Chapter VI: Making Winter Quarters at Cape Evans (1)

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.

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._
]

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.

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.

THE FIRST HOUR ASHORE.

Demetri preventing Penguin suicide.
]

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.
]

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.

_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!

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.
]

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.