge, only I still don’t enjoy the
  cheese lunches where the pungent stilton stalks around, and the
  exclusives have to collect together and wave the phantom off.) Bowers
  said that Bill developed spots on his face on the Crozier journey; but
  Bill swore they were beard sprouts. Birdie had been nodding a bit, so
  I said he was evidently scorbutic, as he exhibited a tendency to
  syncope, deposit of fat, and an inflamed head (a cruel hit at his red
  hair). Ponting had been listening anxiously to the doctor’s criticisms
  of sausages, and various potted meats, and then read us a cable he had
  received in November announcing that a friend meant to send a half ton
  of sausages by the Relief!”

  On Saturday night (19th August) we experienced the maximum wind
  pressure of the winter. “It rose from forty-five miles per hour to
  eighty-six miles in one fell shriek.” There was such heavy drift that
  it blew through the outer walls (of cases) and filled the annexe. The
  temperature had risen astonishingly, for we found “Bertram”
  registering +½° F., whereas a day or two before mercury was freezing!
  The blizzards were sometimes accompanied by a sort of “foehn” wind
  warming affect, and nearly always raised the temperature slightly.
  They swept away the stagnant heavy cold air which collected at
  sea-level, and which normally surrounded the Hut.

  The 21st of August was a calm, clear day. The sun was due in a day or
  two now. Nelson was having some trouble with his soundings at the
  “Igloo.” So seven of us marched out to help him free his rope. It was
  quite a procession, Nelson going first to fix a block and tackle
  (pronounced _taikle_!) on his obdurate rope. Then Atkinson and
  Clissold—who worked the fish trap, and so were professionals in such
  jobs—walked along in a dignified way. Then long Day on ski, followed
  by Debenham also on ski, and causing some amusement by his “croppers.”
  Finally, “Trigger” Gran started long after us, and “flapping” along on
  his ski easily caught us up. I could easily keep up over a couple of
  miles without ski, but over a longer distance there is no doubt as to
  the advantage of the ski. We all hauled on the “taikle,” and so broke
  Nelson’s rope away from the bottom, where it seemed to have frozen in.
  Then dropping the “earth” wire of his telephone circuit into the water
  I rang up Simpson in the hut, and heard him with great ease through
  the bare aluminium surface wire.

  Debenham and I climbed Inaccessible Isle to try and see the sun first.
  We went up by the usual route, but had to kick steps in the thick snow
  which now covered the gravel slopes. There is a magnificent windblown
  gravel ridge on the lee side of Inaccessible Isle. The blizzards shoot
  _up_ the southern face and drop their dust contents beyond the central
  notch on the northern slope in the form of a long ridge about fifty
  feet high.

[Illustration: The wind-ridge on Inaccessible Isle, with tracks 21·8·11]

  We obtained a fine view of the western cwm valleys below Mount Lister
  from this elevation (520 feet). To the north we could see a bright
  glow over the Barne Glacier and good sun shadows on Mount Lister, the
  first time for four months! But we did not see the sun’s disc at all.

  The sun was due on August 22, so it was natural that a blizzard should
  spoil all chances of seeing him! We took him on trust to the extent of
  champagne at lunch, when Scott toasted Lieutenant Campbell’s birthday
  also.

  “A snorting blizzard; never saw such thick drift. It wet one, so that
  one’s hands froze in no time. None went outside the hut.”

  The table resembled a grocer’s shop from now on, for Birdie started
  bagging provisions for the sledge journeys. Pemmican was taken out of
  the tins, broken up, and bagged first, and then cocoa, butter, sugar,
  in fact everything but biscuit, which was left in the 40-lb. tins as
  sent to us.

  “2.30 a.m. on the 24th.—It is now my night-watch, and I have finished
  making the slides for my next lecture; I have read M. Beaucaire, had
  two slices of toast, gone on the roof and cleaned out the blizzometer
  tubes, and washed my feet. The sooner 3.30 arrives (and Nelson with
  it) the better!

  “In two months we shall be away on the veldt again. I have lots of
  prints to make, and must continue my German and physiography; but I
  have done about as much as I intended, and found the winter a very
  pleasant and busy time. It is wonderful how exhilarating a fine day
  is, though the last few days have been the limit.”

  Next day it was still blizzing, with the temperature up to +11°! The
  drift was lower, and Nelson managed to get out to his igloo on the
  sea-ice.

  Captain Scott asked Debenham and myself to map Cape Evans in
  considerable detail; while Lieutenant Evans carried out the coast
  survey and Wright obtained heights and ice-cliff data. As a result
  Debenham and I were out with our plane tables fairly continuously in
  the next few weeks and got to know almost every rock upon our little
  promontory.

  Wright and I climbed the Ramp in our anxiety to see if the sun was
  still alive! but without avail. The clouds on Erebus were worthy of
  note. During the day huge billows collected to the south below the
  summit, and at 7 p.m. these disappeared, and the steam cloud (which
  had hardly showed before) shot up several thousand feet and then
  spread out as a banner to the _north_. This latter direction was
  unusual, as the upper air currents usually went due _south_.

  On our return we found that Simpson had seen the rim of the sun about
  3 p.m. from Wind Vane Hill (at noon it was hidden by the Barne
  Glacier), so that the meteorologist was the first to welcome His
  Majesty’s return.

  On the 24th I gave a lantern lecture on Polar and Temperate
  Glaciation. As usual Ponting kindly made most of the lantern slides
  and operated the lantern. Afterwards he showed us some of his
  magnificent Swiss slides.

  On the 26th I managed to improvise a satisfactory plane-table from a
  telescope tripod and my drawing board. We had a spare sight-ruler, and
  with this primitive instrument I successfully mapped my section of
  Cape Evans.

  We could always orient on far distant peaks, such as the Matterhorn,
  fifty miles north-west; or Castle Rock, twelve miles south; and this
  saved a lot of trouble with the usual “three-point resection” method.
  I climbed up the Ramp and read “Bertram.” I could see the sun shining
  on Inaccessible Isle, and even on Hut Point far to the south, but it
  would need to get considerably higher before it illumined the Ramp.
  Lieut. Evans was setting up signal flags on the prominent debris
  cones, and we returned together _viâ_ the “Slippery Slopes,” Evans
  justifying the name!

  “Just before I reached the Hut I felt exactly like Peter Pan, and saw
  that I had regained my shadow! I walked up to Wind Vane Hill, and
  there was the old sun showing half his disc over Cape Barne Glacier!
  About 2 p.m. I went out with the ‘mousetrap’ camera, and took some
  photos to celebrate the event. I gave four seconds (with F. 45) on
  snow banks, etc., lit by the low-lying sun. This was too much, I
  believe, but the photos were fairly satisfactory and worth the trouble
  considering when they were taken.”

  Wilson reported some queer algæ deposits above Gully Bay, so we went
  off to investigate them. There were two layers (about fifty feet above
  the glacieret) in the soft kenyte gravel. I had little doubt that they
  were lake algæ which had grown when the water was held in by a larger
  ancestor of the present glacieret. Just to the west were beautiful
  examples of these ice-dammed lakelets, with “Glenroy terraces” marking
  various contours on their shores, just as in the historic Glenroy
  region in Scotland. Only in these Antarctic specimens the ice dams are
  still evident, whereas their absence in Scotland made the origin of
  the Scotch terraces a puzzle for many years.

  I have made frequent mention of the debris cones on the Ramp. Their
  origin was often discussed by Scott, Wilson, Debenham, Wright, and
  myself. Scott and Wilson believed they were dumped over at re-entrant
  angles in a bygone ice-barrier wall. Debenham compared them to the
  cones and hollows we had seen over in the western moraines and thought
  they were due to the melting of submarine ice. Wright and I believed
  them to be due to the weathering of huge erratics.

[Illustration:

  LAKELETS OF CAPE EVANS, SEPT. 29, 1911.

  Due to glacierets of drifted snow forming across small gulleys. (The
    drifts are always blown to the north.) These ice dams explain the
    formation of Glenroy Terraces, Scotland. The rugged outcrops of
    Kenyte Lava run chiefly east and west. The Tunnel Berg in the
    sea-ice appears to the west.
]

  On the 27th Gran and I made the rather obvious test of cutting one
  open. It was six feet high and lay just on the edge of the steep slope
  of the Ramp, whence all debris would slip down the Ramp and save
  cartage. The upper face was a friable dry gravel. We heaved out two
  huge blocks the size of a man’s body and found them fitting into other
  blocks of the same rock. We cleared away the top portion of one half,
  and then came to a huge block evidently extending to the foot of the
  cone and right through it. All this was frozen stiff into the kenyte
  soil of the Ramp, and it was beyond our powers to shift it. However,
  we had definitely proved that this symmetrical cone was solid, and was
  piled around a core of kenyte blocks.

[Illustration: The Dissected Debris Cone, 28·8·11]

  “I met the ‘Owner’ after lunch and introduced him to the ‘dissected
  cone.’ He seemed to think it a strong argument in favour of our
  long-held theory. Wilson basely hit back at me for upsetting his
  argument with a caricature in the _South Polar Times_, which is here
  reproduced.

  “The difficulty in disposing of all the instruments needed by a
  geological surveyor is also hinted at in the gear encrusting the queer
  object on the debris cone.”

  “_August 30._—A cold day, −33° with wind. Natheless, Deb and I went
  out about noon plane-tabling. I had finished my stations and carted
  the table about, filling in details. But it was mostly a ‘cabman’s war
  dance,’ jumping and flapping one’s arms to keep warm. I found that a
  great deal of the ice-sheet to the north was only six inches thick
  over gravel, the latter appearing in the eddy gutters to the south of
  every big boulder.

  “It got too cold to work, but I swore I would stay out as long as
  Debenham. Finally, at 1.15, I could stand it no longer, and made a
  beeline for the Hut, finding he had returned a minute or two earlier!”

  The next few days were similarly occupied. I made a pantograph (to
  reduce or enlarge drawings), and so obtained a fairly accurate plot of
  all the sections of our map. The result is given herewith.

  One can readily see some method now in the queer physiographic
  features of Cape Evans. It can be subdivided into several zones, which
  may be tabulated as follows, proceeding inland (east) towards Erebus:—

  1. Kenyte cliffs and ridges, of rock _in situ_ (about fifty feet above
  sea-level and chiefly to the south and west of the Cape).

  2. Low-lying plains with lakes about twenty feet above sea-level, due
  to erosion and deposition from 1 (chiefly in the north-east of the
  cape).

[Illustration:

  A Peculiar Animal seated on the Top of a Debris Cone.
]

  3. Glacierets and ice dams running north and south, and due chiefly to
  drifts distributed by the southern blizzards. On the low cape and on
  the Ramp also.

  4. The continuous “Ramp”; a steep slope (30°) extending from “Low
  Cliff” practically to Land’s End Cliff, i.e. about two miles. It
  varies in height from 100 to 150 feet above sea-level. Partly composed
  of rock _in situ_ and partly of moraine just uncovered by the
  retreating glacier of Erebus.

[Illustration:

  Physiographic features of Cape Evans, due largely to the retreat of
    the Erebus Glacier.
]

  5. The boulder-strewn plateau parallel to and east of the latter, and
  about 150 to 200 feet high. It is largely ground-moraine, but contains
  some ancient ice masses, and is affected by soil-creep or solifluxion.

  6. A zone of large blocks (with ice between) which occurs chiefly in
  the north-east, and merges into the Erebus Glacier. Both 5 and 6
  contain numerous debris cones, which are especially large in the
  south-east over Land’s End cliffs.

  7. The continuous Erebus Glacier which extends uninterruptedly from
  Cape Barne to Turk’s Head, and walls in Cape Evans to the east. There
  is not much movement in it just behind the cape, for there is no ice
  “wall” but a gradual merging of rock and ice.

  My diary proceeds as follows:—

  “_September 1._—I fear I must give this a miss. Titus Oates says, ‘You
  were probably caulking and coughing, or blatting. But if the latter
  you’d remember!’ (These rude words refer to a slight cough that
  worried me at this time. ‘Caulking’ is sleeping, and ‘blatting’ is
  arguing.) The Conservatives were evidently waking up, for I note one
  of Atkinson’s remarks. Colonials go to London and murmur ceaselessly,
  ‘Change and decay, in all around I see, Except in me, O Lord, except
  in me!’ This misquotation afforded the ‘True-Blues’ (Cherry, Birdie,
  Titus, and Atch) great joy about twenty times a day. We Liberals
  scorned to use such feeble wit in upholding our principles.”

  The next lecture was one delivered by Birdie Bowers on the Evolution
  of Polar Clothing. I took fairly full notes of this lecture, which
  represented much reading on Birdie’s part in our extensive library of
  Polar journals.

    LECTURE ON “EVOLUTION OF POLAR CLOTHING”

    BY BOWERS.

    _September 1, 1911._

    There are many fabrics which can be used, for instance, cotton is
    very satisfactory for some purposes, as we see in our windproof
    overalls. Fur was naturally first used, and Ross, on his magnetic
    pole expedition, was the first to employ fur sleeping-bags. Weddell
    found boots a great difficulty, and had to cut up all his gear to
    make new ones. Some Arctic explorers used blanket squares (sixteen
    inches across) instead of socks. One must be careful not to have
    boot-soles too rigid, for this induces frostbite. It is curious that
    the Eskimo garments leave the skin completely bare at back and knee.

[Illustration:

  A book-plate illustrating Polar clothing.
]

    Bird-skin clothes are very warm and very light. In one expedition
    devices were painted on the backs of the white jackets to give the
    men behind something dark to look at, and so minimize
    snow-blindness.

    With regard to mits, thumbless gloves are best for very cold
    weather. Greely had gloves with two thumbs, so that they could be
    used on either hand.

    It is foolish to rub frostbites with snow, for the skin is chafed;
    flannel or a bare warm hand, etc., is better. Wool absorbs
    perspiration the best of all textures. White cotton does so to only
    half the amount. So the latter evaporates quicker, and soon feels
    chilly. Nansen says goat-hair socks attract the moisture. “Oh! as
    you were!” No, I don’t mean that! (G. T.—I find I’ve omitted the
    correction, however!) Personally, I think that an old sock makes an
    excellent nose-nip!

    Sverdrup used to use a double tent for warmth with good results. I
    think we might modify the tent opening, and make the tent floorcloth
    wider. If the sleeping-bags were provided with a separate hood, they
    would not get so wet. On our midwinter trip we found that eiderdown
    inner bags were no use after fourteen days. It was best to change
    sides with the fur bags and scrape them. The hair inside was warmer,
    but held the perspiration more.

    The wind helmet should certainly be made fast to the blouse; and I
    think lanyards fasten the bag-flaps much better than toggles. These
    are the only improvements I can suggest in our clothing.

  The seamen played six-handed euchre most evenings, while the two
  Russians looked at illustrated papers and turned in somewhat early.
  The mess deck used to read the books in the library, and especially
  Debenham’s paper-backs. When I ran short I raided their small private
  stock. I was assured by Taff Evans that one by Hichens “is no good,
  for no one in the mess deck can read it!” Needless to say I did not
  always agree with this stalwart board of navy critics.

  On the 8th of September the second volume of _S. P. T._ appeared.
  Cherry wrote the Editorial in the best style of the _Times_. Some
  eighteen pages were devoted to a skit on life in the Hut, called the
  “Bipes.” Its redeeming feature is a series of coloured illustrations
  by Uncle Bill. In it I gave a somewhat garbled but recognizable view
  of various personalities at headquarters. The tenants of the Diarist’s
  Den (i.e. our cubicle) as well as the Conservative party (the
  “Bunderlohg”) came in for their share of attention on the part of the
  inquisitive rabbit; who is here supposed to observe the habits and
  customs of the so-called Bipes.

  Simpson contributed a gruesome account of the decline and fall of the
  human race in the last days of the earth’s habitation. The only
  panacea seemed to be certain elixirs to be obtained near Mount Erebus.
  There was a beautifully illustrated rhyme dealing with the midwinter
  party at Cape Crozier. I could never discover who was the writer
  unless it was the Owner himself. Simpson’s career was described in a
  semi-serious article, “Celebrities in Glass Houses.” There were two
  poems called into being by the return of the sun, both due to
  Australians. Some one, I suspect Nelson, wove Uncle Bill and myself
  into a “nightmare interview.” There were some beautiful photo plates
  by Ponting and three of Wilson’s inimitable Egyptian tablets; besides
  various cartoons and silhouettes by Wilson and Lillie.

  Guessing at the authors furnished considerable amusement. Even the
  astute Nelson fell in! On p. 19 there is a plan of the hut showing
  _inter alia_ the engine in one corner. Nelson made the rash statement
  that Uncle Bill had drawn it the wrong way round. I immediately bet
  him that Bill hadn’t. Nelson went over to the engine and came back
  ready to stake his life on it! Then I told him that I had drawn the
  plan; so that Bill couldn’t have made a mistake! He proceeded to say
  that he would have put me down as the author of the “Bipes,” only I
  was so unmercifully described therein; while Simpson amused me by
  assuring me that Scott wrote the poem, “The Errant Sun.” I gave the
  palm to Nelson’s poem on “Uncle Bill,” “You are old, Uncle William.”

  Captain Scott was now preparing for a fortnight’s sledge-trip over to
  the west. He proposed to Simpson that he should take this chance of
  some sledging, and so the meteorology was left in my hands. Simpson
  kindly coached me in the special minutiæ, and I started the records on
  the 11th (before he left), so as to get into swing.

  Nelson gave us a particularly well-illustrated lecture on the 11th on
  Invertebrates generally.

  He told us of the pleasant habit of the _hydra_ which turns itself
  inside out, and converts its skin into a stomach lining, and _vice
  versa_! He discussed the huge arthropod, remarkably like a flea (but
  eight inches long), which Meares declared was found in a bunk in the
  hut, though Ponting said he obtained it on the beach.

  We envied the Pycnogonids (sea-spiders), which grow an extra pair of
  legs in Antarctica, though they have only eight in less strenuous
  latitudes. Two more limbs would help us so greatly in sledging! He
  called on me to lecture on the corals, and I gave a brief account of
  the biology of the forerunners of this family (the _Archeocyathinæ_),
  which occur fossil on the Beardmore Glacier. I discussed Darwin’s and
  Murray’s theories with special reference to my observations on the
  coral reefs of the Great Barrier. Debenham instanced Funafuti—that
  coral islet bored by Professor David to show the depth of a reef
  formation. Birdie wanted to know why a sea anemone wasn’t a plant? And
  some one thereupon asked Nelson if he could explain why a Birdie
  wasn’t a cabbage? But this problem proved too difficult for the
  lecturer.

  Wilson with his usual kindness was now copying some of my western
  sketches and turning them into splendid pen and ink drawings. He spent
  many hours coaching me in drawing, but indeed he would always help any
  one if it lay in his power. I think what touched some of us as much as
  anything was his willingness to take the last and longest hour of any
  one’s night-watch! He used to say, “I don’t mind getting up at seven;
  I’ll get on with my painting. Just put a kettle on to boil, and wake
  me, and then you can turn in!” I’m afraid I took advantage of this,
  when my watch lasted through to the morning, though usually I shared
  it with Nelson.

  About this time Scott and Bowers spent their leisure in photographic
  work. Ponting was untiring in coaching them, and the excellent results
  obtained by these absolute tyros on the southern journey speaks well
  for teacher and pupils. Bowers handed over the pony “Chinaman” to
  Wright, who “gets run away with, with great regularity.” Cherry was
  typing out those sections from the “Heart of the Antarctic” which
  would help Scott in his southern journey.

  On the 15th of September Captain Scott set out for a trip to the
  Ferrar Glacier and thereabouts. They carried about 200 lbs. of food
  for us to Butter Point, where we were to pick it up later. Nelson and
  I helped them along for three miles, though the party, consisting of
  Scott, Bowers, Simpson, and Taff Evans, needed us little. It was −40°
  starting, but luckily there was no wind. A big shear crack about two
  and a half miles out marked a permanent crack in the sea-ice extending
  between Inaccessible Isle and Cape Royds. It had developed into a
  fractured wall, as much as ten feet high in places, where the floes
  ground together, and gave us some trouble. However, Nelson and I were
  able to steady the sledge and guard the sledge-meter, and so they soon
  negotiated it.

  On the 17th of September we actually had a “fine bright sun, so that
  films of snow melt on the black rock.” This is an interesting date,
  for though the air temperature was only +7°—that is, twenty-five
  degrees below freezing!—yet the radiant heat from the black rock
  produced a little water.

  Let us accompany the meteorologist, and see how a first-class weather
  station is run at 77½° S. lat. The weather man has to rise about an
  hour before the others. (It was pleasant to see Sunny Jim lying in his
  bunk till 8.30 on the 14th—as he pathetically put it—for the first
  time since he’d landed!) I find I am dressed five minutes too soon, so
  I hit Wright with a book to get him up in time to check the
  chronometers, which is his “pigeon”!

  1. When I hear the automatic signal I have to fly around and mark all
  the recording instruments to show exactly eight o’clock on their
  charts.

  2. I read the large standard barometer and its attached thermometer.

  3. Change the chronograph papers and put ink on the pens, for the
  blizzometer, thermograph, barograph, and wind velocity charts. (In all
  these chronograph drums the “clock” part (carrying the paper) revolves
  about the central axle—which is just the opposite of an ordinary
  clock!)

  4. Wind up the various chronograph clocks (once a week, on Monday).

  Then I muffle myself in wind clothes and gloves, and collect the gear
  for the outdoor apparatus.

   A. A clock set to nearest half-minute.

   B. Sunshine paper for the record burnt by the glass ball.

   C. Tablet and pencil.

  5. I stagger up to the top of Wind Vane Hill—a long operation and a
  cold one in September, for it is not far from August, the coldest and
  roughest month. At a definite minute I read the anemometer figures
  alongside the anemometer cups.

  6. Then I press four times on a button alongside, and this is
  electrically transmitted to the record in the hut, and so gives a
  datum each day on that record.

  7. I walk across to the screen and read the three
  thermometers—present, maximum, and minimum. Then I readjust the two
  latter and read again.

  8. By this time three minutes have elapsed, and I return a few paces
  to the anemometer and read the latter figures again. (This gives the
  revolutions in three minutes, and therefore the velocity per hour at
  that time. This is another check on the automatic record.)

[Illustration: G.T. Robinson Anemometer]

  9. Read the wind direction from the arrow on the hill, and note the
  steam-cloud direction on Erebus.

[Illustration: Sunshine Recorder.]

  10. Change the blue paper in the sunshine recorder and clean the glass
  sphere. This is an awful job, for the frost crystals cling like glue
  to the five-inch glass ball, and have to be melted off by rubbing with
  the bare hands. A slow and painful job at −40°!

  11. Read the outside thermometer at the south-east corner of the hut,
  just below the anemometer tubes.

[Illustration:

  A FINE STEAM CLOUD BLOWING SOUTH FROM EREBUS, SEPT. 19, 1911.

  The illustration shows also the station on Wind Vane Hill. The
    thermometer screen on the left, the flagstaff and the wind
    instruments on the right. One anemometer is rotating; the other is
    blocked (for the photo).
]

[Illustration:

  A GLACIERET NEAR ISLAND LAKE (C. EVANS) DUE TO WINDBLOWN SNOW, SEPT.
    23, 1911.

  The blizzard builds and also prunes these small glaciers. In the
    distance are the debris cones on the ramp and the south-west slopes
    of Erebus.
]

  Each morning at 8.15 I used to predict the weather, as I went out to
  Wind Vane Hill. This was received with great joy by the mess deck.
  Crean was especially congratulatory. I have explained my method—_i.e._
  “that after four days’ calm it’s certain to blizz;” and it worked as
  well as most weather rules. However, even when this standby failed,
  Crean was always consoling. At last the other seamen got nettled. “Go
  on, sir! he’s only kidding; he wants your long sea-boots when you
  return!” It was “cupboard love,” I fear!

  On Thursday (21st) I believe the wind was blowing seventy miles per
  hour when I reached the screen. The temperature was pretty high (-7°),
  but a wind that nearly blew me away soon robbed one of one’s bodily
  heat. My fingers took about ten minutes to “come back,” and only by
  degrees lost their dead feeling, though they did not reach the dead
  white colour of bad frostbites.

  The early morning sun was throwing fine earth shadows, which moved
  round quite rapidly. Thus on the 24th, at 8 a.m., Erebus cast a shadow
  right over the western mountains, while at 9 a.m. the shadow could be
  seen to the south-west of Erebus itself.

  Debenham had been doing long-distance geology! He fixed up a telescope
  and trained it on the south slope of the crater of Erebus. He could
  see hundreds of snow structures on the side, each representing the
  vent of a “fumarole” from which steam was issuing. This side of Erebus
  must resemble a gigantic pepper-box!

  Inside the hut Day was doing some ingenious turning. His lathe was
  certainly unique! Many of the hardwood rollers for the motor sledges
  needed renewal. So he attached a block of hardwood to the flywheel
  shaft of the oil-engine, and he sat on the floor and, using a box as a
  tool-rest, he turned out rollers quite successfully, if not very
  rapidly.

  The morning of the 24th was quite clear, so I got my camera into
  working order, only to find the sky clouding over for a blizzard so
  soon as I ventured out, about noon. Ponting was lost for about two
  hours in the thick fog in the evening. We fired off guns, and it
  looked as if Atkinson’s mishap was to be repeated. However, luckily he
  had a compass, and so got back to the hut quite safely in the end.

  The weather was hopeless, and the coast survey party very sensibly
  returned to await better conditions. The following scurrilous rhyme
  pinned to Gran’s diary affected them not a whit:—

                  “Three bold explorers hied them forth
                    For to explore the plain;
                      Although so bold,
                      They found it cold,
                    So hied them home again!”

  Next day was again gloomy and cold. It took me ten minutes to rub the
  sunshine ball clean. The record for yesterday showed clearly the
  sudden cessation of sunshine about noon, just when I was ready to use
  my camera.

[Illustration: 27.9.11 My contribution to Polar Clothing! “Taylor’s
Patent Heel-tips”]

  Every one was now busy with sledging outfit. Bernard Day and Cherry
  each gave me thin gloves for my forthcoming theodolite work; Hooper
  washed some of my clothes, and kindly sewed a huge pocket on the
  jersey. One great improvement was to my socks. I sewed canvas
  heel-tips to most of them, cut out of my specimen bags, of which I had
  more than I required.

  Clissold had boiled Oates’ famous home-made canvas breeches, and
  scrubbed blubber out of them for an hour. He donned them with joy, and
  they now hung in graceful folds in place of being as stiff as
  stove-piping. Every one laughed when he was caught solemnly dancing to
  the pianola in them!

  The one great lack on our previous journey had been strong soles to
  our boots. “Titus electrified us by saying that he had a stock of
  hobnails. I offered him five pairs of socks for them, or anything he
  liked. He enjoyed this hugely, and finally said, ‘Well, I’m interested
  in a military magazine. If you’ll write a five-page article on
  “Physiography for Soldiers,” you can have them!’ I agreed willingly;
  but my visions of a boxful were unfulfilled. There were barely enough
  for two soles.

  “The western trippers returned early on the 29th. They had finished up
  with a stiff day, doing twenty miles in very bad weather. They had got
  across in two days and four hours. The depôt on Butter Point was
  invisible, bar one tin! No staff or flag. They dumped our two cases on
  top. (Birdie counsels taking an extra tank for biscuits.) The Owner
  thinks the south tongue of the Ferrar is due to a tributary glacier,
  but they didn’t go near it. Then up to the Cathedral Rocks. Here they
  found an apparent movement of a foot in C. S. W.’s stakes. Of course
  the glacier _must move_ to keep the end of the tongue stationary
  (_i.e._ ablation replaced), but this is an important amount of
  corroboration. Then they returned and coasted round to Dry Valley.
  There is a huge ice-foot here, probably preserved by the sheltered
  position of these cliffs. They climbed up the Kukri Hills near where
  Evans and I put Station I., and saw the Taylor Glacier, etc., quite
  well. Then across to Cape Bernacchi. Here they got some kenyte and
  were much bucked, but we also got much of it further west in Dry
  Valley. They marched about twenty miles north and saw a huge berg.
  This had a stake on it, and ‘B. A. E. Expedition’ on a board. They
  found it was our glacier tongue, which had drifted across to this
  position, about seventy miles to the north-west! Beyond was Dunlop
  Island, sixty feet high and half a mile long. Many rolled pebbles on
  it and raised beaches. The Owner got a good specimen of granite,
  showing rounded erosion above and angular below, where it was bedded
  in the beach.

  “Near here there was a cliff of schist-limestone with quartz veins,
  and here the Owner got a strong vein of copper pyrites. The adjacent
  limestone (or marble) they thought was quartz. This has a blackish
  mineral in it, perhaps copper glance. Then they returned to Marble
  Point and then in a beeline to the Hut. They were caught two days in a
  blizzard and had an awful time getting up the tent. Sunny Jim was
  nearly frostbitten holding up the poles.

  “The Owner didn’t think we could retreat over the shore, for it
  consisted of ice slopes with crevasses. But there are so many bergs
  there that he was sure that an ice margin would form there quickly;
  and he thought we could count on reaching Hut Point by April 1....”
  (As will be seen later, the sea-ice broke up quite abnormally; and we
  should not have got round till next spring if we had not retreated in
  February over the ice slopes. Atkinson tried this journey in April,
  just as Scott suggested, and found it impossible! which is but one
  more illustration of the irrationality of Antarctic conditions.)

  Now that the sun was back again, it was very enjoyable to tramp round
  our headquarters and “snap” pictures with the camera. I realized more
  than ever that a geologist is _always_ in a position to enjoy nature.
  In civilized regions a botanist may run him close, but down south the
  former would have a poor time, whereas there are always rocks or ice,
  even in Antarctica. The snow ridges were most beautiful objects, all
  lying on the northern (lee) side of various projections. For instance,
  a great promontory of snow jutted out over the sea-ice from the
  Northern Glacieret, and clearly marked the origin of the latter, as
  consolidated snowdrift. A little further the sea-ice at low tide,
  evidently bumped on to a great boulder, and the ice was cracked and
  bent into a low dome, exactly as a granite boss is supposed by
  geologists to crack the earth’s crust. Beyond this the snow cornice
  due to blizzard drift was busy bridging the tide crack, and this
  accretion from one side, gradually extending to the other, led to a
  theory of crevasse-bridges, which explains the greater thickness in
  the centre of such bridges.

  The sculpturing of the kenyte boulders was most remarkable. Just
  behind the hut was a quaint boulder, carved by wind and frost into
  something resembling a Galapagos turtle! This we called the
  Antarcticosaurus. On the Ramp to the east of this was another block
  shaped like the power-shears used in machine shops for cutting iron
  plate. In the same region were great blocks several feet across split
  clean in half by the action of the frost.

[Illustration:

  ICE-QUAKES IN THE SEA-ICE, SEPT. 23, 1911.

  The ice has settled down with the tide on a huge boulder and so formed
    radiating cracks, just as has happened in the earth’s crust. The ice
    is six feet thick. In the distance is the fallen “Arch Berg” just
    west of Cape Evans.
]

[Illustration:

  THE TIDE CRACK AT THE NORTH-WEST CORNER OF CAPE EVANS, SEPT. 23, 1911.

  On the right is the moving sea-ice, on the left the fixed ice-foot.
    The blizzard “bridges” the crack by cornices built from the south.
    The overhanging snow fills crevasses similarly, and thus arises the
    wedge shape of the bridges—for these cornices are thickest in the
    middle. Behind is Inaccessible Island with its windblown sand ridges
    on the right.
]

  Small lakes, debris cones in all stages, solifluction furrows, ice
  dams, kenyte columns, wind-ridges, etc., etc., there was no end to the
  interesting photos one could obtain now the sun was with us again.
  Still it took a long time for him to illuminate the southern cliffs of
  the Cape, for he would dip behind the mountains to the west for
  several weeks to come, quite early in the afternoon.

  On the 29th of September I tramped across to Tent Island, which lay
  four miles south of Cape Evans. The island was approximately square
  and about 800 yards along each side. The west side was fairly steep
  and the island sloped gradually thence to the east. At the south was a
  well-marked ice-foot, just like the one on which we camped in the
  blizzard on Little Razorback. It is probably due to spray and snow
  blown on to the windward face by the southern blizzards.

  There were a number of small water-cut gullies furrowing the slopes.
  The surface was quite peculiar. The kenyte gravel was so small and
  uniform that it looked like a well-raked garden, and was like velvet
  to walk on! I found a few small granite erratics, just as Oates had
  prophesied. The latter had visited the isle a few days earlier, and
  was delighted to hear that Debenham had missed the granite boulders
  which Titus had seen! The geologist had been handicapped by a bad
  light and some snowfall; but it may readily be imagined how little
  that affected the cavalryman’s pride in his discovery!

  The evidence of water erosion in the Antarctic was important. One
  gully was quite 25 feet deep with a steep grade and was about 30 yards
  wide. It ended in a fan which spread out over the ice-foot. I could
  not climb down the latter, and so reached the sea-ice where I had
  climbed up, further to the north.

  I had a long talk with the Owner about my plans for the forthcoming
  summer. He was much averse to our trying to return by the Piedmont
  Glacier, probably because of the greatly increased risk of falling
  into crevasses if your path lies _along_ their length (instead of
  across them, as in traversing ordinary outlet glaciers). I think our
  party were the first to do any considerable distance over such a
  glacier, and I must confess that I would infinitely prefer to ascend a
  _normal_ glacier for twice the distance.

  In one important respect the environment of our hut was scientifically
  more interesting than that of 1902 or 1907. We were only a few
  minutes’ walk from the huge face of an important glacier. This meant
  that many hours could be spent studying ice conditions, without being
  at a dangerous distance from safety if a blizzard suddenly sprang up.
  Almost every day Wright and myself prowled around High Cliff and the
  vertical 150-foot face of the Barne Glacier.

  As one walked north from the cape on to the sea-ice, the ice-covered
  slopes of the Ramp (which we called Slippery Slopes) merged into the
  ice of the Barne glacier. Just at the northern “root” of Cape Evans
  was Low Cliff, a mass of kenyte _in situ_. Further north every few
  hundred yards was a permanent snow ramp leading up to the glacier
  surface 100 feet above. At High Cliff an outcrop of kenyte was exposed
  below the ice mass, and a little further north was another lower
  outcrop at sea-level. Between these two—and about a mile from the
  hut—Gran worked hard to convert a snow slope into a suitable ski-run.
  It looked a ferocious jump to the tyro, and ended in a jumble of
  sea-ice blocks which usually upset even our champion ski-er! (_I_ did
  not tackle this particular spot, having a desire to keep sound limbs
  for the ensuing summer, but nothing ever harmed Gran, as far as we
  could see!)

  A stiff pull up the ski slope brought one to the top of the glacier.
  Here the edge of the latter was closely corrugated by small thaw
  streams, while the sun had etched out the face of the ice and left
  great blocks of englacial kenyte projecting like the gargoyles of
  Notre Dame. The silt bands and texture of the glacier hereabouts,
  which was unusually rich in included debris, are well shown in the
  accompanying photographs.

  The last volume of _S.P.T._ for 1911 was now in preparation. The
  editor honoured me with an order for another skit on the lines of the
  Bipe research. So I wrote a second dealing with sledging trials,
  purporting to be love-letters between a McCormick Skua and a Weddell
  Seal. This was illustrated in similar style by Uncle Bill.

[Illustration:

  HIGH CLIFF AND THE SOUTH END OF THE BARNE GLACIER, OCT. 21, 1911.

  Ski Slope leads up to the glacier on the left. The debris cones show
    up well on the right. The banded nature of the glacier ice shows
    clearly to the right of High Cliff. The glacier and cliff are here
    about 120 feet high. Erebus is 12 miles off.
]

[Illustration:

  This is an original copy (reduced) of Bill’s poem showing the footnote
    he added (in imitation of my earlier directions). Also showing his
    corrections after Cherry’s criticism, thus giving the poem in its
    first and also its final form.
]

  One day when I was typing this copy on Cherry’s typewriter, Bill came
  to me with a poem he had written. He asked me to type it so that
  Cherry should not recognize his writing. He wanted it to be perfectly
  anonymous, for he knew anything of Bill’s would go in from our
  admiration of the writer! I saw that he had copied my footnote (so as
  to puzzle Cherry further) asking that an illustration be appended by
  the artist on the staff!

  (This poem is that forming the introduction to the second volume of
  Scott’s Last Expedition.) A few days later Cherry brought me all the
  MS. and was graciously pleased to compliment me on the lot—especially
  the poem “Barrier Silence”! So I had to disclaim authorship—in spite
  of the footnote. After some time I think he believed me, but he wanted
  two lines cleared up a little and asked me to do it. I declined to
  alter it, but said that evidently the author expected Bill (as artist)
  to see the poem, and that I was sure that whatever he and Bill agreed
  to would satisfy the author! Whereat I heard Bill chuckle, and later
  it was returned to me emended as shown in the annexed facsimile.

  Two explanations are perhaps helpful. The surface of the Barrier over
  large areas often sinks suddenly to a slight degree when it is
  disturbed by a sledge party, and this “shudder” has a very eerie
  sound. The glare from the blinding surface affects the eyes much as
  does a hot substance, and this is independent of the temperature.
  Hence the remark, “Scorched and froze us through and through.”

  Evans, Gran, and Forde had done a rapid and useful dash south to see
  if the first depôts were in good order. They experienced awfully low
  temperatures (below −70°!), but managed to dig out the cases at the
  depôt, and restore them to a more noticeable position. It must have
  been an awful job, and there was evidence of this after their return.
  Forde awoke next morning to find three of his fingers black, and one
  was soon attacked with gangrene! For months his right hand was bound
  up, and he was unable to use it fully right through our western
  journey next summer.

  The geologists had to be very active, and make the most of the next
  week or two to study the numerous problems confronting us in the
  vicinity of Cape Evans. The sunlight made it possible to go longer
  distances, and I examined Inaccessible Island, Turk’s Head, Tent
  Island, Glacier Tongue, and Cape Royds in greater detail than I had
  been able to do before. Thus on the 4th October I tramped six miles
  south to join the survey party at Turk’s Head.

  Captain Scott had brought down a bicycle—given by a New Zealand
  firm—on representations from Day and myself. I had ridden many miles
  over snow in France, and thought it would be useful for short trips
  round headquarters on the sea-ice. I got it out this day, but could
  not find the pump, and so did not use the bicycle.

  I reached Turk’s Head about noon, and found the survey tent; but the
  party were four hundred feet up on top of Turk’s Head. I could just
  see Debenham on the summit, and got a photograph with his figure on
  the skyline.

  It was tolerably easy to climb up the north-east gully, and so attain
  the cup-shaped hollow on the summit, which enclosed a small frozen
  tarn. Wonderful crags bounded the Bluff to the south. Great pinnacles
  and couloirs etched out of the basic lava cliffs, due to the biting
  breath of the southern blizzard. At the head of the bay, to the north,
  were steep ice-falls. These moulded themselves round slender jagged
  pinnacles of rock, which one would expect to have been eroded with
  great ease by almost any type of glacier.

  We marched back to the survey tent in a cove two miles north, and ate
  the currant cake which I had provided for lunch. Great ice-falls came
  into the cove, and a huge cave was formed where they shot over the
  cliff. It was thirty feet high, and went a long way into the glacier.
  The sea-ice near the tent was ridged into pressure waves eight feet
  high by the thrust of this glacier. I heard that they had altered in
  shape while the party had been there. It was amazing to me to find so
  little trace of polishing or planation under this huge glacier. We
  returned close to another low outcrop called the “Slipper,” and
  closely examined it. There was practically no sign of glacial action
  on the rock surface just below the ice. Of course kenyte is somewhat
  friable, and we occasionally found coarse bruised grooves marked on
  the side of a boulder, but never any definite striæ or polishing.

  Perhaps the most interesting event of the day was that we heard a
  mysterious tinkle in the corner of the hut. This was Meares ringing up
  headquarters from the Old Discovery Hut some fifteen miles south! He
  took a roll of bare aluminum wire on the dog sledge, and just unrolled
  it as he sped off to Hut Point—surely the most primitive and simplest
  method of telephone-laying extant! I rang him up and asked him to keep
  a look-out for my geological hammer, and then proceeded to beat Wright
  at chess.

  On the 8th I had a very unpleasant experience, largely owing to my own
  foolhardiness. I obtained permission from Captain Scott to go off to
  Turk’s Head, and said I hoped to be back by 4 p.m. He said, “Well, you
  must return by dinner-time.” It was a fine, clear day; I had found the
  bicycle pump, and was keen to make some use of the bicycle. I set off
  boldly “to the admiration of those engaged in mending the tide gauge.
  But it went stiffly, even through fairly hard snow, and I realised it
  was not going to be much of a help. I had to walk half of the first
  two miles, and seriously thought of leaving the bicycle at east base,
  but hoped that the surface would improve. It was so hard that my boots
  hardly sank in the snow, but the wheels cut a two-inch rut, while the
  freewheel was of the roller type, and slipped when I put on extra
  pressure. I pushed on to Glacier Tongue and had to walk half the eight
  miles, and found it very tiring.”

  The tongue was most interesting. In outline it somewhat resembled an
  Aztec sword, where jagged bits of obsidian are inserted fairly close
  together along the edge. Here the ice edge consisted of alternate
  promontories and bays—owing to the sea-water occupying the troughs of
  the undulating glacier. I thankfully left the bicycle here, and
  climbed into the tongue. I was very stiff, and had apparently strained
  my leg with unwonted exercise.

  There seemed to be a very interesting cliff outcrop at the northern
  root of the tongue, and I decided to visit it. It looked about half a
  mile off, but the deceptive distances proved my undoing. After a rapid
  walk of half an hour I only arrived at the outer zone of pressure ice
  at the head of the bay. I could see that it was an interesting
  spot—where the glacier capped a rock outcrop—but I dared not go
  further. So I turned back, and was pretty done up when I reached the
  bicycle again. It was now 3.30, and I had had nothing to eat since
  8.30, and had still seven miles to do. I rested for a few minutes and
  then began to feel anxious, for I got very cold. So I plugged on a
  mile or so till I couldn’t walk any further, and had to rest again.
  This time I felt myself chilling rapidly, and was in a quandary. I was
  too knocked up to walk, and it was too cold for me to stop. “Then I
  saw some one trying to climb up Turk’s Head about two miles away. I
  couldn’t make him hear, and pushed on to try and intercept his return.
  I didn’t get a return signal for an awful time, till he was just
  passing me. It was Wright, without his glasses. He hadn’t heard me at
  first, but was finally attracted by the motions of an apparently crazy
  seal!” We plodded on slowly and got within a mile of the hut when I
  knocked out completely. He pushed on to bring out a sledge, and found
  the hut in a state of excitement; for Clissold had been brought in
  nearly unconscious only a short time before.

[Illustration: The waved edge of Glacier Tongue 8–10–11]

  After a short rest I managed to reach the hut unassisted, and food and
  sleep made me practically all right. Poor Clissold had fallen thirty
  feet off an iceberg, and was confined to his bunk for several weeks in
  consequence.

  I made a vow that the first bicycle ride in the Antarctic should be
  _my_ last, and have every intention of keeping that vow.

  On the 11th Debenham and I explored Tent Island again. As I was taking
  a photograph at the south-east corner, I heard a queer noise which I
  traced to a seal hole about a yard long. Inside this was a big seal
  trying to get out, but with little success. I thought at first he was
  trying to rub away the ice with his snout bristles, but he was really
  rasping right and left with his upper teeth—making horizontal grooves
  in the ice, and gradually wearing it away. We watched him for a long
  time from a few feet distance, which did not seem to worry him at all.
  It made my teeth ache to see the energetic way he dug into the ice;
  but after trying unsuccessfully to photo him I left without seeing
  that he had made much progress. These seals were now appearing in some
  numbers. We counted fourteen near Tent Island, and eight just north of
  Inaccessible Island, as we returned to the hut.

[Illustration: The Seal’s method of rasping away the Ice 11–10–11]

  On Sunday, 15th September, the third volume of _S.P.T._ was published.
  It was in the same style as the preceding copies. There was a dramatic
  account in blank verse of the _Terra Nova’s_ visit to South Trinidad,
  which I attributed to Nelson (but was really by Mather). Meares wrote
  an ode to Ponting in which my new word “to pont” (_i.e._ to spend a
  deuce of a time posing in an uncomfortable position for a photograph)
  was freely used. The Eastern Party was enshrined in a “Glass House”
  this time, while Bill recorded on his Egyptian tablets the wanderings
  of the Western trippers during September.

  Bill’s illustrations to “The Ladies’ Page,” a record of Antarctic
  fashions, were some of the best he had done; especially Madame Bowers
  and Miss Jessie Debenham, coyly proposing to Titus Oates!

  I have given the history of Wilson’s pathetic poem previously. We used
  to talk a good deal about the advantages of “wireless,” and I tried to
  embody the idea in a poem of sorts, which here follows, in which are
  mentioned scenes familiar to various members, such as Oxford (Cherry);
  Cambridge (Wilson, Wright, Nelson, Taylor); Ski-ing in Norway (Gran);
  the Canadian muskeg (Wright); Australian Alps (Debenham, Taylor);
  Japan (Ponting, Meares); India (Simpson, Oates, Bowers).

[Illustration: “Polar Wireless”]

                                  I.

  When the southern blizzard surges from the white plains of the
     Barrier,
    Covering all with deadly snow-wreaths, blotting out both land and
       sea:
  Can it break the magic cables linking us to every region
    Where we spent our days of study, days of youth and revelry?
  Half the world is our possession, nought can curb imagination,
    Though we’re wrapped in folds of deerskin, camped amid a field of
       ice,
  By the blessed help of fancy, still we’re free to wander gaily
    Through the wooded lanes of England—true explorer’s paradise.


                                  II.

  By the happy help of fancy we can leave the land of glaciers,
    Hear the tolling from Tom Tower, or the chimes from Cambridge
       arches,
  Sense the thrill of ski-ers’ prowess on the slopes of Holmens Kol;
    Once again can feel the tump-line as we cross the Muskeg Marshes;
  We can change the Slopes of Terror to the sward of Kosciusko,
    Where a thousand steers are grazing ’mid the tarns and green
       moraines;
  See the land of Cherry Blossom and the maidens of Japan,
    Or the peaks of Himalaya hung above the Indian plains.


                                  III.

  Lightly fades the lonely igloo; merges in the college gray ...
  In the firesides of Old England, thirteen thousand miles away.
  Thus from Lonelands to the Homelands all our thoughts are speeding
     forth,
  Faster far than wire or wireless—on “stretched wings towards the
     north.”[9]

                                              _Cape Evans_, 27.10.11.

  I had an interesting midnight walk early on the 15th October. “I had
  no gloves on, and it was light enough to photograph. There was a
  beautiful red sunset due south. To the north the bay ice was
  pea-green, while Erebus shone out with purple shadows. I laid boundary
  stones at the ice margins of both Skua and Island lakes, to determine
  how quickly the ice ablated in the spring. That evening I caused a
  sensation by having a shave, the first since leaving New Zealand.
  Birdie, Simpson, and Cherry behaved most foolishly as a result. Day
  did the deed!”

  We found the Hut Point telephone useful for weather forecasting. For
  instance, on the 16th Meares rang up at 11 a.m. to say that it was
  blizzing (with force 9) from the south with a temperature of −16° F.
  At this time, though only fifteen miles away, we were experiencing a
  moderate north wind (force 3) with a temperature of −3° F. “As a
  result Titus bet Teddy Evans that the blizzard would arrive before
  noon. The wager was six cigarettes. No blizzard arrived at all, so
  that Teddy won, but as he had given up smoking for some months he only
  took one for Debenham!”

  On the 17th Debenham and I went over to Shackleton’s hut to spend a
  few days geologizing. We took a small sledge with about 100 lbs. load.
  Soon we came to patches of bare sea-ice just leprous with blobs of
  salty snow. I was chagrined to find we could hardly drag our light
  sledge across. It augured badly for the 1200 lbs. we should have to
  pull in a week or so! We saw Emperor penguin tracks, but no birds, and
  reached the hut at 1 p.m. We ate some biscuits and then went out to
  photograph the vicinity. Here the Erebus glacier is about three miles
  to the east, so that Cape Royds is a very much larger area of exposed
  rock than Cape Evans. We walked along Black Sand Beach—almost the only
  beach I saw with rolled pebbles—and passed below quite a large glacier
  emerging from a gully. It had a 30-foot face of banded ice with fine
  snow cornices. I was surprised to see this, and climbed up to
  determine what was its source of supply. Then I found it was “all
  face” and no background. It was in fact merely a gigantic snowdrift
  plastered on the face of a 50-foot rock-cliff, and proved that many of
  our smaller glaciers were nothing but case-hardened snowdrifts which
  had solidified _in situ_.

  We returned to Shackleton’s hut, and I had a varied lunch off mock
  turtle soup, mutton cutlets, and unlimited candied peel! We cleared up
  the hut, which was in an awful mess, Deb arranging the stores and
  mending the stove, while I swept up the floor.

  “We made up a bit of fire with some coal we found in one corner and
  turned into our bags. All next day it blew frightfully hard. There was
  a huge iron boiler which we gradually thawed out and used for water,
  but we used an enamel jug as a kettle. We made porridge and ate it
  from huge wooden spoons. I read ‘The Truants’ (Mason) and half the
  ‘Botor Chaperon’ (Williamson). The hut groaned and creaked so that I
  thought it would blow in sunder, but we were comfortable enough. We
  hunted up some hypo, a large lamp, and 50 lbs. of carbide. I found a
  useable pair of fingered gloves, which were just what I wanted for
  instrument work.”

  Next morning it was blowing hard, but there was less drift. We went
  out to try a photo, and the blizzard blew my camera down and smashed
  the frame. After lunch it “let up” somewhat, and we set off for Cape
  Evans. We saw an Emperor penguin crouched behind a snowdrift. It was
  the first of the season, and Debenham was anxious to get a photo. He
  stalked the penguin with great care, to my secret glee, for I had
  noticed before that it was stone dead!

  Next day I packed my ditty bag with personal gear for the summer
  journey. We were allowed 12 lbs. each. My choice was as follows:—

             3 pairs _socks_, with Taylor’s patent heel-tips!
             1 hat.
             1 pair finger gloves.
             1 diary, 1 Browning, 1 German grammar.

  This totalled 7 lbs., and I decided to omit spare underclothing and
  take a small eiderdown weighing 4½ lbs. It struck me that it would be
  as comforting as Debenham’s 3 lbs. of tobacco, and last longer!

  “In the afternoon we ‘ponted’ for a game of football for the
  cinematograph. It was awfully good fun. The Owner was centre forward
  (running to the north), and he arranged that his side should win, to
  ensure an exciting picture! Atkinson was given space for a fine run
  in. Unfortunately in trying to cleverly miss a collar I slipped, and
  he fell over my feet. Titus was a sight, waddling after a man and then
  falling flat. Half the people got confused with the Owner’s yells to
  ‘Keep the ball in the middle and up to the goal,’ so that many of our
  side kicked it to their own goal! Crean truculently swore no one
  should get a goal if he could help it, and spoilt all Atkinson’s
  efforts, so that they scored nothing! Unfortunately Debenham strained
  his knee defending goal, and has been on his back since. We shall
  start west with Forde’s right arm useless and Debenham’s leg crocked!”

  On the 21st Scott gave me my sledging orders. The method of our relief
  by the ship seemed rather comic. We were first of all to find Granite
  Harbour and then recognize a 500-foot bluff, photographed on page 154
  in “The Voyage of the _Discovery_.” Here we were to await Captain
  Pennell in mid-January. No one on the ship had seen Granite Harbour
  either. As will be seen later, the harbour was a dozen miles wrong
  longitude, and the only bluff which at all resembled the picture was
  1650 high! We rendezvoused there as required, but our letters and flag
  on the bluff remain undisturbed to this day!

  Gran accompanied me for a walk two miles west to the great shear
  crack, and there we spent some hours with pick and shovel cutting a
  path through the upturned blocks of sea-ice, here 5 feet high.

  Day started the motor sledges on the 23rd October. The motor party
  consisted of Evans and Lashley with one motor sledge, and Day and
  Hooper with the other. There was a fearful array of cameras carried by
  Scott, Gran, Wright, and myself, while Ponting had a regular battery
  (including a cinematograph) loaded on his “pantechnicon”! Two troubles
  hampered the motors. The “pattens,” or wooden soles on the two tractor
  belts, would not grip the surface unless it consisted of hard snow.
  Just off the Cape was a belt of smooth sea-ice with a thin layer of
  snow over it, and the belts churned rapidly over this without moving
  the sledge forward. They got them past this by laying down sacks, etc.
  Then the motors were air-cooled, and apparently this was not
  sufficient to keep the cylinders from overheating, especially as the
  sledges went much slower than the ordinary motor car, and so only a
  small current of cold air flowed past the two front cylinders and less
  past the two rear cylinders. Moreover, the carburettor would not work
  satisfactorily when the engine was down to Antarctic temperatures, and
  it was necessary to warm it with a blow lamp! After some delays and
  readjustments they got the sledges well under weigh to Big Razorback
  Island.

  Nelson, Wright, and I decided to traverse the Barne Glacier (to the
  north) and align the stakes which Nelson had planted in the preceding
  February. We hoped to detect enough movement to give us the velocity
  of the glacier.

  The new canvas overshoes, with spiked aluminium soles, were a godsend
  for slippery ice work, and we found them a wonderful help. Wright went
  first, carrying a theodolite; then Nelson, with the food, and I had my
  camera and an ice-axe. We were roped up, for we had to cross many
  small crevasses. The stakes were generally made of barrel staves, and
  only half of them had withstood the winter.

[Illustration:

  BERNARD DAY ON THE MOTOR SLEDGE JUST BEFORE HE STARTED FOR THE SOUTH,
    OCT. 23, 1911.

  The engine is enclosed in a box to keep it warm, and the blow lamp was
    to start the carburettor.
]

[Illustration:

  THE START OF THE MOTOR SLEDGES, OCT., 1911.

  Notice Evans swinging round the sledge and Day’s flag. To the left is
    Ponting being towed as he cinematographs.
]

  We soon reached the “nail-stake,” which showed the safe western route
  to Shackleton’s Hut. The stakes here turned to the north and crossed a
  wide gully, and then climbed up a steep shoulder with open crevasses,
  which we had to negotiate by jumping. We reached the fixed moraines,
  and while Wright set up the theodolite (and anathematized his frozen
  fingers!) we discussed hot cocoa from a Thermos flask, and biscuits
  and chocolate. The end stakes did not appear to have moved much, but
  as we marched back on their line we found very perceptible evidence of
  movement to the west. Fourteen inches at first, then 7, 12, 14, 15,
  15, 22, and 16 feet respectively, till we again reached the
  “nail-stake.” It was rather difficult aligning the stakes, owing to
  the crevasses, but though some were ten feet wide they were all open
  and so perfectly obvious and safe. “Nelson slipped in his felt boots,
  but we could have walked up an ice wall in our new spiked crampons!”

  The largest movement was in the ice valley, and though the maximum 22
  feet was not certain, yet there was no doubt about the record of 15
  feet. This was not nearly so much as recorded elsewhere for other
  Antarctic glaciers; but it must be remembered that only the ten
  _coldest_ months were involved in this test.

[Illustration:

  Ice crampons, devised in the winter 1911.
]

  On the 26th Captain Scott took two parties to see if he could assist
  the motor party, who seemed to be held up near Glacier Tongue. We saw
  no trace of them till near the Tongue. Here we saw a black object,
  which, however, turned out to be a seal scratching himself, though I
  had felt able to recognize a motor and its driver!

  We took a long time to catch them, which pleased us greatly, for it
  meant they were doing better than we had anticipated, but we caught
  them at Danger Cliffs. “They had just done six miles and were very
  bucked in consequence.”

  We were of some assistance in the next few miles. We would drag the
  three huge trailer-sledges forward so as to relieve the motor sledge
  at its first plunge. Then “she’d start with a jerk, Day sitting for
  the moment in the chair of state and kicking up the floorboard to work
  the levers. Then she’d stop; then we’d curse. He would light up the
  petrol lamp round the carburettor to warm her, and try various
  alterations to an undercurrent of our fervid remarks. Then she’d go
  harder than we could walk for seven minutes. We got hot again, and
  would then have to wait a quarter of an hour, stamping round and
  freezing off, till she was affable once more.”

  We slept at the 1902 Hut, and Meares and Bowers gave us a grand seal
  hoosh next morning, cooked on the greatly improved blubber stove.

  “Lashley’s motor got under weigh after twenty minutes with the blow
  lamp on the carburettor, but Day’s was mulish. Gran, Evans, and I
  waited with him.” The huge loads dragged were mostly oil and tent
  gear, but their food-transporting power increases as the fuel load is
  used up. “However, as the day grew the motor took heart of grace and
  started, doing half-mile bursts, and at 12.45 we foregathered below
  the Barrier edge. Lashley would have been up an hour earlier, but he
  ran out of lubricant.” Unfortunately being on different gears they
  couldn’t keep together readily. “I walked up on to the Barrier very
  near where we crossed the big crack on March 12th. There was a
  beautiful snow ramp up the twelve feet above the sea-ice.

  “At 1 p.m. Day moved on to tackle this. We all pushed behind, though
  it was not a bit necessary. She went up in great style, though I think
  most of us had dreaded this test considerably. At 1.5 the first motor
  stood on the great Barrier. Lashley’s then ran up quite easily, and
  after cheering them we streaked back to the 1902 Hut for lunch. Scott
  and Wilson ran two miles of the distance; Bowers and I walked on
  together until Crean and Evans passed us. I joined them, but gave them
  best ultimately, for they were both powerful pacemakers.”

  We hit off for Cape Evans after lunch at a hot pace and didn’t stop
  for eight miles, when we had tea off Razorback. “All around us were
  seals and their young. The latter are longer in proportion, and are
  lighter in colour and woollier. The mothers make a noise like a
  dyspeptic sheep, and one big beggar _would_ nose around the sledges
  until the Owner drove her away. Bill went off to get a dead young one
  he espied, and found it alive, but frozen fast by its umbilical cord!
  He freed it and left it, but Nelson saw the little idiot frozen again
  two days later.”

  On the 28th Wilson examined the three Emperor penguin eggs obtained at
  such peril in July. To his delight they showed three different stages
  in development, and were much more developed than he expected. The
  embryos were rather long, but very like fledgling sparrows. There were
  little tufts on the tail already, and their long, flapper-like wings
  were not a bit bird-like. The shells were very thick and about the
  diameter of a swan’s, but somewhat elongated. They were light buff
  outside and bluish inside. Bill said only about fifteen shells had
  been obtained, and no embryos.

  Household duties have been somewhat disorganized. I have laid and
  cleared the tables, while Atkinson has been chief cook. He succeeded
  splendidly for the most part. “He made excellent coffee; Deb tasted
  first cup, and nearly died, for it was pure cayenne!”

  Erebus gave us a fine demonstration from 9 to 9.30 on the 30th of
  October. The steam cloud rose like a huge mushroom at first, then was
  branched like a yew-tree, and ultimately settled down into a huge
  pall.

  On the 31st October the pony parties started. Two weak ponies led by
  Atkinson and Crean were sent off first at 4.30, and I accompanied them
  for about a mile. Crean’s pony rejoiced in the name of “Jimmy Pig,”
  and he stepped out much better than his fleeter-named mate Jehu. We
  heard through the telephone of their safe arrival at Hut Point.

  Next morning the Southern Party finished their mail, posting it in the
  packing case on Atkinson’s bunk, and then at 11 a.m. the last party
  were ready for the Pole. They had packed the sledges overnight, and
  they took 20 lbs. personal baggage. The Owner had asked me what book
  he should take. He wanted something fairly “filling.” I recommended
  Tyndall’s Glaciers—if he wouldn’t find it “coolish.” He didn’t fancy
  this! So then I said, “Why not take Browning, as I’m doing?” And I
  believe that he did so.

  Wright’s pony was the first harnessed to its sledge. “Chinaman” is
  Jehu’s rival for last place, and as some compensation is easy to
  harness. Seaman Evans led “Snatcher,” who used to rush ahead and take
  the lead as soon as he was harnessed. Cherry had “Michael,” a steady
  goer, and Wilson led “Nobby”—the pony rescued from the killer-whales
  in March. Scott led out “Snippets” to the sledges, and harnessed him
  to the foremost, with little Anton’s help—only it turned out to be
  Bowers’ sledge! However he transferred in a few minutes and marched
  off rapidly to the south. “’Christopher,’ as usual, behaved like a
  demon. First they had to trice his front leg up tight under his
  shoulder, then it took five minutes to throw him. The sledge was
  brought up and he was harnessed in while his head was held down on the
  floe. Finally he rose up, still on three legs, and started off
  galloping as well as he was able. After several violent kicks his
  foreleg was released, and after more watch-spring flicks with his hind
  legs he set off fairly steadily. Titus can’t stop him when once he has
  started, and will have to do the fifteen miles in one lap probably!”

  Dear old Titus—that was my last memory of him. Imperturbable as ever;
  never hasty, never angry, but soothing that vicious animal, and
  determined to get the best out of most unpromising material in his
  endeavour to do his simple duty.

  Bowers was last to leave. His pony, Victor, nervous but not vicious,
  was soon in the traces. I ran to the end of the Cape and watched the
  little cavalcade—already strung out into remote units—rapidly fade
  into the lonely white waste to southward.

  That evening I had a chat with Wilson over the telephone from the
  Discovery Hut—my last communication with those five gallant spirits.

  We settled down in the Hut, a small and rather silent party. I was now
  awaiting Debenham’s recovery from the injury to his knee, for our
  start was already overdue. Nelson was cook, though Clissold was
  beginning to move about more easily. As lately, I continued to lay and
  clear the table, while Simpson was coal-whacker. The night-watch was
  now unnecessary—it was too light for auroræ—and the ponies no longer
  inhabited the stable. Nelson used to take the 4 a.m. observations, and
  Simpson those at midnight.

  On the 2nd of November we had some stove trials in the deserted
  stables. Day’s last work had been to make us a blubber stove from
  sheet iron, with a door grid and cover complete. We lengthened the
  chimney (by adding asparagus tins) and then tested it. The cooker was
  filled with snow, a “fid” of blubber lit on the grid, and in
  twenty-seven minutes the water was boiling! There was very little
  smoke, and it gave a pleasant heat all the time. Later we found that
  it did not work so well in a draught, and was a trouble in the open;
  but we cooked most of our meals on it in December and January, as will
  appear.

[Illustration:

  WILSON PACKING HIS PONY SLEDGE THE DAY BEFORE THE START FOR THE POLE,
    OCT. 31, 1911.

  The tins of oil, Alpine rope, large biscuit tins, sleeping-bag and
    tent poles show up well. Behind is the outer door of the hut looking
    north to the Barne Glacier.
]

[Illustration:

  THE HUT AFTER THE WINTER, NOV. 20, 1911.

  Great snowdrifts cover the porch and all the gravel before the hut. At
    the back is the Ramp, and low-level stratus is enveloping the base
    of Erebus.

  [See p. 320.
]

  That evening I had a walk round High Cliff and found a regular
  “Niagara” rushing down the face of the glacier in a tinkling stream as
  much as an inch deep! This was at midnight on the 2nd of November, and
  the temperature was seventeen degrees below freezing! It shows the
  strong radiant effect of the sun on black rocks even at midnight.

  This event—marking the oncoming of reasonable weather—closed our
  sojourn at winter quarters during 1911.




                                   VI
                     THE GRANITE HARBOUR EXPEDITION
                       SECOND WESTERN EXPEDITION

                       NOVEMBER 1911–FEBRUARY 1912


[Illustration:

  RELIEF MODEL OF THE REGION TRAVERSED IN THE SECOND SUMMER.

  C.B. = Cape Bernacchi. Mt. G. = Mount Gran. G. = Gondola Ridge. C.R. =
    Cape Roberts. D. = Cape Dunlop. N. = Nussbaum Riegel (across Taylor
    Valley).
]




                      THE GRANITE HARBOUR EXPEDITION


                    (_Vide_ large folding map at end.)

  During the winter the four members of the western party often used to
  gaze to the north-west across McMurdo Sound and wonder what adventures
  we should meet in the coming summer. We could make out the hills
  behind Cape Bernacchi fairly well, some fifty miles off; but beyond
  that was a greyish mass of land which, north of our horizon, was
  broken by the large inlet of Granite Harbour just about latitude 77°.
  We read up what little was known of it, and Wilson told us his
  memories—of a sort of bluff-ended peninsula where we could reach
  _terra firma_, of ice-falls filled with crevasses, and not very
  promising as a route to the interior.

  We expected to get away by October 22nd, but Debenham, as has been
  told, injured his knee a day or two before, and spent most of the next
  three weeks in his bunk trying to reduce the inflammation sufficiently
  for him to walk.

  The western party were unfortunate in having another cripple. Forde’s
  right hand was still in bandages from his severe frostbites, but they
  were progressing favourably, and though he never was able to use it
  for delicate operations, it did not handicap him greatly.

  On the 5th of November we packed the sledges. Our delay had one
  advantage—we needed less food, and so our load was lighter. In fact, I
  don’t know how we could have managed much more than our “half ton.” I
  omitted three weeks’ supplies, but packed all the remainder on to the
  sledges. In the huge canvas bag—called a tank by the seamen—were put
  the weekly bags of stores. Here a little pile of butter, there smaller
  bags of tea, etc. A few small bags of pepper, salt, etc., were placed
  in the “Ready-Bag.” This latter was a smaller canvas bag which held
  just a week’s food, and was kept separate from the main “tank,” so
  that the latter was only opened once a week when the cooks changed
  duty.

  A document which was consulted more frequently than any other which we
  carried was Bowers’ list of our stores. It was headed, in a last flash
  of his humorous verbosity, “The Western PHYSIPHOGEOPETROVULCANOLOGICAL
  PARTY,” and gave me careful notes as to the stores at Butter Point,
  and tips as to taking tin-openers, and bags for the cocoa and pemmican
  tins we should find there. It got very frayed with continual use, and
  this led to some anxiety later. All the items were entered like this:—

  “Biscuit for 20 weeks at 24·5 lbs. = 490 lbs.” The entry for _tea_ I
  read as—

  “Tea for 20 weeks at 1·75 lbs.,” but it was nearly illegible, and
  later, after wondering why the tea was so rapidly diminishing, I saw
  that his note really read 1·75 _for ten days_ (instead of “per week”).
  This was one of the most welcome discoveries on our journey, for I
  thought I had lost some bags of the precious beverage, and we soon
  evened matters by greater economy.

  On the Sunday afternoon (5th November) Gran, Forde, and I pulled the
  big sledge over the sea-ice to the west. We had very heavy work
  dragging it over the snow near Cape Evans, but owing to the track we
  had cut through the walls at the great shear crack we crossed this
  quite easily. We came on some mirror ice, where the runners positively
  flew along, but a film of snowdrift about a quarter of an inch deep
  made us nearly lie down in our traces. We took the sledge about three
  miles out and then returned to the hut. _En route_ our collie bitch
  worried a seal almost to death, and though Gran gave her a tremendous
  beating, I doubt if that even made the dogs refrain from tormenting
  the helpless animals.

  Perhaps they felt that the seals were fair game, as they were so much
  bigger than themselves!

  On Monday a blizzard came up, in which superstitious little Anton had
  a wild time reaching the hut. He had left Ponting encamped at Little
  Razorback, and much preferred to find his way back, rather than spend
  a night among the howling demons of the Antarctic!

[Illustration:

  THE SECOND WESTERN PARTY THE DAY THEY WERE PICKED UP BY THE SHIP.

  Taylor, Debenham, Gran, and Forde.
]

  We had a council in the hut with Simpson and Nelson. The latter very
  kindly volunteered to take Debenham’s place and help my party across
  to Butter Point with most of our gear. Then we could rapidly return
  and pick up Debenham if the rest had sufficiently cured his disabled
  leg.

  On the 7th of November we started off on our first relay. We left
  about ten o’clock, taking a small sledge from the hut with our
  sledging gear. We soon picked up our main load on the big sledge, and
  then began really heavy work. One is always soft and out of condition
  after the winter, and it takes about a week to get into sledging trim
  again. It was not very cheering to find we could only get along at the
  rate of about one mile an hour, for a large part of the gear to be
  dragged to Granite Harbour, lay thirty miles west at Butter Point! In
  fact, even with this light load, the surfaces made us relay at times,
  and the effect on one’s body muscles seemed at first almost
  unbearable. By lunch-time we had only left the hut about four and a
  half miles behind.

  It was blowing strongly from the south-east, and I saw a snowdrift
  rushing along the ice. When we reached a patch of snow suitable for a
  camp site, I pitched our tent, and this halt for lunch unfortunately
  served for supper and breakfast also. It was blizzing hard in ten
  minutes, and we were only just able to get the tent up in time. Forde
  was able to help greatly, though his hand was still in a sling.

  We were now no longer new chums, and it was pleasant to find that
  sledging was so much more comfortable than on our first expedition. We
  now realized that if we could keep out the snow, we should help the
  human furnace enormously. For every snowflake in or on one’s garments,
  first melted and then turned to ice, and all this had to be thawed
  each night before one could get warm enough to sleep. So this trip we
  carried a shilling scrubbing brush, and every one was most assiduous
  in its use.

  It was amusing how little trouble we had in donning our frozen boots
  now. Some one had hung his on the peak of the tent, while the cooker
  was going for breakfast, and now they were almost too pliant when we
  needed to put them on. It was a greater comfort to have a wider
  floorcloth. Now the outside men were not pushed into the snow, and our
  instruments and notes were kept much more securely than on the former
  journey.

  As the blizzard increased it drove snow on to the windward side of the
  tent, and the lee sides flapped violently so that the “stocking” door
  vibrated incessantly. The snow piled higher and higher, and under the
  ventilator collected a great ball of ice.

  We were pretty comfortable very soon in spite of the snow, which
  covered the sledges a foot deep. A rapid journey to Butter Point was
  out of the question, and we turned in hoping for better weather in the
  morning. The temperature was +23° as I ascertained by swinging the
  sledge thermometer. My last camp in April on Little Razorback had been
  in −23°, some 45° lower!

  Nelson read Poe for awhile in his bag; I read Browning. We were rather
  jammed together in the drifted tent, and poor Forde next morning said
  he had been too crushed to sleep! For myself I had never before slept
  so well at the start of a trip.

  At 6 a.m. on the 8th it was still very thick to westward. However, at
  7.30 we turned out for breakfast, and after digging up the sledges we
  got away about 9.40. It is curious how long it took to start off every
  morning. With no dressing or washing and a simple breakfast of two
  pots of food, one would have expected a party to be ready in an hour;
  but two hours was by no means unusual after a blizzard.

  The heavy winds had compacted the snow, and also, I believe, covered
  some of the sticky salty surface. At any rate, we went along better
  than I had dared to hope, and could do more than a mile an hour.

  I soon learnt that it was better to go a long way round rather than
  cross new snow, and at lunch-time we had done over three miles. Very
  stiff it made us! The sky cleared, and seemingly a short way ahead lay
  Butter Point, a face of ice about 50 feet high in which small
  crevasses showed quite clearly. Yet it was still 20 miles away! To the
  south-west was a group of dark castles. These were the little volcanic
  Dailey Isles, which were miraged up into huge squat keeps, very
  different from their true conical shape.

  Far to the north we could see the locale of one of the wildest
  Antarctic exploits—the mighty crevasses near Mount Bird. Macintosh and
  a mate managed to cross these during Shackleton’s expedition in 1908,
  after abandoning their tent and losing their food in a crevasse.

  How anxiously we watched the little dial of the sledge-meter. Very
  slowly the miles rolled away, and when we had done four more stages I
  stopped for a cup of tea and some block chocolate. These short halts
  did not make one stiff like a longer wait. Finally, we halted at 8.30
  after eleven hours on the move. We had sledged eight miles as the
  result of the day’s work, and were already feeling fitter and enjoying
  our pemmican. How greasy and thick it tastes at first! and yet how
  soon it seems to vanish almost at sight!

  The sun came out and there was a tremendous glare from the snow.
  Goggles were donned and were not an unmixed blessing. The hot glare
  disappeared, but sweat rolled down one’s forehead and fogged the
  glasses so that it was impossible to see through them.

  On the 8th we continued our “trek” towards Butter Point. There is very
  little variety on these journeys; you pull till you are tired—not
  talking much, for that uses too much breath, but thinking of all sorts
  of topics. As long as one leans forward in the belt and keeps time
  there is not much else to engage one’s attention. Even the leader
  merely notes some object in his line of march and plugs steadily on
  until it is time to halt for the five minutes’ spell!

  At 4 o’clock we were nearly 20 miles from the hut, and therefore, as
  we halted for tea, still ten miles from Butter Point. It was gloomy
  and soon started drifting again, always from the south-east and always
  giving but a short warning of low driving snow before the full blast
  struck us.

  This blizzard lasted thirty-six hours. We lay in our bags and slept
  most of the time. It is wonderful how one’s appetite decreases during
  these enforced waits. The normal amount of thirty-three ounces of
  _dried_ food per day would be enormous in ordinary life; when lying
  snug in one’s bag, no energy is used in work and little in heat, so
  that about twenty ounces seems sufficient, and one of the meals can be
  cut out with ease.

  On Saturday morning I turned out at 3 a.m., and a little later it was
  obviously clearing. The drift was deep over the sledges and nearly
  over the door. We had been delayed so much that I felt we must now
  turn back, so we packed the tent and one meal on the small sledge and
  left a large flag on a bamboo by the larger sledge.

  We had only about 100 lbs. to pull and yet the twenty miles
  (twenty-three statute) was a hard journey. I hoped to be in by noon,
  but the surface was very bad. We had tea and a biscuit at six and
  another short meal at noon. We could see the four isles off Cape Evans
  all the time, and I think our chief occupation while sledging was in
  watching them take up various angles in front of the Cape as we
  gradually got nearer the hut. We crossed some landmarks in the shape
  of the huge shear cracks. One at nine miles, one at four and a half,
  and a small one two and a half miles from the hut. The last six miles
  were awful, for the erstwhile mirror-like ice near the Cape was now
  covered with a sticky film of snow over which we could hardly pull the
  empty sledge.

  However we began to see dead penguins, and then we knew we were within
  a “dog’s walk” of the hut—for these were relics of their occupation.
  Next we reached the triangular area to leeward (north) of the hut,
  which viewed from the Ramp was of a yellow tinge from the straw and
  other debris blown there by the blizzards. And so at 4.30 p.m., just
  twelve hours after starting we arrived. I immediately rushed Clissold
  the cook for tinned pears, and found none left. So I started on three
  rounds of toast. We then had soup, rissoles, and fruit tart. I had
  three helps of the former and two of the latter and still felt hungry.
  Debenham’s leg had not been going on very well, but was better than on
  Wednesday. They had had no drift at the hut on Tuesday!

  After another council I decided to take advantage of Nelson’s kind
  offer. He would accompany us with the little Russian groom Anton. If
  all went well they could return; if Debenham were too lame to proceed
  they could bring him back, and Gran, Forde, and myself would push on
  to Granite Harbour as a three-man party.

  Sunday and Monday passed quietly in the hut though the weather was bad
  outside. On Tuesday it was very unpromising until 3 p.m., when we
  could just make out the Western Mountains. At 3.20 we made our final
  start with Nelson and Anton as a convoy. Debenham hobbled alongside,
  and as the surface was better than previously and the wind blew to the
  west we made fair progress. This time we took on our cameras and Day’s
  blubber stove. At six miles we pitched camp and were starting supper
  when I discovered that we had left the can of spirits behind. This
  fluid was necessary to start the primus stove in low temperatures, so
  Gran and I tramped back to the hut for it. It was a stiff walk, for we
  were afraid of thick black clouds to the south and the wind rose to
  sixty miles an hour, luckily without drift. After some supper I turned
  into my bunk for the last time that year. Gran slept in the bunk
  above, and as the result of some salmon and a recent perusal of Jules
  Verne’s “Mysterious Island,” suffered from nightmare. He explained
  next morning that he thought Erebus had overwhelmed the Cape with
  red-hot lava, wherein Simpson had been engulfed, but the geologists
  had calmly climbed up to the crater! Was this a forecast of his own
  escape on the summit a year later, when Gran was nearly choked by the
  fumes?

  We found the spirits where we had been packing the sledges, and
  trudged out to the tents to find the others having breakfast. However,
  we started at 10 a.m. and did nine miles by 5.30. I camped early to
  prevent Debenham overstraining his leg.

  On the 16th we awoke to find snow falling, though there was not much
  wind. We had been so much delayed that I determined to try marching
  through the thick weather lying ahead of us. Although we were fairly
  close to the magnetic pole, and the compass consequently had very
  little “horizontal pull,” yet I determined to try steering by it,
  especially as we had a spare man to steer us. We wanted to go almost
  due west, but the compass direction, owing to the variation, was S.
  65° E.! So Debenham marched some fifty yards behind us, and signalled
  to Nelson, who repeatedly turned to observe him. Meanwhile I tried to
  steer a course by any object which I could see looming up through the
  mist ahead. We serpentined considerably at first, but moved steadily
  westward. Our surprise and gratification may be imagined when we
  suddenly saw footprints ahead of us, and realized that we had exactly
  hit on our route of the week before. We had not seen any trace of our
  track since leaving the hut, and this encounter was as marvellous as
  finding a needle in the proverbial bottle of hay. On we went into the
  thick of it till 1 p.m. My eyes soon tired with looking at huge crags,
  which turned out to be ice splinters twenty yards away. Finally the
  western hills appeared, and we were all on the _qui vive_ to be the
  first to spot the depôt flag. Nelson offered his raisins as a reward,
  and then won them himself! We reached our depôt at 2 p.m.

  The sledge was not buried, though a great lee had been built by the
  blizzards. We had a merry lunch, all six sitting in one tent. Anton’s
  plans caused much amusement. We gathered that he was going back to
  Russia to marry a rich wife, and so long as she were wealthy we
  understood that he had no objection even to a wooden leg!

  The clouds began to roll away _en masse_, leaving behind a magnificent
  Italian blue sky, as if the blizzard had purged it of all impurity.
  The resulting contrast with the dazzling white mountains had something
  of a Japanese effect, and the afternoon was one of the finest I saw in
  the Antarctic.

  We camped within seven miles of Butter Point. I was delighted to catch
  Debenham surreptitiously helping with the back sledge, for he found
  that his leg was certainly no worse for the rough work he was giving
  it.

  On the 17th we moved on with another sledge added. They pulled
  stiffly, and we met with soft snow every few yards. Moreover, we
  encountered some “screw-pack,” which is a very formidable obstacle,
  and of which we met more than enough in the next week or so. I suppose
  that here the sea-ice had been broken up and jammed together before
  finally freezing into a continuous sheet. However, by zigzagging we
  made steady progress, and reached Butter Point about 5 p.m.

  We pitched the two tents first thing, on the thick snowdrifts near the
  tide crack. Then we walked up to the depôt, where our boxes stood out
  boldly, some three hundred yards away.

  We dragged up the small sledge and loaded it with cocoa, sugar,
  pemmican, etc., and then a second time took down 330 lbs. of biscuits.
  The floor on which the stores had been laid in January was now over
  two feet down. This gives some indication of the change in the surface
  of the piedmont ice in nine months. Probably drift accounted for most
  of the deposit.

  The two tents now resembled grocers’ shops. In one Nelson and Forde
  were bagging the cocoa, in the other Gran and I opened tins of
  pemmican and placed them in weekly bags also. Meanwhile Debenham
  prepared a fine hoosh, and Anton conducted a lively class in Russian.
  In the depôt were some soft captain’s biscuits left by Shackleton’s
  party. Forde and Debenham preferred them to our official ration of
  hard sledging biscuit, and so we made an exchange, for I knew we could
  always make up deficit by seal meat.

  On the 18th we started off with six men to pull the three sledges; but
  we found it impossible, and had to relay all the time. We were now
  crossing the mouth of New Harbour, making for Cape Bernacchi, at its
  north-east corner.

  At lunch we finished off Nelson’s contribution of Tru milk, and
  Debenham took a photo of the combined parties. Then the “Convoy
  Commando” left us, and we saw them for an hour or so plugging steadily
  towards Cape Royds. Here Nelson intended to get some penguin eggs
  before going to Cape Evans.

  Now we were left to our own resources, with 1350 lbs. to drag along. I
  distributed the weight more evenly on the two sledges, putting the
  heavy biscuit-boxes on one, and the tents and sledging gear on the
  other.

  After lunch we pulled off, Debenham and myself in front, and Forde and
  Gran near the sledge. The sun was hot, but as usual, when we
  anticipated trouble, it was not forthcoming, for Debenham was able to
  help us very materially, and the surface was rippled and harder than
  we had seen hitherto.

  Soon we were hotter than we liked, and our headgear was modified to
  suit the climate. Forde appeared in a huge panama. Debenham and Gran
  had felt hats with ear-flaps, and I wore an ordinary colonial felt,
  which I tied down like a coal-scuttle when the wind was too keen. This
  day it was warm enough to wear no hat at all, so I walked bareheaded
  with goggles, “and would have liked to pull off my vest also”!

  The screw-pack was low hereabouts, only projecting two or three feet;
  but the hollows were masked by snow, which made the walking difficult
  and even dangerous for Debenham. We took the “biscuit” sledge on first
  for about a mile and flagged it; then trudged back for the “tent”
  sledge. Debenham met us soon, and pulled with us for the same weary
  mile. It took about forty minutes to do this, and about twenty to walk
  back, so that transporting the half ton over a mile meant a hundred
  minutes of very hard labour, which with a light load we could cover in
  twenty-five minutes.

  Well, we had some weeks of it, and by the time five miles comes to be
  accounted a good day’s journey, progress does not seem so slow as it
  did at first. We used to leave Debenham ahead with the first sledge at
  our evening stage, and when we three brought up the biscuit sledge we
  would find that he had nearly got the “hoosh” ready. There was no
  mention of “too much pemmican” nowadays!

  We were now crossing New Harbour. It was interesting to see so clearly
  the old landmarks of Dry Valley, and amusing to think of our bet with
  Taff Evans as to the identity of the valley we were now passing. He
  was convinced that we could not see Dry Valley from Butter Point, and
  we had had a hot discussion in the previous February on the point.

  From this point we saw a most wonderful array of cwm valleys. On the
  flanks of Mount Lister they were clustered thickly like thumbmarks in
  a piece of putty. On the slopes of the Kukri Hills we could see steep
  gullies, as it were, growing into “chimneys,” and these into deeper
  valleys, and so into veritable cwms or cirques. They illustrate an
  interesting scientific principle. It is naturally impossible to see
  the stages of valley erosion evolving before one’s eyes—as impossible
  as to see a barrier reef changing into a coral atoll—and yet one
  cannot doubt that this evolution occurs when we have all the
  intermediate stages confronting us.

  We intended to carry out a very complete survey on this journey. We
  had two separate instruments, a theodolite and a plane-table. With the
  former I was able to fix far distant peaks with considerable accuracy,
  and also by observations on the sun to determine the latitude and
  longitude of the main stations of our survey. With the plane-table
  Debenham carried out a unique detailed survey of the coast-line, not
  only showing the outlines of the land but also all the physiographic
  features. By means of the theodolite we were also able to plot the
  elevations fairly accurately, and when these were added to the
  plane-table charts I think we brought back from our sledging trip an
  Antarctic survey unique for its completeness in the field.

  The surface for the next few miles was very bad. I wished Wright were
  with us, not only to lend us his sturdy muscles, but to study the
  queer morass we encountered. We were sinking nearly to the knee in
  snow crystals. These were not wet, but so incoherent that they clogged
  the sledge-meter, and for the remainder of our journey we had to
  remember the miles missed from our reckoning before reaching Cape
  Bernacchi.

  The yellow goggles gave rise to a queer illusion. It was just as if we
  were pulling through heavy sand at the mouth of a river, and owing to
  some wind and water action, there were the same ripples and channels
  as are to be seen in an estuary.

  Captain Scott had ordered us to leave a week’s provisions at Cape
  Bernacchi, for we should need this if the bay ice went out, and we had
  to return overland. So we carried up a half-tin of biscuit, and filled
  it with butter, pemmican, and chocolate. This was reared on end, and
  protected by a cairn of granite. We surmounted it with one of our
  precious bamboos carrying a flag. I left a note informing the finder
  as to our progress, and immediate plans. This was the first of our
  post offices, of which we established four more during the summer.

  Though all this took time, we also made a collection of rocks for
  Debenham. The loose snow had wrenched his knee badly, so that much as
  he would have liked to explore our first new land, he was unable to
  move many yards from the sledge. Marble, granite, tourmaline gneiss,
  basalts and schists, and a few mineral veins gave us quite a fine
  collection—though most of them were moraine specimens.

  I sketched the coast to northward, observing with great satisfaction
  that there was no open water in sight. Numerous seals were basking in
  the next bay, which augured well for our future food supply. Less
  welcome was the rugged area of screw-pack which filled the bay, and
  which we should have to traverse on our next stage.

  Debenham had packed the sledge, and we moved off in the afternoon,
  winding in and out between jagged lumps of ice, sometimes eight feet
  high. There was interesting spoor here; an Emperor penguin had
  evidently passed by, and his sturdy tread had hardened the snow
  somewhat. Ensuing blizzards swept away the softer snow, and left his
  imperial footprints standing in relief.

  We camped in the screw-pack, and passed a peaceful night. Next morning
  the narration of a dream caused some amusement. “I had invited
  Professor David to dine, and arrived two hours late; as I had no money
  to pay for the meal I calmly decided to wake, and did so!” We often
  discussed dreams, especially after my repeating what I could remember
  of an article in a magazine I had read in the Old Discovery Hut. It
  pointed out that one’s own personality was often revealed in the
  clearest fashion. I hope the above sample was not of this type.

  We reached Marble Cape at noon, and from the top we could see our
  wandering friend from Ross Island—the three-mile fragment of Glacier
  Tongue. There was Oates’ depôt as clear as ever, and the huge field of
  ice had almost filled the bay between this cape and one to the north.
  Its sides projected thirty feet above the sea-ice, and we could see
  that it was largely built of snow, which was folded in a very complex
  manner, and probably originated largely as snow cornices, just as
  current-bedding in rocks is formed from steep delta deposits.

  To the west, behind the cape, was the sheer front of the Piedmont
  Glacier. It ended in a face about thirty feet high, and evidently was
  for the most part moulded over the hills, though a few _nunakoller_
  projected through it.

  We reached a high cape built of gneiss, and camped there for the
  night, among a colony of seals. We were doubtful as to whether this,
  or the previous headland, was David’s “Marble Cape”; in fact, as some
  one said, it was a “nice point.” At any rate this pun led to the name
  _Gneiss Point_, by which we knew it.

  Next morning it was a blow to our pride to drag the sledge through the
  numerous seals, and to find that they evidently despised us too much
  to move out of our way. It was a favourite basking ground, and many
  square yards of snow were rolled flat and hard by the sleeping seals,
  while canoe-shaped hollows showed where some unsociable beast had lain
  at a distance from his fellows.

  We started off relaying as usual, but as I was returning I felt this
  was just the time to test our outfit as an ice yacht! A steady south
  wind was blowing almost directly behind us, and the next few miles
  showed a reasonably good surface.

  The six heavy bamboo poles, on which the tent is hung, were so
  arranged that two could be taken out of the leather bucket uniting
  them at the top. The remaining two pairs were fixed vertically above
  the front sledge to form a double mast. We lashed them to the
  stanchions with lamp-wick. The other two bamboos were used as yards
  for the floorcloth. This sail was held up by a rope—actually off
  Forde’s sleeping-bag—which passed over the top of the “bucket” on the
  mast, and the pull of the wind kept it taut. Two “main sheets” helped
  to secure things, and passed from the yards to the rear of the sledge.
  Forde was bo’sun, and made a good job of it. Meanwhile, the delay had
  frozen the sledges to the sea-ice, but after “breaking” them out, we
  managed to start the yacht and its tender, and to our delight we could
  just move the half ton along! It was frightfully hard work, especially
  the start; but we could do a mile in forty-five minutes, whereas
  formerly relays and halts made this a two-hour job. Luckily,
  Debenham’s leg was now much better, and the miles piled up splendidly.
  We did 6½ geographic miles by 7 p.m., instead of 4½ by 9 p.m. as
  heretofore.

  In gratitude we called this bay the Bay of Sails; a variation from
  Shackleton’s famous inlet, the Bay of Whales. The coast was fringed by
  Piedmont Glacier, but a little rock showed at the water’s edge. We
  indulged in extra raisins for lunch, and camped at night near a large
  cape, which reminded Forde of Spike Island, near Cork.

  The ice was evidently affected by the summer breaks, for we had to
  cross a crack two feet wide, where the water was surging continuously.
  A young seal here caused us some amusement, its heart-rending
  “baa-aas” and strenuous efforts to climb a gigantic ridge eight inches
  high being very comic.

  “_November 23_, 10.15 p.m.—The sun is shining brightly for the first
  time to-day. The tent is flapping gaily, partly owing to the two poles
  being a bit loose, and partly to the keen southerly wind which is
  driving over the shore glacier. I am as snug as possible in my bag
  since I sewed the new left-hand flap thereon. I shall patent this! for
  a man can lie left or right, fur in or out now. The temperature is
  +14° F., and the barometer has risen rapidly to 30.14. This change
  probably means something unpleasant, but Erebus is very clear and the
  steam going south!”

  In spite of hurrying, putting the sail together inside the tent took
  time, so that it was 10.45 before we started with sail set and a fair
  wind for the next headland. This looked like a dented door-knob, and
  we reached it by lunch with the mast bending and the sail bulging in
  true nautical style.

  As we passed it I saw that we had reached Dunlop Island, which had
  been hidden from us by a line of icebergs. It is separated from Dunlop
  Cape by a strait about one-third of a mile wide. We hailed this with
  joy, for it seemed to be pure blue ice; but over this blizzards had
  blown low parallel ridges of snow which were about 20 feet apart. The
  snow was sticky with salt, and the alternation of clear ice with
  sticky snow was almost impassable. For we could not stand on the ice
  and the sledge would not move over the snow, and when we could pull
  from the snow, the sledges were on clear ice and the wind drove them
  along unassisted! I don’t know how Debenham managed, but I wrenched my
  leg, and for days afterwards had cause to remember Dunlop Strait.

  Dunlop Island is a mere ridge of shingle about 60 feet high. There was
  a fierce wind blowing which prevented my taking any photographs, but I
  managed to get a round of angles with the theodolite before my hands
  were numbed. There seemed to be four ancient beach-levels marked by
  well-rounded boulders which point to elevation in this region. Looking
  to the north we could see nothing but a great barrier wall of ice
  along the coast. The trend of the latter was almost continuous from
  Cape Bernacchi, and we could see no foundation for the sharp turn to
  the north-west charted on the existing maps.

  We pushed on for the north along this forbidding wall of ice. It was
  almost December now, and the sea-ice might break up any day, so that
  our next few days were anxious ones. We had great difficulty from the
  sticky surface, and the wind changed direction, nearly blowing the
  sledge over, so I decided to “down sail” and steer nearer the land. We
  could only with difficulty pull one sledge, and had to relay till we
  reached the face of the glacier, where we camped. While Debenham
  cooked the hoosh—an excellent one, of which I had one and a half
  pots!—Gran and I managed to climb 200 feet up the glacier front. The
  ice was much broken and recemented with some deep crevasses and queer
  puckered ridges. After making a sketch and searching for signs of open
  water, luckily without result, we turned in and spent a comfortable
  night.

  We awoke to a comparatively hot day! I decided to try one sledge
  first, and if all went well to tack on the other. But to our chagrin
  we found that we could not manage _one_ sledge. By one o’clock we had
  managed to struggle along for one mile, in the course of which
  Debenham had badly twisted his knee.

  “I decided to go in for night marching, and we pitched the tent, hung
  out our wet clothes in the hot sun, and had lunch. Then we turned in
  and tried to sleep without success. I read through one year of
  Horsfield’s German Grammar, and put a chinstrap on my hat, while Forde
  darned socks. It was too hot to keep in the sleeping-bags, and so I
  lay outside without a coat!

  “At 7 p.m. it is distinctly cooler, so that ice does not melt now if
  you touch it.”

  These abnormal conditions were due to the bright sun, for the air
  temperature was below freezing. But the solar rays striking the tent
  melted any snow thereon until there were pools on the flounce, while
  water inside the aluminium cooker remained unfrozen for hours.

  Night marching commenced about 9 p.m. The surface was much harder, and
  we just managed two sledges for a short distance, but we had to relay
  most of the way.

  To the west is the great Piedmont Glacier, thirty miles wide, and
  covering a ten-mile belt between the mountains and the sea. The nearer
  mountains were all rounded and smoothed by glacial erosion, while the
  higher peaks behind rose into jagged summits, pitted by numerous cwm
  valleys, which showed that they had never been beneath a thick ice
  mantle.

  To the east appeared a brown island about 100 feet high and a quarter
  of a mile long. It had a well-defined ice-foot, and I hoped that we
  were to chart a new island. Gran and Forde were eager to examine this,
  and while we were surveying the coast they marched a mile or so
  towards it. But our “island” was merely a stranded berg coloured brown
  by the large amount of silt included in the ice. In some such way
  numerous “islands,” such as the Nimrod group, have crept on to the
  chart, for no one has been able to sight them since their discovery.

  We camped just after midnight for lunch, at which I presided. As
  usual, it consisted of tea, biscuits (hard sledging tack for Gran and
  me, and soft “Shackleton” biscuits for Debenham and Forde), raisins,
  butter, and chocolate.

  The _Discovery_ map was obviously quite incorrect here, and our chief
  guide was Professor David’s account. From the times of his daily
  marches we expected to reach Granite Harbour earlier than the rough
  chart indicated, for he speaks of the harbour as being twenty miles
  out of position! The only place for a bay “five miles wide” seemed to
  be about ten miles ahead, so that I hoped that a few more days would
  settle the question.

  We got a fine view of Erebus, especially of the old crater whose wall
  sticks up like a gigantic black fang on the northern slope. Mount
  Terror was also visible now round the hump of Erebus. The steam banner
  from the latter was very striking, stretching far to the south, and
  then, at 8 p.m., shifting to the north after some big puffs. This
  usually indicated a strong change in the weather—which was the last
  thing we desired in our present position off the inhospitable face of
  the Piedmont Glacier!

  We camped on rather thin snow and weighted the tent flounce with the
  biscuit boxes. It was very warm inside the tent, and though the outer
  air was 14° below freezing, small pools of water lay on the tent
  flounces in the full heat of the sun. “I made the dinner. The pemmican
  was not bad, though not so creamy as Deb’s, which has a reputation. It
  is a month to Christmas, and we have been sledging three weeks. I find
  it much more pleasant than last February, even with our abnormal
  loads. I plan out things while pulling automatically, and the miles
  pass along somehow. Camps are much more comfortable, and of course it
  is warmer now!

  “It is very confusing having breakfast at 7.30 p.m., and sleeping or
  trying to sleep through the day. I find it rather hot, and generally
  only sleep four hours and think away the other four. However, there is
  no comparison between the surface by night and by day, for though the
  sun is bright at midnight he is not nearly so high or warm and does
  not melt the ice surface. We camped about half a mile from the huge
  Piedmont, and set out next day for a remarkable line of icebergs. On
  our left was the great glacier, the cliff edge dropping to sea-level
  at a brownish boss which I thought might show some rock. But it was
  merely stained ice badly crevassed and stepped like a land-slip. I
  expected to reach this the same night, but luckily our sledge-meter is
  a better guide as to when we’ve done enough. Four and a half miles, if
  we have been relaying, takes eleven hours hard work (less lunch-time).
  Anyhow, the brown boss was still three miles beyond our camp, as we
  found later. (I expect that the pseudo-island was derived from this
  breaking ice-cape, for there was a huge group of bergs just ahead of
  us.)

  “I don’t take very full geological notes for obvious reasons. We see a
  piece of rock about every three days!”

  There was in fact no leisure for any scientific work. We were too
  dog-tired to stir far from the tent. Even the ice was unusually
  uninteresting from a scientific point of view. We watched it with very
  particular care nevertheless. Hereabouts a rather low screw-pack had
  been covered by recent snows, and the alternation of hard blocks and
  trenches filled with snow made a surface calculated to keep us all on
  the _qui vive_. I took Gran abreast of me in the harness, and so we
  explored most of the pitfalls, thereby saving Debenham’s lame leg from
  the worst surfaces.

  We did some wonderful wriggles, and if the ice ridges were fairly
  frequent—say every five feet—the sledges revelled in the track. For
  the runners only touched at these points, and the weight was supported
  above the soft fields of snow.

  It was a wonderful field of bergs among which we now encamped. There
  were fifteen in all shapes and sizes. Several were low and tabular,
  while two were higher and cubic in shape. One was a dirty brown, and
  was possibly a brother of the pseudo-island. Two others were shaped
  like newts, with a sharp jagged crest. They were, I suppose,
  overturned bergs.

  At 9.30 on the evening of the 26th we left our camp among the bergs,
  and dodged in and out among them towards the low rocky cape just to
  the north of us. Huge granite tors crowned it, and great blocks of ice
  six feet across had been hurled many feet on to the cape by the gales
  of the preceding season. I halted to photograph these, and Debenham
  and Gran climbed on to the granite tors. To my amazement Gran called
  out that Granite Harbour was in sight. I hastily climbed up and found
  we were right at it! This small cape was actually the southern portal,
  and the entrance looked about ten miles across.

  As in New Harbour there seemed to be two chief arms, the larger
  southern portion receiving the Mackay Glacier, and the other being
  almost completely bounded by smaller inflowing glaciers.

  On the cape were numerous skuas, looking very cold, and dancing about
  on chilly feet. They squawked loudly and flapped their wings at us,
  but had not laid any eggs as yet, for Forde gave this matter his
  particular attention! He reported a feasible track across the cape
  which would save a difficult journey through the screw-pack. I agreed
  to try the overland journey, and we got across the wide tide crack and
  up fifteen feet on to the icy col with much less trouble than I had
  expected. “This col rose to about thirty feet on the north side, and
  evidently water is driven on to it by gales, for the ice was quite
  glassy at first. We relayed across, to the astonishment of the skua
  gulls. We passed a fine little polished platform of granite, and then
  sharply descended to the sea-ice, and by 1 a.m. were within the
  harbour.”

  This was very gratifying, and our early arrival was due to several
  pieces of good luck. Debenham’s leg had continued to improve in spite
  of the gallant way in which he insisted on doing as much work as any
  of us; we had met with splendid weather since leaving Butter Point;
  the two days’ sail had helped us materially, and finally we found that
  the harbour was twelve miles nearer than we had reason to expect.

  About 4 a.m. on the 27th November we trekked west up the harbour. Far
  away was a high dolerite cliff with a small glacier just notching its
  edge. To this we gave the name of “Spillover,” and we made for it as a
  prominent landmark.

  We were now naturally very anxious to identify the bluff which Captain
  Scott had arranged as our rendezvous with Pennell. We were told that
  it was about five hundred feet high, and Ferrar had described it as
  resembling a cabbage! We could see nothing remotely approaching this
  description, nor indeed anything very like a photograph of it, which
  appeared in the _Discovery_ volume.

  We were so interested in this unexplored region that we pulled the
  front sledge along till the second sledge seemed a mere speck to the
  eastward. In fact, we failed to notice that the weather was growing
  very thick to southward, while a threatening tablecloth was covering
  Erebus. We hurried back. The stage was nearly three times the normal
  distance. I know it seemed such an interminable distance that I
  wondered if the sea-ice were carrying the sledge away!

  We got back to our first sledge just in time and pulled in to a little
  crag of granite which projected below the frowning cliffs of ice. This
  we called First View Point, for from it we could see a bold promontory
  which was possibly our rendezvous. Indeed, the error in the map had
  made me doubtful if we were in Granite Harbour at all!

  View Point was not an ideal camp site. There was no snow, and really
  no room for the tent. But we managed to get it spread loosely in a
  little alcove, and though it flapped wildly all night, yet we were
  very thankful to be on _terra firma_ in the blizzard, even if it were
  only a yard or two wide.

  Outside the drift blew in great sheets off the glacier sixty feet
  above us. The temperature was twenty below freezing, but we were very
  snug in the tent, and I slept for nine solid hours.

  We left View Point next day, as the blizzard was only a brief one, and
  pushed west. Soon we had to cross a giant shear crack some forty feet
  wide. Luckily the main channel was frozen in places, and we got across
  without difficulty, and then reached a small glacier tongue which
  drained the Piedmont. Very heavy clouds again obscured the south, and
  I felt it wise to take advantage of this good camping site and sit out
  the impending blizzard. So we pitched the tent off the end of the
  tongue near a splendid snowdrift which afforded us perfect blocks for
  securing the tent. Soon beautiful flakes of snow were falling. Some
  were delicate crystal bundles like a pine branch, others were like
  little cog wheels with six teeth. It continued to snow most of the
  day, and as night marching was not advisable for survey work, I felt
  that we could now take a little more time and return to day-sledging.
  We cut out breakfast and kept comfortably to our bags all the morning,
  having lunch at 1.30. Our last meal had been lunch also! Gran caused
  some amusement by demanding two cakes of chocolate, as due from the
  missed meal.

  Cooking was a great responsibility, and one that I was never anxious
  to undertake. Still, even an indifferent cook like myself could not go
  far wrong with such simple foods as we had at our disposal. Debenham
  “had a light hand with the pastry,” as I have recorded previously, and
  I used to watch his methods closely. The only “variable factor” was
  the “thickers” in the hoosh. This ingredient varied a little, from
  peaflour to wheatmeal or crushed biscuit: but the pemmican was (like
  the butter at Cambridge) cut to measure! The cook would take out the
  greasy lumps from the weekly bag and loosely fill an aluminium mug
  with them. Then he would drop this measure in among the ice and
  half-melted snow in the cooker and leave it there to boil. Apparently
  the chief art with the thicker consisted in mixing it to a smooth
  paste first with a little water—laboriously ladled out of the outer
  cooker—and then pour it into the “hoosh” just as the mixture boiled
  up.

  It was good stuff! It had a rich taste, especially when solid with
  ground biscuit after Gran’s famous recipe. Months later, when tasting
  a rich Melton Mowbray pie, a memory of the Antarctic rose before me.
  There were the four of us; Forde phlegmatically breaking biscuit into
  his pot; Debenham blowing lustily into his, and finally spoiling it by
  cooling it in the snow-floor; Gran swallowing it piping hot so that
  tears came to his eyes, and he fairly wriggled on his sleeping-bag;
  and lastly, the anxious cook not daring to taste his, but manipulating
  pots and spoons in the effort to produce steaming cocoa before all the
  “hoosh” was finished.

[Illustration:

  A PANORAMA OF CAPE ROBERTS, WHERE THE WESTERN PARTY WAS ISOLATED FOR
    THREE WEEKS. LOOKING NORTH.
]

[Illustration:

  AVALANCHE CLIFFS ON THE SOUTH SIDE OF GRANITE HARBOUR.
]

  I started sledging an ardent cocoa-drinker, but soon realized that
  there was much to be said for tea at midday. We had a belief that it
  refreshed one quicker than cocoa, and so we used to have it at
  breakfast also quite frequently. Upon this journey we did not bring
  cheese, and I certainly never missed it after the superfluity in the
  hut. Raisins were allotted to us, but I think “stoned dates” would
  have been better, for one never seemed to have enough to taste in a
  spoonful of raisins! The butter was fine! Sometimes I would save some
  of the precious lumps of sugar; and an original sweetmeat resulted if
  one bit alternately into the frozen butter and the sugar! The
  chocolate we usually nibbled at the four o’clock halt; while any
  biscuit left over would be dumped into the hold-all pocket on one’s
  jersey and eaten at the same time. Debenham never could eat all his
  biscuit at the meals, and somehow often had a bit to spare which we
  couldn’t resist.

  I used to save some of my evening butter in my pot for the morning.
  Occasionally hoosh would be poured on it by a hasty cook, and then my
  biscuit had to be eaten dry; a small matter, for the hoosh was the
  richer. Once or twice on our trek we came to pools of water, and then
  Forde would polish up the pots; but thereafter queer mixtures would
  gradually swamp the true flavours of our foods. The beverage would be
  “co-tea,” or “tea-co,” according to circumstances, while suspicions of
  many of our past menus would persist until another scouring day
  arrived.

  There were some compensations, however, in Polar sledging. One could
  obtain water by merely digging a cup into the floor, and the absence
  of flies and of rain were blessings indeed. However, the air was not
  quite aseptic. Many of the carcases of sheep went bad, and one of our
  party was very sick from the butter before we finished our journey.

  The snow ceased about 4 p.m., and Gran and I walked to the root of the
  ice tongue to examine it. It was a mile and a half long and was fed by
  a well-defined overflow from the Wilson Piedmont, which had cut its
  way through granite cliffs some 200 feet high. There were several
  “chimneys” offering tracks up the cliffs. One had a rough rock figure
  at its base, and led Gran to remark, “This is an ome.” I realized he
  meant “good omen,” and accordingly we tackled the chimney indicated.
  Lichen and mosses welcomed us on the flat summit, where some hundred
  yards of granite-strewn platform marked where the piedmont had
  retreated from the edge. We investigated the gully between the tongue
  and the cliffs, here almost vertical. As usual there was no sign of
  grooves or striation, though the ice was much disturbed at the base of
  the cliff, and we had to cross many small crevasses.

  Early on the 29th I waked the others, hoping to make an early start.
  Unfortunately something went wrong with the primus; I am afraid some
  spirit was mixed with the paraffin. At any rate we had an anxious hour
  testing the apparatus, which formed our only source of heat while
  sledging, but found nothing out of order except the fuel.

  We had been looking forward to sledging over the vast sheet of clear
  ice within Granite Harbour. But the late snowfall had ruined our
  chances, and we had practically no easy sledging during the whole of
  the journey. Personally I was so pleased that we had safely reached
  the Harbour, that a day or two more or less now did not worry me.

  At the end of the second stage Forde discovered a cave in the granite
  cliffs. It was about fifty feet high and twenty feet wide. I think it
  was due to the sea tearing out the loosened blocks along a large
  fracture in the granite, though such an occurrence is necessarily rare
  on icebound coasts.

  I was very anxious to find a suitable spot for a headquarters camp,
  and so far not a single spot was large enough to pitch the tent upon.
  In the bay just east of the huge bluff there seemed to be some rock
  slopes. Most picturesque at the head of the bay was a great granite
  cliff festooned with narrow glaciers hanging over like ribbons. We
  heard several avalanches here, and so called the place Avalanche Bay.
  In the corner was a steep slope of glacial debris—partly mud and
  partly gravel and boulders. We climbed up this for two hundred and
  fifty feet, and so could look down on a small glacier which occupied a
  bowl-shaped hollow in the coast-line. This would appear to be a cwm
  valley into which the Piedmont Glacier has flowed.

  “After supper it cooled somewhat, and we started out for some relay
  work. We could see the Bluff quite close, and after half a mile I
  judged we were halfway and went back for the second sledge. Then on
  again, and we never seemed to get any nearer. It was nearly two miles
  off and we were all tired on arrival. However, we plugged back for the
  second sledge, and it was a weary grind! As Debenham remarked: ‘We
  were too tired to think!’ We got in about 11.30 and pitched camp on
  poor snow, fetching blocks of ice from the wide tide crack to weight
  the flaps.

[Illustration:

  _Photo by Gran._]

  THE FIELD OF CREVASSES (SKAUK) AT THE ROOT OF MACKAY TONGUE, JAN. 6,
    1912.

  Behind are the faceted slopes of Mount Allan Thomson. Photo from the
    Flat Iron looking N.W.
]

  “We were much amused by the laments of a young seal (still in its
  woolly coat) for its mother. ‘Baa-aa!’ he said, quite plainly, like a
  cross between a lamb and a vigorous young bull. This resounded from
  the five-hundred-foot granite cliff above, and occasionally the mother
  re-echoed it from the tide crack where she wisely kept! I was glad to
  see about eight seals here. I expect we shall kill most of them!
  Trigger caught the young one by the tail, and it bellowed and tried to
  get away. It took to water readily. There was a well-defined margin of
  level fixed ice, ten yards wide, following the coast all along. We
  turned in at midnight tired out and not much worried by the baa-ing of
  the seals.”

  Before turning in we saw a most remarkable sight to the east. Sailing
  over the Ross Sea towards the south was a fleet of cloud galleons. The
  hulls appeared as bright white glares separated from each other by
  dark nimbus. The lower sails were sheets of stratus, and beautiful
  cumulus floated over each. At the front of each the advancing vapours
  were curved to form the galleon’s bows.

  On the 30th we relayed round the face of Discovery Bluff, leaving one
  sledge on the firm ice-foot beyond the seals’ pool while we marched on
  with the other to try and find our summer headquarters. The Bay ice
  was torn every half-mile by huge shear cracks, but luckily they were
  still narrow and we crossed them readily enough.

  We now opened up a small bay, and I could see a fine camp site just
  ahead. I made straight for a rough beach which was covered with
  granite blocks. I was glad to see that lichens and moss were growing
  here in some abundance, for it indicated that this was a sheltered,
  sunny spot.

  Behind the beach was a steep slope leading to a little plain about
  four hundred feet up. I climbed up to this while the others explored
  the beach and the small cape to westward. Soon I reached the further
  edge of the plain, and from here I had a magnificent view up the great
  Mackay Glacier. There was a well-defined glacier entering the bay in
  the south-west corner, which had a fairly gentle slope. Up this I
  hoped to find a route to the interior, for the other outlets of the
  glaciers were crevassed to a greater extent than in any of the other
  regions. In fact, the ice river resembled a great ploughed field where
  every furrow was a huge crevasse. Gran said such an area would be
  called Skauk in Norway. He said they used Icelandic terms for their
  new words, much as we do Greek. I think this term might be introduced
  into our nomenclature, at any rate we used it thereafter.

[Illustration: Our Water Supply. The Granite Pool at Cape Geology.
13–1–12]

  Meanwhile Debenham had found an excellent spot for our permanent camp.
  We were very satisfied with the outlook. One reads of the advantage of
  a “gravel subsoil.” Here between some large boulders was a patch of
  gravel. To be sure it was full of irregular blocks of granite and half
  covered with snow; but by hand-picking it and raking it over and over
  we rid ourselves of the “feathers in the bed,” and also got our
  tent-site ultimately fairly dry. The small elevated plain was going to
  give us a bountiful water supply when the weather got warmer. In fact,
  Debenham entered into a disquisition on “hydraulic grades” and the
  “origin of springs,” to show that we should have water laid on past
  our tent! The snow never melted sufficiently for running water, but
  Forde evolved a fine reservoir in a few days. He cleaned out a hollow
  in a huge granite tor, and the sun’s heat acting on a snow dam at one
  side usually gave us a sufficient supply. Great blocks of bay ice
  driven up in a previous summer formed our cool storage. Just off the
  Bluff was fuel and food in the shape of seals. Buttresses of granite
  crossed the beach, and between two of these was an area where our
  kitchen was almost half built. Surrounded on three sides by solid
  granite walls three feet high was an enclosure which we managed to
  roof in well enough to hold the blubber stove. Forde and Gran were
  especially keen on this edifice, which they called Granite House from
  Verne’s “Mysterious Island.”

  It was a day or two before the house was finished. Forde was master
  mason and Gran chief labourer. He used to delight in bringing to the
  site great cubes of granite which we others could hardly move. There
  was a most uncomfortable block of granite projecting into the hut, but
  by the repeated dropping of huge blocks on to it, Gran finally managed
  to remove this excrescence.

  After lunch on the 30th Gran and I went off to obtain the wherewithal
  for our first seal hoosh. Luckily there was a seal a quarter of a mile
  from the camp, and we soon slew him in the usual manner. Gran would
  attract the doomed animal’s attention, while I stole alongside from
  behind and stunned him with a blow on the nose. This was almost the
  chief use I made of the geological hammer, for Debenham was making the
  rock collections while I studied glacial topography chiefly.

  Forde gave us a lesson in butchering. Most people do not realize that
  a seal is not far removed from an otter. Anyhow, his anatomy is near
  enough to that of a sheep for one to know where the choicest meat
  lies. In fact, a seal’s skeleton is just like a sheep’s, in which the
  two hind legs have been folded together close to the tail and
  converted into swimming flappers.

  We cut off two wide strips of blubber first from the belly; then
  rolled the seal over—an operation of great difficulty—and obtained two
  more from the back. Beneath these strips of blubber were the best
  portions of the flesh, except the liver, which needed especial
  anatomizing. Around the neck I cut off odd bits of blubber, and one of
  these served to cook a meal on the stove, so that there was plenty of
  fuel on a seal to cook the meat it provided.

  We staggered back laden with spoil, leaving the carcase to a multitude
  of skuas. How they quarrelled and fought over the pieces! Every skua
  seemed to prefer to grab a piece already selected by another. I
  suppose they were not used to tearing fragments off such a superfluity
  of carcase! We welcomed these visitors, for we had in mind future
  tasty dishes based on skua eggs.

  It snowed during the night, about one inch falling, chiefly as needles
  and fluff-balls. All this spoiled future sledging, but we watched it
  philosophically now that we had got our main supply to its
  destination.

[Illustration: Gomphocephalus. Antarctic “Springtail” 1.2.11]

  I turned in later than the others, and, on having a last look round, I
  noticed some dark specks floating on a little pool. With no organic
  matter in the air, this seemed unusual, and on closer examination I
  found that these were the long-desired insects! They were little
  bluish fellows shaped like a cigar, with six legs and no wings. I was
  very pleased, and rushed to inform my sleeping mates. I am sorry to
  record that they did not seem to think the discovery worth the loss of
  their first sleep! Each insect was about one millimetre long, so that
  twenty-five only measure an inch, and they clustered together like
  aphides.

  Next morning I received congratulations, as it was my birthday. The
  sledge flags were hoisted on a line between two depôt poles. We hung
  up the red-and-black depôt bunting also in honour of the occasion.
  Debenham said he had no present for me, but he could not allow me to
  cook my birthday dinner. I noticed that the others seemed overjoyed
  that I should be relieved of my cooking duties for one meal!

  “However, I did breakfast, and made a fine hoosh. The great secret is
  to mix the wheatmeal, pepper, salt, etc., well, and pour it in _just
  before_ the pemmican boils, giving it only five minutes. It is much
  more slippery and soothing than if you cook the ‘thickers’ longer. I
  shall be quite an accomplished cook later on!”

  About 11 a.m. Gran, Forde, and I brought the other sledge in from the
  Bluff. After lunch we unloaded the stores, mustered them, and placed
  them under a big rock until the hut should be ready to receive them.

  “We seem to be especially rich in raisins. I fear I forgot to take out
  a bag at Cape Evans. Gran is going to sow sea-kale here, so that our
  vegetables and fruits should be plentiful!

  ”About 5.30 a long streamer of smoke announced that the famous stove
  was going, and Debenham made a splendid liver-fry, followed by cocoa
  in very quick time. Gran produced a bottle of Savoy sauce, which he
  had carried as part of his personal gear, and presented it to me. No
  present could possibly have been more acceptable, as any one who has
  lived on one dish for a month will realize. I could have eaten two
  whacks of the fry easily! We decided to use the bottle at one meal
  instead of spinning it out, but (as Wendell Holmes remarked about the
  honeypot) you can’t pour out the last dregs from a sauce-bottle. Some
  one suggested we should draw lots for these precious dregs. (Privately
  I thought they belonged to me, but I nobly agreed!) So, in the way
  they have in the navy, I thought of a word of five letters, and I said
  that the last alphabetical letter should win the prize (as a matter of
  fact I had thought of ‘Savoy’). Gran gave me the third letter (_v_),
  and he took the first. Debenham took the fourth, and then I felt safe.
  But Forde took the last (_y_), and so won the sauce. A very sorrowful
  moment! This ingenuous game always entranced me; it trusted so
  implicitly in the leader’s lack of American ‘smartness,’ for the word
  was not divulged until the numbers were out!

  The method bewildered me when I first heard it, but I hope the above
  account is lucid.

  The next day Gran became cook, and gave us a fine hoosh, after which I
  started trying to get the astronomical position of our headquarters.
  Gran explained the way the Norwegian fishermen obtain latitude and
  longitude by very simple yet sufficiently accurate methods. They
  observe the sun at 11.30, again near noon, and at 12.30. By this means
  they get the local time of noon by calculating halfway between the
  other two observations, which should be nearly the same reading. The
  noon reading is a check.

  Unfortunately in 77° S. the sun pursued a placid path which was nearly
  horizontal, and it was very difficult to find the “keystone” of such a
  flat “arch” as he described!

  We had unloaded one sledge and converted it into the roof-tree of our
  granite hut. It was necessary to collect sealskins to cover our house,
  and as the walls were now high enough, Gran and I went off on a
  fur-hunting trip. About half a mile away was a big seal, and I
  determined to secure him.

  “It was extraordinary how long the muscular action lasted, for this
  animal was stabbed three times in the heart and pithed three times in
  the brain. We had great difficulty in turning him over; there is
  nothing so slimy, heavy, and sloppy as a huge sheet of blubber and
  skin. We managed to roll the heavy hide on to the sledge, but it would
  not stay there. Just like a slow moving glacier it slipped off
  everywhere. ‘Trigger’ took off his belt and lashed it on, and we
  managed to start by sticking the ice-axes in to keep some from
  dragging in the snow. We had to cross an ugly shear crack about four
  feet wide, regularly torn in the floe by the pressure of the glacier,
  but it was no trouble by using the interlocking promontories. We
  cooked tea on the blubber stove, whose white smoke lends homeliness to
  our headquarters.... We named the latter Cape Geology, in memory of
  the chief object of our journey, though we had been able to do very
  little scientific work so far.

  “After lunch Debenham and I proceeded to flense the blubber off,
  laying the hide on a rounded boss of ice. It was slow work, for the
  sun warmed the blubber so that it was as easy to cut as flannel two
  inches thick. We dug out a cache between two blocks of ice and put the
  meat and blubber therein, covering them with smaller blocks of ice,
  and this storehouse served well after we had taken the precaution to
  mark it with a bamboo, so that it was not lost in the snow.

  “I made a granite seat in the hut, and will have a fur carpet, for it
  is cold for the toes on the snowy floor. The stove smokes badly, but
  gives off enormous flames and heat, only burning 10″ × 3″ × 10″ of
  blubber per meal....” Soon, however, the soot and oil filled the
  bottom of the stove, and then it ran out over the rocks and spread all
  over the snowy floor. We had to stand in this fearful mixture, which
  is dirtier than the grease in a foul motor engine, and much more
  ubiquitous. The smoke made one gasp as eddies drove it into the face,
  and we never managed a door for the hut to keep out the icy winds
  blowing down from Mount England.

  The sledge ran along the centre of the roof, and the chimney projected
  through it. Biscuit-boxes helped to form the roof, but sealskins
  enough to cover it were gradually collected. Forde said it was as good
  as many an Irish shebeen, which made me pity the Irish more than
  anything I had yet heard of them! However, it saved our fuel, and kept
  our field notes and sketches cleaner than if we were cooking in the
  tent, so that we feel that this sample of Antarctic architecture
  fulfilled a worthy purpose.

  “I cut up the seal meat and insisted on adding meat to the liver, for
  we should need to kill a seal every other day at the rate the cook
  wants liver! I’m bound to say that I am the biggest eater. Gran had a
  reputation that way, but he has not eaten as much, and Debenham and
  Forde are very poor eaters.” It was very cold in the granite hut. I
  sat in the doorway to try and keep out the draught, and was very glad
  to trot out and warm my toes after cocoa. “The skuas don’t show any
  particular inclination to lay yet. Perhaps they see it won’t be worth
  their while. Nor do they seem at all anxious to clean the blubber from
  the sealskin we left for them.”

  Our tent was in the shadow of the Bluff all night, and so it was quite
  cold in spite of the midnight sun. Gran and I set out next day to put
  up the rendezvous flag, and to kill a seal, while Forde and Debenham
  finished the hut.

  We climbed up one of the chimneys or steep gullies which scored the
  front of the Bluff for several hundred feet, and then got out on to a
  knob, where we raised a red flag on a stout bamboo pole. I found a
  fine deep crack, and Gran wedged it in very solidly with blocks of
  granite. From this view point I made a great discovery, that there is
  an ice tongue about one mile wide and five miles long, projecting from
  the _skauk_ of the Mackay Glacier. Bay ice fringes the cliffs beyond
  it, and as the map shows, the tongue extends almost down the middle of
  Granite Harbour.

  We had many arguments about this tongue. The _Discovery_ must have
  been close to it in 1902. Debenham was inclined to think that it had
  grown since that date; but later we saw a photo from the _Discovery_
  which showed that it was in existence then.

  I wrote a note to Pennell, and lashed it to the mast, telling him we
  were going inland till January the 8th. We then hurried down the
  screes, and went out on the bay ice to slay our seal. “He died
  rapidly, thank goodness, and we plugged through our job till about
  2·15, having an awful time tying the hide and blubber on the sledge,
  while the liver lobes ran all over it. Gran swears they worked their
  way uphill, and came out of the folds of skin! I threw some bits into
  the shear crack, while washing the liver, and the hole was soon full
  of amphipods, which are cousins of the shrimps. Gran says he is going
  to fish hereabouts if he can get a hook.”

  On the 4th December we began to collect gear for our next trip. Forde
  spent a lot of time at the blubber stove, where he was the most expert
  cook. He cut up large lumps of seal, and fried enough for eight meals.
  This was mixed with pepper and salt, and about half cooked. He then
  filled a large tin with this rough substitute for pemmican, and lashed
  it on to the sledge. I used to enjoy a snack of this half-cooked seal
  between meals, for there was now no doubt that our appetites were of
  the true Antarctic variety.

  We had cleaned several skins now, and we fixed them over the roof-tree
  of our hut. I sewed up the flipper holes, and each skin was about
  eight feet by six. We lashed them to the sledge, in the middle, and
  then hung huge stones from the outer margins, which drew them taut,
  and held the skins close to the walls. They soon became very sooty,
  but were always translucent, for the hairs are large and coarse, and
  not at all closely set. We could just stand up under our sledge
  roof-tree. Forde spread gravel over the blubber-ice composition on the
  floor, and I gathered some moss and tried to stuff up the crevices
  therewith. When the cold wind blew down the hills it invaded our hut,
  and made us glad as soon as the sooty meal was over, and we could take
  refuge in our snug little tent below.

  That evening Gran and I climbed up to the top of the bluff, above the
  flag. The sides were covered with granite debris; some colossal blocks
  were twenty feet across. In the clay beneath them were mosses and
  lichens, one of the latter being of a fine frondose shape, with
  root-like attachments. I collected this specimen, and boxed it on my
  return; but the skuas had scattered our specimens when the ship’s
  party finally arrived in 1913.

[Illustration:

  GRANITE HUT, CAPE GEOLOGY.

  Forde and Gran are cooking at the blubber stove, whose chimney
    projects behind the “sledge” roof-tree.
]

[Illustration:

  FORDE COOKING SEAL-FRY ON THE BLUBBER STOVE AT CAPE ROBERTS.
]

  We got up in about one hour, and I began to have my doubts about the
  five-hundred-feet height mentioned in the 1902 record! Luckily, I had
  an aneroid, and this showed it to be over fifteen hundred feet high. I
  got a magnificent view of Granite Harbour and the Mackay Glacier. The
  large ice tongue ended in three splay “fingers,” and was badly
  crevassed, except right at the end. Far to the east I could see Mount
  Erebus and Beaufort Isle. Below was a regular succession of shear
  cracks, due to the irresistible pressure of the Mackay Tongue pushing
  out the bay ice. Great pressure ridges, six, ten, and fifteen feet
  high marked where the bay ice was being jammed on to the Bluff. These
  were very prominent near Cape Geology also, and pools of water
  collected in the hollows between the ridges.

[Illustration:

  Pressure-ridges in the sea-ice, looking west from Cape Geology to the
    Punch Bowl cwm, January 13, 1912.
]

  On the afternoon of the 5th we started to the north, to march around
  the end of the Mackay Tongue, which lay about five miles off. We were
  now crossing ice covered with nearly a foot of snow; but with only one
  sledge and ten days’ food, we got along in fine style. We could easily
  see our signal flag flying on the Bluff, and the red showed quite
  clearly when the wind blew it out. We reached one of the “fingers” at
  the end of the ice tongue about 6.30, and here I decided to camp, so
  as not to lose sight of our survey stations.

  “There seems to be no large tide crack here, which means that the
  tongue is floating. It is broken into deep lateral bays, and consists
  of regular rolls and hollows. I don’t believe that storms affect this
  harbour much, or it would have gone out long ago. We pitched the tent
  on soft snow, just off the end. I got ice from the glacier for the
  cooker, which Forde declared was salty from old sea spray. Anyhow, the
  hoosh was very good.”

  Far to the west we could see a huge black mountain projecting through
  the Mackay Glacier. It was formed of black dolerite capping granite,
  and reminded me of a three-cornered Chinese junk. Debenham objected to
  this name as being unworthy of such a fine nunatak, and proposed
  Gondola Mountain. We knew it by this name during our expedition, but
  on my return to Sydney I discovered that Professor David had seen it
  from the coast, and had called it Mount Suess. So Mount Suess
  displaces Debenham’s euphonious title.

  “The sky looked very ugly—the sun dimly glaring through gloomy
  clouds—a low, thick, dark bank on the eastern horizon, and the
  barometer falling half an inch in the twelve hours. So far nothing has
  happened, but now (10.30 p.m.) snow has just begun, and may keep on
  some time; for I see, from the log, that we had similar conditions at
  Harbour Tongue on the 28th. The temperature is +23°, and we are very
  comfortable; for though we are on sea-ice, yet we can reach the
  glacier in twenty yards, and there is twenty miles of ice between us
  and the open water.”

  I am going to copy my notes, for the next few days, _verbatim_, for
  they give a fairly complete account of a typical summer blizzard in
  Antarctica. If the language seems a trifle strong, the circumstances
  should be considered.

  “_Wednesday, December 6, 1911._—10 a.m. We are held up in our first
  violent blizzard, and it is just a month since we started. We have had
  snow blizzards, but this has wind force about 7 as well, and the drift
  is thick and wetting.

  “We have a pretty snug camp on snow, one foot thick, which you can
  accommodate to your hip-bone, but which it is difficult to stand the
  Primus upon (especially as the cooker _base_, on which it usually
  rests, is full of fat, and is now our frying pan at the _hut_). It
  started snowing about midnight, and clothed the tent by 3 a.m. I woke
  to hear the tent flapping, and shaking down young avalanches, and it
  has been going strong ever since.

  “There is always a strong bulge _in_ on the windward (S.E.) side, and
  slighter bulges at the two lateral tent segments. Then the door, if
  properly placed, tends to blow _out_, and the laterals next to it do
  most of the flapping, and make a deuce of a row.

  “2 p.m. Still blizzing strongly; there have been one or two lulls of a
  few minutes; but they don’t seem to mean much. It is snowing
  furiously, too; pattering on the tent like rain on wooden shingles. If
  you budge from the tent (Debenham had to get a notebook) you get very
  cold, because the drift melts and wets you at this temperature (+23°
  F.). We had a meal about 11 a.m., Gran cooking a good bovril-pemmican,
  with a large supply of broken biscuit therein. This strong south-east
  wind blows practically direct from Cape Roberts on to the tongue on
  our lee, and so I do not much fear it will shift out any ice. Anyhow,
  we can’t move, and I am learning to take these blizzes
  philosophically. Besides, the bags are dry and warm, and when I tire
  of writing the diary I snooze a bit, and then read Harker’s
  ‘Petrology’ (Deb’s), and then snooze, and then read ‘Poe’s Tales’ (too
  fantastic and oriental to please me are most of them), or ‘Martin
  Chuzzlewit,’ or do some German grammar. Forde is actually reading
  something. He has tackled ‘The Mysterious Island’ which Gran has
  nearly finished at last. Deb started to work out a latitude, but is
  now wrapped in ‘Morfus.’ Last night’s hoosh was an enormous success,
  2½ pots of Forde’s concentrated seal hoosh, mixed with water and meal,
  made a top-hole hoosh—very tasty, and all indigenous.

  “6 p.m. The tent is beastly sloppy. We have just finished our _lunch_
  at 6 p.m., and if we can’t get away, that is our last meal to-day!
  To-day is a queer camp, the first down here where the tent has dripped
  on us, when no Primus is going. We have put the cooker under the
  tied-up door, and it is filling, I see! Forde is dressing his finger
  with a penknife, and Deb keeping warm very sensibly in his bag.

  “_December 7, 1911._—Slept pretty well. Dreams, as usual, furnished
  some conversation ’twixt Gran and me, and occasionally Deb. I had a
  very vivid one (or two) after two pots of seal fry the other night.

  “I was walking to Sheffield and got lost, and couldn’t get any one to
  tell me the way. I asked a man and couldn’t get any great satisfaction
  out of him. He saw some of my Antarctic gear in my bag, and said I
  looked as if I was going to the Pole, but would not believe me when I
  said I’d been there! I then told him my name (to impress him, no
  doubt!), and he was not a bit concerned, but said his name was
  _Taylor_ also! Then I switched off home, where everybody was much
  concerned about the end of the world, or something equally cheerful.
  There was an awful red sky to the south which caused great
  perturbation, until finally some one called out, ‘It’s the return of
  the mail-clad “goater”-cars from the Pole!’ These were a sort of red
  motors assisted by goats, and were quite the latest thing in transport
  evidently, and I was much pitied because I didn’t know all about them.
  But a bad pun in a dream seems to denote too much fry!

  “It is now noon, and we are still snowed up off the end of Mackay
  Tongue (43 _hours_ now and we have not got _away_). It dripped most of
  the night, for the temperature was +27° outside and warmer inside.
  There was a puddle by the door, but Gran and my bags have absorbed
  most of that, and Deb’s is wetter. So far the inside of mine is still
  O.K., and I have fur inside always now. It is much warmer, and as soft
  and comfortable as anything I’ve slept in as far as I remember. We
  have been trekking over a month, and though we’ve had almost unique
  hard relaying for two weeks—330 per man—yet I enjoyed it much more
  than the Ferrar trip under better conditions.

  “We got up at 8, and Gran made a biscuit-bovril-pemhoosh, which was
  very good. We had only two meals yesterday, so went a full whack this
  morning. I put on my boots and wind-coat and puttees, and dug out the
  thermometer. The sledge is buried two feet in snow. Deb’s big camera
  tripod shows above the snow, and a bamboo pole—also the top of the
  shovel,—but the rest is clean buried. The first fall of snow was
  consolidated by the blizzard; the last fall, _since 2 p.m._ yesterday,
  is fluffy light stuff and quite different in texture. I dug down to
  the biscuits and got Deb’s notebook, and then came in and scraped off
  the snow and had breakfast. I have finished ‘Martin Chuzzlewit’ this
  morning and puzzled over German declensions, and still we can’t see
  more than a hundred yards, and it is snowing still. We got a watery
  glimpse of the sun about 9; but he’s gone, though, as the north side
  of the tent is dripping most, I suppose he’s still about. There’s a
  constant rainy patter on the tent, but the snow is so slight it would
  not matter if we could see where to steer! However, it’s not hard work
  lying still here, and Scott did it seven days; we’ve only had two.

[Illustration:

  HEAVY SLEDGING OFF MACKAY TONGUE, JUST WHERE WE TRIED TO PACK TO LAND,
    DEC. 8, 1911.

  Note the great furrows due to the sledge dragging bodily on the snow.
]

[Illustration:

  THE “HALF-TON” AFTER NELSON LEFT US, OFF THE MOUTH OF DRY VALLEY, NOV.
    18, 1911.

  Notice the ice-free character of the valley and its faceted walls.
    Beneath the flag appears distant “Matterhorn.” The sledge-meter
    shows to the left of the tent.
  [See p. 339.
]

  “The barometer (29.45) is rising steadily, which denotes, I think, no
  more strong wind at present. Our short, sharp blizz was correlated
  with a very low barometer of 29.18, whereas 29.80 is about the mean
  hereabouts.

  “There is no tide crack off the Tongue, which is five miles from its
  parent glacier, and therefore must be floating. Also, as it projects a
  hundred feet above sea-level, it must be _500 feet thick_, which is
  comforting.

  “We had lunch about two and saw blue sky to the east, Erebus showing
  partly; gradually the whole snow cloud blew over _en masse_ to the
  west, leaving blue sky and a bright sun. We dug out the sledge,
  nothing of which showed, and got off after Deb had taken a photo.

  “We could hardly get a move-out of the sledge and finally harnessed so
  as to beat out a bit of a track. The going was awful. Never had such
  hard work, and with only one fairly light sledge! It pulled me flat on
  my face in the soft mushy snow, and wet me half up to the waist
  tramping through it. We managed to get around to the end of the Tongue
  and one mile to the north, and then it was after 7 p.m., and I could
  not stick it, nor could the others. We pitched camp in the middle of
  North Bay. But our floorcloth and tent are dry, which is a great
  comfort, and we had a fine seal-hoosh. The trouble is that all our
  survey work will be blocked; for two miles’ progress in three hours is
  deadly, and this snow is universal. However, I’d rather have it now
  than earlier, when we had two heavy sledges, for we couldn’t possibly
  have moved either! Perhaps it will cement by to-morrow a bit. The
  temperature is down to +13½° (after 27° or so) and the barometer is
  still rising steadily. I feel a bit wet and will turn in early.

  “The Tongue is very imposing from this (north) side, being cut up by
  bays so deep that they seem to separate it into islands. We hope to
  make the end of the Kar Plateau—a long 800-foot flat-topped
  shelf—which seemed to show a bit of beach. We had to camp at what
  seems one and a half to two miles away in soft snow, which we kicked
  away and shovelled off so as to get a fair spread for the floorcloth.

  “_Friday, December 8, 1911._—I doffed some of my clothes and hung them
  up inside the tent, if so be they might dry a little. Result, like a
  board, for the temperature was only +13. However, I used my eiderdown,
  and was jolly snug and warm and slept quite well.

  “My bag is wet outside and it wet the floorcloth. Trigger’s you can
  squeeze water out of. We must get a drying spot on the coast. It is a
  fair morning with a gusty, cold, plateau wind (W.). The sun is shining
  low down in the east through cirrus; but it does not look snowy or
  blizzy.

  “(Written Saturday 8 a.m.) We were about two miles from the coast, the
  nearest being the end of the _Kar Plateau_. We loaded up the sledge
  and gaily proceeded in that direction, anticipating arrival about
  noon. But we found we could not pull the sledge, though I doubt if
  there is 400 lbs. on it. It just stuck, with the prow covered with
  soft snow. Forde gave words to ‘pull all together’ (for he could see
  better than I, being at the back), but it was no good. So we stuck up
  the flag pole and packed all we could carry on our backs. Gran went
  first with his very heavy bag (half water) and the tent poles. He
  plugged away in great style, but made rather a devious track as
  different parts of the coast appealed to him! Deb followed with a
  rucksack on his back and his bag also (and the plane-table halfway).
  Forde took the tent and cloth, but didn’t wrap them up carefully, so
  that they rather impeded his movements. I came last with a proper
  swag—rucksack in front and bag behind, hung over my shoulders on my
  belt. There we were trekking for the land to dry our things a bit and
  do some geology. Gran got rather far ahead, and by the time we arrived
  near the rocks he was manœuvring with the tent poles near the tide
  crack.

  “This was most unsatisfactory; a high ice-foot about two feet or more,
  separated by one or two feet space of open water, was bad enough, but
  nearly forty feet of the floe was soft and mushy, and through the
  thick snow you could not tell which was hard ice and which was open
  water.

[Illustration:

  A TIGHT CORNER! CROSSING THE FORTY-FOOT TIDE CRACK OFF POINT
    DISAPPOINTMENT, GRANITE HARBOUR.

  From a drawing by D. Low.
]

  “There were seals all over this mushy stuff, and one came unexpectedly
  on their holes nearly buried in snow. Deb and Forde were looking down
  one to see the thickness of the mushy ice when one leaped out three
  feet and, as Forde said, ‘It nearly frightened a life out of me!’

  “Gran had laid the poles up against the floe and left his bag just
  behind, when the mush gave way and in he went to his waist. He rescued
  his bag clinging to the pole, and somehow managed to crawl up the
  ice-foot, but he was pretty wet and soon very cold.

  “Deb and Forde sat on their packs by the firmer ice, and I walked
  along the sea-ice (while Gran went along the ice-foot) to the north.
  We found it all just the same. At every footstep water oozed up, and
  evidently the floe was melting top and bottom and had never been
  thick. This doubtful area was forty feet wide. At the north, a quarter
  of a mile from our track, I managed to get on the ice-foot over three
  visible cracks, and I don’t know how many buried in snow. We returned
  to the others to find Deb had had one foot through. Having regard to
  the difficulty of the surface all the way to our camp—eight miles of
  two-foot soft snow, through which we could only pull the sledge at
  half a mile an hour with every muscle taut,—I decided it was not safe
  to stay over on this shore; for a few days’ sun would probably convert
  this mushy belt into open water, and we should have no ready line of
  retreat at all. So in view of the Owner’s lectures on caution and my
  sledging instructions, I abandoned the idea of camping two or three
  days on this north side, and we lugubriously determined to push back
  with our packs to the sledge two miles away. First, however, we had to
  get Trigger off the ice-foot. I went forward to pick up his bag, and
  suddenly went through halfway up to my thigh. Luckily the other foot
  kept firm, and I leant backwards and sat back on the less tricky mush.
  Then we lashed bag ropes and threw them towards him. He threw the tent
  poles on to the mush and then launched himself full length on the
  stuff, gripping the poles. The whole floe rocked up and down like
  jelly, but the poles kept him up, and he got across to us without
  further mishap. It would have been impossible to scramble out if we
  had gone through, for there was nothing firm to grip.

  “Forde also volunteered that he thought ‘You done a wise thing to give
  that place a miss.’

  “On our way back Deb stopped to take some angles with the plane-table,
  but found that he’d forgotten his sight-rule, so that even _that_
  weight was uselessly lugged forward. We camped for lunch at our night
  camp, and then the sun was so hot that it dried our bags nicely. My
  feet were very cold and wet, and so were Gran’s. I took a complete
  round of angles both vertical and horizontal, and with the necessary
  sketching this occupied about two hours.

  “Then about four we pulled off for Camp Blizzard and had a diabolical
  time over the two and a quarter miles of soft snow. The old track was
  nearly all filled up by a drift from the west, and, though the snow
  had compacted a little, it was frightfully heavy work. The marks of
  the bamboos on the sledge floor showed that the whole sledge was
  resting on the snow. Only off the point of the Tongue did a little of
  the old track show and helped us somewhat. My sledge belt began to
  feel as if it was being pulled out through my back, and I had to pull
  with my hands. We camped about 8 p.m. just near our old Blizzard Camp,
  where we had to sweep off a foot of soft snow. I went up the Glacier
  Tongue to get ice, but could not reach real ice and had to go over to
  a cornice to get air-filled ice. We had an excellent hoosh, four cups
  of ‘Forde’s concentrated’ with water added. It made a sort of liver
  jelly when boiled a little more, and I had two cups and a glorious cup
  of cocoa, cooled so that you could get a good long drink!

  “... And then I gave the diary a miss, hung socks and wet breeches
  outside the tent, and slept right through till 8 a.m.!”

  We pushed off for our headquarters next morning and found we could
  hardly move the sledge. After struggling a few hundred yards I decided
  to see how the runners looked. We unpacked everything, and found an
  irregular lamina of ice about a quarter of an inch thick had coated
  the runners. This we scraped off with a tin matchbox and then turned
  the sledge to face the sun, and in about half an hour they were clean
  and dry. The improvement was most marked, and made our light sledge
  now only as difficult as the two heavy sledges we had dragged to
  headquarters! We read in Arctic books that ice is purposely moulded on
  the sledges, but I expect the temperatures are lower, when that method
  is useful.

  At lunch we had dragged it about a mile and a half, and we dried the
  runners again. I noted that my amber-coloured glasses had a very
  pleasing effect; they turned the most gloomy clouds into a beautiful
  Italian sky. Everything in the heavens is turned into blue and white,
  which is a great change from the dismal views seen through the green
  goggles of last year! The relief through using them and the help they
  give in picking out hollows in the surface is enormous, but they fog
  up somewhat, of course, with perspiration after a short time.

  As we were nearing our headquarters we had a great discussion as to
  what had happened to the signal flag. Debenham has excellent sight,
  and with the aid of the glasses he swore that he could see the bamboo
  lying, broken down. This seemed impossible to me, and I bet him one of
  our usual 1_s._ 3_d._ dinners that it had not broken! However, after a
  time I saw myself that the thick and solid bamboo pole had snapped. It
  was some consolation that his cairn and flag at headquarters had blown
  down also!

  We had some difficulty crossing the shear cracks near the camp, for
  the snow had covered everything. I prodded cautiously ahead when we
  seemed near the largest, and, stepping on, went right in. I had been
  standing on the exact edge and tested too far off! However, I escaped
  with a slight wetting, which is the proud privilege of the leader, and
  we crossed without difficulty.

  We reached our front door at 6.30, finding that the ice had buckled in
  our absence, but had not cut us off from shore. Dodging between two
  pressure ridges we reached the ice-foot amid the huge storm-blocks of
  ice and unloaded with great joy. Everything was buried in snow.

  The 40-lb. biscuit tin was hurled six feet off a rock, and Granite Hut
  was half filled with snow. We cleared the gravel patch and soon
  pitched our tent, and had a good hoosh inside us.

  Shortly after we turned in it began to blow from the west, a most
  unusual quarter. This cold plateau wind increased very rapidly, and by
  2 a.m. was blowing as hard as any wind I ever felt in a tent. It bent
  in the stout poles of the tent like whale-bone, and covered the sledge
  with a huge ridge of hard snow. The door flapped so violently that
  some of us could get no sleep. The wind died down about 5 a.m., and
  the 10th turned out to be a beautiful day. We spent an hour clearing
  the huge drifts off our sledges, which were completely lost to sight.

  As this was Sunday, I decided we would spend it in tidying up our
  camp. Gran and I planted his sea-kale seed in the evening. He said the
  Norwegians in Graham Land (West Antarctica) got large crops of this
  succulent vegetable! I had my doubts, but it seemed worth trying.
  Behind our camp was a huge cluster of granite rocks enclosing a small
  cave. We collected some mossy soil and placed it in this hollow,
  facing the noon sun. It seemed a bit wet and soggy, but Gran swore the
  seedlings would be up in a week and edible in a month.

[Illustration: ‘Pulpit Rock’, the home of the Sea-Kale 17–1.12]

  “The skuas are squawking like fussy ducks all round us, sometimes
  cheeping like young chicks; but they don’t lay eggs, which is their
  main duty now.”

  All the moss, which formed a regular peaty layer an inch thick in some
  of the gulleys, implied plenty of soakage. But it was a cold summer,
  and we never found any drainage when we dug into the hollows.
  Moreover, the blackened appearance of the moss made me sure that we
  were not seeing it under favourable or even normal conditions.

  A small discomfort, which was to bulk largely in the next few weeks,
  began to trouble me. During the seal-killing and flensing I managed to
  inflict eight cuts on my hands, all of which healed up in the pure
  Polar air, with one exception. It was on the forefinger of my right
  hand, and was beginning to fester badly. Gran was our self-constituted
  doctor, though I’m bound to say that the stories he told of deathbeds
  which he had attended on Norwegian ships were not at all reassuring.
  Gravely he felt my pulse and armpit, and then said, “Do you feel pain
  here?” I truthfully said “No!” “No blood-poisoning in that finger,”
  said he. At any rate it rapidly became worse, and for days I could not
  write, sketch, or photograph, while the pain prevented my sleeping at
  night.

  The first duty before us was to replace the flag on the rendezvous.
  Gran decided it should be of a bolder pattern, and so he inserted a
  white specimen bag in the middle of a black depôt flag, which made a
  very showy standard indeed.

  After lunch we marched across the bay just east of our camp. This
  washed the beach where the moss grew, and in our exiled position it
  was natural that Debenham and myself felt that there could be no
  better name than Botany Bay for this inlet! The ice surface was in a
  peculiarly unpleasant condition. A frozen layer of snow over a foot of
  soft snow made walking exceptionally tiring. Flanking the Discovery
  Bluff—as we called our rendezvous—was a tumbled scree of granite
  blocks mingled with smaller talus and snow. Here, moreover, numerous
  little rivulets were rushing down the chimneys scored in the face of
  the bluff, so that there was plenty of variety about our walk.

  We reached our flag sooner than I expected; in fact, we climbed up
  right above it to nine hundred feet; and had to get down somewhat
  circuitously, when a hurtling granite block warned us of precipitous
  cliffs directly beneath. I found that our bamboo was as firm fixed as
  ever, but it had snapped through like matchwood just at the surface.
  The wind seemed to have blown _down_ the face of the Bluff, which was
  a most unexpected direction. We mounted it again, after hacking off
  four feet waste at the bottom. This fragment was to prove very useful
  to us, for I carried it back to camp.

  From this height we could still see nothing but solid ice. By means of
  the formula—

            Distance in miles = √(Height in feet)

  it was possible to get some idea of the distance of the horizon. In
  this case

            D = √(500) = 23 miles,

  so that the break up of the ice seemed far enough off. To the north by
  Point Disappointment I could see the ugly patch of snow-slush which
  had nearly engulfed Gran and myself.

  We had a merry meal that evening, at which we decided to have a
  sweepstake on the day of the arrival of the ship. But we could not
  decide on the prize. We wanted lots of things at the moment, but they
  would all be plentiful when we got aboard, and money was obviously of
  no value. Finally Gran had a brilliant idea, and suggested that the
  winner should have the _first bath_! Even this suggestion met with
  disapproval, for some one pointed out that we should have no clean
  things on board, and would be sledging for weeks after at Evans Coves,
  and so might as well not have a bath at all!

  Debenham and I continued our discussions on Tennyson and Browning. We
  both preferred the latter, but Debenham used to try to prove that
  Tennyson was the better poet. Gran would join in occasionally, and was
  always ready to give an opinion on some debated stanza of Browning’s.
  “What porridge had John Keats,” according to our Norwegian critic,
  contained an abstruse reference to the gentleman’s brains! Poor Forde
  was out of it in these discussions, and we used to discuss naval
  matters as a change, for his benefit. But our Irish mate was
  essentially a man of action, and was as far removed from a facile
  speaker as any man I’ve met. “The Bishop orders his Tomb” was a poem
  which had a fascination for me. Many a weary mile has passed
  unnoticed, while I have memorized line after line of that somewhat
  lugubrious poem.

  On the 12th Gran found two skua eggs. The poor mothers seemed wet and
  miserable, and Gran affirmed that the second was sitting in a nest
  full of water, and seemed relieved to be free of her charge. We
  collected a few every day from now onward. They are smaller than a
  hen’s egg, and of a brown colour, with irregular black, tawny and buff
  flecks irregularly scattered over the shell.

  On this expedition we had more of the trouble with boots which we had
  experienced early in the year. My “ironclads” had lasted splendidly.
  The steel spikes and bars had protected the leather completely, and
  only on the 14th did the first bar break off. For future work of this
  description I should certainly use the heaviest and largest Alpine
  boots, and that is the most valuable advice as to equipment that I can
  offer to future Antarctic geologists.

[Illustration: Ironclad Boots for Antarctic Geologists, 15·10·11.]

  I had been busy planning how to measure the velocity of the Mackay
  Tongue. This flowed eastward between us and the Kar Plateau, so that
  by sighting from our granite cape to a fixed point on the Kar Plateau
  cliffs, I could fix very accurately a datum line. It only remained to
  plant a mark on the moving glacier somewhere on this line, and our
  investigation would be well started. Unfortunately we had nothing for
  a mark. I thought of placing a seal carcase on the glacier; for stones
  would sink into the ice in a very short time. Finally I used the butt
  end of the flag pole from the Discovery Bluff. Here at last we found
  the blubber-soot useful, for I used it as a paint to increase the
  visibility of a swab of sealskin which I bound on the bamboo stake.
  Gran and I marched across to the Tongue carrying the stake and the
  theodolite. I never remember any hotter walk than that two miles. The
  sun simply made the perspiration pour off us! However, one could
  always sit down and have _glace au naturel_ to cool one. Personally, I
  never felt any ill result from eating snow in the Antarctic, and all
  our party quenched their thirst in this way.

[Illustration:

  Looking north-west from Cape Geology, showing the granite cliffs of
    the Kar Plateau (1000 feet) capped by dolerite. The latter enclosed
    the granite “datum” whereby the movement of the Mackay Tongue was
    measured.
]

  We climbed up the Tongue without difficulty, but soon entered into a
  region riddled with crevasses. They were parallel to the edge of the
  tongue, and looked like relics of old lateral pressure rather than
  crevasses due to present movement. They were difficult to cross,
  especially as Gran’s boots were so slippery. We had to make a big
  detour to get on to the transit line. Finally, I got the theodolite
  set up, and sighted “fore and back,” until I got the cape and a crack
  in the Kar Cliffs in transit with my station. Here we planted the
  stake, and then returned _viâ_ the maze of crevasses to the camp.

[Illustration: Gran’s Bête Noire 15·12·11]

  At first I could hardly see the stake from Cape Geology. The cold air
  close to the ice surface is always flickering on a warm day and
  mirages all objects; but soon I made it out at two miles through the
  telescope, and I could see that we could readily measure a movement of
  one foot a day.

  By this time we had collected enough eggs to have a feast. We took the
  precaution of frying them, and Forde and I tested them before cooking.
  The whites are translucent and faintly bluish, and have very little
  taste, but I don’t think we had much fault to find with them. It was
  amusing to see Gran’s horror when a twelve-day chicken appeared in one
  of the eggs. It was really an interesting discovery, for it showed
  that the skuas commenced laying about the 4th of December. We could
  not preserve the specimen, but I knew Dr. “Bill” would be interested,
  and so I made a sketch of Gran’s _bête noire_. We had a splendid
  seal-hoosh, tender, and flavoured with onion powder, and on top of
  this was a fried egg for each of us. It was Forde’s _chef d’œuvre_,
  and celebrated the close of his week of cooking.

  For the purpose of my survey I laid out a base-line about a mile long
  on the bay ice. From the known length of this, as measured by the
  sledge-meter, and angles from the two ends it was, of course, possible
  to determine the distance of any visible point. Each of these three
  points forms a station to which others may be linked; and indeed, in
  exactly this manner is a “triangulation” carried out.

  On the 16th we started off to examine and survey the western coast of
  the harbour. Here the Mackay Glacier entered the sea, chiefly by the
  great tongue, but also by huge ice cliffs to the south, and by the new
  glacier in the south-west corner. We headed for a striking cape which
  projected from the glacier like a black hand stretched forth from a
  snowy cuff of glacier. We called this promontory Cuff Cape.

[Illustration:

  Sketch-map of region near the Devil’s Punch Bowl, December, 1911.
]

  My finger was very painful, and the swelling now extended right
  through my right hand. Luckily I could pull in harness as well as
  ever, but for many nights I had no sleep, and I could do little or
  nothing in the way of making records during the day.

  However, I became a fairly expert writer with my left hand in the
  course of time, but it was very galling to be incapacitated in almost
  the most interesting part of our journey.

  We camped on the ice-foot at Cuff Cape and scrambled up to see the
  glacier behind. Like all the land hereabouts the rock was covered with
  a layer of jumbled blocks of granite mixed up with gravel and clay.
  The ice cliff was fifty feet high, and almost free from silt or rock.
  Hence the debris on the cape surely marks the condition of the land
  prior to the last advance of the glaciers. It is not rock crumbled _in
  situ_, for I am sure that would be more in the form of a
  gravel—moreover, erratics were common.

  There was, of course, some moraine material, and a few perched blocks
  especially along the north shore. In the bay near the Tongue the
  latter had broken the bay ice into square cakes, evidently by the
  pressure of the glacier; and the movement of the Tongue along the
  stagnant ice of Cuff Cape had piled a rampart of ice on top of the
  latter.

  The hot sun acting on the ebony front of my camera had actually split
  it! Luckily I discovered it in time, and no damage was done to my
  photographs. Gran was very pleased at finding an insect on this cape,
  and while we were examining this wild animal, he also discovered
  “gold.” This latter, however, was only golden mica, though it quite
  resembled the precious metal.

  On the 18th we moved across to the next cape. This stood out boldly
  with nearly vertical crags a thousand feet high bounding it on two
  sides. It closely resembled in shape the sky-scraper called the “Flat
  Iron,” and as it also had a flat top we gave it that name. We camped
  on the south-east side at the foot of a chimney which led up to a
  pretty little tarn. The summit was 1200 feet above the sea and was
  covered with a wonderful variety of rocks.

  Looking up the glacier to the west we could see a plateau of dead ice.
  The moving glacier split on Mount Suess, and the greater part of the
  ice entered the sea as the Mackay Tongue. A small amount flowed down
  just south of the Flat Iron forming the “New Glacier” (see map, p.
  376). In my opinion there is a tendency for greater erosion at the
  edge of the ice, for here the sapping action in the “lateral moat” is
  very active. In the centre of a glacier the only erosion is that due
  to glacier planation, and as I have explained, very little of this is
  taking place in Antarctica at present.

  There was a marked descent from the top of the Flat Iron to the snow
  plateau, and then a steep drop into the “Devil’s Punchbowl.” The
  latter was a fascinating spot, and on the 20th we shifted camp so as
  to examine it more closely.

  We were encamped on a small beach beneath the rocky wall of the new
  glacier, which we called the “Devil’s Ridge.” Probably the state of my
  finger accounted for His Satanic Majesty’s frequent presence on the
  map hereabouts. The Punch Bowl was an empty cwm or bowl-valley, which
  had been eaten into the steep southern edge of the Flat Iron. Its
  floor was below sea-level, and it would thus appear to indicate
  subsidence, for we have no idea how the accepted methods of eroding
  cwms (by “thaw and freeze” chiefly) could act _under_ water. The New
  Glacier had very lately ceased to fall over the Devil’s Ridge into the
  cwm. It is only six feet below the ridge, and there is a drop of five
  hundred feet to the floor of the latter. In fact, thaw waters still
  cross the ridge and flow through the debris and down into the cwm. It
  is perfectly obvious that very little power is exercised by the “New
  Glacier,” or it would have swept the Punch Bowl out of existence.

  There was a little tarn held back by a large bank of snow near the top
  of the ridge, and here Gran celebrated midsummer by a bathe! I envied
  him, but could not follow suit owing to my disabled hand.

  Across the bowl a small hanging glacier entered the cwm but did not
  reach the sea-ice below. We called this the Dewdrop Glacier. It
  terminated in a rhomb-shaped face which was three hundred feet above
  the bay. In the bay itself was a great thickness of ice, and Debenham
  and myself had many arguments as to its origin. He believed it was an
  ancient relic of the Dewdrop Glacier; but I inclined to the belief
  that it represented old floe ice jammed up the narrow bowl by sea-ice
  from without. Gran and I ran a line of levels across it with the
  theodolite, which showed that it was still afloat although in places
  it rose many feet above the bay level.

  We were running short of stores, so Gran and I marched back to our
  headquarters. While I collected the stores he looked around for skua
  eggs and soon found eight. The sea-kale did not show that verdant
  growth which Gran had anticipated. However, he dug up one corner of
  the “garden” and proudly showed me that one of the seeds was
  sprouting!

  Gran put the eggs in a tin to carry them to the Punch Bowl. For
  security he carefully packed them; but as the tin was black and the
  sun was hot his packing, consisting of snow, soon vanished! However,
  we got the eggs safely to the others. Unfortunately five were bad, but
  the others assisted the menu at our midsummer feast.

  On the 22nd Gran and I explored the ridge and examined the Devil’s
  Thumb. This knob is eight hundred feet above the bowl and is composed
  of granite stiffened by porphyry dykes. Next day we spent some time
  examining a huge enclosure of limestone caught up in the rocks forming
  the Flat Iron. The crumpling and heat had turned the limestone into
  marble, and along the junction with the granite many unusual minerals
  had been formed. There were huge brown augites several inches long,
  and large masses of natrolite, tremolite, and other similar minerals,
  which filled Debenham’s petrological soul with joy.

  We returned to Cape Geology on the 23rd of December. In our absence
  the tide crack and pressure ridges had been torn wider by the pressure
  of the Mackay Tongue on the sea-ice. However, we got ashore without
  much difficulty by zigzagging along the torn edges of the crack (see
  p. 369).

  We found the floor of the hut inches deep in ice, which Forde cleared
  out with the ice-axe. Meanwhile Gran was busy at the medical chest,
  where the long names rather confused him. However, he seemed to
  remember “aspirin” as a useful friend, and said it was suited to my
  case. I swallowed some of the tabloids. Then he came across
  “salicylate,” and apologetically remarked that the latter was what he
  had been thinking of. So I tried them also. I was of the opinion
  myself that my trouble was a combination of frostbite, blood-poisoning
  and rheumatism, due primarily to an infected cut, and later to cold
  and a diet of seal meat. However, on return to civilization I was
  assured that I ought to have had my finger cut off, and that the bone
  had been affected. Gran very willingly started operating on it with a
  lancet; but I am thankful to say that I distrusted his powers as a
  surgeon, with the result that now all is well.

  On Christmas Day we roamed about Cape Geology collecting specimens and
  skua eggs. I was pleased to see signs of intellect in two of the
  skuas, for my observations of seals, penguins, and skuas left me
  convinced of their stupidity. However, in one nest the bird had
  dragged some moss from a patch a foot distant, and in another case
  some quill feathers were arranged around the nest. All the other birds
  nested anyhow and anywhere. A gully, where water often trickled down
  on a specially hot day, was a favoured spot!

  For lunch we cracked twenty-seven eggs, of which eight were edible.
  Then we opened the Christmas bag and we found therein a small pudding
  ready cooked and some caramels and ginger. Forde had rigged up the
  flap again, and had raised the Irish flag on his own behalf. He cut
  out a white harp from a linen specimen bag and sewed it on to a piece
  of green burberry. The result was patriotic and striking. Gran’s
  sledge flag was a beautiful piece of embroidery presented by Queen
  Maud, and contained the Norwegian arms. Debenham’s and mine bore the
  arms of our universities.

  I had carved a spoon out of a piece of bamboo from the broken end of
  our depôt flag, and Debenham used this as a lever to photograph our
  group. This primitive arrangement took a lot of fixing, but he
  obtained quite a successful picture finally.

  A heavy sea fog rolled up that evening, and most of us suffered from
  rheumatic pains. As a rule, we never caught cold while sledging,
  though I remember a touch of influenza on one occasion. This freedom
  from some of the minor ills of life speaks well for the purity of the
  air in the Antarctic.

  Debenham’s birthday is the 26th of December, and Gran had remembered
  this fact and carried a packet of cigarettes from Cape Evans as a
  present to him.

[Illustration:

  THE FIRST WESTERN PARTY IN A NATURAL ICE-TUNNEL AMID THE PINNACLES OF
    THE KOETTLITZ GLACIER.

  Edgar Evans standing.
]

[Illustration:

  THE SECOND WESTERN PARTY AT CAPE GEOLOGY, GRANITE HARBOUR, ON
    CHRISTMAS DAY, 1911.

  Forde and Gran standing, Debenham and Taylor sitting.
]

  We walked along the flank of Mount England to explore the New Glacier
  and to find a track to the Upper Mackay. Numerous couloirs or chimneys
  grooved the steep face, and Gran and I climbed four hundred feet up
  one of them. The snowline was about eight hundred feet up, and below
  this was a tumbled pile of debris and granite blocks with a little
  water running between. It was obvious that frost action was now
  leading to a great deal of erosion; while at the head of the couloir
  where the snow lay, less action was taking place. In short, true
  glacier erosion (planation) was absent, and yet all round were
  specimens of cwms in all stages of their evolution. Here a gully,
  there a couloir somewhat deeper, on the Kar Cliffs a couloir cut into
  a “half funnel” (p. 374); at the “Spillover” near by, a small bowl at
  the back of the eroded notch, and along the mountain ridge (named
  later after Gonville and Caius College), a series of giant cwms which,
  in my opinion, originated in some small gully such as that I had just
  climbed. At the foot of each of these deep couloirs was a delta or
  debris fan.

  We climbed up the steep face of the New Glacier just where it joined
  the talus of the mountain slope. Higher up was a deep lateral gully
  which had been dammed by debris, and contained a lake about a quarter
  of a mile long. This was bounded by steep granite cliffs on the south,
  which showed no sign of grooving by the glacier, but was breaking off
  in “shells” owing to frost action.

  We could see up the New Glacier, which was badly crevassed in many
  places. I came round to the opinion of Debenham and Gran, that it
  would be wiser to portage all our gear up the 1000 feet cliffs of the
  Flat Iron, and so gain the quiet area behind the latter. We returned
  to Cape Geology, and packed a fortnight’s provisions and gear for our
  journey up the Mackay Glacier.

  I caught many of the insects I had discovered on arriving at Cape
  Geology. Indeed, later Debenham found them under most of the stones,
  clustering among the whitish roots or hyphæ of the moss. They would be
  frozen stiff in a thin film of ice until one turned the stone into the
  sun. Then the ice would melt, and they would move sluggishly about
  until the sun left them, when their damp habitation froze again! I
  cannot imagine a finer example of hibernation, for it looked as if
  they pursued an active life only when a beneficent explorer let in a
  little sunlight on them! Debenham detected a little red species which
  was much more nimble than the millimetre-long blue ones, and I had
  much trouble in catching six of them; but the others were more easily
  managed. I smeared a piece of paper with seccotine, and then, taking a
  small brush from the medical outfit, I brushed them by hundreds on to
  the paper. “Seccotine sticks everything,” and the _aptera_ were no
  exception. In a few moments they were securely embalmed like the flies
  in amber, and so we safely carried a thousand of these unknown insects
  back to civilization.

  At noon on the 27th we arrived at the foot of the Flat Iron again, and
  started our big task. Like most premeditated ills, it was not so
  difficult as anticipated. First we had some tea on a little gravelly
  ledge about a hundred feet up, and then packed the gear for transport
  up the mile of angular granite blocks which lay between us and the top
  of the Flat Iron. Forde and Gran carried the sledge on their
  shoulders, and, as may be imagined, had a most uncomfortable journey
  with this “old man of the ice” to handicap their scramble. Debenham
  and I carried food and gear, and in about a dozen journeys everything
  was perched high up on the Flat Iron’s summit. Open water was visible
  from five hundred feet, so that it was still about twenty-five miles
  away. Pennell had not much chance of reaching the rendezvous unless
  the ice went out at a mile a day.

  We left our snug gravel island next day, and knotted ourselves well to
  the sledge. We were now to journey for some days over the Mackay
  Glacier, and though we naturally chose the smoothest and least
  disturbed ice for our route, yet we had to pass near areas full of
  huge crevasses. I had less anxiety than ever to fall into one, for I
  could not use my right hand at all yet. However, the other three were
  almost too prompt to pull me out, as I realized a week or two later.

  We zigzagged down on the snow plateau. This is about ten miles wide,
  and seven miles from east to west. It is bounded by the New Glacier
  crevasses on the south, and by rock islands which we called Redcliff
  and Mount Suess on the west, by the chaos of the Mackay Skauk on the
  north, and by the Flat Iron and Cuff Cape Glaciers to the east, where
  there is a 1000 feet drop into Granite Harbour.

  “The surface was covered with deep snow; we don’t know what is
  beneath. There are many indications of east-west depressions in the
  snow into which we fell occasionally, but I am not sure if they were
  crevasses. The surface often fell in with a widespread sigh, which was
  eerie but harmless.

  “To the south is a wonderful series of peaks about five thousand feet
  high, forming a wall of giant cwms. Probably they form the divide from
  the next great valley (of the Debenham Glacier). Quite a number of
  these peaks show a recurved spine on the summit, which is probably due
  to the weathering of dolerite crags. To the north-west is a mountain
  approaching seven thousand feet, which is capped by dolerite lava.”
  (We called it Black-cap at first, but it is now officially known as
  Mount Tryggve Gran, after our ever-cheerful comrade.) “In the face of
  this mountain are faulted white bands which are probably Beacon
  Sandstone.”

  That evening we camped on Redcliff _Nunakol_. This latter term I
  invented with Gran’s assistance to describe a rock island resembling a
  _nunatak_, but rounded by previous glacial erosion. The nunatak has
  properly never been below the ice; hence its name, from the Icelandic
  _nuna_, lonely, and _tak_, a jagged peak. Nunakol is from _nuna_,
  lonely, and _kol_, a rounded ridge.

[Illustration:

  Mount Suess Nunatak, looking west from Redcliff, December 29, 1912.
]

  We placed the tent on a patch of gravel near to a little waterfall. I
  followed up this stream, and found that it rose in some swampy ground
  where a little moss was growing. Next morning we all explored the
  Nunakol, which was 1080 feet above the glacier. The top was more or
  less flat, and as usual consisted of granite covered with much debris.
  I managed to do some sketching, and was especially interested in the
  numerous pot-holes cut out in granite by the wind. They were about a
  foot in diameter and eight inches deep, and each contained some
  pebbles by which they had been scoured out.

  To assist our survey we named many of the peaks and glaciers around
  us. The sharp peak to the north (which I usually made the datum for
  the theodolite angles) we called the “Referring Facet.” A large
  tributary glacier to the east of this was named the Cleveland Glacier
  by Debenham. He explained that it was after a large family, and so
  required a correspondingly large natural feature! Red Ridge was to the
  south, and formed of red granite. Killer Ridge had the shape of an
  _orca_, Sperm Bluff was a black headland like the blunt head of the
  sperm whale. Pegtop and Dome nunataks are self-explanatory. We were
  quite close to Mount Suess, and obtained a fine view of this nunatak.
  Its three dolerite peaks, the armchair hollow, and the bulwark on the
  north-east, supported by huge granite cliffs, made it a very striking
  object.

  On the 30th the day was overcast, and it snowed most of the time. We
  could not leave the tent, and lay snug in our bags and mended gear. I
  did some useful darning, using seaming twine to repair my socks. They
  were lasting splendidly. “I mended them with my left hand; so far I am
  still wearing the same socks for eight weeks. If I could darn easily,
  I’d keep to them for our whole fourteen weeks....” Such was the
  practical value of my patent canvas heel-tips!

  Debenham and I made a set of chess pieces from cardboard, and we
  played on his survey plane-table. It took a week or two to get used to
  the men, but we had many games later while we were marooned on Cape
  Roberts.

  On the last day of the year we pulled westward to Gondola Ridge. “All
  was snow-covered, and we sank four inches into it, but the sledge
  pulled pretty well. There was no sun, but I got in a cold sweat with
  the work. Now and again our feet would sink a foot or two. There must
  be plenty of crevasses round this corner of the nunakol, but we
  trusted the fates and plugged on. The snow was so deep that we did not
  break through the bridges anywhere. The sun came out to cheer us, and
  soon we heard the old creaking due to ‘bottle-glass’ ice and
  ‘glass-house’ ice....” I knew this meant an ancient undisturbed
  glacier from our experience up the Koettlitz Glacier, and felt that we
  were safely past the crevasses.

  About noon we had approached close to Gondola Ridge, which extends
  northward from Mount Suess. Here we came to a sudden ice cliff, but
  the slope was not too steep for us to toboggan down it on to a lake
  surface fringing the moraines. I expect thaw waters had cut out the
  cliff. Here were fine debris cones just like those of Cape Evans, but
  larger, and formed not only of dolerite, but of granite and Beacon
  Sandstone.

[Illustration: Sketch Map of Mt. Suess Nunatak and Gondola Nunakol
5·1·12]

  “We pushed on for a whitish silt-bank, and then left the sledge near
  it among the black and white rocks composing the moraine. The
  silt-bank was a huge heap like a railway embankment. It was twenty
  feet high, and composed of Beacon Sandstone debris. A little lake lay
  at the foot, and its flat top made a splendid camp site. ‘Here, on
  soil formed of real sand, like that near Sydney, we pitched our
  tent:’—probably the first time such a thing had been done in Victoria
  Land. We found a bounteous water supply by cutting through the ice of
  the little lake, for alongside a big black boulder the radiation of
  the sun’s heat had melted the ice. This was a great saving, for none
  of our precious oil was now wasted in melting the ice.”

  There was an extraordinary mixture of dolerite and sandstone all over
  the Gondola Ridge. The sandstone was characterized by blebs, which in
  Germany would be called “Knoten.” We called it briefly “smallpoxy,”
  and it did not look hopeful for fossils. However, there was some shale
  near the tent, which looked more hopeful. We did not find much beyond
  worm-casts and ripple-marks at first.

  The discovery of fossils was of especial importance to Australia,
  because the central Antarctic area had served as a distributing base
  for Australian animals and plants. The marsupials are represented by a
  few forms in South America and New Guinea, and there seems little
  doubt that land extended more or less continuously between these
  limits. Earlier still South Africa was joined to this Antarctic world,
  for land-worms allied to those in the other southern continents are
  now known from Cape Colony.

  When Gran and I returned from our first survey of the ridge we found
  that Debenham had already been successful in the shales. He had found
  some vesicular horny plates. I turned to, and soon obtained two large
  pieces like the red tiles capping a roof-ridge. They were nearly two
  inches long, and had a well-marked keel. There were also smaller
  complete plates. On our return to Europe these were identified as the
  armour-plate of primitive fish, and probably of Devonian age. So that
  our find on Gondola Ridge added a new epoch to Antarctic fossils, for
  Cambrian limestones were known, and Permian coal-measures were
  indicated by Shackleton’s specimens. These fish plates identified
  another set of sediments midway between them.

  The moraines near our camp, though by no means so abundant as on a
  smaller European glacier, were the most important which I saw actually
  on a glacier in the Antarctic. To the north-east two medial moraines
  stretched out from the ridge and enclosed an area which we called the
  Harbour (see p. 391). In a warm summer this is probably a lake. One
  striking “piebald” debris cone was half white and half black. It was
  twenty-five feet high, and the eastern portion had resulted from the
  weathering of a huge “erratic” of sandstone, while a similar mass of
  dolerite had broken up to form the western half of the heap.

  Even so far up and away from the sea we found some lichens. These
  diminutive plants were busily etching the surface of the granite just
  as in more clement climes. Beautiful rounded and polished platforms
  were quite abundant on the ridge. Occasionally a hard band of porphyry
  would project and show almost a glaze where the coarser granite had
  been weathered and dulled.

[Illustration: Erratic perched on six small stones, Gondola Ridge]

  We could now see uninterruptedly to the great ice plateau. Only one
  nunatak lay between us and the outlet ice-falls near Mount Gran. We
  saw many examples of perched blocks, some being deposited on top of
  polished faces of granite. One huge block, which I sketched, had been
  lowered gently by the ice on to four “legs,” at one corner composed of
  two small stones. Between Mount Suess and Gondola Ridge was a definite
  “col” or low pass containing small tarns and covered with debris. We
  returned to the camp by this route, and had no difficulty in
  clambering down its eastern outlet.

  The 2nd of January was a cold gloomy morning. The clouds settled down
  and swathed everything in a clammy mantle. I dared not move far from
  the tent, and so we broke up shales and collected more of what Evans
  called “sarpent critters.” I found a few brilliant blue plates with a
  lustre like that on the elytræ of beetles! I walked over the north end
  of the ridge where the solid granite was broken into large “bricks”
  separated by several inches. These blocks seemed to have moved to the
  east, and this movement may be due to glacier “plucking”; but I think
  it is merely the result of frost cleavage followed later by rock
  “creep.” At any rate it was very common on the “floors” left by the
  recession of the ice-sheet.

  Debenham in his prowl for specimens had discovered a coal-mine! In
  this case it was not a large one, and consisted of a fine lump of
  brown coal about four inches across.

  On the 3rd Gran and I determined to circumnavigate Mount Suess. This
  most striking mountain lay about one mile south of us. It towered 3000
  feet above Gondola ridge and was a most impressive sight. The upper
  layer consisted of black dolerite, largely showing columnar structure.
  The main mass was formed of reddish granite. It stood out foursquare
  like some gigantic castle keep (see Fig., p. 383). The centre was
  hollowed out and three cusps or peaks rose at the north, west, and
  south angles respectively. In fact, it resembled more than anything an
  ancient molar tooth, though this parallel libels its rugged grandeur.

  As we marched round its east face we came on more and more dolerite in
  the moraine. This had evidently been swept round the south of the
  mount, and as this moraine contained the sandstone fossils it was very
  important to see where the moraine originated. Between the mount and
  the glacier to the south was a low col of granite from which talus
  debris reached upwards almost to the dolerite cap. The mount itself
  looked yellow, but I found this was due to a yellow tint in the
  granite.

  The sky was clouding, and we had still a long way to go. So we hurried
  round to the west side of the mount, and here I saw what I had
  expected, that between the granite base and the dolerite capping there
  was a long “lenticle” of yellow sediments. It was, however, quite
  inaccessible from below, and after making a sketch we marched on the
  north. On this side there was very little talus. We clambered along
  over granite terraces some 300 feet above the glacier. We crossed the
  top of the north col without difficulty and proceeded over Gondola
  Ridge to the tent. Later, Debenham and Forde appeared. They had found
  an easy route to the central hollow of the mount, which we called “The
  Deck,” but had not had time to ascend one of the peaks.

  On the 4th the morning was clear, and I felt that we could not do
  better than get the theodolite on the top of Mount Suess, and so
  connect up many of the distant peaks with our survey.

[Illustration: Sketch-diagram of the SW Face of Mt Suess showing the
fossil-bearing Beacon Sandstones 3–1–12]

  Debenham decided to stay below and continue his plane-table survey.
  Gran took his camera, and Forde and I carried the theodolite, etc. We
  climbed up the gap at the north corner, and then scrambled along a
  slope full of snow-covered boulders which lay between the main peaks
  and the 1800 feet Rampart. This latter feature seemed as if pierced
  for guns also! Possibly the gap and the “ports” were due to the
  weathering away of volcanic dykes in the granite. They did not look as
  if ice had cut them out. Where the gap emerged on the “Deck” were two
  little tarns at about 1200 feet above the tent.

  Gran proceeded to climb the central-west cusp of the mount, thinking
  it the highest. Forde and I attacked the south-west peak. The slope
  was very steep and covered at first with grey granite, black dolerite,
  and yellow sandstone blocks. At 2000 feet only the dolerite blocks
  were seen, so that I feel sure that the sandstone crops out _inside_
  the hollow of the mount (between the granite and dolerite) as well as
  on its western face.

  At 1.40 I reached the top and found that it was 3000 feet above the
  tent. I set up the theodolite and obtained a fine series of angles.
  Sighting on Gran’s peak, which he had just surmounted, I found it was
  two degrees lower, which I estimated at about a hundred feet, whereat
  he was somewhat crestfallen. However, he walked across after obtaining
  a splendid set of photos of the landscape spread out before us. The
  actual summit was fairly flat for a few yards, with a thousand feet
  precipice on the south and west. Far out to sea we could see miles of
  open water, especially to the south, with floes drifting in it, but it
  did not seem much nearer than a month ago.

  To the south a deep fiord-like valley seemed to pierce right through
  the Gonville Range. It was of course filled with ice, and was, I
  think, what the Americans call a transection glacier. Probably it
  connected the Mackay Glacier with the Debenham Glacier. The cliffs at
  its west portal were cut into giant “forts,” and bands of beacon
  sandstone showed clearly enough above the granite.

  To the south lay the Sperm nunakol. It was only a mile away, and we
  seemed to be right over it. It showed a flat surface covered with
  debris much like the Flat Iron. The Peg Top nunakol seemed to have
  lost its knob-like appearance. It was somewhat =Ꭲ=-shaped, the front
  bar rising like a crocodile’s head from the covering of ice. To the
  south of this rock island there seemed an easy route up to the
  Plateau—good enough for ponies, if the first step up to the “Flat
  Iron” could be negotiated.

  A very high mountain, possibly 10,000 feet, showed to the west. We
  could not estimate its distance properly, for all our survey angles to
  it were so acute.

  After spending two and a half hours on the summit we hurried back to
  the camp, and found that Debenham had passed a useful if uneventful
  day.

[Illustration:

  Gondola Ridge from the top of Mount Suess, looking north-east, January
    4, 1912, showing the “deck,” ramparts, and medial moraines.
]

  On the 6th of January we took down the tent and transported our gear
  across the rugged moraines to the sledge. While I was packing the fish
  scales in cotton-wool, the other three had found more coal near the
  sledge, and they soon collected five specimen bags full. It was
  undoubtedly derived from Beacon Sandstone beds close to our camp, and
  possibly from the outcrop we had seen on Mount Suess.

  We marched straight back to the Flat Iron, camping for lunch about
  halfway. It was interesting to note the way the snow lay in various
  regions. Small cwm valleys at low levels were filled with snow and
  ice, while large plains at higher elevations to the west were seen to
  be almost bare. Perhaps the snowfall varies with height, while the
  ablation (evaporation) may depend largely on the wind direction.

  Next day we devoted to a survey of the Flat Iron. I went to the
  northern face to see if we could drag or lower the sledge down the
  glacier without unloading it. I had a light camera and was able to
  take a few interesting photographs. The first looking over Cuff Cape
  to the north illustrated the following physiographic features: the ice
  face, crevasses, skauk, young calf-bergs, moraines, retreating
  glacier, granite pavements, shear cracks in bay ice, the ice tongue,
  facets on the cliffs, cwms, overflows, hog-bag ridges, the junction of
  the granite and dolerite, and the Kar Plateau—all on one quarter-plate
  negative!

  To the south was the small tarn I have mentioned earlier. The furrowed
  face of Mount England was reflected in its still water, and a solitary
  skua gull was preening his feathers on a boulder in the lake. I
  managed to get a successful photo here also.

  Meanwhile a sea fog was rolling in from the east. Gradually it blotted
  out all the features below us. I had just time to hurry back to the
  tent before everything around us vanished. Debenham turned up a minute
  or two later, but I was getting anxious when Forde and Gran returned.
  It is impossible to find one’s way in these fogs, and exposure to
  Antarctic weather is a thing to be dreaded even in summer.

  Next morning we started transporting our gear down to the bay ice. We
  followed our former route, which certainly seemed to have been the
  best. We had now to carry down many specimens, for the Flat Iron was a
  wonderful collecting ground. The main mass is grey granite, but it
  includes many varieties of schist and bands of altered limestone;
  gabbros, amphibolites, quartz porphyries, marble, mica-schists,
  felsites and rhyolites were mostly _in situ_, while erratics of basalt
  and sandstone were common.

[Illustration:

  GRAN’S MIDSUMMER BATH, DEC. 21, 1911.

  A small tarn of the Devil’s Ridge overlooking the Punchbowl (300 feet
    below). Across the latter appears the Dewdrop Glacier. The tarn is
    held back by a snowdrift glacieret.

  [_See p. 378._
]

[Illustration:

  _Photo by Gran._]

  THE COULOIRS OF MOUNT ENGLAND (WHICH DEVELOP INTO CWMS LATER).

  The Flat Iron hides the base of the mountains. In the foreground the
    ice-foot of Cuff Cape.
]

  The rough shaking to which our gear was subjected resulted in our
  losing the top of the theodolite tripod, the pump-knob on the Primus,
  and the sight-ruler! Debenham found the latter, but we had to use
  makeshifts for the other lost articles.

  At 7 p.m. we were back at Cape Geology. Each time we returned we found
  the pressure ridges and tide crack off the cape had altered in shape
  and made our approach more difficult. The skua gulls had found our
  blubber store and were gobbling it up as rapidly as they were able.
  Our hut floor was inches thick in ice, but we gave up trying to make
  the hut comfortable, and the cook shivered out there at the stove, and
  then brought the food down to the tent, where we ate it in comfort.

  At this time we were devoutedly hoping for wind, so that some of the
  sea-ice should blow away and permit the ship to reach us. Captain
  Pennell was due any day now, but the bay ice looked as solid as when
  we had entered in November.

[Illustration: Sea-kale at 77°s. 8–1–12]

  We inspected the “vegetable garden” and found that twelve dicotyledons
  had sprouted! I imagine these are the first grown in the open air
  within the Antarctic circle! They seemed thirsty, so I gave them some
  water. But, alas! the weather rapidly grew colder. Every day a few
  were blighted, and, finally, I carefully gathered the remnants and
  placed them in my pocket-book as a record of Gran’s well-meant
  experiment.

  I was much disappointed with the moss. It lay in peaty clods between
  the boulders, usually in lumps about the size of a large bath bun, and
  had formed a considerable amount of humus. But it remained almost
  black and dead all this summer. Usually January 15th is the warmest
  day, but this season December was much warmer than January, and I
  think the backward condition of the moss showed that it was an
  exceptionally severe summer.

  I was now cook again, and will copy some of my cooking notes. “At 4.30
  I dug up the seal meat cache, and found a whole liver buried deep
  under a layer of ice. It all seemed fresh, and Forde helped me to cut
  it up on a board outside the hut. Then I got the stove lighted by
  blubbery paper pretty easily, and the cooker full of water. I heated
  this for cocoa till it began to sing, and then put on the frying-tray.
  This latter was the base of our cooker, but served excellently as a
  pan; except that it was so large that one part of the meat would
  freeze while the rest was frying! I put in some fat, and tipped in
  four mugs of cut up seal and liver. It took about three-quarters of an
  hour to cook, being stirred continuously. I fear me I used my dagger
  as poker, cutter of blubber, as scraper of soot, stirrer and taster,
  all indiscriminately! However, with onion powder and salt it doesn’t
  taste badly, though it makes my teeth ache chewing it. The cooker of
  warmed water boiled in no time, though it had been cooling for
  three-quarters of an hour, and we had hot cocoa to time. I had only
  one biscuit, so that it was a cheap indigenous meal.”

  The weather had been rather disagreeable during the last month, about
  four days fine alternating with five days overcast. This is not usual
  in midsummer, but we chiefly required strong winds to blow away the
  sea-ice, so that Pennell could reach us. With a sailor’s superstition
  Gran hung up his most dilapidated headgear “for a favouring wind.” He
  said it always took effect in twenty-four hours. However, as was often
  the case with our sanguine prophet, nothing came of his forecast, and
  his stock was flat again.

  On the 11th Debenham swore that he saw the _Terra Nova_. Gran
  confirmed this, and said the sails were set. I got hold of the
  binoculars, and alas! I saw _three Terra Novas_. They were miraged
  bergs, I fear. I thought it would be a good plan to have a signal on
  top of Discovery Bluff, and so Gran and I carried paper, blubber, and
  dried moss, to the summit, and left them there in readiness for a
  flare, if the ship approached. I carried up the theodolite, but did
  not take many angles, for it began to snow. When I returned, I found
  that Forde had kindly done my cooking—or rather greatly improved on
  it. He made some excellent chupatties from “thickers” and raisins, of
  which we had a small surplus.

  That evening we had a great argument about the possibility of a German
  invasion, Gran _versus_ Debenham, in which Forde and I took sides to
  keep things lively. “We agreed that Germany could not conquer a
  colony, even if it _were_ handed over to them; that the Kaiser’s
  aspirations ought to be humbled, and that the British officers were
  not so highly educated as the German.” Gran had many tales of the vast
  amount of linguistic and mathematical knowledge which they amassed.

  _Friday the 12th._—No sign of the ship! This is the day I backed for
  our meeting. However, my cookery is over for a time.

  Gran and I walked over to the Tongue to measure the movement of the
  ice. On the 26th of December I had sighted on to the stake with the
  theodolite, and obtained a movement of thirty feet in twelve days.
  “She is fairly galloping to sea.” On this occasion we both wore spiked
  boots, and so had little difficulty on the glacier, though the recent
  snow had hidden all but the largest crevasses. On arrival at the
  stake—which had not suffered from the blizzards—Gran lay on the snow
  with the field glasses, and observed Debenham, who was posted with the
  theodolite at the camp station. Meanwhile I moved east or west, and
  Debenham signalled to Gran until I stood on the transit with the crack
  in the Kar Cliffs. Now I made a direct measurement from this line to
  the stake, and found a movement to the east of eighty-two feet.
  Therefore the glacier has a velocity of almost a yard a day. The
  sketch (Fig., p. 374) shows exactly how this determination—which I
  believe to be the most accurate in Victoria Land—was made.

  Gran suggested trying another route back, so we moved into one of the
  huge gullies (which nearly dissect the Tongue every half-mile) and we
  found it remarkably easy. There were three little lakelets between
  thirty feet walls, showing there was no drainage into crevasses here,
  and we reached the bay ice with great ease.

  I discussed pushing off for Cape Roberts instead of waiting close to
  the Bluff. There was no possibility of the ship coming in to us, and
  we could meet them as easily from the entrance. On the other hand,
  there seemed no way out of the _cul-de-sac_ at Cape Geology if the
  ship did not arrive, and the sea-ice broke away. So, after talking it
  over, I decided to leave our headquarters on the 14th.

  On the 13th Debenham and Gran went to the Bluff, and Gran climbed to
  the top to scan the ice in Ross Sea. Debenham visited the flag, and
  made a chart of the great shear cracks in the bay ice, due to the
  Mackay Ice Tongue.

  Forde and I packed everything which we should need for sledging at
  Evans Coves on the good sledge. We packed the specimens, and some
  articles not now necessary on the “roof-tree” sledge. This
  necessitated dismantling Granite Hut, and very woe-begone it looked,
  with the sealskins flapping dismally on its walls. They had turned
  into fine _black_ fur now, but were not beautiful enough to warrant
  transport on our heavily laden sledge. The skuas enjoyed our removal.
  They pounced eagerly on our specimen bags, and flew off some distance
  with several, in the hopes of finding a dainty morsel.

  I was much amazed at the unusual sight of two skua gulls amicably
  tearing a piece of blubber up between them, and bolting half each. I
  never saw another instance of so much sociability.

  “On Sunday, January 14, I woke the others at 6 a.m., having had to
  keep awake an hour or so to do it. We had food quickly, packed up, and
  were ready to start about twenty to eight. I should think our sledge
  had 900 lbs. on it, which is about a record down here. We got over our
  ‘Pressure Pier’ to the bay ice without much difficulty, though it is
  very narrow now. Later parties will have to find a new route.

  “We found the sledge pretty hard to pull, and it took us over an hour
  to do the first mile. When you are going slowly it is always twice as
  hard, and lasts twice as long! This looked bad with nine miles to do.
  We got over the first tide crack, near the signal flag, by means of an
  island. Then we halted for a rest, and marched along the front of the
  Bluff towards the Piedmont Ice Tongue. The east was very gloomy now,
  and it started to snow. When you are pulling half a ton, and know that
  the ice you are on was breaking up in January, 1903, this is not
  cheerful. However, I turned in nearer the land, so as to reach
  Avalanche Bay, where it was possible to ascend the cliffs. The snow
  got no worse, and the surface improved slightly. We could see two
  seals far ahead on the next big crack, and we found thirty feet of
  wet, mushy snow at the first spot.”

  A little searching showed us a possible track. Debenham and I, tied
  together, crossed first, and then the others, and then we judged the
  sledge might do it. I expect it would have sunk like a stone if the
  ice had given way; but we had to get over here, or nowhere.

  The snow came down thickly now, and we plugged ahead by compass for
  the small Piedmont Tongue, where we had been held up two days on our
  arrival. Suddenly we seemed to run into a snow slope, and by a mighty
  expenditure of energy we got the sledge up on to the tongue, and were
  safely on fixed ice for the time.

  We soon got the tent pitched, for there was not much wind, and had
  some tea. I will quote my diary.

  “We were all in a cold sweat, for the work is very hard, and yet you
  don’t keep warm. However, we got into our bags, and were soon warm, if
  damp. The blizzard was but temporary, and about 4 p.m. it blew over to
  the west. I crossed the Tongue to see the descent on the other side.
  It was about five feet down a steep snow slope. Beyond was a narrow
  shear crack with two seals; but the big crack at the end of the tongue
  went further east. We pulled over the glacier and down the slope past
  the seals without difficulty. Then on a little further, and saw a
  crack to our right.

  “It seemed only about a foot wide, and I was testing this weak spot
  with the ski-stick, when the foot of soft snow on which I was standing
  collapsed, and I went into the water. Luckily I grabbed Deb’s hand,
  and Forde and Gran got my harness. I was jerked out like a cork from a
  bottle, and was never so near flying. None saw the others pull, and
  they thought I felt very light. We plugged on to the east, and came to
  the main wavy crack, an ugly thing, thirty feet across, of mushy
  water. Luckily this also narrowed at the bend, and after some
  searching we pulled over him also.”

  I was getting thoroughly tired here. However, we could see our
  destination at last, and so pushed on. A keen wind came up from the
  south-west, and swept over the one hundred feet glacier wall to the
  south, driving snow across our course. We crossed a little crack which
  Debenham thought was new since the snowfall. To our left were many
  birds, about a mile away, and black patches of ominous appearance were
  showing. Debenham climbed on the sledge, and was sure it was open
  water, and I agreed; but we couldn’t do anything, and pushed on. “I
  got some relief for my tired legs by marching a longer stride, and we
  plugged on, hoping it would hold firm another hour. However, at long
  length we began to see details in the never-ending glacier wall on our
  left—icicles, crevasses, and snowdrifts,—and at last could make out a
  feasible slope up on to the Cape, and felt safe. I had cramp from the
  pulling, and couldn’t move for a time.” Then it was a distinct
  anticlimax, when we got to the top of the Cape, to see that we had
  been misled by some queer shadows, that there was firm ice for at
  least seven miles, and no sign of water anywhere! However, our
  experience at New Harbour made both Debenham and myself realize the
  risk we were running if the break up of the ice, now long overdue, had
  eventuated.

  “Monday, the 15th January, 1912; the day on which we were to be
  relieved. ’Nary a relief, nor any sign of it, and skuas squawking
  round us!

  “We surveyed our cape expecting to find pools of water in plenty, but
  there is none anywhere. Everything is covered with snow except the big
  boulders and two or three patches of gravel, of which we have annexed
  the largest. When we arrived each gravel patch was inhabited by a pair
  of skua gulls, which we may call White, Black, and Gray respectively.”

  We dispossessed the Blacks, and I put young “Blackie” in a new
  nest—just as well made as his own—a little distance away. Meanwhile
  Debenham set up the blubber stove on a rock ledge near by, to get to
  which he crossed the Grays’ nest rather frequently.

  The chronicle of these three families have been done into rhyme by the
  “Sledge Poet,” and will be found to be pathetic in the extreme.

              A TRUE ANTARCTIC TRAGEDY

  On the Cape by Granite Harbour, where the Glacier shrinks away,
  Happy dwelt three pairs of Skuas, fighting gaily night and day.
  Skua-_White_ possessed but one egg. Young Skua-_Black_ to walk begins;
  Skua-_Gray_ was just expecting the arrival of some Twins!

  To that Cape by Granite Harbour stagger in at bright midnight,
  Blizzard-blown and Ice-tormented, Four exhausted men of might.
  Boulders carpeted their refuge, each within a snowfield set,
  Only three inviting tent-sites crowned the Cape ... and they were LET.

  Operates the law primeval, “Shove the weaker to the floe.”
  Fix the tent there in the middle, Skua Black has got to go.
  With a shriek of rage and anguish fled the parents of S. B.
  Little cared the callous leader; “Hurry up, and boil the tea.”

  By the nest of Skuas grayish, quick was placed the Blubber Stove,
  And the incense thence proceeding made the skuas murmur “Jove!”
  They _had_ to seek another refuge. Bitter feelings filled their cup.
  It tore their hearts to leave their offspring, so they sighed—and ate
     them up.

  Very loudly yelled young Blackie, crawling round the tent all night,
  So that kind and humane leader took him off to Skua White.

  “Lo! a miracle hath happened,” said returning Skua White;
  “Here’s our nest just _full_ of chicken, full of howling appetite.”
  Said Skua White, “It would be best, for fear this should become a
     habit,
  To feed _ourselves_ upon our _egg_.” (Besides, you may be sure _he’d_
     grab it.)

                  So little Blackie reigned supreme
                    Until one day when he was fed
                  (By that kind and humane leader
                    Foster-father, foster-feeder)
                  On rich and tasty lumps of blubber,
                  His little tummy stretched like rubber,
                    Stretched too much——
                                      and now _HE’s_ dead!

  The skuas are the most quarrelsome birds I know. They would fight for
  hours over the carcase of a freshly-killed seal until they realized
  there was enough food for ten times as many skuas—and by this time the
  flesh would be frozen so hard they could make no impression on it. The
  penguins have their own peculiar propensities, while the seals used to
  amaze us by their callousness. The day after we reached Cape Roberts
  we killed a large seal and cut it up, while another twenty yards away
  watched us quite casually, and did not budge for hours.

  There was nothing much to do on the Cape. It was triangular in shape,
  rising about fifty feet above the sea-ice. The broad base of the
  triangle was covered with snow, which gradually merged into the
  Piedmont Glacier. There was no ice wall here, so that the glacier was
  presumably stagnant at this corner. The great granite tors of the Cape
  were all flattened, showing that they had been planed off by a former
  extension of the ice-sheet. Debenham spent some time making a detailed
  plane-table survey. I fixed several theodolite stations, but as the
  days went by our life settled into a monotonous round.

  I cut the meals down to two a day. We had plenty of seal meat and
  biscuit, but all the other stores were approaching their last week.

  We used to have a meal about 7 p.m. every other day, a half ration of
  pemmican; for although seal meat is not so black as it’s painted (and
  it’s very black indeed), yet we had eaten little else for a month, and
  were all heartily sick of it. Then we turned in, and used to yarn or
  read till about 3 a.m., when we managed to get to sleep. We turned out
  at noon, and had a biscuit and seal lunch. During the afternoon we
  used to walk over the cape and inspect the cracks in the sea-ice. One
  man was kept fairly busy cutting up seal meat, and the cook coaxed the
  stove to cook the fry.

  Debenham was our only smoker, and certainly found tobacco a great
  solace. I had brought socks instead of tobacco, and had looked forward
  to jeering at him when his tobacco and socks gave out. Unfortunately
  our socks lasted much better this trip, as our boots were stronger,
  and I never used my spare socks!

  Gran started a drama—a great nature play full of storms and wrecks,
  with a strong substratum of melodrama. It was called “Tangholman
  Lighthouse,” and we used to urge him to fill it full of incident, and
  cut out the “nature” part of it. I read “Martin Chuzzlewit” for the
  ninth time and found it, as always, very interesting; while Forde
  tackled “Incomparable Bellairs”—a book which charmed Gran—but luckily
  Forde made it last a very long time.

  We played chess with our cardboard pieces. I think we were fairly
  even, though Debenham tried risky openings to my advantage. The place
  of Evans as Society Entertainer was taken by Gran. His varied
  adventures in Arctic seas, among the Andes, in Turkey, Venezuela, and
  others of the less-known regions of the earth interested us much. He
  was, I remember, very anxious to experience the delights of station
  life as pourtrayed by Debenham.

  The 20th of January was Gran’s birthday. I was sorry I couldn’t return
  his kindly present (of Savoy sauce, etc.), but I told him I would give
  him a ship during the day. The Sledge Poet contributed the following
  Birthday Ode, dealing with Gran’s Nietzschian principles; which is
  here published with Gran’s gracious permission.

                       ODE TO TRYGGVE

               ON HIS 23RD BIRTHDAY, CAPE ROBERTS.

                 (Chanted at ye Full Pemmican Feast.)

               O Trygge Gran, O Trygge Gran,
               I would thou wert a moral man,
                         And yet since we
                         (The other three)
               Are just as moral as can be,
               A “soupçon de diablerie”
               Improves our little company.

               O Tryggve Gran, a holy calm
               Is most essential in a psalm.
               But prose should be a thought less calmer
               When elevated into drama.
                         And yet though we
                         (The other three)
               Are critical to a degree,
               We wish success some future day
               To the first Polar “Nature Play.”

               O Tryggve Gran, thou art a man
               Who hath compressed within a span
               Of three and twenty years, such deeds
               That hearing which, each man’s heart bleeds
                         Among us three.
                         And yet though _we_
               Are kind to every girl we see,
               I have no doubt each lovely creature
               Would rather help _you_ follow Nietzsche!

               Oh, Tryggve Gran, you should be dead
               A-many years ago—instead
               Of which, he saves you oft,
               That “Little Cherub up Aloft.”
                         And therefore we
                         (The other three)
               In this new principle agree,
               (As with your luck no man can quarrel)
               ’Twill serve us best to be _un-moral_!!!

  I was just writing the last line of the poem when Gran yelled out
  “Ship ho!” We had seen ships many times already, but he was certain of
  this, so we turned out, and there, under the fang of Erebus, we could
  see some topmasts. Later we could make out three masts and black
  smoke, so we knew it was the good old _Terra Nova_, and not the
  _Fram_, which burned smokeless oil fuel.

  We set about elevating our flags further up the glacier. We took them
  up a long way, nearly to the top, as we thought. On our return we saw
  they were only one quarter of the way up, a good example of the
  trickiness of snow slopes in this respect. I arranged night watches to
  observe any signals or sledge parties, and we turned in hoping to be
  aboard in twenty-four hours.

  [Nay, gentle reader, you are not at the end of my narrative; it was
  just twenty-four days before we were relieved.]

  Next day she was in much the same position, about twenty miles away
  across the screw-pack and broken floes. About two miles away a great
  crack stretched from north and south. It was fully eight miles long,
  and seemed to presage the breaking up of the sea-ice.

  On the 22nd we could not see the ship. A strong south wind sprang up,
  and the gradually clouding sky seemed to portend a blizzard. “The
  stronger the better,” I write, “if it will only drive out this blessed
  floe.” We took a few photographs. There were two Emperor penguins
  moulting on each side of our Cape, but Debenham reported that they
  were too frightful to photo! Forde and I had a day with my
  stereo-camera, taking various interesting details around the
  Cape—planed granite blocks, pressure ice in the bay, and then the
  Emperors, awful as they were, several seal and berg pictures, etc.;
  but sad to relate all these negatives were smashed when the sledge
  fell over the glacier cliff. However, I made sketches of the most
  interesting features; for instance, one corner of a berg showed very
  well how flexible are large masses of ice.

  I did not entertain the idea of trying to reach Pennell across the
  screw-pack. We should get into more precarious regions each mile, and
  we could not communicate with the ship to ensure her awaiting us.
  Pennell could send a party with safety at either end if he desired. I
  was, however, very glad later to find that Pennell also considered the
  pack absolutely impossible for sledging from the ship.

  We saw her during the next few days, and then she never showed up
  again.

  On the 27th a blizzard started, which we hoped would move out the ice.
  It tore our sledge flags badly, so that we brought them down from our
  distress signal 350 feet up the glacier, leaving the big depôt flag
  there.

  It was very trying work with the blubber stove, for there was no
  shelter on the Cape. When there was any wind the flames would blow out
  of the door and gave no heat at all. The water did not get tepid in
  half an hour, whereas on a calm day it would boil in twenty minutes. I
  spent an hour trying to cook the fry, and barely succeeded in melting
  the fat. We decided that the stove could not be used in high winds,
  even though it was in a sort of ice cave and the cook sat in the door
  to keep the wind out!

[Illustration: Flexure in 30 pr. Berg, Cape Roberts 20·1·12]

  Our rations had been cut down by half for a fortnight. We now had
  three or four biscuits a day; butter, every other day; chocolate, one
  stick; pemmican, one-eighth; sugar and tea, two-thirds a day. However,
  we had plenty of seal meat, and as we were not working we required
  much less food.

  So passed several days. The tide crack was groaning all round the
  Cape, large pieces of floes floating loose in it, and jostling each
  other as the swell came in from the open water twenty miles away. Gran
  spent all one afternoon making chupatties. The lid of the camera box
  was his pudding-board. He used the wheatmeal thickers for dough, and
  commandeered our allowance of raisins. The cakes were cut out with the
  rim of a cup, and then fried in a mixture of butter, fat, blubber, and
  soot. Anyhow, the result was highly successful, though the inside was
  somewhat wet, and the whole, I should now consider, distinctly heavy.

  Each day we started the last bag of something precious. First the
  pemmican, then the chocolate, then the butter. Only one seal had been
  visible for some days, and I decreed his doom. He lay on a large piece
  of ice which was rising and falling with the swell. We reached this
  across an ice island, surging about in a large pool. In spite of all
  this movement no more of the ice moved north, as far as we could
  judge.

  On the evening of the 1st of February I held a council. Captain
  Scott’s instructions read, “I am of the opinion that the retreat
  should not be commenced until the bays have refrozen, probably towards
  the end of March. An attempt to retreat overland might involve you in
  difficulties, whereas you could build a stone hut, provision it with
  seal meat, and remain in safety in any convenient station on the
  coast.”

  However, he gave me permission to begin the retreat if we were not
  relieved in January, and I began to prepare for this event.

  Cracks seemed to be spreading in the sea-ice even while one was
  watching it. The surging ice in the tide crack, now twenty feet wide,
  rose several feet. Now and again a huge shock-groan, like a big rock
  bumping on another, announced a new crack, while a constant roar, like
  that of a distant lion, announced the periods of maximum of the swell
  rolling in from twenty miles away.

  On the 3rd of February Debenham, Gran, and I climbed the glacier slope
  behind our camp to prospect for a path. We roped up and proceeded
  about three miles southward, keeping well behind the crevasses. These
  are numerous on the steep seaward slope, but we met with none on the
  fairly level ground, though we could see them just below us. The
  surface was fair, usually two inches deep in snow and occasionally a
  foot deep. This did not promise easy sledging; but the snow was dry
  now, and I was going to cut down the weights to a minimum.

  We could see open water about twenty miles off, but a huge mass of
  ice-pack was apparent as far north as we could see. There seemed to be
  a broad belt at least sixty miles long, which was quite absent in
  January, 1902.

  Obviously our exploration of Terra Nova Bay was impossible now, and it
  looked as if the ship would never reach us at Cape Roberts. With good
  luck we might cross the Piedmont Glacier to Cape Bernacchi in a few
  days, and Pennell might find it easier to reach us there, while we
  should at any rate be nearer to Headquarters. There was also a week’s
  food there, and we had now only a fortnight’s sledging stores left.

  On February 4th Gran and I explored the sea-ice below the Piedmont for
  about four miles to the southward. We passed through the fifteen bergs
  in the little bay and then got among the screw-pack. This was covered
  with snow and afforded extremely heavy going, as may be imagined. Near
  the shore was a perfect network of new cracks with the ice “working”
  all the time. Below the glacier wall was a deep tide crack four feet
  wide, but where the ice had fallen in we managed to get across to
  fixed ice. As a result of this journey I decided to march first along
  the sea-ice and then climb up the Piedmont at this point.

  Next morning I wrote a long letter to Pennell, which we all signed. We
  made a depôt on the highest point of the Cape and fixed a flag
  alongside, with the letter in a little matchbox. The journal for
  Captain Scott I left in my ditty bag. I remorselessly weeded out every
  one’s gear. We took nothing but what we stood up in, and our notes and
  the instruments. Luckily, most of Debenham’s and all Gran’s negatives
  were films, but I had to leave nearly all my plates and my cherished
  Browning. I knew we had some bad crevassed country to traverse—thirty
  miles of this, and then I expected thirty miles of coast work largely
  over moraine and rock, where we should have to portage the sledge and
  all our gear on our backs. With a light sledge it was just possible we
  might be able to raise it if it slipped down a crevasse; and this was
  quite a probable event, for in traversing along a piedmont glacier the
  party moves _parallel_ to the crevasses. It thus reaches them
  imperceptibly, and the whole outfit may be over a crevasse together,
  whereas in crossing them at right angles this is rarely the case.

  We turned our backs finally on Cape Roberts at 11 a.m. on the 5th. Our
  flag waved bravely, and below was the cairn of stones covering the
  food left there by Scott’s orders. If we had to return it would give
  us a breathing space, but I never saw the Cape again. For many months
  the flag was left in solitude. The screw-pack never broke adrift that
  winter. In the next spring, six desperate men sledging southward, as
  they thought, to more endurable though no less solitary quarters, here
  found the first news of the main party. Our depôt possibly saved
  Browning’s life. It certainly gave the Northern party their first
  bearable day for many months. Brave old flag! it hangs in Tewkesbury
  in Priestley’s home, and there my old Browning was restored to me
  after many months!

  So we marched on; we were all stiff and out of training, and the
  sledge did not pull easily, but we reached the tide crack and crossed
  it much more easily than I expected. After lunch we pulled up the
  steep slope of the glacier, and to our delight found the surface grow
  harder almost every hour. But other troubles were upon us. For three
  days I felt it would not benefit any one to write my diary. However,
  on the evening of the 8th I wrote up the 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th of
  February as follows:—

  “Then quite suddenly we came on huge crevasses all round; some open,
  which I took care not to keep too close to, and others bridged. They
  seemed too wide to do anything with; but after cautioning the others
  to tread quietly, I prodded across safely, though the ice-axe pushed
  in all its length easily. Then the others followed, and the sledge
  after. Gran fell in at the near edge and saw the straight wall.
  Several of these were over twenty feet wide, but we had to chance
  them, and tested them all before the sledge started. Then we marched
  along between two fairly visible ones, and luckily they didn’t join.
  The surface got flatter and they died out gradually so that we made
  fair progress. We came to another enclosed snow basin, and I felt sure
  the seaward slope would be safer. So it was, though Forde went down a
  small crevasse. We pulled along this up to a sort of col—about eight
  miles from Cape Roberts,—and here, as we were well beyond the mouth of
  the Big Valley, we camped.

  “My only fear now was that bad weather might cover the glacier with
  soft snow, for I felt that all the big crevasses would be lidded, and
  the little ones could hardly swallow the lot of us.”

  Next morning we made the harness traces longer, so that only one man
  at a time need cross even a wide crevasse. We had to traverse the
  mouth of another large valley glacier. Three of these debouched on the
  Piedmont Glacier from the western mountains, and the pressure from the
  northernmost (the Debenham Glacier) was responsible for the crevasses
  of the 5th of March. The second valley glacier was not so large, but
  we anticipated trouble. We had a stiff pull uphill for three-quarters
  of a mile, but some of the snow was so hard that the sledge runners
  made no mark. This was an ideal surface, for one’s feet did not slip
  on it, though occasionally the sledge skidded. We were about seven
  hundred feet above the sea here, and entered a col just below a huge
  snow hill.

  “Afterwards we were cutting around the hill aforesaid, when suddenly
  appeared many crevasses. So we deviated abruptly and ascended sharply.
  We encountered three, into one of which I fell, but they were not very
  wide. The moral of this is—Don’t go for the break of a hill facing and
  near the sea, but stick to humdrum grades if possible; if not, still
  don’t go for the break of a hill!”

  The somewhat frivolous tone of the above note is evidence that it was
  written when we had traversed the worst of the Piedmont. It was always
  the case “down South.” One never got photographs or “instantaneous
  pen-pictures” of anything really exciting. It was always a case of
  “Get a move on, and get out of this good and quick,” so that one’s
  diary lost most where it would have been most interesting.

  We were now behind Dunlop Island, and about 1250 feet up the Piedmont.
  We were astonished to find that the floe had all broken up to
  south’ard. Long curved cracks parallel to the coast marked where
  pieces were continually floating off. We congratulated ourselves on
  our safe position on the Piedmont, for we should have sledged into
  this without knowing it had we continued much further on the sea-ice.
  Small bergs looking just like white yachts dotted the open water,
  which seemed to extend south to Castle Rock. There was no sign of the
  _Terra Nova_. We began to think she had come to grief, for Pennell
  knew we were free to move off on the 1st of February.

  After supper Debenham got out his plane-table and continued his
  survey. He was much puzzled by the position of his station on the
  stranded Glacier Tongue to the south-east. He realized soon, however,
  that it had twisted round, and was even now preparing to continue its
  journey to the Nirvana of warm northern waters.

  We had been blessed with sunshine the last few days. I don’t believe
  we should have managed to dodge the crevasses otherwise, for in dull
  weather you cannot tell any difference between a ten-foot hollow or a
  ten-foot hummock when it is only a yard or two away. However, as a
  result, Forde got a bad touch of snow-blindness. Debenham got out the
  medical chest. He ground up some ZnSO_{4}, picked it up on a
  paintbrush, and dropped it in the corner of Forde’s eye. Later in the
  night I gave Forde another dose, for the pain is pretty considerable.

  The next day my right eye was sore and watering, in spite of the amber
  glasses, and I feared I was to become a patient also. We plugged along
  over an absolutely level snow-plain, when Debenham dropped into a
  crevasse, over which I had crossed without puncturing the lid.

  In the afternoon my eyes gave out, and I put on bandages on the right
  eye, and gave up the lead to Debenham. It was an astonishing relief to
  cease from staring at the glaring surface, and either pull along with
  shut eyes or keep one eye on the gratefully dirty back of Debenham’s
  jacket.

  Debenham led us safely past three huge crevasses, and we halted for a
  spell among a cluster of smaller ones. That evening we climbed up the
  snow hill behind Gneiss Point, about 1350 feet above the sea; and as
  we had now passed the third valley glacier, I felt we had finished
  with the crevasses for the time being. We camped on hard snow, and
  Debenham treated me for snow-blindness. The zinc sulphate may
  truthfully be described as an eye-opener, but later the cocaine in the
  mixture calms things down. You are advised “to keep your face cool.”
  But I had to keep my head in the bag to get warm. However, Forde was
  pretty right next day, and mine had stopped aching, though everything
  appeared double for many hours!

  On the 8th we reached the land near Cape Bernacchi. There was a steep
  ice slope two hundred feet high, at an angle of 30°. Luckily it was
  much honeycombed and sun-eaten. We put grummets (rope brakes) on the
  sledge, and managed to get it down about 130 feet. We had a very
  cheerful lunch, for we knew the depôt was only a few miles south. Then
  we found an ice-foot all the way along the edge of the rocks and
  moraine which led us right to the Bernacchi cairn. This was a regular
  ice pathway about twenty yards wide. It was due to sea-ice which had
  become cemented to the shore, the tide crack being further away from
  the rocks, and defining that part of the floe which had lately drifted
  away to sea.

  No one had visited our depôt. New Harbour was full of new broken floe,
  but a fine ice-foot seemed to promise well for our next march.

  We stayed a day at Cape Bernacchi, for I wished to get a good station
  for the triangulation of this coast. Gran and I took the theodolite to
  the top of a hill 2900 feet high, at the north-east end of Dry Valley.
  We named this Hjort’s Hill, in honour of the maker of our trusty
  Primus lamp. As we were climbing this hill, Gran swore he could see
  the ship off Cape Evans through the binoculars. It seemed clear to me
  also—smoke, crosstrees, hull, and three masts; but after an hour or so
  we decided it was only a mirage crack in the Barne Glacier. The
  disappointment was rather keen, though I am now not so sure that we
  did not really see the ship, some forty miles away. We could see the
  forty-foot debris cones behind the hut quite easily on a clear day.

  I wrote the usual letter to Pennell. I had left two in Granite Harbour
  and two on the Piedmont now, and it did not look as if any would ever
  be read.

  All through the 10th we skirted New Harbour, finding a fairly feasible
  ice-foot between the granite-strewn slopes and the open water. We came
  across a Spratt’s biscuit box here, which was evidently left by the
  1902 expedition. We saved a considerable detour by crossing the head
  of the harbour on the sea-ice, and camped below the Kukri Hills, where
  I halted rather early to get a round of angles. We were held up here
  all next day by the snow, which we spent reading and sewing.

  On the 12th we rounded the Kukri Hills, and when the ice-foot petered
  out we were luckily able to continue on the sea-ice. We had lunch amid
  a colony of over forty seals, and then reached the southern side of
  the Ferrar Glacier, where we camped on a rather wet and muddy heap of
  “road metal” moraine.

  We were now safely round New Harbour, and, curiously enough, crossed
  the sea-ice at the mouth of the Ferrar on the same day of the year as
  when we nearly went out to sea on our first sledge journey.
  Henceforward we knew our route. We had plenty of food at the Butter
  Point depôt, which we reached that evening, and knew we could reach
  the old _Discovery_ hut before the end of the month.

  The depôt had been blown over and wrecked generally. We took some
  pemmican, butter, and chocolate, and next day proceeded south along
  the Butter Point Piedmont. The surface was much better than the
  preceding year, but, curiously enough, we found quite a number of
  small crevasses. Debenham and Forde fell in together in one of these,
  and the burly Irishman jammed so tightly it was quite a business
  pulling him out of it. In the evening we reached the Strand Moraines.
  These are great piles of ancient silt, gravel, and erratic blocks,
  which were dropped here by the ancestor of the present Koettlitz
  Glacier.

  At the southern end of these moraines, which were several miles long,
  was quite a large lake. We tobogganed down to this and across to a
  nice little gravelly delta just made for the tent. We found that the
  open water reached just to this point, the sound still being frozen to
  south’ard, though obviously breaking away in great sheets. I wrote
  that night, “No _Terra Nova_. We should be picked up at Evans Coves
  (Terra Nova Bay) to-morrow!” We had the choice of two routes now:
  either to cross the snout of the Blue Glacier, or to take to the
  sea-ice and coast round the latter. We had done the former and knew it
  would only take a day. The latter might be quicker, though a great
  calved berg blocked the route about two miles ahead. Debenham
  preferred the glacier, the other two the sea-ice. I considered it
  unsafe to march on the sea-ice if it could possibly be avoided. I made
  a bet with Gran that we couldn’t get the sledge between the calved
  berg and the glacier without unloading it. This had a rather
  interesting outcome. I decided to keep to land ice, on the principle
  of the “Devil you know being preferable to the Devil you don’t.”

[Illustration:

  THE RUSH TO SAFETY: OVER THE EDGE OF THE BLUE GLACIER.

  From a drawing by D. Low.
]

  It was annoying to find that the Blue Glacier had so completely
  changed its complexion in the twelve months. In place of clear blue
  ice where one could see every crevasse, it was one uniform sheet of
  smooth snow, and we soon began to fall into the crevasses. In a very
  short time we had all been in a couple of times, and it was evidently
  an unpropitious region for sledging. I deviated to the edge of the
  glacier to try and lower the sledge on to the sea-ice, for we were now
  abreast of the calved berg, where we halted a few minutes.

  Away to the south-east we could see a blizzard brewing, and I wanted
  to get a snug camp in the gullies south of the Blue Glacier. We had an
  argument as to who had won the bet, for there was a jumble of ice
  where the calf jammed the parent glacier. The other two decided in my
  favour, and so we pushed off on the top of the glacier edge to the
  wished-for camp. Gran was dissatisfied with the court’s decision, and
  kept glancing back to the scene under discussion. Just as we were
  dipping down the slope he yelled out “Ship ho!” and there she was over
  the top of the black moraines.

  We turned back at full speed to retraverse the crevasses, for she was
  four miles off and we were afraid might miss us, as a snowstorm was
  brewing in the east. She steamed along past the berg and out along the
  floe. We pulled back hard, crossing crevasses carelessly, but not
  falling in much, and finally could make out that she had a flag on the
  gaff, apparently recognizing us. We kept along the edge of the glacier
  till we could find a place to get down. Here was a drop of thirty feet
  almost vertical with a big tide crack and a tide-pool at the bottom!
  Gran went down first, and then I got down halfway. Unluckily as we
  were lowering the sledge Forde was pulled over by his harness and fell
  right on to Gran, who was pressed into the snow while the sledge came
  down on top of us. It nearly broke in the middle; however, we lugged
  it over to the ice and set off hot-foot over the two miles of ice. The
  ship now anchored near the floe and four men came to meet us. They
  harnessed up and told us the news. We heard that the Southern party
  were going very well, that there were no signs of Amundsen, and that
  there had been no accidents of importance. Also that they had not been
  able to communicate with Cape Evans until a week before, and had been
  unloading stores every available moment before they came over to
  search for us. And then the world’s news made us feel safer in the
  Antarctic at first hearing: the disruption of China, the
  Franco-German-English trouble in Morocco, the Italians and Turks in
  Tripoli, and the great strikes in England. We had missed an eventful
  year during our sojourn in the peaceful regions of the South.




                                  VII
                            THE VOYAGE BACK

                           FEBRUARY–MARCH, 1912


[Illustration:

  Return voyage of the _Terra Nova_ in March, 1912, showing pack-ice off
    Evans Coves and Granite Harbour and the dominant winds determining
    the ship’s course.
]




                             THE VOYAGE BACK


  What does it feel like to be in touch with civilization after a year’s
  absence? Man is an ungrateful creature, and I can remember what we
  missed, better than what we gained on reaching the _Terra Nova_.
  However, the letters were there. They had been put ready for us in the
  wardroom. No small bag would suffice, our literary matter ran to
  pillow-slips. I had one well filled, and Debenham, lucky beggar, had
  two! Poor Gran’s home mail failed to reach him, and he had only a few
  bills, which he could have spared. I rapidly skimmed through all the
  news and then opened up the packets. One young soldier friend sent
  along a huge gift of pipes and tobacco. Said he, “I know you didn’t
  smoke, but I expect you’ve learnt to! Anyhow they’ll be useful.” They
  truly were most acceptable, and were most prized by the party
  remaining. To balance this gift he sent along “The Geology of
  Nigeria.”

  After the first glance through, however, I turned to more pressing
  needs. Clean clothes and a bath seemed the greatest treat one could
  wish to enjoy.

  Two factors blocked us. All our clean clothes were on land, some in
  our own hut, some in the Old Discovery Hut! Moreover, Ponting came
  along and after complimenting us on our villainous appearance, begged
  us to remain picturesque until the sun showed enough light for a
  photograph! Luckily we had only to wait a few hours for this specimen
  of “ponting”; and after four months a day’s more or less grime
  mattered little.

  One disappointment we met with. Our first cry was “Letters,” and our
  second “Fruit.” Drake sympathized with us and said that all fruit
  except apples had been landed at the hut a week ago. However a box of
  apples had been reserved for the Western Party. We rushed that box.
  The apples were icy cold and frozen solid. Eagerly we placed some on
  the top of the wardroom stove. We waited until they were well warmed
  and then voraciously bit into them, to encounter a stony iceberg in
  the middle! They took an incredible time to thaw, and then all the
  plant cells had burst, and the apple was a poor thing all brown and
  almost rotten!

  In my cabin I found a small tin trunk with better fare: cakes, sweets
  and nuts of all descriptions, everything but chocolate. After hearing
  the yarns of some of Shackleton’s men, I expected to be surfeited with
  chocolate, and so warned my people not to send any down by the ship.
  However, the other luxuries were well-chosen and abundant. Every
  officer aboard had selections each day, and not till we reached the
  Circle nearly a month later was that tin box depleted. Indeed, one
  cake from Parramatta friends was so large that a half was sent to
  gratify the mess deck!

  When I was free from Ponting I bolted into the engine-room and was
  provided with a huge bucket of scalding water. Rennick and other
  officers had lent me some clothes, and I can still remember that bath.
  The only available space was over the boilers! I was jammed into a
  narrow passage next the ship’s timbers. If one bare foot slipped an
  inch too far it touched the boiler plates; if the ship gave a lurch I
  cannoned against huge baulks of oak. Still, I started as a toil-worn
  and wild-eyed refugee and finished a semi-respectable roustabout!

  Pennell soon gave up all hope of reaching Cape Evans. The blizzard
  which was brewing at noon, on the 14th, soon enveloped us, and we were
  driven far north. Under these circumstances he deemed it advisable to
  make the best of it, and proceed to Evans Coves to try and rescue
  Campbell’s party.

  Among my mail I found a book sent by Professor David. This was
  “Queed,” by Harrison, a writer new to me. This novel fairly gripped
  me, and I turned into my bunk all standing, and read until I had
  finished it. I hope all Mr. Harrison’s readers derived as much
  pleasure from it.

  “Jim” Dennistoun was a welcome addition to our mess. He had been eager
  to see Antarctica in any capacity, and so came along as mule-overseer.
  His remuneration was “all found, and one shilling a month.” We often
  used to discuss what he would do with the treasure accruing to him
  when he was paid off! An ashtray, beaten out of the four-shilling
  piece, was the memento he favoured.

  But it was fairly uncomfortable on board. It was now very cold, and
  the sun rarely showed for long. Spray was driven over us, and froze
  where it fell, so that we spent hours chipping the decks free from
  some of the icy layer. The wardroom seemed all doors, and draughts
  assailed us everywhere. As usual, on approaching civilization, the
  Antarctickers contracted influenza. Debenham was really quite ill, and
  I had a fearful attack of neuralgia, which lasted a fortnight, due to
  a gaping tooth. We used to think of our snug little tent on terra
  firma, and after a week of storm at sea decided that we were sorry we
  had been picked up by the trusty whaler. Such is man’s ingratitude.

  _February 23rd._—We spent a most forlorn day. The ship absolutely
  jammed in _new_ ice, formed of pancakes only three or four inches
  thick, but gummy, not brittle (so that the ship couldn’t break
  through). These were formed of still smaller cakes, cemented together.
  I was sure they had grown _in situ_, perhaps in the lee of a huge
  piece of pack which had drifted off.

  This was very serious, for every hour increased the risk of our being
  frozen in, and this was obviously still more probable when we returned
  to Cape Evans than in our present position, so much further north.
  However, very suddenly the soggy ice was broken by long leads—lying
  rather far apart—and we managed to push and butt our way considerably
  to the east.

  I was down below when I heard the ominous “three whistles,” which
  signifies “all hands on deck.” However, in this case it was a call to
  “rock ship.” We all lined up at the port bulwarks, in the waist of the
  ship. Then Bruce gave the word, and we “set to partners” across the
  hatches, and through the narrow spaces to the starboard side. The ship
  swung very slightly in consequence. Bruce timed its swing, and then we
  all ran back in unison. This time the swing was a little larger. So by
  degrees the ship became a self-acting pendulum, and gradually rocked
  herself free from the close embrace of the ice. At the same time the
  propeller revolved about 1½ times the normal speed, and the ship began
  to give a little, and finally went astern. Then more butting, and a
  jam or two, and finally we got into looser pancake, where she could do
  four knots.

  Emperor penguins were interested spectators of our manœuvres, while
  the distant coast-line was really of great interest when we had time
  to observe it. Mount Melbourne was a finer sight than Erebus, for its
  cone was more symmetrical, recalling that of Etna. Mount Nansen,
  further south-west, was a huge, flattened scarp, resembling Mount
  Lister.

  On the 24th we emerged again from the pack to be greeted with a pretty
  stiff wind. We steamed south to try and communicate with headquarters.
  Lillie told me of some of his results. He believed he could apply the
  teachings of Mendelism to the question of colour in half-caste Maoris.
  He had made some large collections of fossil plants in New Zealand,
  and had dredged up enough of the rare tunicate _Cephalodiscus_ (a
  primitive sessile early vertebrate) to supply every museum in the
  world! I found out that my thousand insects were probably
  _Gomphocephalus_, of which previously only a few odd heads and legs
  had been collected in specimens of Antarctic moss.

  We got back to the Sound off Cape Evans about noon on the 25th. A
  howling gale was blowing so much frost smoke into our teeth that we
  could only just see Inaccessible Isle, now covered with a pall of
  snow. We manœuvred in North Bay with the 120-foot wall of the Barne
  Glacier looming very close. There was a touch of east in the blizzard,
  so that the glacier was not quite on our lee. Pennell dropped anchor
  when the soundings showed twenty-five fathoms, but we drifted back
  quickly, and when we reached fifty fathoms (three hundred feet) the
  anchor dragged.

[Illustration:

  ENGINEER WILLIAMS AT THE WINCH.
]

[Illustration:

  BERNARD DAY ON THE CAPSTAN.
]

  We had an awful job hauling up the anchor! Whenever I hear the phrase
  “Merrily round the capstan, boys,” I think of that weary time in North
  Bay. Each capstan bar had two and sometimes three men pushing it
  round. The foc’sle deck was iced over, and even a layer of ashes
  afforded little grip, for the blizzard heeled the vessel over, till
  the deck sloped like a roof. They tried to help the capstan by a chain
  to the steam winch, but the latter ‘took charge’ and nearly flung Bill
  Heald off the foc’sle! There was precious little room between the
  capstan bars and the rails, and I got jammed, and received a nasty
  bruise on the leg. Awful stiff on one’s hands, and on the calf
  muscles—like pushing for hours in a football scrum! Pawls (or stops)
  prevented the capstan from releasing the chain. Clink ... clank,
  clink ... clank; these pawls would sound every minute or so, and then
  we had to rest. Each clink meant only an inch or two of cable, and we
  had to haul in three hundred feet! When the ship twisted, and the
  cable lay along the side of the vessel, it was impossible to raise the
  anchor an inch. Finally the anchor caught a firm hold on the third
  attempt, about 7 p.m., and we lay steady with ninety fathoms out. The
  gale increased, and we all turned in to try and get some rest, and be
  ready to land if it lulled. At 11 p.m. Pennell roused us, and I got
  into the whaleboat. Bruce was in charge, and I rowed three. We were
  less than half a mile from the shore, and found the lee of the cape
  quite calm. So I reached the hut, after five months’ absence. It was
  eleven days since we had been picked up, all but a few hours, and this
  was the first opportunity of communicating with our headquarters.

  I stumbled up the shore, nearly waist-deep in snow, where in the
  preceding March there was hardly any! We found them all asleep, and by
  no means ready to come off! Simpson and Day were soon dressed. I had,
  luckily, left all my gear packed in November, and I hauled my boxes
  down to the ice-foot. Simpson, Day, Anton, and I returned, and after
  some bumping against the ice-ridged quarter of the _Terra Nova_ we got
  safely aboard.

  The gale began again, and all access to the shore was blocked. Simpson
  and I yarned till 5 a.m. He told me that Hooper and Day had reached
  the Hut on December 21st from the Barrier. They had found their
  four-man sledge too heavy, and having no suitable tool had burnt it in
  half with the Primus lamp! They had been caught in a blizzard, and had
  marched blindly north in the ensuing thick weather. Later, they saw
  their tracks led right between two parallel crevasses, either of which
  would have engulfed them!

  Next day we could not bring off Meares, Clissold, and Forde. Archer
  had gone ashore, so that the ship was now without a cook! The wind was
  fairly shrieking, and at 10 a.m. the anchor dragged.

  We spent a most wretched day trying to get it up. Not a budge out of
  it, though you burst a blood-vessel! The seamen couldn’t say (as
  before) that this was due to work on a Sunday. We found that a cog had
  broken in the gears of the capstan; but when they again tried the
  steam winch to aid the capstan it stripped off more teeth!

[Illustration:

  Diagram illustrating the way we managed to “raise anchor” by “luff
    upon luff,” February 26, 1912.
]

  Another method was tried in the afternoon, which was very slow, but
  not so spendthrift of human energy. It was called “luff upon luff,”
  and depended purely on a series of pulleys; whereby a small amount of
  force at one end of the rope can slowly move a great weight at the
  other. The capstan was now practically useless. So the small steam
  winch was connected to a set of heavy pulleys (a “five-ply purchase,”
  I believe, is the nautical term) to which a claw hook was attached.
  This was hooked into the anchor chain, at the hawse hole, inside the
  dark foc’sle. I was halfway man, and it was my duty to yell to the
  engineer at the winch, as Bruce advised me he was ready. Another yell
  meant that the purchase had done its part, and then Rennick put the
  capstan brake on (which would still hold, luckily), and the claw hook
  was taken off, and attached some links nearer the anchor. By 6 p.m. we
  had raised anchor. It came up as bright as silver, and with the
  crossbar (stock) broken clean off!

  All this time we were drifting to the north-west, and had to keep up
  steam to hold her from yawing, and to try and keep the cable from
  “binding” on the side of the ship. Throughout the 27th we were nosing
  up against the fixed ice off Castle Rock, trying to shelter from the
  blizzard. By noon, on the 28th, the blizzard dropped enough for us to
  lie alongside Glacier Tongue. At 3 p.m. the ice anchors held, and it
  was possible to get ashore, and start “icing ship,” for the tanks were
  nearly empty. We had to lie bow on, and get the ice in by a basket
  slung from the foreyard. A very slow and laborious business; it took
  us six hours to get 4½ tons of ice aboard.

[Illustration: Method of fixing Ice Anchor 28–2–12]

  We then moved off to Hut Point, where we landed some stores and
  newspapers for the Pole Party if they should be isolated from Cape
  Evans, as we had been in April, 1911. Here I met Wright again. We
  learnt that Evans was very seriously ill with scurvy. They wrapped him
  up in his sleeping-bag and, dragging him to the ice edge, brought him
  aboard in the ship’s boat. We let down ropes to the seamen below, and
  they lashed him safely, and he was hauled up, looking more like a
  corpse than a live man. However, he could speak cheerfully enough, as
  usual!

  We returned post haste to our hut to take advantage of the unusually
  calm weather. We unloaded more stores—chiefly fodder, coal, mutton,
  and dog biscuits, and then moved north immediately to make a second
  try for Campbell at Evans Coves (lat. 75° S.). Day, Dennistoun, and I
  spent the morning of the 1st of March shifting cargo. Indeed, we
  seemed to spend a large part of our time during the ensuing month in
  that abode of gloom—the empty hold of the _Terra Nova_!

  At 10 p.m. we were about fifteen miles from Cape Washington, in very
  heavy pancake ice, with a slight swell. There was a thick ice-mush
  between the blocks, and this jammed the propeller. For about ten
  minutes the engine could not move the shaft. They managed to prise the
  ice away finally by poking rods down the rudder post. The grinding and
  bumping of the blades on the ice was physically painful. It jarred
  one’s whole system just like having a tooth out. The shock to the
  propeller, mainshaft, and engine must have been enormous. Luckily our
  propeller was four times the usual size for a ship of our tonnage; but
  Williams thinks the main shaft might go quite easily, and then we
  should be in a mess!

  “_2nd March._—During the morning we skirted the pack southward, doing
  a sort of ‘blanket-stitch’ course in a vain endeavour to find a
  passage through to Campbell.”

  Dr. Atkinson was on board attending to Evans, who was unable to move
  from his bunk until the day we reached New Zealand (2nd April). We had
  again to give up hope of rescuing Campbell, and turned south to land
  Atkinson. At 9.30 p.m. we were about thirty miles S.E. of the
  Drygalski Tongue, and soon had to heave-to on account of bad weather.
  But in the afternoon of the 3rd the wind dropped, and in about ten
  minutes the sea was frozen over!

  However, this time we reached the Cape fairly readily, and when I woke
  on the morning of the 4th I found that we were off the Hut and that a
  boat was going to fetch Keohane. He and Atkinson were then landed at
  Hut Point, and we had to ice ship again at Glacier Tongue.

  Every man was busily employed. Heald, McCarthy, Parsons, and Cheetham
  quarried the ice at the nearest spot where it seemed solid and free
  from snow. They filled baskets which Dennistoun, Leese, and myself
  pulled to the ice edge. Here Simpson and Rennick linked the baskets on
  to the rope, and Lillie, Drake, and Ponting hauled it aboard. Day and
  Mather carried it to the tanks, and Meares and Bruce tipped the
  baskets into the latter. It was hard work, and kept us going from 3
  p.m. till 10 p.m. Still there was some fun at times. Leese harnessed
  the brown sledge dog Tsigan to help him with his sledge, and Tsigan
  occasionally bolted over the glacier. One basket fell into the sea,
  and Bill Heald lowered me on a rope till I could grab it; then (as
  usual) he hauled up too quickly, and I was dragged _through_ the snow
  cornice and pretty well filled with soft snow!

  “We shifted eleven tons, and now Pennell’s notice[10] can be
  withdrawn. We now have enough to get back. Thank goodness!”

  We had a fairly uncomfortable time on board. The stove below was
  faulty, and a change of wind filled the wardroom with smoke. With a
  huge skylight, various hatchways and companion ladders, and numerous
  portholes, it was hopeless to keep out of draughts.

  Early on the 7th I was awakened by the fiendish clamour which the
  propeller was making about a foot under my bunk! “I found that we were
  held up in a hole about twice the size of the ship in heavy fixed
  pancake. We were over two hours alternately advancing, sticking,
  putting on more steam, reversing, and getting out. All the time huge
  blocks of ice were being churned round and battered by the propeller.
  We had been heading about N.E. when the ship struck, and in next watch
  we had to turn round and retreat as we had come. We were now about
  forty miles east of Mount Melbourne.

  “She would steam steady for about ten minutes and delude one into
  going on deck to see our progress, and we were still in the same
  ice-hole! Then we would reverse with more regular vibrations, then
  catch a huge bit of ice in the blades, and it would feel as if you
  were having three teeth out yourself!”

  At noon Pennell abandoned hope of getting near Campbell. At each
  attempt the ice was thicker and wider. Each time we got into worse
  positions and spent longer in extricating ourselves. “We are later
  than any former ship, not allowing for the extraordinary icebound
  conditions, this autumn.” So we turned homeward on the 7th March, and
  headed for Cape Adare.

  On this voyage the ship was in charge of Lieutenant Pennell, while
  Rennick and Bruce were the other officers, assisted by Cheetham and
  Engineer Williams. Lillie carried on his biological work, while Drake
  was busy as ever with secretarial duties, varied by readings of the
  meteorological instruments.

  We had left the rest of the Western Party at Cape Evans, while
  Atkinson and Keohane were stationed at the Old Discovery Hut to
  receive the Pole Party.

  The members of the headquarters staff who returned to take up other
  duties were Simpson, Taylor, Ponting, Meares, and Day. With the
  addition of Lieutenant Evans, who was at first seriously affected by
  scurvy, and Jim Dennistoun (of New Zealand), we formed a very happy
  family during the month of “wind-jamming” which now awaited us.

  This was Jim Dennistoun’s birthday, and to celebrate it and our start
  for home, I brought out the huge cake sent down from home. Half went
  forward to the mess deck, and it was much appreciated. We had a
  sing-song with banjo accompaniment by Ponting and Bruce, both of whom
  could sing pleasantly. Alf Cheetham gave us some typical sailor
  chanties in his humorous falsetto voice. Neuralgia kept me from adding
  to the entertainment, and I listened from the after cabin.

  During the next few days the afterguard were glad to get warm either
  coal-trimming or hauling sails. We would be shivering in the wardroom
  when Pennell would come to the “balcony” and yell, “Any volunteers to
  trim coal?” Dennistoun was shipped as mule-overseer for the voyage
  down, and there was apparently a moral obligation that he should earn
  his shilling a week on the return by trimming coal! So he always
  turned out and climbed into the bunkers. We followed suit after a few
  days’ rest, and worked away in the hold and in the warmer dusty
  “bunkers” next the boilers. Then another naval “tyrant” would look
  down at the coal trimmers and yell, “All hands on deck to haul
  mainsail!” We were true sailor-men in that a chorus of anathemas
  saluted our naval colleague! However, we’d go upon deck and get into
  oilskins and sou’-westers, and then search out the special halyard in
  question, usually finding that the operation had been concluded some
  minutes previously!

  With two Liberal Socialists like Simpson and myself, it is not to be
  supposed that this continued long! We went on strike and delivered our
  ultimatum—

  “Either coal-trimming or sail-hauling—but not both.” Pennell grinned
  cheerfully, and said we could do all the coal-trimming if we liked.
  Personally I felt this was more scientific, as touching the
  departments of statics and applied mechanics as well as geology! So we
  decided to shift all the coal and so leave the engineers and stokers
  free to attend to the furnaces where they were somewhat shorthanded.

  Never was such an incongruous set of coal trimmers.

[Illustration:

  Trimming coal in the starboard main hold, March 7, 1912.
]

  Down in the hold a high official in the Indian Weather Service
  shovelled the coal into baskets, assisted by our motor expert (Day). A
  Cambridge M.A. (and the authority on whales) hoisted the basket with
  the help of a well-known New Zealand climber and stockowner. Ponting
  bent his artistic intellect to the work of unhooking the basket and
  throwing the coal through a door into the bunkers, and inside a
  Thibetan explorer and the Physiographer to the Commonwealth “trimmed”
  the coal in the bunkers, packed it, and raked it level!

  Simpson and I were busy comparing meteorological data before he took
  his notes back to India. I copied such memoranda as seemed to affect
  Australian weather. The “upper air” results were very interesting. The
  balloon ascents showed that there is a gradual decrease of temperature
  with elevation in summer, but that in winter it grows warmer. Thus
  there is a tendency to approach the same temperature in winter and
  summer at high elevations. He recovered one record which had ascended
  nearly twice as high as Erebus, or five miles.

  Priestley’s log for the Northern Party showed that we at Cape Evans
  had been having calms while they, at Cape Adare, had experienced a
  twelve-days’ hurricane!

  One morning I visited the scene of the pump’s disaster of December,
  1910. There is a wooden shaft enclosing the two pump tubes and just
  large enough to enable a man to climb down a ladder at one side. It
  reached the bilge, and here the pump tubes dipped into the latter.
  Before the gale it was only possible to get into the shaft by the main
  hatchway. We inspected it by a lighted matchbox, for the electric lamp
  was out of order. Under the main deck and at the side of the
  engine-room was the hole[11] cut through the iron bulkhead during the
  great gale February 12, 1910, and then the pump shaft was entered by
  tearing off the side boards at Y. For it was impossible to raise the
  hatches and enter in the ordinary way. Now the nozzles were made
  removable, and the entry from the engine-room was kept clear, so that
  the same danger could not recur. The sounding rod was let down a tube
  in one corner of this well also.

  On the 7th the temperature had been +7°, and now five days later we
  reached freezing-point (32°). Thus the weather was about 5° warmer for
  each day’s run north.

  “_12th March._—I had a queer dream about the School of Geology at
  Sydney, which was quite consistent, and ended with some one going out
  and banging the door violently.... So violently that I awoke—to find
  the rudder nearly banging itself off with the heavy swell. It is funny
  how the sleeping mind adapts itself to real sounds!

  “There was no wind, but we had most awful rolling, 41° from the
  vertical, so that the swinging lamp in my cabin is nearly lying on its
  side. My books sling off the shelves, my boxes come adrift, I was
  tossed across the cabin, and all the plates, etc., on the tables jump
  right over the fiddles! When we turned in I couldn’t keep still,
  though jammed by my knees, toes, back, and head. I stuck in a
  drawing-board to prevent my being flung out, and got no sleep, but a
  stiff neck through using it as a strut.”

[Illustration:

  A. B. CHEETHAM, WHO HOLDS THE RECORD FOR CROSSING THE ANTARCTIC
    CIRCLE.
]

[Illustration:

  G. C. SIMPSON, MARCH, 1902.
]

  Simpson amused us with some early recollections of Sunday schools.
  “How did Absalom die?” Loud chorus from the afterguard, “Caught by his
  hair and hanged.” Simpson, “The Bible doesn’t say so!” “Who was the
  oldest man?” _Frantic_ chorus by aforesaid, “Methusaleh.” _Simpson_,
  “No, Enoch, _his_ father, because Methusaleh died before he did!” Then
  Simpson quoted an essay by one school. “Moses’ mother was very cruel,
  and she put him in the bulrushes, when she got sick of beating him.”
  Asked to explain this the boy said, “Well, isn’t that what the Bible
  says—when she could _hide_ him no longer?”

  During the next few days we were busy writing the cables for the
  Associated Press, and I got Drake to type a report of the last western
  journey for Captain Scott (which he never saw). The hard-worked
  afterguard were now set to wash the wardroom! On the 15th I note—

  “Day, Meares, and Dennistoun are doing a bit of charing. This morning
  Meares dropped a rag on me as I was working below and missed. Then
  Dennistoun asked me to pick it up, and as I looked up, got me in the
  eye. So I went for him, and scrubbed his face muchly with soft soap,
  amid hilarity.”

  At noon on the 16th we passed the Balleny Isles. We could see Buckle
  Island about thirty miles to the south as a snow-covered mountain
  occasionally showing through the clouds. Only one or two ships have
  been so close to these islands since they were charted by Balleny. We
  crossed the circle that evening, and celebrated it by another
  sing-song. Most of us sang something, Ponting’s contribution with its
  refrain of “Boil—my mother” (a study in wrong punctuation) bringing
  down the house!

  Very early on the 17th every one on deck was busy furling sail when
  MacCarthy suddenly spotted an iceberg dead ahead. Luckily we just had
  time to steer clear. We had been having “iceberg watch” for some time
  now. I had been on duty from 12 to 2 a.m., though I could see nothing
  through the snow. The ship was going about five knots, and the white
  spume spreading from the bows was about all that was visible. A berg
  shows up merely as a greyish cloud under these circumstances.

  There were many visible during daytime. At noon, for instance, we
  passed another much weathered, and resembling a decayed molar tooth.
  Possibly this resemblance is based on similar causes—a hardened outer
  skin cemented by spray, etc., and a softer core weathering from above.

  I went on iceberg watch again from 8 p.m. till 10. There was some snow
  again, and it was difficult to see anything. All this week we had been
  driving to the west, so as to pick up the constant west winds and sail
  on a slant up to New Zealand. We had only forty-seven tons of coal
  left now, and if we got blown past New Zealand with no coal—as was
  quite probable—it would take weeks for this bluff old whaler to beat
  back against head winds.

  Poor old Nigger has gone overboard, finally we fear. We were all proud
  of our black Tom. He fell overboard on the last voyage, and luckily
  was seen manfully (or catfully?) swimming along in the wake of the
  ship. The crew got out a boat, saved him, and were back in twelve
  minutes! But no one saw the last tragedy. In the hold we found two
  rabbits having a thin time, and fed them on carrots and bread and
  milk. I don’t know their ultimate fate. (There’s a black welcome for
  bunnies in Australia, which I thought extended to New Zealand also.)

  I can see the afterguard becoming regular sailor-men! On the 20th we
  had another mutiny—about food this time.

    _The Mutineers._ “When are you going to give us a change from this
    everlasting mutton, Frankie?”

    _Store-keeper Drake._ “Mutton’s very good food.”

    _Mutineers._ “Why can’t we have ‘True-egg’ omelettes?”

    _Drake._ “Well, perhaps we could have that as an additional dish.”

    _Mutineers._ “Why _additional_, Frankie?”

    _Drake._ “Because Frankie doesn’t like True-egg!” And he added, “If
    you want more _mutton_, just say so!”

    (A very finished “cagger” is Frankie Drake.)

  We had very variable weather during the last week or so of our voyage,
  and I give herewith the record of the worst gale ever experienced by
  any man on the _Terra Nova_. My journal suffered in consequence, but I
  will copy my notes written just after the gale, _verbatim_. First of
  all, here is a copy of the ship’s log for the worst days of the gale.

[Illustration:

  A VERY “ORDINARY SEAMAN.”

  (The writer.)
]

[Illustration:

  PENNELL ON BRIDGE.
]

 ────────┬─────────┬──────┬───────┬────────┬────────────┬────┬──────┬─────
  1912.  │Distance.│ Max. │Course.│ Wind.  │   Force.   │Sea.│Barom.│Temp.
         │         │speed.│       │        │            │    │      │
 ────────┼─────────┼──────┼───────┼────────┼────────────┼────┼──────┼─────
 March 22│         │      │       │        │            │    │      │
   a.m.  │   50    │5·9 at│ N. 30 │   S.   │      7 gale│ 7  │28·99 │30·8
         │         │      │  W.   │        │            │    │      │
   p.m.  │  59·5   │7 a.m.│N. 7 W.│   „    │      8  „  │ 8  │  —   │ 37
 ────────┼─────────┼──────┼───────┼────────┼────────────┼────┼──────┼─────
 March 23│         │      │       │        │            │    │      │
   a.m.  │   37    │ 5·6  │       │ W.S.W. │      8 gale│ 8  │28·78 │ 37
   p.m.  │   48    │ noon │       │   „    │      9  9  │ „  │  —   │  —
 ────────┼─────────┼──────┼───────┼────────┼────────────┼────┼──────┼─────
 March 24│         │      │       │        │            │    │      │
   a.m.  │   52    │  5   │  N.   │  S.W.  │      8 gale│ 8  │28·73 │ 40
   p.m.  │   57    │7 p.m.│N.N.W. │   „    │     10  „  │    │  —   │  —
 ────────┼─────────┼──────┼───────┼────────┼────────────┼────┼──────┼─────
 March 25│         │      │       │        │            │    │      │
   a.m.  │  49·5   │ 4·8  │ N. 22 │ S.S.W. │9 to 11 gale│ 9  │29·03 │ 37
   p.m.  │  48·3   │ noon │  W.   │   „    │      8  „  │ 8  │  —   │ 43
 ────────┼─────────┼──────┼───────┼────────┼────────────┼────┼──────┼─────
 March 26│         │      │       │        │            │    │      │
   a.m.  │  25·1   │ 3·4  │ N. 50 │S. by W.│      7     │ 7  │29·66 │42·2
   p.m.  │Becalmed.│7 a.m.│  W.   │   „    │      2     │ 5  │  —   │44·5
 ────────┴─────────┴──────┴───────┴────────┴────────────┴────┴──────┴─────

  “_26th March._—It is now 12.40 p.m. We have had a satisfactory lunch
  of roast mutton and treacle duff (_toujours mouton!_). It is nearly
  calm, and we have all sail set, and are hurrooshing along at nearly
  two miles an hour!

  “I am five days behind in my diary. We have had a pretty sudden
  gale—the worst ever felt by any one on board, I believe. It culminated
  about midnight on the 24th or 25th. For several days it had been
  blowing almost storm-force from the S.W., and so helped us along O.K.,
  though rather too much westerly, and we could only drive along in
  front of it. With three stormsails (main lower topsail, fore lower
  topsail and inner jib) we went along for days at five miles an hour.

  “On the evening of the 24th Day and I had First Watch. I was told off
  to assist Pennell from 10 to 11 p.m. I put on my paraphernalia and
  turned out on a wild stormy night, after prolonged bumping in my bunk
  for three or four hours. It was awful on deck, the ship mostly with
  her lee scuppers under water, and kept there at a constant heel, with
  only three small stormsails. We were running before the gale (an
  unusual experience nowadays, as Penelope cheerily pointed out!),
  luckily just on our course. To windward (in south-west) the sky was
  covered with gloomy clouds—several black bows, which always mean
  squall-storms, being hideously apparent! White horses raced past the
  bows, and were all one could see in the darkness. They looked just
  like detached floes! The whole time we had to clutch the bridge rails
  to prevent our rolling down to leeward.

  “Then the sky got darker all over, the stars disappeared. A sudden
  squall hit us, and then the shrouds started shrilling and booming. The
  canvas screen on the bridge bulged in; your nose nearly blew off your
  face if you looked over it, while the canvas made eddies which
  deflected the wind into your face.

  “The ship plunged forward into the black, sometimes partially
  righting, but mostly lying over at 30°. Then the black squall passed
  (in about ten minutes) and a patch of clear sky showed to windward.
  Another squall-bow appeared, and we were battered and driven over
  again. This lasted longer, about twenty minutes. Penelope asked me to
  go to the standard compass (near the foremast) to check the steersman.
  I got the electric torch and managed to crawl on to the ice-house
  which supports the compass. Up a silly little ladder with no grip, and
  in flapping oilskins to find Rennick there before me. Then I had to
  crawl round and see that the helmsman was keeping his course. I
  clutched at his screen-posts and wondered if they would blow overboard
  next gust. (The screen went over next day!) About 10.40 a thick black
  cloud enveloped the horizon to the west and gradually reached us. This
  accompanied a squall where nature fairly burst her bounds! The sea was
  blown flat, and the air filled with horizontal hurtling arrows of
  sleet and water. I didn’t know that wind could show such malignancy!
  Don’t know how the stormsails stood it, I suppose because the rigging
  would do for a ship about twice this size! It was a snorter. Couldn’t
  see more than a hundred feet, though there was no snow in the air.
  Just solidified wind, I guess.

  “If the sails had not held it would be called force 12—the maximum, as
  it is they are content with force 11. Penelope said he enjoyed this
  sort of thing, but I can’t say I was thrilled with enthusiasm, and I
  preferred to be where the hurricane force was not quite so obtrusively
  obvious! So at 11 p.m. I unselfishly called Bernard Day for his share
  of the hell-broth, and went down below to try and forget it in sleep.”

  It culminated at 3 a.m., when the starboard whaler was torn from one
  davit. Just as they got a rope under the loose end the other broke
  loose. So they cut it adrift after it had been bumping on the ship’s
  side for some hours a few inches from Lieutenant Evans’ sickbed!

  Bernard Day was nursing Evans, who was progressing satisfactorily,
  though still very weak. However, by now he was nearly as cheerful as
  usual, and his cabin was chiefly noticeable from the amount of
  laughter emanating therefrom. He had onions, oranges, and beer in
  excess of our ration, and got up for a few moments just before the
  gale.

  “Now that the engines are stopped (to save coal) we have to use the
  hand-pumps continuously—about a quarter of an hour each four hours. In
  the storm, owing to the rolling, it takes longer, for the well only
  fills slowly through its small holes, and most of the bilge lies on
  the lee side.

  “The pump-handles (across the waist) are left on all the time now, and
  with ‘life-lines’ they make something to grip as you sidle along the
  deck. Ponting didn’t see the handle, and running to dodge a big wave
  he was knocked silly by a blow on the brow. Result—two lovely black
  eyes, and a thankful heart that his nose wasn’t broken!”

  The same day a big sea pooped the ship and covered the steersman
  (MacCarthy) in fifteen feet of water! It broke down the canvas screen
  protecting him, but didn’t dismay MacCarthy. He had bad luck later,
  also. For climbing the ratlines to free some tackle his helmet was
  knocked off. It nearly came inboard on an incoming wave over the lee
  bulwarks, but not quite. However, all that cheery MacCarthy said was,
  “Maybe ’twill make the gale lessen a bit!”

  There was naturally not much comfort anywhere on board, not even in
  the cabins. I think the following extract speaks for itself—

  “My bunk is just over the counter, where the waves bump every few
  minutes, just over the screw; just under the chilled feet of the
  steersman who dances on the deck, which is like a sounding board; and
  just next the rudder, which has two dozen squeaks and groans of its
  own. Add to this rolls varying from 30° to 50° each way.

  “I have made a fine hanging candlestick from a chain of safety pins
  and a bent wire, and this swings out and bangs my head. I stick in my
  drawing-board at the side of the bunk, and so try to get some sleep in
  the fearful rolling.

                  “There I lay, throughout the day,
                  Lying this and then that way,
                  Pain and cramp from toe to shoulder;
                  Up and down the tempest rolled her.
                  Pitch and toss, athwart across—
                  Never worse befell old Ross.
                  Waves belched round, above, right over
                  Poor old storm-tossed _Terra Nova_.”

  On the 26th we had discussion of Amundsen’s chances, and I got Pennell
  to draw a map of his winter quarters. This has some interest, as we
  did not know anything of his movements for over a week yet.

[Illustration:

  Chart of Bay of Whales, 78° S. + 164° W., after Amundsen.
]

  “The _Discovery_ in 1902 found several deep bays in the edge of the
  Ross Ice Barrier. Balloon Bight went in about ten miles. Shackleton in
  1908 found that these had merged into one and he was stopped by
  sea-ice at the head.

  “Pennell in the _Terra Nova_ found Amundsen’s Hut (in February, 1911)
  to be about two miles from the water on a ridge of old sea-ice about
  thirty feet high, but hidden from the ship by another ridge of the
  same nature.

  “To the west was an indifferent lane half a mile wide which reached
  _behind_ the hut. Here the sea-ice was only a few feet above the water
  except where pressure occurred. The ice in the west of the lane was
  breaking out. Behind this about four miles off was an eighty-foot
  cliff of Ice Barrier with a path up in the south-east. I wouldn’t like
  his winter, though if he lasted through the autumn he might be O.K.
  afterwards. Anyhow, we’ll know in about a week now. We had a great cag
  to-day. Some are still sure that Amundsen did nothing at the Pole. The
  arguments are: (_a_) Amundsen never liked sledging; and (_b_) if he
  meant to go up another glacier than the Beardmore, he’d have acquired
  merit and said so!

  “Contrariwise (_a_) if he found going easy he might have prospected up
  an easy one, perhaps in 1911; and (_b_) if he’d gone astray, the Fram
  would have come to us to investigate this year.”

  “On the 27th we finished off the cable. It runs to 7,500 words, of
  which the western party contributed 900. It is to be delivered to the
  agent at Akaroa on Monday (first of April). A funny day to send off a
  big cable, but it won’t be published till the 2nd in England, and ten
  hours later in Australia. Meanwhile we loaf about till Wednesday
  morning (minimum 36 hours), and then land at Lyttelton as soon as
  possible.”

  On the 30th the coal gang put in about six hours filling the bunkers,
  so as to rest on Sunday. We shifted seven tons. The gale had rounded
  the large lumps of coal, the impacts turning them into egg-shaped
  boulders. The coal-dust was packed into a hard layer which we could
  hardly break out with a pick! This is what clogged the pumps in 1910,
  and in that gale Teddy Evans was head and shoulders under the bilge
  water groping for the mud clogging the pump-roses.

  During Sunday we slowly cruised towards Akaroa. After lunch we sighted
  a school of eight sperm whales. We turned off and followed them.
  Mostly one saw their broad rounded brown backs. Then one would raise
  his head a little and blow off “steam,” not up straight but diagonally
  forward. Sometimes their large triangular tail fins showed, and once
  or twice the huge torpedo head appeared above water. Our harpoon gun
  was out of order, but they were too shy to let us approach within
  striking distance. Each of these whales was worth £300, so that there
  was a small fortune in the whole school.

  _Monday, April 1._—About 6 a.m. we approached Akaroa. It was a bright
  morning as we entered the very fine harbour, the Heads reminding me of
  those of Sydney. We could see the friendly light of the lighthouse
  twinkling a greeting to us. Then we saw ragged clumps of the first
  trees—two on the skyline resembling a pair of roosters fighting, and
  sheep, like rabbits, browsing on the steep hillsides. We lay about a
  mile off the little town, while Pennell and Drake went off in the
  cutter and were met by a launch. All communication was forbidden with
  the shore, but later two men in a small launch hovered around us. As
  they pushed off they called out—

  “Why didn’t you get back sooner? Amundsen got the Pole in a sardine
  tin on the 14th December.”

  “Pennell returned about 11 a.m. and confirmed it. Amundsen has done
  wonderfully. His risky hut site was not so bad as we expected. In
  place of howling blizzards four days in each week, he seems to have
  had calm weather! But his bold dash up another glacier, his getting
  five men there, and his nice behaviour after returning with regard to
  Scott and his work have changed our opinion of him _in toto_.

  “Scott will have reached the Pole about January 16. When he sees the
  tent and flag there he will get a most unpleasant shock. Amundsen
  started eleven days before Scott and was eighty miles nearer. He got
  there only thirty days sooner, so that he didn’t march much quicker.

  “In the west Gran and I agreed that he had a very good chance, and
  Gran has written down in my sledge diary the day he (Amundsen) would
  get there. I haven’t looked at it, but believe he was at the Pole at
  the day Gran said!”

  This prophecy has aroused some interest among psychologists at home!
  So I will explain the circumstances. Gran woke up on December 20,
  1911, when we were camped in the Punch Bowl and had been sledging over
  a month. He declared that he knew that Amundsen was turning back. As
  natural we pooh-poohed this. He said, “Well, I’ll write it down in
  Grif’s book here.” He did so; but in my Browning and not in the diary
  (as I say above).

[Illustration:

  PONTING IS HERE ARRANGING THE CREW FOR A PHOTO OFF AKAROA. PROBABLY
    HIS LAST EFFORT AT “PONTING” ANY OF US.

  The dog Tsignan in the foreground.
]

  This copy of Browning was left on Cape Roberts with all other
  non-essentials on February 5. It remained there until picked up by
  Priestley, six months after I had reached Australia. It was restored
  to me in Priestley’s home at Tewkesbury in 1913, nearly two years
  after Gran’s inscription. I looked through it and came on Gran’s note,
  which I here reproduce. This is one of the most extraordinary
  coincidences I know of, and owing to Gran’s isolation from all outside
  information is perhaps unique.

  I am personally of opinion that coincidence and not telepathy is
  involved; though it is a fact that Gran never made any other attempt
  to get an undoubted record of a dream, and he certainly believed this
  to be something supernatural at the time!

  During Monday we idled off Akaroa. Some fish were caught, Day hauling
  in a huge barracouta and Evans a rock cod, which he caught as he was
  sitting in a deck chair, and so celebrated his first day out of the
  cabin. They tasted good at lunch! We trimmed eight tons of coal during
  the day, so that only five were left! Then I had a huge bath, borrowed
  a shirt, and got into clean clothes ready for civilization!

  On Tuesday I packed all my gear, which was lucky, for I only had half
  an hour to catch the Sydney boat finally. On Wednesday morning we
  entered Lyttelton Harbour early in the morning. A tug came to meet us,
  carrying Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Evans. Pennell asked me to steer the
  ship into harbour—why, I know not; unless he thought I looked too
  respectable and might look more natural after a trick at the wheel.
  However, one of the seamen did all the heavy brain work, and I merely
  assisted at the tricky corners!

  Simpson, Meares, and I hurried for the first train to Lyttelton.
  Simpson was not specially noticeable except for his ski-boots, I had
  on his shirt and Evans’ cap. Meares was clothed in a suit lent by Jim
  Dennistoun, who said it was an old one of his father’s. I think
  Meares’ departure was hastened by the advance of Mr. Dennistoun senior
  to greet his son!

  I spent only one day in Christchurch, for finding that a ship left for
  Sydney that evening, I transhipped all my gear to the mailboat and was
  back in Australia on the 7th April, 1912.




                                  VIII
                       THE END OF THE EXPEDITION




                        THE END OF THE EXPEDITION


[Illustration:

  Chart of parties, December 14, 1911 (Amundsen reaches the Pole).
]

  I have brought the story of the Expedition up to April, 1912, so far
  as my own part in it is concerned. But it will be of interest to give
  a brief _résumé_ of the much more arduous journeys of the other
  divisions of the Expedition.

  Let us consider the distribution of the _personnel_ in the middle of
  December. In the far north at Cape Adare, Campbell and his five mates
  were awaiting the arrival of the _Terra Nova_ to take them to fresh
  fields of work. The sea-ice had blown out early in spring, and they
  had been cooped up on the rocky promontory unable to explore the
  hinterland, just as had Borchgrevinck ten years earlier. The ship was
  not due until early in January, but Levick’s penguin studies and
  Priestley’s ice-notes testify to the industry of the scientific staff
  during their imprisonment.

  Further south my own party was preparing to climb the Mackay Glacier,
  as recorded previously. We were to be taken north on the ship to Evans
  Coves (to spend five weeks there during January and February) as soon
  as the _Terra Nova_ could reach us.

  At Headquarters Simpson was completing his meteorological
  log—certainly the most valuable record of Antarctic weather which has
  yet been obtained by any of the numerous expeditions to the southern
  continent. Ponting was living at Cape Royds, and obtaining many of his
  most successful studies of animal life.

  To the south stretches the Great Ice Barrier, and somewhere off White
  Island a party of two men are doggedly pursuing their homeward path.
  They are dragging a queer contraption—a sledge burnt in half—and each
  night have great difficulty in erecting their four-man tent. Neither
  Day nor Hooper understands navigation, and their plight, if they miss
  one of the old pony shelters, will be pitiable. They lie up during a
  heavy blizzard, and then start off, desperate, through the drifting
  snow. They arrive safely, and a few days later, returning on their
  path, see their blindfold tracks passing along the narrow ridge
  between two huge crevasses!

  Another stage of some two hundred miles shows us, at the foot of the
  Beardmore Glacier, a second supporting party, which has just bidden
  farewell to Captain Scott. Meares, with Demetri and the dog teams, is
  proceeding north again for his last journey on the Great Ice Barrier.
  For three months he has been forwarding stores ahead of the pony
  parties, and now the Pole party pushes on, unsupported by ponies or
  dogs, on the two hardest stages to the Pole.

  Scott has just finished the hardest day’s work he experienced on the
  ascent of the Beardmore. “A most damnably dismal day,” he calls it.
  Next day, the 14th—which is that on which all the positions in the
  preceding figure have been charted—they begin to reach better
  surfaces, and the three parties, under Evans, Bowers, and the leader,
  swing along at an encouraging rate.

  Far to the south—indeed, at the uttermost south—five Norwegians have
  reached their goal: Amundsen, Bjaaland, Hanssen, Hassel, and Wisting.
  After a few days’ rest they have verified their position, and made
  sure of the Pole by a circular journey round the apparent site. And
  now they are preparing to return to Framheim and the north.

  Prestrud, Amundsen’s lieutenant, has just carried out his trip to King
  Edward VII. Land. There, beyond the Barrier, he reached high land.
  Rocky cliffs appeared in a few _nunatakker_ above the snow mantle. To
  these they gave Scott’s name.

[Illustration:

  Chart of parties, January 18, 1912 (Scott reaches the Pole).
]

  The next chart shows the position of the parties on the 18th of
  January, 1912. Cape Adare is now deserted. Campbell has been picked up
  by the _Terra Nova_, and safely landed at Evans Coves for five weeks’
  exploration between Mount Nansen and Mount Melbourne. Then the ship
  sails south to pick up the western party at Granite Harbour, and to
  communicate with Headquarters. The pack-ice is still solid in MacMurdo
  Sound; the ship can do nothing till well into February. The western
  party are waiting on Cape Roberts some twenty miles from the ship. As
  narrated previously, they realize that there is no hope of relief in
  that quarter, and later march overland to the hut.

  Day and Meares have reached the hut, and Atkinson is now halfway home
  across the Great Barrier. They have had an anxious rush to keep the
  balance between food and time. Only one day—Christmas—has been
  different from the many weary days of sledge-hauling. Among the
  moraines near the “Cloud-maker,” Wright discovered a piece of marble
  containing the first large Archæocyathine fossil from Antarctica.
  Although vastly larger than Shackleton’s specimens, this is only a
  centimetre long!

  Lieutenant Evans has now also turned northward, and, with Lashley and
  Crean, is nearing the foot of the Beardmore. For him worse troubles
  are approaching. Worn out by constant sledging and unsuitable food, he
  is attacked by scurvy, and only saved by the gallant devotion of his
  naval mates.

  Captain Scott has accomplished his task, and within the time he had
  allotted to it. Realizing that if Amundsen came successfully through
  the winter his methods must be speedier than those of the English
  party, Scott proceeded steadily along the lines he had decided upon
  when he left England. It was a bitter disappointment. Since Amundsen
  had reached the Pole the year 1911 had passed away; and so the record
  stands: “The South Pole: Amundsen 1911, Scott 1912.” How few will
  realize that but a few weeks intervened between the two achievements!

[Illustration:

  Chart of parties on March 21, 1911 (the last camp).
]

  Meanwhile the Norwegian is speeding back to the _Fram_, and already
  the hardest part of his journey is over. In mid-January the conditions
  of the Barrier bear no remote resemblance to those in mid-March. No
  one who has not experienced it can picture the enormous difference due
  to the lapse of those two months.

  The third chart shows the scene of the last tragedy. Far to the north
  the ship is nearing civilization. Campbell’s party is isolated at
  “Hell’s Gate,” their cheerless home at Evans Coves. Here in a hole in
  the snow they wear out a weary existence for eight never-ending
  months. No other Antarctic party has ever experienced such a test of
  courage and endurance. Even Mawson’s three weeks alone gave less
  opportunity for utter despair than the life of these six men from
  March to October, 1912.

  All communication is now cut off between Cape Evans and the Barrier.
  At the 1910 Hut are Nelson, Debenham, Wright, and Gran with some of
  the men, and fourteen miles south in the old _Discovery_ Hut are
  Atkinson, Cherry-Garrard, Keohane, and Demetri. But two of these are
  invalids—worn out by wild weather on the Barrier when they carried
  further supplies to One Ton Depôt.

  Eleven miles south of this depôt—and just beyond where Bowers and Gran
  reached in the depôt trip of February, 1911—is the last camp of the
  Pole party. All the world has been moved by Scott’s messages from this
  formless yet historic site. It would be presumption in me to try and
  describe it.

  Why did the tragedy occur? I am convinced that no reason beyond that
  of Seaman Evans’ illness is required. When Wilson was coaching us as
  to how we should meet the hazards of Antarctic sledging, he told us of
  frostbites, chills, blizzards, and so forth. I said that these seemed
  surmountable, but I added, “What are we to do if one of the party
  breaks his leg?” which seemed by no means impossible in the rough
  rocky region before us. Dr. Bill replied, “Well, you will have to make
  a more or less permanent camp, kill plenty of seals, and wait there
  until you are relieved, or until the leg is usable again.” Two factors
  were vital—rest for the invalid, and seal meat for the party’s
  sustenance. When Evans met with his accident, there could be no rest
  for any, sick or well. It was a race with famine, in which only strong
  men had any chance. There was no need for a severe accident to
  handicap the party hopelessly, as in the case of Dr. Mertz. A slight
  ailment rapidly becomes mortal. A sick man must be kept warm, and in
  the Antarctic the only warming agent is the human one. Very literally
  a man “keeps himself warm” with the most wonderful furnace in
  nature—fed with fuel in the form of biscuits and pemmican. And so, I
  believe, that, short of abandonment, the party had no hope with a sick
  man on their hands. Scott and Wilson would remember, however, that
  they had managed to bring back Shackleton to safety in 1903, and would
  hope to do the same again, even though the distance was four hundred
  miles instead of a hundred and fifty.

  With each hour’s delay each man grew weaker. Each day the weather grew
  worse than the preceding. The sun now sank below the horizon at night
  and the Antarctic cold, unopposed by his warm beams, spread resistless
  through both animate and inanimate nature. Each night was longer, each
  march a harder fight against the blizzard drift.

  I used to wonder how Shackleton managed his wonderful feat with an
  unsupported party. He told me that he would never have got through if
  it had been calm, nor if the wind had been but a trifle different. For
  days, on their return Barrier journey, they were marching through
  drift which did not rise to their eyes and so block their view; but
  was due to a southern blizzard wind just strong enough to fill their
  sail and push them to the north. Captain Scott met with no such
  fortune. He was a month later than Shackleton, and when Oates fell
  sick their chance had gone.

[Illustration:

  _Glossopteris_, a Permo-Carboniferous fern from the Upper Beardmore
    Glacier.
]

  I do not believe that unaided the three men would have survived even
  if they had reached One Ton Depôt. There was no chance of thorough
  rest there, and nothing else could have saved them. At their slow rate
  of marching they were still ten days from Discovery Hut, and such a
  period of exposure would have been too much for them. Their journey
  was a supreme struggle against all the powers of Nature, and when all
  human effort had been expended they succumbed, winning a deathless
  renown which has aroused the envy of all brave men and the admiration
  of the world.

  On their last few marches, when everything was fighting against them,
  they kept the specimens gathered by Wilson at the head of the
  Beardmore Glacier. Scott writes, “The geological specimens carried at
  Wilson’s request will be found with us or on our sledge.” It is
  pleasant to think that these specimens, which must have a greater
  sentimental value than any others of their kind, have also a greater
  scientific value than any hitherto obtained in the Antarctic. At the
  Australian meetings of the British Association Professor Seward gave
  two lectures dealing with the fossil leaves which they contained.
  Perfect examples of the fern-like plant _Glossopteris_ were
  preserved—closely related to those occurring in India, Australia,
  South Africa, and South America. In fact, this plant is the emblem of
  the ancient continent of Gondwanaland; and the Polar specimens give
  positive and invaluable evidence of the condition of the world in
  Permo-Carboniferous times, of a sort which can truly be called
  epoch-making.

  I can here give no account of the doings of the small band during the
  last months spent by the expedition in Antarctica. The record of the
  survey of Erebus by Priestley and Debenham and of the search for the
  Polar party can be read in other volumes.


  However the world knew nothing of this disaster until the ship
  returned in February, 1913. Remembering the pleasure I had felt from
  Professor David’s gift of “Queed,” I sent down a few books by the ship
  in the preceding December. In each case I tried to suit the
  recipient’s taste. Thus Nelson received “Queed” (Harrison); to Wright
  I sent “Marriage” (Wells); to Cherry “The Dreadnought on the Darling,”
  in memory of his Australian travels. To Debenham and Uncle Bill I sent
  books in the writing of which I had had a part. To Bowers (in the
  character of “Farmer Hayseed”) I sent Bean’s fine book “On the
  Wooltrack”; and to Priestley, “We of the Never Never” (Gunn).
  Atkinson, I hope, had a fellow-feeling for pugilist “Shorty McCabe”;
  while Gates would have been carried back to Africa by “The Dop
  Doctor.” I knew Rex Beach would attract Gran—so he was furnished with
  “The Silver Horde.”

  I was carrying out a geological survey at the Federal capital, and in
  the solitary evenings I managed to pile up a huge budget of letters
  for my returning mates. Some of them, alas! were returned unopened.

  In February Bernard Day reached Australia and was in Sydney with me
  when we heard the sad news. I had never anticipated any serious
  accident to the Pole party—chiefly, I expect, because Shackleton had
  managed to pull through safely. But I should not have been surprised
  to hear of disaster in Campbell’s northern party, for no one had lived
  through a winter in such fashion before.

  A solemn service was held in the Cathedral at Sydney, and later at a
  meeting to initiate a memorial fund, Professor David gave an eloquent
  justification of Antarctic exploration and paid a touching tribute to
  the characters of the lost men. As a result of similar appeals in this
  and other states, the Empire contributed most generously to the
  Captain Scott Fund.

  The Federal Government kindly granted me leave to collaborate with the
  scientific members in London; and Priestley and I returned home in the
  _Mongolia_. We arrived in London in time for the Albert Hall meeting
  in May. Commander Evans here described to the large and deeply
  interested audience the chief features of the 1910 Antarctic
  Expedition.

  The office in Victoria Street was the rendezvous of the surviving
  members of the Expedition, who were nearly all reunited within the
  next month or two. Simpson was too busy in India to visit England, Day
  was in Sydney; but with these exceptions we were all present at
  Buckingham Palace when the King’s medal was presented in July. The men
  under Lieutenant Rennick marched from Victoria Street, and joined the
  officers in the Palace. Here we were marshalled in three lines—naval
  officers, scientific and other officers, and seamen. Lady Scott and
  Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Bowers, Mrs. Evans, and Mrs. Brissenden,[12] were
  received first by His Majesty. The others were presented by Prince
  Louis of Battenberg, and as each advanced the King shook hands, gave
  him the medal, and said a word or two.

  We returned to the Caxton Hall, and after drinking some farewell
  healths, the expedition, as a whole, was disbanded.

  But the scientific work will take several years to complete, and
  thanks to the generosity of the public, the means for carrying this
  out are adequate. No less than £75,000 was placed at the disposal of
  the Committee, while in addition to this the Government is paying out
  various sums from the Pension Fund.

  Some £34,000 was allocated from the Public Fund to the widows and
  dependants of the lost explorers. A bonus was paid to the officers and
  men; the debt of the Expedition was paid, and £17,500 was set apart
  for the publication of the scientific results.

  Some £18,000 remains for a memorial to the men who died. Of this
  amount half will be expended on a suitable monument, which will
  probably be placed in Hyde Park, and on a tablet in Saint Paul’s. The
  balance will be devoted to an endowment fund in aid of future Polar
  research. “This is an object which it is believed would have commended
  itself greatly to the late Captain Scott.” So concludes the report of
  the Mansion House Committee.

  This narrative began amid the Colleges of Cambridge, and may very
  fittingly close there. Dear Uncle Bill will never return to his rooms
  in Caius College; but on the old archway through which he reached his
  quarters, are blazoned the names of Wright and Debenham. For Debenham
  has joined Caius, and “keeps” just below his sledge-mate, between the
  Gates of Wisdom and Honour.

  In a spacious room in the Old Court of John’s, Lillie ponders over
  problems of Antarctic Biology. Priestley is a Fellow Commoner of
  Christ’s, and for a time I had diggings in the Hostel at Emmanuel.
  Priestley and I “kept” almost next door to each other, and almost
  always had our meals together; and during the day Debenham joined us
  in the huge “Antarctic Room” in the Sedgwick Museum. Here the
  specimens from the South were labelled, sectioned, and described. Here
  often appeared Wright and sometimes Lillie, while Pennell, Nelson,
  Atkinson, and others visited us not infrequently.

  The various researches are being carried out under the supervision of
  the British Museum authorities, while Captain H. G. Lyons is acting as
  general editor of the scientific publications.

  I have finished. In this account I have tried to show that a Polar
  expedition is a microcosm in its own peculiar way. Here are labours of
  a strenuous type, but not insuperable in the main. Here are dangers
  which the city dweller never meets, but which lose half their terrors
  with familiarity. Here are pleasures—like the labours and the
  danger—more concentrated than those met with in times of ease. Here,
  lastly, is fellowship, which is the chiefest charm of exploration.

  It is a truism to declare that friends of the sledge-trace and
  sleeping-bag are friends for aye. My mates, in the 1910 Expedition,
  have forged yet a closer bond for our future sledge journeys. When
  this cruel war is past, we trust that Priestley will join forces with
  a relative of Debenham’s, while Wright and I have started anew on
  life’s journey with Priestley’s sisters to help us in the traces!

  I shall, in all probability, never again see the Antarctic; but my
  advice to any volunteer, who has that opportunity offered him, is to
  take it. Especially is this the case if he be a scientist or writer,
  for the present tendencies of modern life are all opposed to the
  multiplication of such experiences. Only in Polar lands is to be found
  the joy of a “real return to the primitive,” in association with the
  best types of strenuous youth. There, if anywhere, is life worth
  while, and effort sure of recognition. To few explorers is it given to
  serve under a leader with Scott’s kindly sympathy for every detail of
  his work; but after each and every expedition, the heavy cloud of
  discomforts, dangers, and disaster gradually fades from memory, and
  nought remains but the brightness of the silver lining.

[Illustration:

  MAP OF THE REGION TRAVERSED ON THE WESTERN JOURNEYS 1911 AND 1912 FROM
    SURVEYS BY GRIFFITH TAYLOR, B.Sc., B.E., B.A., F.G.S., FRANK
    DEBENHAM, B.A., B.Sc., & CHARLES WRIGHT, B.A.

  EXPLANATORY NOTE

  _The Southern portion of the map is based on theodolite angles, the
    Northern portion on plane-table angles. The Topography is drawn from
    sketches, photographs, and aneroid readings. The upper Mackay region
    and the Mount Lister scarp, are based on distant angles. The_
    “Discovery” _map has been incorporated for portion of the
    Ferrar-Taylor area_.

  GRIFFITH TAYLOR 23.9.13.

  _The boundaries of the ice and rock in the Lister cairn are only
    indicated approximately._
]




                                APPENDIX
                     RECENT AND FUTURE EXPLORATION


[Illustration:

  Period 1898–1908 (based on H. R. Mill).
]

[Illustration:

  Period 1908–1914
]

                      Recent and future exploration.




                                 APPENDIX

                      RECENT AND FUTURE EXPLORATION


  Hugh Robert Mill has given a masterly account of Antarctic Exploration
  in his work “The Siege of the South Pole.” He deals fully with the
  voyages which took place before Shackleton’s great exploit. I have
  found it so difficult myself to get a comprehensive idea of the later
  expeditions that I have drawn the two charts shown herewith. If we
  divide Antarctica into four quadrants (as shown in Fig. A) we see that
  no expedition among the eleven charted has attacked the African
  quadrant, and only two (Amundsen and Charcot) have explored the
  Pacific quadrant. A survey of these maps shows that two great problems
  as regards the sixth continent are still unsolved. First, Is there a
  low-level, ice-covered strait connecting the floating Barrier seen by
  Filchner in the Weddell Sea with that crossed by Amundsen south of the
  Ross Sea?

  In a paper published by the Royal Geographical Society in October,
  1914, I have advanced arguments in support of this possibility. We
  hope that Shackleton, in his forthcoming journey between Filchner’s
  and Scott’s bases, will answer the question.

  The other problem deals with the character of Antarctica to the west
  of Enderby Land, for the whole coast-line south of Africa is unknown.
  One can only hope that some future leader following Mawson’s example
  will set aside all idea of transcontinental journeys, and devote his
  energies to detailed coastal surveys, which are infinitely more
  profitable from the purely scientific standpoint. However, under
  present political conditions there is little chance of any extensive
  work succeeding Shackleton’s present enterprise until several years
  have elapsed.

  I have, however, felt that it would be useful to collect the results
  of my experiences in the Antarctic in so far as they touch details of
  scientific equipment. These may be grouped under the following heads:
  (1) Personnel; (2) Tents and Sledging Stoves; (3) Notebooks; (4)
  Instruments; (5) Cameras; (6) Clothing; (7) Food.

  _Personnel._—It may be that I am prejudiced by training, but to my
  mind these _coastal_ parties should consist essentially of geologists,
  who must be capable of using theodolite and plane-table. The refined
  knowledge of an expert navigator or surveyor is wasted in such a
  journey, where only the lunch hour or evening halt is available for a
  hurried “round of angles.” The recognition of topographic forms should
  be a specialty of modern geologists, if they have had an adequate
  physiographic training, and (again, _me judice_) this is more probably
  found in the geologist than in the naval officer or professional
  surveyor.

  It is unnecessary to point out that a biologist—whether botanist or
  zoologist—would be wasted on such a journey. Most geologists, however,
  have studied some botany and zoology, and are capable of collecting
  such mosses and lichens, etc., as they may come across, and with a
  little advice can make useful notes on the types and habits of the
  fauna encountered.

  (I am not here referring to the _Plateau or Inland journeys_, where
  the main essentials in an explorer are a knowledge of navigation on
  trackless plains, such as naval men obviously possess to a high
  degree, coupled with indomitable pluck and endurance, in which they
  also have an unrivalled record.)

  Too little stress has been laid on ability to take successful
  photographs and to make numerous sketches. The latter is
  all-important. With practice quite valuable sketches can be made in
  quarter of an hour, which are far ahead of any verbal description.

  Outside these qualifications nothing is so essential as a cheery
  temperament. It is worth more than strong biceps, for the latter
  develops _en route_, while humour has a tendency to become diluted
  after four months’ stiff sledging. Certainly the latter is not an
  ideal environment for its birth and growth.

  _Equipment for Scientific Coastal Exploration._—So far as the sledging
  outfit is concerned, it would be difficult to improve on that provided
  on Captain Scott’s Expedition. But I am sure that a dog team would
  have enabled us to do twice as much work while along the coast. They
  could, I feel sure, be left tethered at the coast for a week or so,
  while inland journeys were made, with some provision of seal meat.
  Probably they would eat all the food in the first few days, but in the
  warmer summer months they could (and have been known to) exist without
  food for many days after such a gorge. Seals are very abundant in
  December, January, and February. For instance, in New Harbour we saw
  two herds totalling about a hundred individuals.

  _Iron Runners_ were undoubtedly of immense assistance to the Northern
  party on _sticky_ sea-ice. We tried them on rugged glacier ice and
  they were useless, for they had no “grip” at all, and on any sort of
  slope would not follow the traces, but simply slid down the “dip” of
  the ice.

  _Tents._—The larger floorcloth was much preferable where many
  instruments were carried. I should make it the full size of the
  tentfloor and shut out all snow. In the ordinary pattern there was
  over a foot margin inside the tent. A small tomahawk would be very
  useful for cutting up seal meat. We had none. Also one of Priestley’s
  small ice-picks would be well worth carrying if there were the
  slightest risk of being abandoned, even for a month. The ice-axes were
  not often used for their legitimate purpose of chipping steps. They
  were certainly valuable as supports on the slippery glaciers, but
  should have been stronger, even if it added a few pounds to the load.

  The _Blubber Stove_ was worth its weight in gold. It was made by Day,
  of sheet iron, and was simply a rectangular box, 18 inches long, and
  about 10 by 10 inches in cross section. A round hole (about 8 inches
  in diameter) was cut in the top. A chimney of sheet iron, about 3
  inches diameter, was riveted in one end, and was about 4 feet high;
  but we found that the length was not essential, as there was always
  sufficient wind to make about 18 inches of chimney act.

  The only objection to Day’s pattern was the door, which occupied the
  other end of the oven and was hinged at the top. It would have been
  better if the opening had been stiffened and the door also, so that it
  would shut readily, even when the oven was warped and dinted.

  More important still, there should have been a “sill” at least one
  inch high to keep the blubber oil from all escaping from the floor of
  the oven. We took a grid to carry the “fids” of blubber and asbestos
  wicks, but they were unnecessary; the ashes from the burnt skin or
  bits of bone acted as a suitable burning surface. We never needed to
  “render” the blubber, but just fed it in its native state. This stove
  must be completely sheltered from strong winds, and we built a granite
  hut for its use. It cannot be used in the tent, for in spite of all
  precautions it evolves the filthiest oily soot that ever disfigured
  scientific notebooks.

  _Note-Books._—Plain good paper with linen-covered cardboard backs,
  opening sideways, with a loop and pencil and rubber tied on with
  string. Take four thin books (8 × 5 or so) rather than one thick one.

  For long panoramic sketches, fold down one inch of the right-hand page
  and sketch over this fold, then the panorama can be sketched
  continuously and to scale on the next pair of pages, and so on.

  An ordinary geological hammer of medium weight, a small cold chisel
  (wrapped in canvas to prevent it sticking to you), and a stout
  rucksack are essential.

  _Instruments._—The prismatic compass is almost useless for accurate
  work in the magnetic area. Wright and I used two independently, and
  found we differed about three or four degrees. This would not perhaps
  matter for a very small area. The needle is extremely sluggish; but we
  found them useful for route marching with thick snow falling, and one
  should certainly be taken.

  The plane-table is the instrument _par excellence_. Debenham deserves
  great credit for taking one south, for Captain Scott was extremely
  sceptical as to their value on sledge journeys. In open country with a
  prominent peak (as a referring object) in the line of
  traverse—conditions such as one always gets in coastal work—the
  plane-table was extremely rapid and enabled Debenham to do excellent
  work each day. For details of the geology of a cape or cliff area the
  plane-table is simply magnificent.

  A light theodolite (4-inch) was carried, of course, to tie on to
  prominent distant peaks and for elevation and base-line measurements.
  Latitude and longitude and sun azimuths were taken as checks on the
  triangulation, which later in our journeys was tied on to Mount
  Erebus.

  _Cameras._—We had large experience with these, Debenham taking
  Ponting’s place when the latter returned. We carried Zeiss and Goerz
  panorama-stereoscope cameras. They had two grave faults for southern
  work. The rubber focal plane shutters froze stiff, and used to crawl
  down and then stop halfway, when one wished to give ¹⁄₅₀ a second!

  Secondly, they were arranged for glass plates. In spite of advice
  given me by Mawson and other photographers in the South, I am
  convinced that a hundred films would give one ten times as many good
  photos as _ten plates_, for plates get scratched and broken, and the
  weight (the only important factor) is the same. When we went a long
  side-tramp we always relied on the two _film_ cameras, and they
  succeeded in producing many splendid photos, while the trouble of
  changing plates at −20° F. (with your head inside a moulting fur
  sleeping-bag) can be imagined by any one. For geologists I would
  recommend the Goerz outfit with _front shutters_ and a film-pack
  attachment. As it was, my exposures in a very expensive camera of this
  type (guaranteed to give ¹⁄₁₅₀₀ of a second) were made by means of a
  red cotton handkerchief presented to me by Charles Wright!

  For physiographic details, a stereoscopic camera is _sine qua non_;
  for topographic work a panorama camera is essential; for lantern
  slides a ¼ plate is advisable. The two cameras I have specified fulfil
  all these conditions, and both have, of course, magnificent lenses.

  _Clothing._—No one altered the regulation rig very materially. The
  geologists had to wear the strong corduroy trousers, which were hot
  for sledging, because the rocks tore windproof to pieces. As it was,
  mine were darned in fifty places with strong twine, and even so were
  disintegrating when we were picked up. I did not carry my notebooks in
  a case as Wilson preferred, for they slipped easily into the huge
  pockets on the Wolsey knitted jacket. Aesthetics are perhaps out of
  place when sledging, but some grey or brown colour would have been an
  improvement on the white of these otherwise excellent jackets. The
  white jackets soon gave us an even more filthy appearance than
  necessary, and one sees too much snow and ice to appreciate white
  clothing. A neutral colour would really have been a welcome object in
  the view when sledging over the Barrier.

  _Boots_ were, however, the one article in which the expedition was
  weak. We had all sorts of ski-boots made of fine supple leather, but
  nothing shod with nails to resist the granite moraines of the western
  area. When damp, the nails which we inserted soon pulled out of the
  soft leather. Real workmen’s Bluchers—size 12 to accommodate four
  pairs of socks—are advisable. The uppers might be made less stiff; but
  one’s legs are swathed in putties, so that matters little. Perhaps
  professional Alpine boots of the right size might suffice; but plenty
  of spare spikes and nails should be taken.

  _Socks._—We took spare socks in our personal gear, but on the first
  journey, owing to bad boots, we were always darning. On the second I
  reinforced the heels of my outer socks with an oval patch of canvas
  (about three inches long), and I never had to darn a pair.

  These trivialities bulk extremely large on a sledging trip, so that I
  make no apology for mentioning them.

  _Crampons_ are illustrated in “Scott’s Last Expedition.” The canvas
  tops acted admirably over the fur “finnesko.” I should prefer the
  steel spikes to be even longer, and I should think they might be
  screwed into the aluminium sole so that new spikes could be inserted.
  They did not make the feet cold to any marked degree.

  For use with the leather boots I liked the 1902 type of _Steig-eisen_.
  These were strapped under the instep, and enabled me to walk with
  great ease on slippery glacier ice, though some of the men found they
  hurt the feet considerably, and so preferred to risk numerous tumbles.

  _Food._—The regular ration of pemmican, biscuit and butter was grand,
  and suited all our party. Chocolate, some flour for “thickers,” sugar,
  tea and cocoa cannot be surpassed as the less important staples. I
  should be inclined to issue a regular ration of simple condiments or
  flavourings, especially if the party is going to live largely on seal
  meat. Onion powder was worth its weight in gold, for we became very
  tired of seal meat after several months. The latter is practically
  tasteless (if it is not fishy!), but with onion powder, one did not
  need a strong imagination to conjure up “steak and onions.” The meal
  is often the only comfort when sledging, and these condiments weigh so
  little that I think they might be issued.

  The Primus and cookers worked very well indeed. We had no trouble in
  six months, part of which consisted of extremely rough glacier work,
  which was calculated to jolt to pieces the anatomy of anything less
  staunchly built than a Hjorth primus.




                                 INDEX


  Adare, Cape, Borchgrevinck’s winter quarters, 79;
    Campbell’s party at, 439

  Air, ionization of registered, 279

  Alcove Camp, described, 133–134;
    Evans’ “whisker stones,” 137;
    return to, 145

  Algæ deposits, 136, 155, 296

  Alph Avenue, 173

  Alph River, 170, 172, 173

  Alps, glacial erosion in, 8, 9

  Amphipods, 360

  Amundsen, chances discussed, 432–433;
    news of his success, 434;
    Gran’s prophecy, 434–435;
    charts of his and Scott’s parties, 439, 441

  Anchor, ice, 60;
    method of fixing (sketch), 421

  “Ancient cups” (sketch), 256

  Anemometer, described, 220, 222
    (sketch), 306

  Antarctica, attraction of, 14;
    ice erosion in, 14;
    map showing recent expeditions, 37;
    charts of recent and future exploration, 450;
    personnel of coastal parties, 451;
    notes on outfit, 452 _seq._

  Anton, ignorance of English, 107;
    accompanies Granite Harbour expedition, 332, 336, 339

  Appetite when sledging, 124

  Aptera, 381

  Arch berg (sketch), 227;
    photographed, 250

  _Archeocyathinæ_, 256, 303;
    Wright’s discovery of, 441

  Arguments, in hut, 273–274

  Armadillo Camp, 163

  Armitage, Cape, _Discovery_ hut at, 189,
    visited, 202–203

  Arthropod, found, 303

  Astronomy for travellers, 50–52

  Atkinson, Dr. E. L., 4, 13;
    his blubber stove, 63;
    excavates _Discovery_ hut, 189;
    institutes physical measurements, 225;
    successes with fish trap, 240 241;
    tests for scurvy, 245;
    lecture on, 292–293;
    meteor seen, 247;
    lost in blizzard, 275 _seq._;
    (sketch), 276;
    landed at Hut Point, 422

  Augites, on Observation Hill, 204;
    at Flat Iron Rocks, 379

  Aurora Australis, first seen, 203;
    watch instituted, 226;
    observation of, 231–232

  Australian harbours, geology of, 23;
    maps, 24

  Avalanche Bay, 352


  Balleny Isles, 427

  Balloon Meteorograph, described, 234;
    (sketch), _ib._;
    results obtained, 425

  Barne, Cape, 85

  Barne Glacier, cliff-like edge of, 88;
    first crossing, 103 _seq._;
    features of, 220;
    movement noted, 322–323

  Barrier, first sighted, 81;
    height of, 82

  Barrier shudder, 151, 313

  Bath, on board _Terra Nova_, 45;
    hot, 75, 416

  Beacon Sandstone, 131;
    worm burrows in, 148;
    not of desert origin, _ib._;
    debris, 385

  Beardmore Glacier, fossils from, 10,
    (sketches) 255, 256, 257, 444;
    Taylor’s lecture on, 255;
    sponge corals from, 256;
    _Glossopteris_ from, 444

  Beaufort Island, 85

  Beaumont, Sir Lewis, gift of books, 283

  Bernacchi, Cape, depôt, 341;
    minerals found, 341;
    camp at, 409

  Bets, currency used, 163, 369

  Bicycling, in Alps in winter, 4;
    in Antarctica, 315, 316

  Biological station at South Bay, 262

  Bird, Mt., 334

  Birds, catching, 55;
    shooting, 61

  Black Sand Beach, rolled pebbles on, 320

  Blizzards, signs of, 157;
    snow in, 158;
    wind velocity, 251, 279, 293;
    explorer in (sketch), 263;
    higher temperatures during, 293, 295, 363 _seq._;
    thick drift of, 294;
    local nature of, 319

  “Blizzometer,” 220, 222

  Blubber, as food, 158, 176, 455;
    fork for (sketch), 176

  Blubber-lamp (sketch), 201

  Blubber-stove, Dr. Atkinson’s, 63;
    in _Discovery_ hut (sketch), 193;
    at Cape Geology, 358;
    difficulties of, 403;
    value of, 453

  Blue Glacier, snout examined, 153;
    surroundings of, 154;
    dangerous surface of, 411

  Bonney, Lake, 8, 134, 136, 139, 145

  Bonney, Professor, 8, 134

  Bonney Riegel, 134, 136

  Books, discussed, 50;
    stock of, in hut, 282

  Boots, damaged, 117, 128, 153;
    sketch of worn, 154;
    “browning” the, _ib._;
    sealskin “brogans” for (sketch), 159;
    cause sore heel, 169;
    method of cobbling; 253;
    Oates’ hobnails, 309;
    crampons for, 322–323;
    thawed, 333;
    “ironclads,” 373;
    (sketch), _ib._;
    best type for Antarctica, 455

  Borchgrevinck, winter at Cape Adare, 79

  Botany Bay, 371

  Bowers, Lieut. H. R., first meeting with, 9;
    adrift on sea-ice, 197–198;
    as geologist, 199;
    lectures by, 250, 300;
    Christmas tree, 268 seq.;
    Cape Crozier expedition, 270, 285 _seq._;
    Polar books read, 283;
    provisions bagged, 294;
    list of stores for Granite Harbour expedition, 332

  Breadmaker, Clissold’s electrical (sketch), 216

  Bruce, Lieut. Wilfred, 76

  Buckle Island, 427

  Burdens, various methods of carrying, 138

  Butter Point, name and description, 117;
    depôt, 120;
    ice breaks up, 152;
    Taylor’s camp at, 338;
    depôt damaged by weather, 410


  Camera, “mousetrap,” 121, 289;
    (sketch), _ib._, 296;
    damaged by sun, 377.
    _See also under_ Photography

  Campbell, V. L. A., independent command of, 6;
    stores for Eastern Party, 66;
    attempted relief of, 421, 423;
    winter at Evans Coves, 442

  Castle Rock, composition of, 186;
    described, 206

  Cathedral Rocks, appearance of, 127;
    depôt at, 150

  Catspaw Glacier, 132

  Cavendish Icefalls, 148–149

  _Cephalodiscus_, 418

  “Chad,” Lake, 145

  Chanties, 48

  Charcot, Dr., 264, 451

  Cheetham, 75

  Cherry-Garrard, A., gifts to comrades, 13;
    penguin skinning, 66;
    adrift on sea-ice, 197–198;
    editor of _South Polar Times_, 231, 233, 265 _seq._;
    hut-building by, 262;
    Cape Crozier expedition, 270, 285 _seq._

  Chess, 271, 384, 400

  Christchurch, N.Z., Expedition offices at, 23

  Christmas on _Terra Nova_, 73–74

  Cinematograph, tabular berg recorded, 59;
    subjects for, 89;
    football played for, 321

  Cleveland Glacier, 384

  Clissold, T., his electrical breadmaker (sketch), 216;
    fall from iceberg, 316

  Clothing, Antarctic, 6;
    on _Terra Nova_, 36–37;
    windproof, 120;
    Wilson’s nose-guard, 262;
    Bowers’ lecture on, 300 _seq._;
    Taylor’s notes on, 454.
    _See also under_ Boots, Socks, Goggles

  Clove hitch, with one hand (sketch), 163

  Coal, loading of, 39–40;
    found in Antarctica, 388, 392

  “Cold Feet” stalactites, 287

  Commonwealth Glacier, 143

  Cook, Mt., and the Matterhorn, 25 _seq._

  Cook, his duties on sledge journey, 121;
    methods, 350–351

  Copepods, in Polar seas, 74

  Copper pyrites found, 309

  Coral, sponge, from Beardmore Glacier (sketch), 256

  Coral-reef surface, 121, 128

  _Corethron_, staining of floes by, 74

  Corner Camp, Evans’ journey to, 193

  Course, the, 233

  Crater Heights, origin of moraines on, 197

  Crampons, 322–323, 455

  Crevasses, 152, 353, 375, 406

  Crow’s nest, 35–36

  Crozier, Cape, desired as headquarters, 80;
    visited by boat, 83;
    midwinter expedition to, 271–272, 285 _seq._

  Cuff Cape, 376

  Current meter, 68

  Cwms (armchair valleys), 127;
    formation of, 136;
    on Davis Glacier, 161;
    on Mt. Lister, 167, 340;
    theory of, 174 _seq._;
    diagrams, 175

  Cycle of life in Polar seas, 74–75, 83–84;
    rhyme, 84


  Dailey Island, 177, 178

  Danger Slope, 113, 186

  David, Professor F. W. E., work under, 7;
    advice by, 10;
    letter by, found, 105, 120, 142, 257, 346, 416, 445

  Davis Bay, 158

  Davis Glacier, 161;
    (sketch), _ib._

  Davis, Professor W. M., 8, 160

  Day, B. C., 9, 66, 85;
    binding for _South Polar Times_, 254, 265;
    lecture on motor sledges, 264;
    ingenious turning, 307;
    difficulties with motor sledges, 322 _seq._;
    dangerous journey of, 440–441

  Debenham, Frank, 11, 66;
    visits Inaccessible Island, 95;
    geological and photographic work, 119;
    black lava found, 134;
    as cook, 176, 350;
    frostbitten, 179;
    painting, 248;
    collection of sixpenny novels, 283;
    Cape Evans mapped, 295;
    long-distance geology, 307;
    Tent Island explored, 311, 316;
    trip to Shackleton’s hut, 319 _seq._;
    knee strained, 321;
    excellent sight of, 369;
    coal found, 388;
    value of plane-table, 453

  Debris cones, 296, 297, 385

  Demetri, 91

  Dennistoun, Mr. J., 416, 424

  Descent Pass, 127, 130, 151

  Devil’s Punch Bowl, and Thumb, sketch-map of region, 376;
    features of, 378

  Dewdrop Glacier, 378

  Diatoms, 74

  _Discovery_, pack crossed, 78

  Discovery Bluff, 371

  _Discovery_ Hut, condition of, 106;
    compared with Shackleton’s hut, 113;
    described, 189 _seq._;
    environs of (sketch), 190;
    plan of (sketch), 191;
    difficult approach to, 192;
    blubber stove at (sketch), 193;
    routine at, 194;
    literature at, 195;
    storm at, 196;
    sleeping quarters, 198;
    sunsets at, 199;
    Scott’s visit to, 216, 223.
    _See also under_ Hut Point

  Distances deceptive, 150

  Dogs, Antarctic born, recognise water, 10;
    put on board _Terra Nova_, 30;
    hangar for on ship, 46;
    character of, 52, 281, 290;
    exercised on floes, 69;
    and penguins, 69, 88, 91;
    and seals, 116, 332;
    “rifle-pits” for, at Hut Point, 193;
    “Macaca” found, 260;
    puppies born, 290

  Dog-sledging, 91;
    Scott, 106;
    Taylor, 115

  Dog-teams, Peary’s use of, 9;
    guided by voice, 69, 91, 116

  Dolerite sills, 131

  Double Curtain Glacier, 125–126

  Drake, F. R. H., 66, 428

  Dry Valley, 9, 130, 132, 142 _seq._;
    Lt. Evans’ chart of, 280

  Dun Glacier, 131

  Dunlop Island, minerals found on, 309;
    features of, 344


  Earth, shape deduced, 272, 279

  England, Mt., 380

  Erebus, Mt., compared to Vesuvius, 85;
    appearance of steam cloud on, 88, 218, 281
    (sketch), _ib._; 295, 325, 346;
    crevasses on, 189;
    signs of heat from, 217;
    activity of, 288

  Erosion: frost, 380:
    glacial, study of in Alps, 8–9, 14;
    problem in Antarctica, 14–15;
    in New Zealand Alps, 23–29, 120, 132;
    stages of, 133;
    wind action, 134, 145;
    on Taylor Glacier, 136;
    no lateral in Antarctica, 148;
    on Mackay Glacier, 377:
    water, 138, 159;
    at Tent Island, 311

  Erratic (sketch), 387

  Euchre, 302

  Euphausia, 63, 65, 75

  Evans, Cape, named, 86;
    site described, 87, 215;
    sketch of, 90;
    landing at, 89 _seq._;
    lakes at, 87, 215;
    plan of hut at, 212;
    music at, 223;
    magnetic variation at, 261;
    pull of gravity at, 279;
    physiographic features of, 298 _seq._;
    map of, 299;
    ice-forms at, 310–311;
    _Terra Nova’s_ return to, 418

  Evans Coves, 439, 441

  Evans, Lieut. E. R. G. R., 6, 9;
    journey to Corner Camp, 193;
    chart of Dry Valley, 280;
    coast survey by, 295;
    trip to first depôts, 313;
    attacked by scurvy, 421, 442

  Evans, Edgar, P.O., 5, 137;
    “Football Fields” named, 139;
    straw hat, 145;
    a fall, 148;
    former expedition, 151;
    and literature, 151, 284, 302;
    on Blue Glacier, 153;
    humour of, 153, 157;
    one-handed clove-hitch, 163;
    as steersman, 165;
    loses a bet, 171;
    imaginary frostbite, 182;
    on blizzards, 185;
    prudence of, on Danger Slope, 186;
    lessons in cobbling given, 253;
    (sketch), _ib._;
    as bezique player, 259

  Eyes, effect of Antarctica on, 49


  Felspar, from Erebus, sketch of, 145

  Fern, sketch of fossil, from Beardmore Glacier, 444

  Ferrar Glacier, former accident on, 75;
    explored, 121–131;
    surface altered since 1902, 129;
    movement of, 151, 202, 309;
    shape of ice at mouth of, 257–258;
    Scott’s trip to, 304, 309

  Ferrar, Mr. H. T., on ice-slabs, 162

  First View Point, 349

  “First Western Expedition,” 113 _seq._

  Fish, caught by floe, 70;
    _Notothenia_, 97;
    in ice, 180,202;
    remains of, on glacier, 164, 165;
    trap for, 240–241;
    parasites in _Notothenia_, 241;
    caught, 251;
    fossils of, found, 386

  _Flagellata_, at Cape Evans, 215

  Flat Iron, 377;
    unusual minerals on, 379;
    survey of, and composition, 392

  Flea, primitive, 125

  Food, biscuit packing, 119;
    allowance on sledge journeys, 335;
    cooking of, 350–351;
    suggestions for, 455;

  Football in Antarctica, 236, 238, 247;
    for cinematograph, 321

  “Football Fields,” 139

  Forde, R., P.O., attacked by gangrene, 313, 331;
    cave discovered, 352;
    reservoir constructed, 354,
    (sketch), _ib._;
    as seal butcher, 355;
    as cook, 360;
    and literature, 363;
    snow-blindness, 408

  Foraminifera (_Orbulina_), 68, 74

  Fossils, from Beardmore Glacier, 10, 255 _seq._;
    sketches of, 255–257;
    on Gondola Ridge, 386

  Frostbite, pain of, 116;
    Taylor’s toe, 202;
    Forde’s hand, 313, 331


  Games in Antarctica, 271.
    _See also_ Football, Euchre, Chess

  Geology, Cape, blubber stove at, 358;
    view from (sketch), 374

  George, Lake, rain gauge in, 240

  Glacial erosion. _See_ Erosion

  Glacier Tongue, nature of, 113;
    bulbous icicles on, 117;
    sea-ice broken away from, 189;
    broken fragments from, 309, 342;
    features of, 315;
    waved edge of (sketch), 316

  Glaciers, of New Zealand visited, 25 _seq._;
    map, 27;
    of Antarctica, organic remains on, 127, 177;
    tables, 132;
    twin, 130, 149;
    in Luzern valley
    (sketch), _ib._;
    movement measured, 151, 202, 309

  Glasson, 7

  Glenroy, parallel roads of, 160, 296

  Globigerina ooze, 75

  _Glossopteris_ from Beardmore Glacier (sketch), 444

  Gneiss Point, 342

  Goggles, fogging of, 335;
    benefit of amber glasses, 369

  Gold, washing for, 145

  “Golden Stairs,” 233

  _Gomphocephalus_, found at Granite Harbour, 356
    (sketch), _ib._;
    Lillie’s catch of, 418

  Gondola Ridge, 384;
    fish fossils on, 386;
    sketch of, 391

  Gramophone records, at Cape Evans, 265

  Gran, Lieut. Tryggve, former experiences, 13;
    as ski expert, 68, 69;
    and white magic, 76;
    ice caves discovered, 230;
    guesses at _South Polar Times_ authors, 278;
    debris cones dissected, 297;
    ski slope constructed, 312;
    birthday present to Taylor, 357;
    as cook, 357;
    latitude and longitude, simple method of calculating, 357;
    sea-kale planted, 370;
    golden mica found, 377;
    midsummer bathe in open air, 378;
    as surgeon, 379;
    Mt. Suess circumnavigated, 388;
    birthday ode, 401;
    prophecy of Amundsen’s success, 434–435

  Granite, on Dunlop Island, 309

  Granite Harbour, expedition to 321, 331 _seq._;
    Bowers’ list of stores for 332;
    reached, 348;
    seals at, 353;
    pressure ridges in sea-ice (sketch), 361

  Gravity, pull of, at Cape Evans, 279

  Grummets, 409

  Gully Bay, algæ deposits above, 296


  Hair clipping, 38

  Harbours, Australian, geology of, 23;
    maps, 24

  Hat, straw, 146

  Heald Island, 167–169

  Hedley Glacier, 131

  Hjort’s Hill, 409

  Hobbs Glacier, 158–159

  Hooker Glacier, 28;

  Horses, Oates’ lectures on, 246–247.
    _See also under_ Ponies

  Hut, building of, 98 _seq._;
    map of locality, 107;
    life at, _ib._;
    interior arrangement of, 108

  Hut Point, geological sketch of, 114–115;
    arrival at, 186;
    seals killed at, 192;
    wind at, 196;
    difficult approach to, 192;
    telephone to, 319.
    _See also under_ _Discovery_ Hut.


  Ice, pack: met, 58;
    scene in, 60;
    width of, 76, 78;
    pressure blocks, 77;
    map of course through, 77

  Ice problems, Wright’s lecture on, 248

  Ice-age, future (sketch), 281

  Ice-anchor, 60; method of fixing (sketch), 421

  Icebergs: the first, 56;
    origin of various kinds, 56, 59;
    watch for, 57, 64, 75, 427;
    effect of wind on, 59;
    sketches of, 64;
    a white-back, 70, 71;
    Tunnel berg, 96,
    (sketch), 97;
    mistaken for islands, 345;
    various shapes of, 347;
    flexure of (sketch), 403

  Ice-forms: pancake, 58, 60, 77;
    sunholes, 93
    (sketch), _ib._; 121;
    coral-reef surface, 121, 128;
    topsy-turvy icicles, 124;
    fan crystals, 124, 128;
    arabesques, 126, 132, 291;
    plough-share, 128, 148, 162;
    thumb marks, 148;
    ice-falls, 148, 149;
    slabs, 155, 162;
    bottle-glass, 156, 384;
    glass-house, 156, 157, 162, 384; various, 163;
    armadillo, 163; frozen park, 164;
    honeycomb, 165;
    Stonehenge, 168;
    stalactites, 170;
    caves formed by crevasses, 230;
    at Cape Evans, 310–311;
    crystals, 288–289;
    screw-pack, 338–339

  Ice-houses, 101, (sketch), 102

  Inaccessible Island, visited, 95, 287;
    direction of blizzards on, 294;
    wind-ridge on (sketch), 294

  Infusoria, 74

  Instruments, value of various, 453–454

  Invertebrates, Nelson’s lecture on, 303

  Ionization of the air, registered, 279

  Island Lake, 233


  “Jam-jar,” 128

  _Jeannette_, 283


  Kar Plateau, 365;
    granite cliffs (sketch), 375

  Kea Point, 28

  Keerweer Camp, 179

  Kenyte, 87;
    felspar in, 145;
    on Land’s End moraine, 291;
    at Cape Bernacchi, 309

  Killer-whales, attacks on men, 75, 95, 152;
    on ponies, 198

  Knob Head Mountain, features of, 149;
    magnetic variation at, 261

  Koettlitz Glacier, moraine deposit from, 160;
    explored, 167–173;
    stream from, 168

  Kukri Hills, 127;
    coaly debris, 134;
    Wales Glacier named, 143;
    age of rocks, 146–147;
    cwm valleys on, 340;
    camp below, 409


  Lacroix Glacier, 140,
    (sketch), _ib._, 162

  Lakes, at Cape Evans, 87;
    _Flagellata_ in, 215

  Land’s End, features of, 230;
    named, 233

  Lashley, W., former experiences, 75;
    Polar journey, 442

  Lateral moats. _See_ Moats

  Latitude and longitude, simple method of calculating, 357

  Lectures, list of winter, 229

  Levick, Dr. G. M., 49;
    and seal-killing, 120;
    penguin studies, 439

  Lichens, at Cape Geology, 360, 387

  Lillie, D. G., former adventures, 7;
    caricatures by, 65;
    collections made, 418

  Lister, Mt., 127

  Literature, on sledge journeys, 151.
    _ See also under_ Books

  Lots, novel method of drawing, 357

  Luzern, Lake, formed by twin glaciers, 130, 149

  Lyons, Capt. H. G., 447

  Lyttelton, reached, 11, 21;
    geology of, 23;
    experiences at, 23;
    return to, 435


  Mackay Glacier, 348, 353;
    ice tongue, 359, 365;
    tongue movement measured, 373, 375, 395;
    erosion on, 377;
    journey over, 382 _seq._

  Mackellar, Mr., gift of books, 283

  McMurdo Sound, 85

  Magic, white, 76

  Magnetic needle, dip calculated, 261

  Magnetic variation. _See_ Variation

  Marble Cape, 342

  Marine animals in sea-ice, 177

  Markham, Sir Clements, gift of books, 283

  Marr, Dr., 3

  Matterhorn, 25 _seq._;
    the Antarctic, 25;
    described, 145

  Mawson, Dr., 5, 7, 9

  Meares, C. H., dogs and ponies collected, 11;
    and dog sledges, 69;
    penguin-charmer, 72;
    return from Hut Point, 245;
    Barrier journey, 440–441

  Melbourne, Mt., 418

  Meteorograph, balloon. _See_ Balloon

  Meteorology, Simpson’s lecture on, 288;
    station routine, 305

  Mica, golden, found, 377

  Microscopic life, 74

  Midnight sun. _See_ Sun

  Midwinter Day celebrations, 264 _seq._

  Mill, Hugh Robert, 451

  Mirabilite, 155;
    evidence of upheaval, _ib._

  Moats, lateral, 126, 134, 147, 377;
    measured, 147–148

  Monteagle, Mt., 79

  Moraines, medial, 146, 387;
    silt, 155, 156;
    crater lakes in, 156;
    on Crater Heights, origin of, 197;
    Gondola Ridge, 386–387;
    “road metal,” 410;
    Strand, 410;
    Archæocyathine fossil in, 441

  _Morning_, voyage of, 58;
    pack crossed, 78

  Morse Code, key-words, 35

  Mosses, at Cape Geology, 360, 393

  Motor-sledges. _See under_ Sledges

  Mueller Glacier, 28

  Murchison Glacier, 26

  Music, on _Terra Nova_, 48;
    at Cape Evans, 223, 254


  Nansen, Mt., 418

  Natrolite, found, 379

  Nelson, E. W., 7;
    tow-net captures, 65;
    soundings at Cape Evans, 249;
    biological station, 262;
    “star performer” at games of skill, 271;
    propensity to argument, 273;
    sounding tackle frozen in, 293;
    lecture on invertebrates, 303;
    accompanies Granite Harbour expedition, 332, 336, 339

  New Glacier, 377;
    erosion on, 380–381

  New Harbour, crossed, 340;
    signs of 1902 expedition, 409

  New Year’s Day on _Terra Nova_, 79

  New Zealand Alps, ice conditions in, 23–29

  Nicknames of the officers, 213

  _Nimrod_, 21

  North Bay, 233

  _Notothenia_, in ice, 97, 180, 202, 203;
    eye lens, 98;
    parasites in, 241

  “Nursery,” the, 46, 66

  Nussbaum, Dr., 9

  Nussbaum, Mt., 143


  Oates, Capt. L. E. G., 13, 66;
    sackcloth helmet (sketch), 200;
    bunk built by, 227;
    lectures on horses, 246–247;
    taste in literature, 283, 284;
    departure on Southern Journey, 326

  Observation Hill, telephone to, 101;
    Scott’s cross on, 113;
    augite crystals on, 204

  Ocean soundings. _See_ Soundings

  Officers, travels of, 242;
    maps, 12;
    list of, 15 _seq._;
    nicknames of, 213;
    musical abilities, 223;
    physical measurements of, 225, 248;
    occupations in the hut, 248–249;
    list of returning, 424;
    presented to King George, 446

  _Orca gladiator._ _See_ Killer-whales

  Organic remains on glacier, 127

  Overflow Glacier, 127, 128


  Pack ice. _See under_ Ice

  “Paddock,” the, 233

  Palimpsest theory of glacial valleys, 174 _seq._;
    diagrams, 175

  Parasites in _Notothenia_, 241

  Park Lane Camp, 164

  Parties, list of, 15 _seq._

  Paton, 75, 85

  Peary, Commander, lecture by, 9

  Pendulums, ice grotto for, 278–279;
    show pull of gravity, 279

  Penguins: Adelie, first seen, tricks of, 64;
    Emperor, first seen, 71;
    contents of stomach, 71;
    frozen in, 82;
    on Ferrar Glacier, 127–128;
    hardness of bones, 128;
    swimming, 154;
    at Cape Crozier, 271, 286;
    eggs examined, 325;
    hunting on floes, 72;
    appearance of swimming, 85;
    spoor of (sketch), 94;
    Wilson’s lecture on, 244–245

  Pennell, Lieut. H. L. L., 34, 66, 76, 423

  Perched Block (sketch), 387

  Pets on _Terra Nova_, 53, 428

  Photography, in field work, 119;
    Taylor’s outfit, 224;
    Antarctic, 224, 452.
    _See also under_ Camera

  Physical measurements of officers, 225, 248

  Piedmont Glacier, 152 seq., 342, 345, 405

  Ponies, landing of, 89;
    “Hackenschmidt,” 89, 100;
    “Blücher,” 101;
    “Guts,” 101;
    “Weary Willy,” 101;
    lost on sea-ice, 197–198;
    Oates’ lectures on, 246–247;
    verminous, 278;
    arrangement of on Southern Journey, 325

  Ponting, H. G., 11, 70;
    and killer-whales, 95;
    and Tunnel berg, 96;
    work at Cape Evans, 214, 215, 250;
    lecture on Burmah, 242;
    cinematograph films exhibited, 282;
    lantern slides exhibited, 295;
    coaches Scott and Bowers in photography, 304;
    successful studies obtained, 440

  Port Chalmers, 35

  Potholes, 282, 383

  Pram (Norwegian dinghy), 61, 62, 72

  Pram Point, 202

  Prestrud (Amundsen’s lieutenant), 440

  Priestley, R. E., 10, 85;
    old footprints of, found, 286;
    ice-notes, 439

  Pulpit Rock (sketch), 370

  Pumps, choked in storm, 42;
    plan of, _ib._


  Quartz found, 309

  “Quick runs,” in magnetic work, 261


  Ramp, the, named, 233;
    origin of debris cones on, 296;
    cones dissected, 297,
    (sketch), _ib._;
    composition of, 298

  Range-finder for icebergs, 46, 57

  Referring Facet, 384

  Rennick, Lieut. H. E. de P., 4, 34, 66, 76

  Riegels, 134, 136, 141, 143

  Roberts, Cape, features of, 399;
    camp at, 400 _seq._;
    depôt left at, 406

  Rocks, age of (sketch), 147;
    sedimentary, near Taylor Glacier, 141;
    solitary, 132–133, 147

  Ross Island, sketch-map, 81;
    survey of, 85;
    _Discovery_ hut on, 189

  Round Valley, 144–145

  Royal Society Range, 127

  Royds, Cape, Shackleton’s hut at, 105–106;
    Taylor’s visit to, 260


  Sabine, Mt., 79

  Sails, Bay of, 343

  Salmon Peak, 160

  Schizopods, 75

  Science men as seamen, 35, 424

  _Scotia_, 46

  Scott, Captain R. F., 4;
    first impressions of, 5;
    old adventure on Ferrar Glacier, 75;
    visits Hut Point, 106; geological sketch of Hut Point, 114;
    facsimile of sledging orders, 122–123;
    One Ton depôt laid, 189;
    variety of interests, 196;
    journey to Cape Evans, 207 _seq._;
    takes party to _Discovery_ hut, 216, 223;
    Sunday services at Cape Evans, 225;
    institutes aurora watch, 226;
    main features of winter quarters named, 233;
    lecture on Plans of the Expedition, 241–242;
    belief in discussions, 248;
    discussion on Ferrar Glacier, 257–258;
    speech at Midwinter Day dinner, 268;
    Taylor Glacier named, 280;
    taste in literature, 283, 325;
    trip to Ferrar Glacier, 304, 309;
    Taylor’s summer plans discussed, 311;
    Taylor’s sledging orders, 321;
    departure on Southern Journey, 325;
    charts of his and Amundsen’s parties, 439, 441, 442;
    hardest day’s work, 440;
    reason of disaster to, 443–444

  Scurvy, Atkinson’s tests for, 245;
    his lecture on, 292–293;
    Lt. Evans attacked by, 421, 442

  Sea, winter temperature of, 262

  Seal Rock, 233

  Seals, crab-eater, 62–63, 65;
    flensing, 63, 358;
    killing, first experiences, 116, 120;
    twenty miles up glacier, 141, 167–168;
    lassoed, 155;
    killed at Hut Point, 192, 196;
    method of enlarging ice-holes, 317,
    (sketch), _ib._;
    and dogs, 116, 332;
    at Gneiss Point, 342;
    at Granite Harbour, 353;
    method of butchering, 355;
    meat as substitute for pemmican, 360

  Sedimentary Rocks. _See_ Rocks

  Seward, Professor, 3, 444

  Shell, found on Ferrar Glacier, 125

  Simpson, Dr. G. C., 5, 13, 66;
    meteorological instruments, 221;
    balloons sent up, 234
    (sketch), _ib._;
    lectures by, 236, 288;
    magnetic work, 261;
    return of sun first seen, 295;
    value of weather records, 440

  _Siphonophora_, 262

  Sketching, Wilson’s lecture on, 251–253;
    value of, in Antarctica, 452;
    notebooks for, 453

  Ski, 68, 293

  Ski-ing, learning on the floes, 69;
    on Erebus slopes, 103

  Skua gulls, mode of killing, 11, 100;
    young learning to fly, 179;
    quarrelsome nature of, 355, 399;
    eggs obtained, 372, 378;
    sketch of embryo, 373;
    signs of intellect in, 380

  Skua Lake, 233

  Sledge diary, 181 _seq._

  Sledge-flags, 49, 73

  Sledge foods, Bowers’ lecture on, 250

  Sledges, loads of, on First Journey, 117–119;
    steel runners for, 119, 452;
    motor, 91;
    loss of, 99 _seq._;
    Day’s lecture on, 264;
    difficulties with, 322 _seq._

  Sledging, stores, how calculated, 53;
    weights carried, 54;
    literature carried, 151;
    facsimile of orders, 122–123;
    food allowance, 335;
    cooking, 350–351

  Slippery Slope, 233, 296

  Smith, Mr. Reginald J., gift of books, 50, 283

  Snow, as thirst quencher, 373

  Snow-blindness, 408

  Snow Valley, 116, 169, 173

  Socks, patent heel-tip (sketch), 308, 455

  Soil-creep (solifluxion), 115, 300, 388

  Sollas Glacier, 139, 162

  Solitary Rocks. _See_ Rocks

  Soundings, depth of ocean, 61, 79;
    apparatus (sketch), 67;
    off glacier mouths, 120;
    off Cape Evans, 249

  South American Glacier, 131

  South Bay, named, 233;
    biological station at, 262

  _South Polar Times_, Wilson’s sketches, 156;
    resumed, 231;
    Day’s binding for, 254;
    volumes produced, 265 _seq._, 302–303, 317;
    guesses at authors, 270, 303

  Spiders, sea-, 303

  “Sponge-coral” (sketch), 256

  Sponges, in the ice, 177, 180

  Springtail, Antarctic. _See_ _Gomphocephalus_

  Stalactites, how formed, 287

  Stamps, surcharged, 80

  Steig-eisen (sketch), 197

  Stocking Glacier, 28, 132

  Storm, on outward voyage, 40–44;
    on homeward voyage, 428–432

  Strand moraines, 410

  Straw hat, 146

  Suess Glacier, and sketch, 141–142

  Suess, Mt., 362;
    nunatak (sketch), 383;
    map, 385;
    circumnavigated, 388,
    (sketch), 389

  Sun, midnight, 59;
    lowest point of, calculated, 269,
    (sketch), _ib._;
    return of, celebrated, 294;
    first seen, 295

  Sun-holes, 93, 121

  Sunshine recorder, sketch of, 306

  Swinging ship. _See_ _Terra Nova_


  Tasman Glacier, 26;
    sketch of, 27

  Taylor, Griffith: official position, 7;
    a walker, 7, 10;
    visit to Alps, 8, 9;
    survey work in Australia, 10;
    his problem in Antarctica, 14;
    bowie knife disturbs compass, 34;
    midnight watch, 59;
    retrieves fish from floe, 70;
    sledge work on landing, 92;
    visits Inaccessible Island, 95
    FIRST WESTERN JOURNEY, 111 _seq._;
      a geologist’s equipment, 144;
      washes for gold, 145;
      fall into “moat,” 147;
      dreams, 150, 182;
      adventure among crevasses, 152;
      lassoes a seal, 155;
      a week’s cooking, 165–166;
      flooded out, 174;
      unfulfilled prophecy, 177;
      sledge diary, 181 _seq._;
      hallucination, 185
    A MONTH IN DISCOVERY HUT, 189 _seq._;
      visits Crater Heights, 197;
      cook, 200, 202;
      dreams, 201;
      frostbite, 202;
      fall into sea-ice, 205;
      journey to Cape Evans, 207 _seq._
    IN WINTER QUARTERS, 211 _seq._;
      plan of hut, 212;
      first aurora seen, 218;
      report on Western Journey, 219;
      musical abilities, 223;
      photography, 224, 296;
      ice caves visited, 230;
      night watchman, 231, 243, 264;
      main features of winter quarters named, 233;
      lectures by—on principles of physiography, 238–239;
      on Beardmore Glacier, 255;
      on physiography of Western Mountains, 270;
      on glaciation, 295;
      on corals, 303;
      list of officers’ travels, 242–243;
      physical measurements, 225, 248;
      articles for _South Polar Times_, 241, 243, 287, 288, 312, 318;
      hut routine, 247–249;
      chart of mean temperatures, 255;
      visit to Cape Royds, 260;
      speech at Midwinter Day dinner, 268;
      sun’s lowest point calculated, 269;
      competition with Gran, 270;
      chess, 271;
      hut arguments, 273–274;
      dreams, 277–278, 287;
      night-watch supper (sketch), 274;
      “jam day,” 279;
      Taylor Glacier named, 280;
      Erebus steam cloud sketched, 281;
      books read, 283–284;
      book-binding, 293;
      Cape Evans mapped, 295, 298 _seq._;
      plane-table improvised, 295;
      debris cones dissected, 297;
      Wilson’s caricature of, 301;
      meteorological work undertaken, 303, 305;
      “patent heel-tips,” 308;
      Tent Island visited, 311, 317;
      summer plans discussed with Scott, 311;
      bicycling to Turk’s Head, 314–315;
      trip to Shackleton’s hut, 319 _seq._;
      sledging orders for Granite Harbour expedition, 321;
      Barne Glacier traversed, 322–323;
      last impressions of Gates and Wilson, 326–327
    GRANITE HARBOUR EXPEDITION, 329 _seq._;
      sledges packed, 331;
      Bowers’ list of stores, 332;
      blizzards met, 333, 335, 362 _seq._;
      magnetic variation, 337,
      steering on the march, 337;
      Butter Point reached, 338;
      relaying, 339;
      survey, 340;
      ice yacht, 342–343;
      dreams, 342, 364;
      night marching, 345;
      Granite Harbour reached, 348;
      View Point camp, 349;
      foods on sledge journey, 350–351;
      cave discovered, 352;
      cloud effects, 353;
      water supply, 354;
      seal hoosh, 355;
      _Gomphocephalus_ found, 356;
      birthday of, 356;
      adventures on sea-ice, 366;
      benefit of goggles, 369;
      finger cut, 371, 376, 379;
      snow as thirst quencher, 373;
      value of “ironclad” boots, 373;
      Mackay Tongue movement measured 373, 375;
      unusual minerals found, 379;
      Christmas Day celebrations, 380;
      insects embalmed, 381;
      journey over Mackay Glacier, 382 _seq._;
      peaks and glaciers named, 384;
      fish fossils found, 386;
      Mt. Suess circumnavigated, 388;
      Mackay Glacier movement measured, 395;
      return journey begun, 396;
      fall into sea, 397;
      as “sledge poet,” 398, 401;
      Cape Roberts camp, 400 _seq._;
      _Terra Nova_ seen, 402;
      crevasses met, 406 _seq._;
      snow-blindness, 408;
      picked up by _Terra Nova_, 411
    THE VOYAGE BACK, 413 _seq._;
      gifts from home, 415–416;
      gale off Cape Evans, 418–419;
      “luff upon luff” (sketch), 420;
      coal-trimming, 424–425, 433;
      cables for Associated Press prepared and despatched, 427, 433;
      “iceberg watch,” 427, 428;
      record gale, 428–432;
      sperm whales seen, 433;
      Akaroa reached, 434
    THE END OF THE EXPEDITION, 437 _seq._;
      _résumé_ of journeys of other parties, 439 _seq._;
      books sent to remaining members of Expedition, 445;
      presented to King George, 446;
      allocation of funds, 446
    APPENDIX, 449 _seq._;
      paper published by Royal Geographical Society, 451;
      lessons of Antarctic experiences, 451 _seq._

  Taylor Glacier, 132–138;
    sketch of moraine on, 135;
    wind action on, 136;
    crater near, 136, (sketch), 137;
    previous visit to, 139;
    and valley, 141;
    named by Scott, 150, 280

  Telephones, 101, 103, 294, 315, 319, 326

  Temperature, of sea in winter, 262;
    of hut, 263, (sketch), _ib._;
    high during blizzards, 293, 295, 363 _seq._;
    snow melted, 305;
    heat of solar rays, 345

  Tent, advantage of wider floorcloth for, 333, 452

  Tent Island, 286;
    features of, 311;
    seals at, 317

  _Terra Nova_, 6, 21;
    voyage to New Zealand, 11;
    plans of, 22, 39;
    leak stopped, 30;
    arrangement of, 30 _seq._;
    swinging ship, 34, 46, 80;
    storms, 40 _seq._, 428 _seq._;
    dinner on, 46;
    icing ship, for fresh water, 61, 421, 422;
    Pennell’s notice, 423 _n._;
    Christmas on, 73–74;
    returning officers, 76;
    sketch of course through pack, 77;
    landing at Cape Evans, 87 _seq._;
    stranded, 108;
    picks up Taylor’s party, 411;
    return voyage of March, 1912;
    map, 414;
    “rocking ship,” 417;
    gale off Cape Evans, 418–419;
    anchor raised by “luff upon luff” (sketch), 420;
    coal-trimming, 424–425, 433;
    Akaroa reached, 434

  Terror, Mt., 346

  Tesselations, 158, 160

  Thermometer screens, erected, 272;
    names for, _ib._

  Thomson, Alan, 10

  Travels of the officers. _See_ Officers

  Tremolite found, 379

  Turk’s Head, 113;
    features of, 314, 315

  Twin Glaciers, sketch of, 280


  _Universitas Antarctica_, 228


  Variation, magnetic, 80, 337;
    at Cape Evans and Knob Head Mountain, 261

  Vegetation, three types found, 125;
    algæ, 136, 155, 296;
    mosses, 125, 360, 393;
    lichens, 360, 387

  Vince’s Cross, 113

  “Virtue Villa,” 191


  Walcott Glacier, 169

  Wales Glacier, 143

  Ward Glacier, 169, 171–172

  Weather, local types of, 426;
    value of Simpson’s records, 440.
    _See also_ Blizzards, Temperature, Wind.

  Whales, 69, 433.
    _See also_ Killer-whales

  Whales, Bay of, chart, 432

  “Whisker-stone,” 137

  Wilson, Dr. E. A., 3, 13, 65, 66;
    penguin hunting, 72;
    on tone-values, 199;
    truth of his sketches, 199, 203;
    lectures by, 235, 244–245, 251–253;
    sketch of nose-guard, 262;
    Cape Crozier expedition, 270, 285 _seq._;
    caricature of Taylor (sketch), 298;
    his kindness, 304;
    “Barrier Silence” poem written, 313;
    Emperor penguin eggs examined, 325;
    departure on Southern Journey, 325

  Wind, tolerable without snow, 144;
    at Hut Point, 196;
    changes in direction (sketch), 217;
    record velocity, 279;
    maximum velocity of winter, 293

  Windproof clothing. _See_ Clothing

  Wind Vane Hill, 233

  Winter Quarters, main features named, 233

  Worm burrows in sandstone, 148

  Wright, C. S., 3, 7, 66;
    work on ice crystals, 119, 134;
    Kukri Hills visited, 147;
    judging distances, 150;
    fall into crevasse, 152;
    Davis Glacier examined, 161;
    and seals, 173;
    journey to Corner Camp, 193;
    lecture on ice problems, 248;
    time observations, 272;
    pendulums, 278–279;
    ice-section “rubbings,” 282;
    diary entries, 289;
    _Archæocyathine_ fossil found, 441

  Wyatt, Mr. G. F., 31


                                 THE END


     PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED. LONDON AND BECCLES.

-----

Footnote 1:

    My thanks are due to the Editor of the _Melbourne Argus_ for
    permission to reprint this section.

Footnote 2:

    The theory of _nivation_ would be out of place here. It is explained
    in Hobbs’ “Existing Glaciers,” and I deal with it fully in the
    official memoir.

Footnote 3:

    These tracks were made by the Rescue party, in their attempts to
    save the ponies, ten days earlier.

Footnote 4:

    The other parties had all returned from the Barrier a fortnight
    before to Hut Point.

Footnote 5:

    His meteorology was incorrect.

Footnote 6:

    In the coldest weather the helmet covers the chin and a nose-nip
    protects the nose.

Footnote 7:

    The waist measurement caused great amusement. Evans and I were
    measured first, with the result above recorded. Wilson came next and
    basely proceeded to constrict “little Mary” to an incredible extent,
    so that he had apparently five inches less corporation than Evans
    and myself. Every one else followed suit, and many were the jeers at
    our expense. However, I got Gran to measure me according to Wilson’s
    method, and dropped to 30¾ with ease!

Footnote 8:

    Our local time (which we did not use), corresponding to our
    longitude 166° E., was 11 hours 5 minutes 46 seconds before
    Greenwich. Hence it was midwinter at 1.30 on Friday morning of the
    23rd by _local_ time. This experience of ours was a very practical
    trial of the Daylight Saving Bill. We used to feel very virtuous
    when we turned out at 7.30 by our chronometer while sledging, as we
    realized that it was really 6.30 a.m.

Footnote 9:

    Scott’s motto was, “Stretched Wings towards the South.”

Footnote 10:

    Until the ship is able to ice ship again no water is to be used for
    the purpose of washing clothes.—HARRY PENNELL, Lieutenant.

Footnote 11:

    See sketch, p. 42.

Footnote 12:

    Brissenden, one of the seamen, was drowned in New Zealand.

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