South! quotes

It was during this short run that the captain, with semaphore hard-a-port, shouted to the scientist at the wheel:

“Why in Paradise don’t you port!” The answer came in indignant tones: “I am blowing my nose.”

The Endurance made some progress on the following day. Long leads of open water ran towards the southwest, and the ship smashed at full speed through occasional areas of young ice till brought up with a heavy thud against a section of older floe.

What we were actually encountering was fairly dense pack of a very obstinate character.

Pack-ice might be described as a gigantic and interminable jigsaw-puzzle devised by nature.

The parts of the puzzle in loose pack have floated slightly apart and become disarranged; at numerous places they have pressed together again;

Further effort seemed useless at that time, and I gave the order to bank fires after we had moored the Endurance to a solid floe. The weather was clear, and some enthusiastic football-players had a game on the floe until, about midnight,

Worsley dropped through a hole in rotten ice while retrieving the ball. He had to be retrieved himself.

Solid pack still barred the way to the south on the following morning (January 6).

Two of them were still alive when the Endurance was brought alongside the floe. They promptly hopped on to the ice, turned round, bowed gracefully three times, and retired to the far side of the floe.

There is something curiously human about the manners and movements of these birds.

I was concerned about the dogs. They were losing condition and some of them appeared to be ailing. One dog had to be shot on the 12th. We did not move the ship on the 14th.

The motor warped itself back on a 500-fathom steel wire and was taken aboard again. “From the masthead the mirage is continually giving us false alarms. Everything wears an aspect of unreality.

Icebergs hang upside down in the sky; the land appears as layers of silvery or golden cloud.

Cloud-banks look like land, icebergs masquerade as islands or nunataks, and the distant barrier to the south is thrown into view, although it really is outside our range of vision.

On the 22nd the Endurance reached the farthest south point of her drift, touching the 77th parallel of latitude in long. 35° W.

The summer had gone; indeed the summer had scarcely been with us at all.

The temperatures were low day and night, and the pack was freezing solidly around the ship. The thermometer recorded 10° below zero F at 2 a.m. on the 22nd.

But there seemed no reason to anticipate then that the fates would prove unkind. This calm weather with intense cold in a summer month is surely exceptional. My chief anxiety is the drift.

Where will the vagrant winds and currents carry the ship during the long winter months that are ahead of us?

We will go west, no doubt, but how far? And will it be possible to break out of the pack early in the spring and reach Vahsel Bay or some other suitable landing-place? These are momentous questions for us.”

So the shadows come and go silently, melting away finally as the sun declines to the west.

We seem to be drifting helplessly in a strange world of unreality.

It is reassuring to feel the ship beneath one’s feet and to look down at the familiar line of kennels and igloos on the solid floe.”

The floe was not so solid as it appeared.

We had reminders occasionally that the greedy sea was very close, and that the floe was but a treacherous friend, which might open suddenly beneath us.

Towards the end of the month I had our store of seal meat and blubber brought aboard. The depth as recorded by a sounding on the last day of March was 256 fathoms.

We could see from the masthead that the pack was piling and rafting against the mass of ice, and it was easy to imagine what would be the fate of the ship if she entered the area of disturbance.

She would be crushed like an eggshell amid the shattering masses.

Worsley was in the crow’s-nest on the evening of the 15th, watching for signs of land to the westward, and he reported an interesting phenomenon. The sun set amid a glow of prismatic colours on a line of clouds just above the horizon.

Kerr and Cheetham fight a valiant action with two large birds. Kerr rushes at one, seizes it, and is promptly knocked down by the angered penguin, which jumps on his chest before retiring.

Cheetham comes to Kerr’s assistance; and between them they seize another penguin, bind his bill and lead him, muttering muffled protests, to the ship like an inebriated old man between two policemen.

He weighs 85 lbs., or 5 lbs. less than the heaviest emperor captured previously. Kerr and Cheetham insist that he is nothing to the big fellow who escaped them.”

“The ice is rafting up to a height of 10 or 15 ft. in places, the opposing floes are moving against one another at the rate of about 200 yds. per hour. The noise resembles the roar of heavy, distant surf.

Standing on the stirring ice one can imagine it is disturbed by the breathing and tossing of a mighty giant below.

”

But the Endurance had been built to withstand the attacks of the ice, and she lifted bravely as the floes drove beneath her. The effects of the pressure around us were awe-inspiring.

Mighty blocks of ice, gripped between meeting floes, rose slowly till they jumped like cherrystones squeezed between thumb and finger.

The pressure of millions of tons of moving ice was crushing and smashing inexorably. If the ship was once gripped firmly her fate would be sealed.

The pressure-ridges, massive and threatening, testified to the overwhelming nature of the forces that were at work. Huge blocks of ice, weighing many tons, were lifted into the air and tossed aside as other masses rose beneath them.

We were helpless intruders in a strange world, our lives dependent upon the play of grim elementary forces that made a mock of our puny efforts.

I scarcely dared hope now that the Endurance would live, and throughout that anxious day I reviewed again the plans made long before for the sledging journey that we must make in the event of our having to take to the ice.

The butts of planking were opened four and five inches on the starboard side, and at the same time we could see from the bridge that the ship was bending like a bow under titanic pressure.

Almost like a living creature, she resisted the forces that would crush her; but it was a one-sided battle.

Millions of tons of ice pressed inexorably upon the little ship that had dared the challenge of the Antarctic. The Endurance was now leaking badly, and at 9 p.m.

Almost like a living creature, she resisted the forces that would crush her; but it was a one-sided battle.

Millions of tons of ice pressed inexorably upon the little ship that had dared the challenge of the Antarctic.

The Endurance was now leaking badly, and at 9 p.m. I gave the order to lower boats, gear, provisions, and sledges to the floe, and move them to the flat ice a little way from the ship.

A strange occurrence was the sudden appearance of eight emperor penguins from a crack 100 yds. away at the moment when the pressure upon the ship was at its climax.

They walked a little way towards us, halted, and after a few ordinary calls proceeded to utter weird cries that sounded like a dirge for the ship.

None of us had ever before heard the emperors utter any other than the most simple calls or cries, and the effect of this concerted effort was almost startling.

The task is to reach land with all the members of the Expedition. It is hard to write what I feel.

To a sailor his ship is more than a floating home, and in the Endurance I had centred ambitions, hopes, and desires.

Now, straining and groaning, her timbers cracking and her wounds gaping, she is slowly giving up her sentient life at the very outset of her career.

Just before leaving, I looked down the engine-room skylight as I stood on the quivering deck, and saw the engines dropping sideways as the stays and bed-plates gave way.

I cannot describe the impression of relentless destruction that was forced upon me as I looked down and around.

The floes, with the force of millions of tons of moving ice behind them, were simply annihilating the ship.”

The decks were breaking upwards and the water was pouring in below. Again the pressure began, and at 5 p.m. I ordered all hands on to the ice. The twisting, grinding floes were working their will at last on the ship.

It was a sickening sensation to feel the decks breaking up under one’s feet, the great beams bending and then snapping with a noise like heavy gunfire.

The water was overmastering the pumps, and to avoid an explosion when it reached the boilers I had to give orders for the fires to be drawn and the steam let down.

The task was likely to be long and strenuous, and an ordered mind and a clear programme were essential if we were to come through without loss of life.

A man must shape himself to a new mark directly the old one goes to ground.

At midnight I was pacing the ice, listening to the grinding floe and to the groans and crashes that told of the death-agony of the Endurance, when I noticed suddenly a crack running across our floe right through the camp.

Hudson and James had managed to squeeze themselves into other tents, and Hurley had wrapped himself in the canvas of No. 1 tent. I discovered this about 5 a.m.

All night long the electric light gleamed from the stern of the dying Endurance.

Hussey had left this light switched on when he took a last observation, and, like a lamp in a cottage window, it braved the night until in the early morning the Endurance received a particularly violent squeeze.

They did not quite understand what work we had done for them in the early dawn, and I heard Wild say,

“If any of you gentlemen would like your boots cleaned just put them outside.”

This was his gentle way of reminding them that a little thanks will go a long way on such occasions.

They did not quite understand what work we had done for them in the early dawn, and I heard Wild say, “If any of you gentlemen would like your boots cleaned just put them outside.”

This was his gentle way of reminding them that a little thanks will go a long way on such occasions.

The cook prepared breakfast, which consisted of biscuit and hoosh, at 8 a.m., and I then went over to the Endurance again and made a fuller examination of the wreck. Only six of the cabins had not been pierced by floes and blocks of ice.

It occurred to me at the time that the incident had psychological interest.

Here were men, their home crushed, the camp pitched on the unstable floes, and their chance of reaching safety apparently remote, calmly attending to the details of existence and giving their attention to such trifles as the strength of a brew of tea.

During the afternoon the work continued. Every now and then we heard a noise like heavy guns or distant thunder, caused by the floes grinding together.

The cook got the blubber-stove going, and a little later, when I was sitting round the corner of the stove, I heard one man say,

“Cook, I like my tea strong.” Another joined in, “Cook, I like mine weak.”

It was pleasant to know that their minds were untroubled, but I thought the time opportune to mention that the tea would be the same for all hands and that we would be fortunate if two months later we had any tea at all.

A man under such conditions needs something to occupy his thoughts, some tangible memento of his home and people beyond the seas.

So sovereigns were thrown away and photographs were kept.

I tore the flyleaf out of the Bible that Queen Alexandra had given to the ship, with her own writing in it, and also the wonderful page of Job containing the verse:

So sovereigns were thrown away and photographs were kept. I tore the flyleaf out of the Bible that Queen Alexandra had given to the ship, with her own writing in it, and also the wonderful page of Job containing the verse:

Out of whose womb came the ice?

And the hoary frost of Heaven, who hath gendered it? The waters are hid as with a stone, And the face of the deep is frozen.

“Partiality, however unintentional it may be, is thus entirely obviated and everyone feels satisfied that all is fair, even though one may look a little enviously at the next man’s helping, which differs in some especially appreciated detail from one’s own.

We break the Tenth Commandment energetically, but as we are all in the same boat in this respect, no one says a word.

We understand each other’s feelings quite sympathetically.

“

It is just like schooldays over again, and very jolly it is too, for the time being!

”

“Our spoons are one of our indispensable possessions here.

To lose one’s spoon would be almost as serious as it is for an edentate person to lose his set of false teeth.

”

We also possessed a few books on Antarctic exploration, a copy of Browning and one of The Ancient Mariner.

On reading the latter, we sympathized with him and wondered what he had done with the albatross; it would have made a very welcome addition to our larder.

The two subjects of most interest to us were our rate of drift and the weather.

We were out in a second and up on the lookout station and other points of vantage, and, sure enough, there was our poor ship a mile and a half away struggling in her death-agony.

She went down bows first, her stern raised in the air. She then gave one quick dive and the ice closed over her forever.

It gave one a sickening sensation to see it, for, mastless and useless as she was, she seemed to be a link with the outer world. Without her our destitution seems more emphasized, our desolation more complete.

Thus the ground had to be traversed three times by the boat-hauling party. The dog-sledges all made two, and some of them three, relays.

The dogs were wonderful. Without them we could never have transported half the food and gear that we did.

We turned in at 7 p.m. that night, and at 1 a.m. next day, the 25th, and the third day of our march, a breakfast of sledging ration was served. By 2 a.m. we were on the march again.

“

It’s a hard, rough, jolly life, this marching and camping; no washing of self or dishes, no undressing, no changing of clothes.

We have our food anyhow, and always impregnated with blubber-smoke; sleeping almost on the bare snow and working as hard as the human physique is capable of doing on a minimum of food.”

To this end, we stacked our surplus provisions, the reserve sledging rations being kept lashed on the sledges, and brought what gear we could from our but lately deserted Ocean Camp.

Our new home, which we were to occupy for nearly three and a half months, we called “Patience Camp.”

I had to be continually rearranging the weekly menu.

The possible number of permutations of seal meat were decidedly limited.

The fact that the men did not know what was coming gave them a sort of mental speculation, and the slightest variation was of great value.

“We are now very short of blubber, and in consequence one stove has to be shut down. We only get one hot beverage a day, the tea at breakfast. For the rest we have iced water.

Sometimes we are short even of this, so we take a few chips of ice in a tobacco-tin to bed with us. In the morning there is about a spoonful of water in the tin, and one has to lie very still all night so as not to spill it.

”

We had now only forty days’ food left, and the lack of blubber was being keenly felt. All our suet was used up, so we used seal-blubber to fry the meat in.

Once we were used to its fishy taste we enjoyed it; in fact, like Oliver Twist, we wanted more.

On Leap Year day, February 29, we held a special celebration, more to cheer the men up than for anything else. Some of the cynics of the party held that it was to celebrate their escape from woman’s wiles for another four years.

On Leap Year day, February 29, we held a special celebration, more to cheer the men up than for anything else.

Some of the cynics of the party held that it was to celebrate their escape from woman’s wiles for another four years.

The last of our cocoa was used today. Henceforth water, with an occasional drink of weak milk, is to be our only beverage. Three lumps of sugar were now issued to each man daily.

On April 5 we killed two seals, and this, with the sea-leopard of a few days before, enabled us to slightly increase our ration.

Everybody now felt much happier; such is the psychological effect of hunger appeased.

On cold days a few strips of raw blubber were served out to all hands, and it is wonderful how it fortified us against the cold.

High temperatures and northerly winds soon succeeded this, so that our average rate of northerly drift was about a mile a day in February. Throughout the month the diaries record alternately “a wet day, overcast and mild,” and “bright and cold with light southerly winds.”

The wind was now the vital factor with us and the one topic of any real interest.

The beginning of March brought cold, damp, calm weather, with much wet snow and overcast skies. The effect of the weather on our mental state was very marked.

We had adjusted ourselves to the life on the floe, but our hopes had been fixed all the time on some possible landing-place. As one hope failed to materialize, our anticipations fed themselves on another.

Our drifting home had no rudder to guide it, no sail to give it speed.

We were dependent upon the caprice of wind and current; we went whither those irresponsible forces listed. The longing to feel solid earth under our feet filled our hearts.

Fried slices of blubber seem to our taste to resemble crisp bacon. It certainly is no hardship to eat it, though persons living under civilized conditions probably would shudder at it. The hardship would come if we were unable to get it.”

I think that the palate of the human animal can adjust itself to anything.

Some creatures will die before accepting a strange diet if deprived of their natural food. The Yaks of the Himalayan uplands must feed from the growing grass, scanty and dry though it may be, and would starve even if allowed the best oats and corn.

One strong gale, followed by a calm would scatter the pack, I think, and then we could push through. I have been thinking much of our prospects. The appearance of Clarence Island after our long drift seems, somehow, to convey an ultimatum.

The island is the last outpost of the south and our final chance of a landing-place. Beyond it lies the broad Atlantic.

Our little boats may be compelled any day now to sail unsheltered over the open sea with a thousand leagues of ocean separating them from the land to the north and east.

I confess that I felt the burden of responsibility sit heavily on my shoulders; but, on the other hand, I was stimulated and cheered by the attitude of the men.

Loneliness is the penalty of leadership, but the man who has to make the decisions is assisted greatly if he feels that there is no uncertainty in the minds of those who follow him, and that his orders will be carried out confidently and in expectation of success.

The sun was shining in the blue sky on the following morning (April 8). Clarence Island showed clearly on the horizon, and Elephant Island could also be distinguished.

Yet usage had dulled our sense of danger. The floe had become our home, and during the early months of the drift we had almost ceased to realize that it was but a sheet of ice floating on unfathomed seas.

Now our home was being shattered under our feet, and we had a sense of loss and incompleteness hard to describe.

The fragments of our floe came together again a little later, and we had our lunch of seal meat, all hands eating their fill.

The ice had sunk under my weight during the months of waiting in the tent, and I had many times put snow under the bag to fill the hollow. The lines of stratification showed clearly the different layers of snow.

How fragile and precarious had been our resting-place! Yet usage had dulled our sense of danger.

The floe had become our home, and during the early months of the drift we had almost ceased to realize that it was but a sheet of ice floating on unfathomed seas.

Many things regarded by us as essentials at that time were to be discarded a little later as the pressure of the primitive became more severe.

Man can sustain life with very scanty means. The trappings of civilization are soon cast aside in the face of stern realities, and given the barest opportunity of winning food and shelter, man can live and even find his laughter ringing true.

The three boats were a mile away from our floe home at 2 p.m.

The men were in one of the dome-shaped tents, and it began to stretch apart as the ice opened.

A muffled sound, suggestive of suffocation, came from beneath the stretching tent.

I rushed forward, helped some emerging men from under the canvas, and called out, “Are you all right?”

Finally I was left alone. The night had swallowed all the others and the rapid movement of the ice forced me to let go the painter.

For a moment I felt that my piece of rocking floe was the loneliest place in the world.

Peering into the darkness; I could just see the dark figures on the other floe. I hailed Wild, ordering him to launch the Stancomb Wills, but I need not have troubled.

They were at home and had no reason for worry or cause for fear. If they thought at all, I suppose they counted it an ideal day for a joyous journey on the tumbling ice.

To us it was a day that seemed likely to lead to no more days.

I do not think I had ever before felt the anxiety that belongs leadership quite so keenly.

It had head and eyes and rolled so heavily that it almost overturned.

Its sides dipped deep in the sea, and as it rose again the water seemed to be streaming from its eyes, as though it were weeping at our escape from the clutch of the floes.

This may seem fanciful to the reader, but the impression was real to us at the time.

They would throw aside in a nonchalant fashion pieces of ice much bigger than our boats when they rose to the surface, and we had an uneasy feeling that the white bottoms of the boats would look like ice from below.

Shipwrecked mariners drifting in the Antarctic seas would be things not dreamed of in the killers’ philosophy, and might appear on closer examination to be tasty substitutes for seal and penguin.

We certainly regarded the killers with misgivings.

The temperature was down to 4° below zero, and a film of ice formed on the surface of the sea. When we were not on watch we lay in each other’s arms for warmth.

Our frozen suits thawed where our bodies met, and as the slightest movement exposed these comparatively warm spots to the biting air, we clung motionless, whispering each to his companion our hopes and thoughts.

Occasionally from an almost clear sky came snow-showers, falling silently on the sea and laying a thin shroud of white over our bodies and our boats.

Our frozen suits thawed where our bodies met, and as the slightest movement exposed these comparatively warm spots to the biting air, we clung motionless, whispering each to his companion our hopes and thoughts.

Occasionally from an almost clear sky came snow-showers, falling silently on the sea and laying a thin shroud of white over our bodies and our boats.

The dawn of April 13 came clear and bright, with occasional passing clouds. Most of the men were now looking seriously worn and strained. Their lips were cracked and their eyes and eyelids showed red in their salt-encrusted faces.

The dawn of April 13 came clear and bright, with occasional passing clouds. Most of the men were now looking seriously worn and strained. Their lips were cracked and their eyes and eyelids showed red in their salt-encrusted faces.

The beards even of the younger men might have been those of patriarchs, for the frost and the salt spray had made them white.

I called the Dudley Docker alongside and found the condition of the people there was no better than in the James Caird. Obviously we must make land quickly, and I decided to run for Elephant Island.

Thousands of small dead fish were to be seen, killed probably by a cold current and the heavy weather. They floated in the water and lay on the ice, where they had been cast by the waves.

The petrels and skua-gulls were swooping down and picking them up like sardines off toast.

We made our way through the lanes till at noon we were suddenly spewed out of the pack into the open ocean. Dark blue and sapphire green ran the seas.

We made our way through the lanes till at noon we were suddenly spewed out of the pack into the open ocean. Dark blue and sapphire green ran the seas.

Our sails were soon up, and with a fair wind we moved over the waves like three Viking ships on the quest of a lost Atlantis.

With the sheet well out and the sun shining bright above, we enjoyed for a few hours a sense of the freedom and magic of the sea, compensating us for pain and trouble in the days that had passed.

The men always managed to reply cheerfully. One of the people on the Stancomb Wills shouted, “We are doing all right, but I would like some dry mitts.”

The jest brought a smile to cracked lips. He might as well have asked for the moon.

The only dry things aboard the boats were swollen mouths and burning tongues. Thirst is one of the troubles that confront the traveller in polar regions.

The men always managed to reply cheerfully. One of the people on the Stancomb Wills shouted, “We are doing all right, but I would like some dry mitts.” The jest brought a smile to cracked lips. He might as well have asked for the moon.

The only dry things aboard the boats were swollen mouths and burning tongues.

Thirst is one of the troubles that confront the traveller in polar regions. Ice may be plentiful on every hand, but it does not become drinkable until it is melted, and the amount that may be dissolved in the mouth is limited.

Then we all made the passage, and within a few minutes the three boats were aground. A curious spectacle met my eyes when I landed the second time.

Some of the men were reeling about the beach as if they had found an unlimited supply of alcoholic liquor on the desolate shore.

They were laughing uproariously, picking up stones and letting handfuls of pebbles trickle between their fingers like misers gloating over hoarded gold.

The decision made, I walked through the blizzard with Worsley and Wild to examine the James Caird.

The 20 ft. boat had never looked big; she appeared to have shrunk in some mysterious way when I viewed her in the light of our new undertaking.

She was an ordinary ship’s whaler, fairly strong, but showing signs of the strains she had endured since the crushing of the Endurance. Where she was holed in leaving the pack was, fortunately, about the waterline and easily patched.

When it had been nailed and screwed into position it certainly gave an appearance of safety to the boat, though

I had an uneasy feeling that it bore a strong likeness to stage scenery, which may look like a granite wall and is in fact nothing better than canvas and lath.

As events proved, the covering served its purpose well. We certainly could not have lived through the voyage without it.

Looking out abeam, we would see a hollow like a tunnel formed as the crest of a big wave toppled over on to the swelling body of water.

A thousand times it appeared as though the James Caird must be engulfed; but the boat lived.

The southwesterly gale had its birthplace above the Antarctic Continent, and its freezing breath lowered the temperature far towards zero. The sprays froze upon the boat and gave bows, sides, and decking a heavy coat of mail.

We had to be very careful not to put axe or knife through the frozen canvas of the decking as we crawled over it, but gradually we got rid of a lot of ice.

The James Caird lifted to the endless waves as though she lived again.

About 11 a.m. the boat suddenly fell off into the trough of the sea. The painter had parted and the sea-anchor had gone. This was serious.

The sun seldom shone upon us. The glass of the compass got broken one night, and we contrived to mend it with adhesive tape from the medicine-chest. One of the memories that comes to me from those days is of Crean singing at the tiller.

He always sang while he was steering, and nobody ever discovered what the song was. It was devoid of tune and as monotonous as the chanting of a Buddhist monk at his prayers; yet somehow it was cheerful.

In moments of inspiration Crean would attempt “The Wearing of the Green.”

Just after 6 p.m., in the dark, as the boat was in the yeasty backwash from the seas flung from this iron-bound coast, then, just when things looked their worst, they changed for the best.

I have marvelled often at the thin line that divides success from failure and the sudden turn that leads from apparently certain disaster to comparative safety.

The wind suddenly shifted, and we were free once more to make an offing. Almost as soon as the gale eased, the pin that locked the mast to the thwart fell out.

When the temperature was below 20° Fahr, we could not get too close to one another—every man wanted to cuddle against his neighbour; but let the temperature rise a few degrees and the warmth of another man’s body ceased to be a blessing.

The ice and the waves had a voice of menace that night, but I heard it only in my dreams.

The bay was still filled with ice on the morning of Saturday, May 13, but the tide took it all away in the afternoon. Then a strange thing happened.

The bay was still filled with ice on the morning of Saturday, May 13, but the tide took it all away in the afternoon. Then a strange thing happened.

The rudder, with all the broad Atlantic to sail in and the coasts of two continents to search for a resting-place, came bobbing back into our cove.

With anxious eyes we watched it as it advanced, receded again, and then advanced once more under the capricious influence of wind and wave.

Changes had occurred within the preceding twenty-four hours. Some huge pieces had broken off, and the masses of mud and stone that were being driven before the advancing ice showed movement.

The glacier was like a gigantic plough driving irresistibly towards the sea.

Lying on the beach beyond the glacier was wreckage that told of many ill-fated ships. We noticed stanchions of teakwood, liberally carved, that must have came from ships of the older type; iron-bound timbers with the iron almost rusted through;

There could be no turning back now, so we unroped and slid in the fashion of youthful days. When we stopped on a snowbank at the foot of the slope we found that we had descended at least 900 ft. in two or three minutes.

We looked back and saw the grey fingers of the fog appearing on the ridge, as though reaching after the intruders into untrodden wilds.

But we had escaped.

By midnight we were again at an elevation of about 4,000 ft. Still we were following the light, for as the moon swung round towards the northeast, our path curved in that direction.

The friendly moon seemed to pilot our weary feet.

We could have had no better guide. If in bright daylight we had made that march we would have followed the course that was traced for us that night.

After 1 a.m. we cut a pit in the snow, piled up loose snow around it, and started the Primus again. The hot food gave us another renewal of energy. Worsley and Crean sang their old songs when the Primus was going merrily.

Laughter was in our hearts, though not on our parched and cracked lips.

We were up and away again within half an hour, still downward to the coast. We felt almost sure now that we were above Stromness Bay. A dark object down at the foot of the slope looked like Mutton Island, which lies off Husvik.

Right to the minute the steam-whistle came to us, borne clearly on the wind across the intervening miles of rock and snow.

Never had any one of us heard sweeter music.

It was the first sound created by outside human agency that had come to our ears since we left Stromness Bay in December 1914.

It was a moment hard to describe.

Pain and ache, boat journeys, marches, hunger and fatigue seemed to belong to the limbo of forgotten things, and there remained only the perfect contentment that comes of work accomplished.

My examination of the country from a higher point had not provided definite information, and after descending I put the situation before Worsley and Crean. Our obvious course lay down a snow-slope in the direction of Husvik.

That was all of tangible things; but in memories we were rich. We had pierced the veneer of outside things. We had “suffered, starved, and triumphed, grovelled down yet grasped at glory, grown bigger in the bigness of the whole.”

We had seen God in His splendours, heard the text that Nature renders. We had reached the naked soul of man.

Shivering with cold, yet with hearts light and happy, we set off towards the whaling-station, now not more than a mile and a half distant. The difficulties of the journey lay behind us.

Our beards were long and our hair was matted. We were unwashed and the garments that we had worn for nearly a year without a change were tattered and stained.

Three more unpleasant-looking ruffians could hardly have been imagined.

Worsley produced several safety-pins from some corner of his garments and effected some temporary repairs that really emphasized his general disrepair. Down we hurried, and when quite close to the station we met two small boys ten or twelve years of age.

“Tell me, when was the war over?” I asked.

“The war is not over,” he answered. “Millions are being killed. Europe is mad. The world is mad.”

Mr. Sorlle’s hospitality had no bounds. He would scarcely let us wait to remove our freezing boots before he took us into his house and gave us seats in a warm and comfortable room.

When I look back at those days I have no doubt that Providence guided us, not only across those snowfields, but across the storm-white sea that separated Elephant Island from our landing-place on South Georgia.

I know that during that long and racking march of thirty-six hours over the unnamed mountains and glaciers of South Georgia it seemed to me often that we were four, not three.

I said nothing to my companions on the point, but afterwards Worsley said to me, “Boss, I had a curious feeling on the march that there was another person with us.” Crean confessed to the same idea.

After breakfast Mr. Sorlle took us round to Husvik in a motor-launch. We were listening avidly to his account of the war and of all that had happened while we were out of the world of men.

We were like men arisen from the dead to a world gone mad.

Our minds accustomed themselves gradually to the tales of nations in arms, of deathless courage and unimagined slaughter, of a world-conflict that had grown beyond all conceptions, of vast red battlefields in grimmest contrast with the frigid whiteness we had left behind us.

Among memories of kindness received in many lands sundered by the seas, the recollection of the hospitality and help given to me in South Georgia ranks high.

There is a brotherhood of the sea.

The men who go down to the sea in ships, serving and suffering, fighting their endless battle against the caprice of wind and ocean, bring into their own horizons the perils and troubles of their brother sailormen.

My good friend the Governor said I could settle down at Port Stanley and take things quietly for a few weeks.

The street of that port is about a mile and a half long. It has the slaughterhouse at one end and the graveyard at the other.

The chief distraction is to walk from the slaughterhouse to the graveyard. For a change one may walk from the graveyard to the slaughterhouse. Ellaline Terriss was born at Port Stanley—a fact not forgotten by the residents, but she has not lived there much since.

From time to time we have a spring cleaning, but a fresh supply of flooring material is not always available, as all the shingle is frozen up and buried by deep rifts.

Such is our Home Sweet Home.

”

“Now that Wild’s window allows a shaft of light to enter our hut, one can begin to ‘see’ things inside.

Previously one relied upon one’s sense of touch, assisted by the remarks from those whose faces were inadvertently trodden on, to guide one to the door.

Looking down in the semidarkness to the far end, one observes two very small smoky flares that dimly illuminate a row of five, endeavouring to make time pass by reading or argument. These are Macklin, Kerr, Wordie, Hudson, and Blackborrow—the last two being invalids.

The near end of the floor space is taken up with the stove, with Wild and McIlroy on one side, and Hurley and James on the other. Marston occupies a hammock most of the night—and day—which is slung across the entrance.

As he is large and the entrance very small, he invariably gets bumped by those passing in and out. His vocabulary at such times is interesting.

“In the attic, formed by the two upturned boats, live ten unkempt and careless lodgers, who drop boots, mitts, and other articles of apparel on to the men below.

Reindeer hairs rain down incessantly day and night, with every movement that they make in their moulting bags. These, with penguin feathers and a little grit from the floor, occasionally savour the hooshes.

Thank heaven man is an adaptable brute!

If we dwell sufficiently long in this hut, we are likely to alter our method of walking, for our ceiling, which is but four feet six inches high at its highest part, compels us to walk bent double or on all fours.

They soon recovered though. Our beds were just shakedowns on cushions and settees, though the officer on watch very generously gave up his bunk to two of us. I think we got very little sleep that night.

It was just heavenly to lie and listen to the throb of the engines, instead of to the crack of the breaking floe, the beat of the surf on the ice-strewn shore, or the howling of the blizzard.

“We intend to keep August 30 as a festival for the rest of our lives.”

“

We intend to keep August 30 as a festival for the rest of our lives.

”

The frozen moustache makes the lobes of the nose freeze more easily than they would if there was no ice alongside them. … I ask myself why on earth one comes to these parts of the earth.

Here we are, frostbitten in the day, frozen at night.

What a life!”

We all think there has been a calamity there. Let us hope for the best. We decided to have rolled-oats and milk for a start, which went down very well, and then a cup of tea.

How cheery the Primus sounds. It seems like coming out of a thick London fog into a drawing-room.

After a consultation we decided to have a meal of pemmican in four hours, and so on, until our weakness was gone. Later.—Still the same weather. We shall get under way and make a forced march back as soon as possible.

and then spell. I think another day would have seen us off. Arrived at depot 3:25; found it in a dilapidated condition, cases all about the place.

I don’t suppose there has ever been a weaker party arrive at any depot, either north or south.

After a hard struggle got our tent up and made camp. Then gave the dogs a good feed of pemmican. If ever dogs saved the lives of anyone they have saved ours.

In that homeless time I kept watch and watch with the second officer, and was hard pressed to know what to do.

Was ever ship in such predicament?

To the northward of Cape Royds was taboo, as also was the coast south of Glacier Tongue. In a small stretch of icebound coast we had to find winter quarters.

As the ship, in the solid floe, set to the northwest, the cables rattled and tore at the hawsepipes; luckily the anchors, lying as they were on a strip-sloping bottom, came away easily, without damage to windlass or hawsepipes.

Slowly as we disappeared into Sound, the light in the hut died away.

At 11:30 p.m. the ice around us started to break up, the floes playing tattoo on the ship’s sides. We were out in the Sound and catching the full force of the wind.

4:30 p.m.—The hot iron has been successful.

Donolly (second engineer) had the pleasure of stopping the first spurt of water through the pipe; he got it in the eye.

Fires were lit in furnaces, and water commenced to blow in the boiler—the first blow in our defence against the terrific forces of Nature in the Antarctic. 8 p.m.—The gale has freshened, accompanied by thick drift.”

“

The Aurora is fast in the pack and drifting God knows where.

Well, there are prospects of a most interesting winter drift. We are all in good health, except Grady, whose rib is mending rapidly; we have good spirits and we will get through. But what of the poor beggars at Cape Evans, and the Southern Party?

“May 21.—Early this morning there appeared to be movements in the ice.

The grating and grinding noise makes one feel the unimportance of man in circumstances like ours.

Twilight towards noon showed several narrow, open leads about two cables from ship and in all directions. Unable to get bearing, but imagine that there is little or no alteration in ship’s position, as ship’s head is same, and Western Mountains appear the same.

“May 25.—In middle watch felt pressure occasionally. Twilight showed a scene of chaos all around; one floe about three feet in thickness had upended, driven under ship on port quarter.

As far as can be seen there are heavy blocks of ice screwed up on end, and the scene is like a graveyard.

I think swell must have come up under ice from seaward (northeast), McMurdo Sound, and broken the ice, which afterwards started to move under the influence of the blizzard.

With strict economy we should make things spin out; cannot help worrying over our people at the hut. Although worrying does no good, one cannot do otherwise in this present impotent state. 11 p.m.—Wind howling and whistling through rigging.

Outside, in glare of moon, flying drift and expanse of ice-field. Desolation!

“June 22.—Today the sun has reached the limit of his northern declination and now he will start to come south. Observed this day as holiday, and in the evening had hands aft to drink to the health of the King and the Expedition.

“July 1.—The 1st of July! Thank God. The days pass quickly.

Through all my waking hours one long thought of the people at Cape Evans, but one must appear to be happy and take interest in the small happenings of shipboard.

“July 3.—Rather hazy with very little light. Moderate west-northwest to southwest winds until noon, when wind veered to south and freshened. No apparent change in ship’s position;

5:15 p.m.—New ice of lanes cracked and opened. Floes on port side pushed stern on to ice (of floe); floes then closed in and nipped the ship fore and aft. The rudder was bent over to starboard and smashed.

The solid oak and iron went like matchwood.

8 p.m.—Moderate south-southwest gale with drift. Much straining of timbers with pressure. 10 p.m.—Extra hard nip fore and aft; ship visibly hogged. Heavy pressure.

Pressure continued intermittently throughout the day and night, with occasional very heavy squeezes to the ship which made timbers crack and groan. The ship’s stern is now in a more or less soft bed, formed of recently frozen ice of about one foot in thickness.

I thank God that we have been spared through this fearful nightmare.

I shall never forget the concertina motions of the ship during yesterday’s and Wednesday’s fore and aft nips.

“August 4.—For nine days we have had southerly winds, and the last four we have experienced howling blizzards.

I am sick of the sound of the infernal wind. Din! Din! Din! and darkness.

We should have seen the sun today, but a bank of cumulus effectually hid him, although the daylight is a never-ending joy.

The land slopes down to the northwest of Cape Downshire, and rises again into the high peninsula about Cape Adore. We felt excited this morning in anticipation of seeing the sun, which rose about nine-thirty (local time).

It was a glorious, joyful sight. We drank to something, and with very light hearts gave cheers for the sun.

“August 9.—Donolly got to work on the rudder again. It is a long job cutting through the iron sheathing-plates of the rudder, and not too safe at present, as the ice is treacherous. Hooke says that the conditions are normal now.

“September 21.—The sun is making rapid progress south, and we have had today over seventeen hours’ light and twelve hours’ sunlight.

Oh for a release! The monotony and worry of our helpless position is deadly.

I suppose Shackleton and his party will have started depot-laying now and will be full of hopes for the future. I wonder whether the Endurance wintered in the ice or went north.

The carpenter cut part of the lining and filled the space between the timbers with Stockholm tar, cement, and oakum. He could not get at the actual leak, but his makeshift made a little difference. I am anxious about the propeller.

This pack is a dangerous place for a ship now; it seems miraculous that the old Barky still floats.

”

Hussey was in France for eighteen months with the Royal Garrison Artillery, serving in every big battle from Dixmude to Saint-Quentin.

Worsley, known to his intimates as Depth-Charge Bill, owing to his success with that particular method of destroying German submarines, has the Distinguished Service Order and three submarines to his credit.

Stenhouse, who commanded the Aurora after Mackintosh landed, was with Worsley as his second in command when one of the German submarines was rammed and sunk, and received the D.S.C. for his share in the fight.

Of the Ross Sea Party,

Mackintosh, Hayward, and Spencer-Smith died for their country as surely as any who gave up their lives on the fields of France and Flanders.

Hooke, the wireless operator, now navigates an airship.

Though interesting they were not really essential. Continuous observations were made during the long drift on the floe and while on Elephant Island the temperature was taken at midday each day as long as the thermometers lasted.

The mortality amongst these instruments, especially those which were tied to string and swung round, was very high.

A few extracts from the observations taken during 1915—the series for that year being practically complete—may be of interest. January was dull and overcast, only 7 percent of the observations recording a clear blue sky, 71 percent being completely overcast.

Later on, as the pack drifted northwards and broke up, wide lanes of water were formed, causing fogs and mist and dull overcast weather generally.

In short, it may be said that in the Weddell Sea the best weather comes in winter. Unfortunately during that season the sun also disappears, so that one cannot enjoy it as much as one would like.

As a rule, too, southerly winds brought fine clear weather, with marked fall in the temperature, and those from the north were accompanied by mist, fog, and overcast skies, with comparatively high temperatures. In the Antarctic a temperature of 30°, i.e.

As a rule, too, southerly winds brought fine clear weather, with marked fall in the temperature, and those from the north were accompanied by mist, fog, and overcast skies, with comparatively high temperatures.

In the Antarctic a temperature of 30°, i.e. 2° below freezing, is considered unbearably hot.

The greatest difficulty that was experienced was due to the accumulation of rime on the instruments. In low temperatures everything became covered with ice-crystals, deposited from the air, which eventually grew into huge blocks.

… slowly moving, with the open sea in front and to the left, and towering, snow-covered mountains on our right, the air was hardly ever free from snowdrift, and the winds increased to terrific violence through being forced over the glacier and through the narrow gully.

Huge blocks of ice were hurled about like pebbles, and cases of clothing and cooking utensils were whisked out of our hands and carried away to sea.

For the first fortnight after our landing there, the gale blew, at times, at over one hundred miles an hour. Fortunately it never again quite reached that intensity, but on several occasions violent squalls made us very fearful for the safety of our hut.