Chapter VI: Making Winter Quarters at Cape Evans (8)

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.)

_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.”

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.
]

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.

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.

“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.

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.

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.”

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.