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Chapter 6 - ADVENTURE AND PERIL
Scott's Last Expedition - The Journals of Captain R.
F. Scott
Contents
and Preface Chapters:
Chapter 1 |
Chapter 2 |
Chapter 3 |
Chapter 4 |
Chapter 5 |
Chapter 6 |
Chapter 7 |
Chapter 8 |
Chapter 9 |
Chapter 10 |
Chapter 11 |
Chapter 12 |
Chapter 13 |
Chapter 14 |
Chapter 15 |
Chapter 16 |
Chapter 17 |
Chapter 18 |
Chapter 19 |
Chapter 20 |
Appendix
Summary
(2 pages) of the
Terra Nova Expedition |
The Men
of the Expedition
Saturday, February 18
Camp 12. North 22 miles 1996 yards. I
scattered some oats 50 yards east of depot. [12] The minimum
thermometer showed -16° when we left camp: inform Simpson!
The ponies started off well, Gran leading my pony with Weary
Willy
behind, the Soldier leading his with Cherry's behind, and Bowers
steering course as before with a light sledge. [13]
We started half an hour later, soon overtook the ponies, and
luckily
picked up a small bag of oats which they had dropped. We went on
for
10 3/4 miles and stopped for lunch. After lunch to our
astonishment
the ponies appeared, going strong. They were making for a camp
some
miles farther on, and meant to remain there. I'm very glad to
have
seen them making the pace so well. They don't propose to stop
for
lunch at all but to march right through 10 or 12 miles a day. I
think
they will have little difficulty in increasing this distance.
For the dogs the surface has been bad, and one or another of us
on
either sledge has been running a good part of the time. But we
have
covered 23 miles: three marches out. We have four days' food for
them
and ought to get in very easily.
As we camp late the temperature is evidently very low and there
is a
low drift. Conditions are beginning to be severe on the Barrier
and
I shall be glad to get the ponies into more comfortable
quarters.
Sunday, February 19
Started 10 P.M. Camped 6.30. Nearly 26
miles to our credit. The dogs went very well and the surface
became
excellent after the first 5 or 6 miles. At the Bluff Camp, No.
11,
we picked up Evans' track and found that he must have made
excellent
progress. No. 10 Camp was much snowed up: I should imagine our
light
blizzard was severely felt along this part of the route. We must
look
out to-morrow for signs of Evans being 'held up.'
The old tracks show better here than on the softer surface.
During this
journey both ponies and dogs have had what under ordinary
circumstances
would have been a good allowance of food, yet both are
desperately
hungry. Both eat their own excrement. With the ponies it does
not
seem so horrid, as there must be a good deal of grain, &c.,
which
is not fully digested. It is the worst side of dog driving. All
the
rest is diverting. The way in which they keep up a steady jog
trot
for hour after hour is wonderful. Their legs seem steel springs,
fatigue unknown--for at the end of a tiring march any unusual
incident will arouse them to full vigour. Osman has been
restored
to leadership. It is curious how these leaders come off and go
off,
all except old Stareek, who remains as steady as ever.
We are all acting like seasoned sledge travellers now, such is
the
force of example. Our tent is up and cooker going in the
shortest
time after halt, and we are able to break camp in exceptionally
good
time. Cherry-Garrard is cook. He is excellent, and is quickly
learning
all the tips for looking after himself and his gear.
What a difference such care makes is apparent now, but was more
so when
he joined the tent with all his footgear iced up, whilst Wilson
and
I nearly always have dry socks and finnesko to put on. This is
only
a point amongst many in which experience gives comfort. Every
minute
spent in keeping one's gear dry and free of snow is very well
repaid.
Monday, February 20
29 miles. Lunch. Excellent run on hard
wind-swept surface-- covered nearly seventeen miles . Very cold
at
starting and during march. Suddenly wind changed and temperature
rose
so that at the moment of stopping for final halt it appeared
quite
warm, almost sultry. On stopping found we had covered 29 miles,
some 35 statute miles. The dogs are weary but by no means played
out--during the last part of the journey they trotted steadily
with a
wonderfully tireless rhythm. I have been off the sledge a good
deal
and trotting for a good many miles, so should sleep well. E.
Evans
has left a bale of forage at Camp 8 and has not taken on the one
which
he might have taken from the depot--facts which show that his
ponies
must have been going strong. I hope to find them safe and sound
the
day after to-morrow.
We had the most wonderfully beautiful sky effects on the march
with
the sun circling low on the southern horizon. Bright pink clouds
hovered overhead on a deep grey-blue background. Gleams of
bright
sunlit mountains appeared through the stratus.
Here it is most difficult to predict what is going to happen.
Sometimes
the southern sky looks dark and ominous, but within half an hour
all
has changed--the land comes and goes as the veil of stratus
lifts and
falls. It seems as though weather is made here rather than
dependent
on conditions elsewhere. It is all very interesting.
Tuesday, February 21
New Camp about 12 miles from Safety
Camp. 15
1/2 miles. We made a start as usual about 10 P.M. The light was
good at first, but rapidly grew worse till we could see little
of
the surface. The dogs showed signs of wearying. About an hour
and a
half after starting we came on mistily outlined pressure ridges.
We
were running by the sledges. Suddenly Wilson shouted 'Hold on to
the sledge,' and I saw him slip a leg into a crevasse. I jumped
to
the sledge, but saw nothing. Five minutes after, as the teams
were
trotting side by side, the middle dogs of our team disappeared.
In
a moment the whole team were sinking--two by two we lost sight
of
them, each pair struggling for foothold. Osman the leader
exerted
all his great strength and kept a foothold--it was wonderful to
see
him. The sledge stopped and we leapt aside. The situation was
clear
in another moment. We had been actually travelling along the
bridge
of a crevasse, the sledge had stopped on it, whilst the dogs
hung
in their harness in the abyss, suspended between the sledge and
the leading dog. Why the sledge and ourselves didn't follow the
dogs we shall never know. I think a fraction of a pound of added
weight must have taken us down. As soon as we grasped the
position,
we hauled the sledge clear of the bridge and anchored it. Then
we
peered into the depths of the crack. The dogs were howling
dismally,
suspended in all sorts of fantastic positions and evidently
terribly
frightened. Two had dropped out of their harness, and we could
see
them indistinctly on a snow bridge far below. The rope at either
end of the chain had bitten deep into the snow at the side of
the
crevasse, and with the weight below, it was impossible to move
it. By
this time Wilson and Cherry-Garrard, who had seen the accident,
had come to our assistance. At first things looked very bad for
our
poor team, and I saw little prospect of rescuing them. I had
luckily
inquired about the Alpine rope before starting the march, and
now
Cherry-Garrard hurriedly brought this most essential aid. It
takes
one a little time to make plans under such sudden circumstances,
and for some minutes our efforts were rather futile. We could
get
not an inch on the main trace of the sledge or on the leading
rope,
which was binding Osman to the snow with a throttling pressure.
Then
thought became clearer. We unloaded our sledge, putting in
safety our
sleeping-bags with the tent and cooker. Choking sounds from
Osman made
it clear that the pressure on him must soon be relieved. I
seized the
lashing off Meares' sleeping-bag, passed the tent poles across
the
crevasse, and with Meares managed to get a few inches on the
leading
line; this freed Osman, whose harness was immediately cut.
Then securing the Alpine rope to the main trace we tried to haul
up
together. One dog came up and was unlashed, but by this time the
rope
had cut so far back at the edge that it was useless to attempt
to get
more of it. But we could now unbend the sledge and do that for
which
we should have aimed from the first, namely, run the sledge
across the
gap and work from it. We managed to do this, our fingers
constantly
numbed. Wilson held on to the anchored trace whilst the rest of
us
laboured at the leader end. The leading rope was very small and
I was
fearful of its breaking, so Meares was lowered down a foot or
two to
secure the Alpine rope to the leading end of the trace; this
done,
the work of rescue proceeded in better order. Two by two we
hauled
the animals up to the sledge and one by one cut them out of
their
harness. Strangely the last dogs were the most difficult, as
they
were close under the lip of the gap, bound in by the
snow-covered
rope. Finally, with a gasp we got the last poor creature on to
firm
snow. We had recovered eleven of the thirteen. 13a
Then I wondered if the last two could not be got, and we paid
down the
Alpine rope to see if it was long enough to reach the snow
bridge on
which they were coiled. The rope is 90 feet, and the amount
remaining
showed that the depth of the bridge was about 65 feet. I made a
bowline and the others lowered me down. The bridge was firm and
I got
hold of both dogs, which were hauled up in turn to the surface.
Then
I heard dim shouts and howls above. Some of the rescued animals
had
wandered to the second sledge, and a big fight was in progress.
All
my rope-tenders had to leave to separate the combatants; but
they
soon returned, and with some effort I was hauled to the surface.
All is well that ends well, and certainly this was a most
surprisingly
happy ending to a very serious episode. We felt we must have
refreshment, so camped and had a meal, congratulating ourselves
on
a really miraculous escape. If the sledge had gone down Meares
and
I must have been badly injured, if not killed outright. The
dogs
are wonderful, but have had a terrible shaking--three of them
are
passing blood and have more or less serious internal injuries.
Many
were held up by a thin thong round the stomach, writhing madly
to get free. One dog better placed in its harness stretched its
legs full before and behind and just managed to claw either side
of the gap--it had continued attempts to climb throughout,
giving
vent to terrified howls. Two of the animals hanging together had
been fighting at intervals when they swung into any position
which
allowed them to bite one another. The crevasse for the time
being
was an inferno, and the time must have been all too terribly
long for
the wretched creatures. It was twenty minutes past three when we
had
completed the rescue work, and the accident must have happened
before
one-thirty. Some of the animals must have been dangling for over
an
hour. I had a good opportunity of examining the crack.
The section seemed such as I have shown. It narrowed towards the
east
and widened slightly towards the west. In this direction there
were
curious curved splinters; below the snow bridge on which I stood
the
opening continued, but narrowing, so that I think one could not
have
fallen many more feet without being wedged. Twice I have owed
safety
to a snow bridge, and it seems to me that the chance of finding
some
obstruction or some saving fault in the crevasse is a good one,
but I am far from thinking that such a chance can be relied
upon,
and it would be an awful situation to fall beyond the limits of
the
Alpine rope.
We went on after lunch, and very soon got into soft snow and
regular
surface where crevasses are most unlikely to occur. We have
pushed on
with difficulty, for the dogs are badly cooked and the surface
tries
them. We are all pretty done, but luckily the weather favours
us. A
sharp storm from the south has been succeeded by ideal sunshine
which
is flooding the tent as I write. It is the calmest, warmest day
we
have had since we started sledging. We are only about 12 miles
from
Safety Camp, and I trust we shall push on without accident
to-morrow,
but I am anxious about some of the dogs. We shall be lucky
indeed if
all recover.
My companions to-day were excellent; Wilson and Cherry-Garrard
if
anything the most intelligently and readily helpful.
I begin to think that there is no avoiding the line of cracks
running
from the Bluff to Cape Crozier, but my hope is that the danger
does
not extend beyond a mile or two, and that the cracks are
narrower
on the pony road to Corner Camp. If eight ponies can cross
without
accident I do not think there can be great danger. Certainly we
must
rigidly adhere to this course on all future journeys. We must
try and
plot out the danger line. [14] I begin to be a little anxious
about
the returning ponies.
I rather think the dogs are being underfed--they have weakened
badly
in the last few days--more than such work ought to entail. Now
they
are absolutely ravenous.
Meares has very dry feet. Whilst we others perspire freely and
our
skin remains pink and soft his gets horny and scaly. He amused
us
greatly to-night by scraping them. The sound suggested the
whittling
of a hard wood block and the action was curiously like an
attempt to
shape the feet to fit the finnesko!
Summary of Marches Made on the Depot Journey
Distances in Geographical Miles. Variation 152 E.
m. yds.
Safety No. 3 to 4 E. 4 2000
S. 64 E. 4 500 |
4 to 5 S. 77 E. 1 312 | 9.359
S. 60 E. 3 1575 |
5 to 6 S. 48 E. 10 270 Var. 149 1/2 E.
Corner 6 to 7 S. 10 145
7 to 8 S. ? 11 198
8 to 9 S. 12 325
9 to 10 S. 11 118
Bluff Camp 10 to 11 S. 10 226 Var. 152 1/2 E.
11 to 12 S. 9 150
12 to 13 S. 7 650
13 to 14 S. 7 Bowers 775
14 to 15 S. 8 1450
--- ----
111 610
Return 17th-18th
15 to 12 N. 22 1994
18th-19th 12
to midway
between 9 & 10 N. 48 1825
19th-20th
Lunch 8 Camp N. 65 1720
19th-20th
7 Camp N. 77 1820
20th-21st N. 30 to 35 W. 93 950
21st-22nd
Safety Camp N. & W. 107 1125
Wednesday, February 22
Safety Camp. Got away at 10 again:
surface
fairly heavy: dogs going badly.
The dogs are as thin as rakes; they are ravenous and very tired.
I feel
this should not be, and that it is evident that they are
underfed. The
ration must be increased next year and we must have some
properly
thought out diet. The biscuit alone is not good enough. Meares
is
excellent to a point, but ignorant of the conditions here. One
thing
is certain, the dogs will never continue to drag heavy loads
with men
sitting on the sledges; we must all learn to run with the teams
and
the Russian custom must be dropped. Meares, I think, rather
imagined
himself racing to the Pole and back on a dog sledge. This
journey
has opened his eyes a good deal.
We reached Safety Camp (dist. 14 miles) at 4.30 A.M.; found
Evans and
his party in excellent health, but, alas! with only ONE pony. As
far as
I can gather Forde's pony only got 4 miles back from the Bluff
Camp;
then a blizzard came on, and in spite of the most tender care
from
Forde the pony sank under it. Evans says that Forde spent hours
with
the animal trying to keep it going, feeding it, walking it
about;
at last he returned to the tent to say that the poor creature
had
fallen; they all tried to get it on its feet again but their
efforts
were useless. It couldn't stand, and soon after it died.
Then the party marched some 10 miles, but the blizzard had had a
bad effect on Blossom--it seemed to have shrivelled him up, and
now he was terribly emaciated. After this march he could
scarcely
move. Evans describes his efforts as pathetic; he got on 100
yards,
then stopped with legs outstretched and nose to the ground. They
rested
him, fed him well, covered him with rugs; but again all efforts
were
unavailing. The last stages came with painful detail. So Blossom
is
also left on the Southern Road.
The last pony, James Pigg, as he is called, has thriven
amazingly--of
course great care has been taken with him and he is now getting
full
feed and very light work, so he ought to do well. The loss is
severe;
but they were the two oldest ponies of our team and the two
which
Oates thought of least use.
Atkinson and Crean have departed, leaving no trace--not even a
note.
Crean had carried up a good deal of fodder, and some seal meat
was
found buried.
After a few hours' sleep we are off for Hut Point.
There are certain points in night marching, if only for the
glorious
light effects which the coming night exhibits.
Wednesday, February 22
10 P.M. Safety Camp. Turned out at 11
this
morning after 4 hours' sleep.
Wilson, Meares, Evans, Cherry-Garrard, and I went to Hut Point.
Found
a great enigma. The hut was cleared and habitable--but no one
was
there. A pencil line on the wall said that a bag containing a
mail
was inside, but no bag could be found. We puzzled much, then
finally
decided on the true solution, viz. that Atkinson and Crean had
gone
towards Safety Camp as we went to Hut Point--later we saw their
sledge
track leading round on the sea ice. Then we returned towards
Safety
Camp and endured a very bad hour in which we could see the two
bell
tents but not the domed. It was an enormous relief to find the
dome
securely planted, as the ice round Cape Armitage is evidently
very
weak; I have never seen such enormous water holes off it.
But every incident of the day pales before the startling
contents of
the mail bag which Atkinson gave me--a letter from Campbell
setting
out his doings and the finding of Amundsen established in the
Bay
of Whales.
One thing only fixes itself definitely in my mind. The proper,
as
well as the wiser, course for us is to proceed exactly as though
this had not happened. To go forward and do our best for the
honour
of the country without fear or panic.
There is no doubt that Amundsen's plan is a very serious menace
to ours. He has a shorter distance to the Pole by 60 miles--I
never
thought he could have got so many dogs safely to the ice. His
plan for
running them seems excellent. But above and beyond all he can
start
his journey early in the season--an impossible condition with
ponies.
The ice is still in at the Glacier Tongue: a very late date--it
looks as though it will not break right back this season, but
off
Cape Armitage it is so thin that I doubt if the ponies could
safely
be walked round.
Thursday, February 23
Spent the day preparing sledges, &c.,
for
party to meet Bowers at Corner Camp. It was blowing and drifting
and
generally uncomfortable. Wilson and Meares killed three seals
for
the dogs.
Friday, February 24
Roused out at 6. Started marching at 9.
Self,
Crean, and Cherry-Garrard one sledge and tent; Evans, Atkinson,
Forde,
second sledge and tent; Keohane leading his pony. We pulled on
ski
in the forenoon; the second sledge couldn't keep up, so we
changed
about for half the march. In the afternoon we pulled on foot. On
the
whole I thought the labour greater on foot, so did Crean,
showing
the advantage of experience.
There is no doubt that very long days' work could be done by men
in
hard condition on ski.
The hanging back of the second sledge was mainly a question of
condition, but to some extent due to the sledge. We have a 10
ft.,
whilst the other party has a 12 ft.; the former is a distinct
advantage
in this case.
It has been a horrid day. We woke to find a thick covering of
sticky
ice crystals on everything--a frost rime . I cleared my ski
before
breakfast arid found more on afterwards. There was the
suggestion
of an early frosty morning at home--such a morning as develops
into a beautiful sunshiny day; but in our case, alas! such hopes
were shattered: it was almost damp, with temperature near zero
and a
terribly bad light for travelling. In the afternoon Erebus and
Terror
showed up for a while. Now it is drifting hard with every sign
of
a blizzard--a beastly night. This marching is going to be very
good
for our condition and I shall certainly keep people at it.
Saturday, February 25
Fine bright day--easy
marching--covered 9
miles and a bit yesterday and the same to-day. Should reach
Corner
Camp before lunch to-morrow.
Turned out at 3 A.M. and saw a short black line on the horizon
towards White Island. Thought it an odd place for a rock
exposure
and then observed movement in it. Walked 1 1/2 miles towards it
and
made certain that it was Oates, Bowers, and the ponies. They
seemed
to be going very fast and evidently did not see our camp. To-day
we
have come on their tracks, and I fear there are only four ponies
left.
James Pigg, our own pony, limits the length of our marches. The
men haulers could go on much longer, and we all like pulling on
ski. Everyone must be practised in this.
Sunday, February 26
Marched on Corner Camp, but second main
party
found going very hard and eventually got off their ski and
pulled
on foot. James Pigg also found the surface bad, so we camped and
had
lunch after doing 3 miles.
Except for our tent the camp routine is slack. Shall have to
tell
people that we are out on business, not picnicking. It was
another
3 miles to depot after lunch. Found signs of Bowers' party
having
camped there and glad to see five pony walls. Left six full
weeks'
provision: 1 bag of oats, 3/4 of a bale of fodder. Then
Cherry-Garrard,
Crean, and I started for home, leaving the others to bring the
pony
by slow stages. We covered 6 1/4 miles in direct line, then had
some
tea and marched another 8. We must be less than 10 miles from
Safety
Camp. Pitched tent at 10 P.M., very dark for cooking.
Monday, February 27
Awoke to find it blowing a howling
blizzard--absolutely confined to tent at present--to step
outside is to
be covered with drift in a minute. We have managed to get our
cooking
things inside and have had a meal. Very anxious about the
ponies--am
wondering where they can be. The return party [15] has had two
days
and may have got them into some shelter--but more probably they
were
not expecting this blow--I wasn't. The wind is blowing force 8
or 9;
heavy gusts straining the tent; the temperature is evidently
quite
low. This is poor luck.
Tuesday, February 28
Safety Camp. Packed up at 6 A.M. and
marched
into Safety Camp. Found everyone very cold and depressed. Wilson
and Meares had had continuous bad weather since we left, Bowers
and
Oates since their arrival. The blizzard had raged for two days.
The
animals looked in a sorry condition but all were alive. The wind
blew
keen and cold from the east. There could be no advantage in
waiting
here, and soon all arrangements were made for a general shift to
Hut
Point. Packing took a long time. The snowfall had been
prodigious,
and parts of the sledges were 3 or 4 feet under drift. About 4
o'clock
the two dog teams got safely away. Then the pony party prepared
to
go. As the clothes were stripped from the ponies the ravages of
the
blizzard became evident. The animals without exception were
terribly
emaciated, and Weary Willy was in a pitiable condition.
The plan was for the ponies to follow the dog tracks, our small
party
to start last and get in front of the ponies on the sea ice. I
was
very anxious about the sea ice passage owing to the spread of
the
water holes.
The ponies started, but Weary Willy, tethered last without a
load,
immediately fell down. We tried to get him up and he made
efforts,
but was too exhausted.
Then we rapidly reorganised. Cherry-Garrard and Crean went on
whilst
Oates and Gran stayed with me. We made desperate efforts to save
the
poor creature, got him once more on his legs and gave him a hot
oat
mash. Then after a wait of an hour Oates led him off, and we
packed
the sledge and followed on ski; 500 yards away from the camp the
poor
creature fell again and I felt it was the last effort. We
camped,
built a snow wall round him, and did all we possibly could to
get him
on his feet. Every effort was fruitless, though the poor thing
made
pitiful struggles. Towards midnight we propped him up as
comfortably
as we could and went to bed.
Wednesday, March 1, A.M
Our pony died in the night. It is
hard to have got him back so far only for this. It is clear that
these blizzards are terrible for the poor animals. Their coats
are not good, ut even with the best of coats it is certain they
would lose condition
badly if caught in one, and we cannot afford to lose condition
at
the beginning of a journey. It makes a late start necessary for
next year .
Well, we have done our best and bought our experience at a heavy
cost. Now every effort must be bent on saving the remaining
animals,
and it will be good luck if we get four back to Cape Evans, or
even
three. Jimmy Pigg may have fared badly; Bowers' big pony is in a
bad
way after that frightful blizzard. I cannot remember such a bad
storm
in February or March: the temperature was -7°.
Bowers Incident
I note the events of the night of March 1 whilst they are yet
fresh
in my memory.
Thursday, March 2, A.M
The events of the past 48 hours bid
fair
to wreck the expedition, and the only one comfort is the
miraculous
avoidance of loss of life. We turned out early yesterday, Oates,
Gran, and I, after the dismal night of our pony's death, and
pulled
towards the forage depot [16] on ski. As we approached, the sky
looked black and lowering, and mirage effects of huge broken
floes
loomed out ahead. At first I thought it one of the strange
optical
illusions common in this region--but as we neared the depot all
doubt
was dispelled. The sea was full of broken pieces of Barrier
edge. My
thoughts flew to the ponies and dogs, and fearful anxieties
assailed
my mind. We turned to follow the sea edge and suddenly
discovered a
working crack. We dashed over this and slackened pace again
after a
quarter of a mile. Then again cracks appeared ahead and we
increased
pace as much as possible, not slackening again till we were in
line
between the Safety Camp and Castle Rock. Meanwhile my first
thought
was to warn Evans. We set up tent, and Gran went to the depot
with
a note as Oates and I disconsolately thought out the situation.
I
thought to myself that if either party had reached safety either
on
the Barrier or at Hut Point they would immediately have sent a
warning
messenger to Safety Camp. By this time the messenger should have
been
with us. Some half-hour passed, and suddenly with a 'Thank God!'
I
made certain that two specks in the direction of Pram Point were
human
beings. I hastened towards them and found they were Wilson and
Meares,
who had led the homeward way with the dog teams. They were
astonished
to see me--they said they feared the ponies were adrift on the
sea
ice--they had seen them with glasses from Observation Hill. They
thought I was with them. They had hastened out without
breakfast:
we made them cocoa and discussed the gloomiest situation. Just
after cocoa Wilson discovered a figure making rapidly for the
depot
from the west. Gran was sent off again to intercept. It proved
to
be Crean--he was exhausted and a little incoherent. The ponies
had
camped at 2.30 A.M. on the sea ice well beyond the seal crack on
the
previous night. In the middle of the night...
Friday, March 3, A.M
I was interrupted when writing
yesterday
and continue my story this morning.... In the middle of the
night
at 4.30 Bowers got out of the tent and discovered the ice had
broken
all round him: a crack ran under the picketing line, and one
pony had
disappeared. They had packed with great haste and commenced
jumping
the ponies from floe to floe, then dragging the loads over
after--the
three men must have worked splendidly and fearlessly. At length
they
had worked their way to heavier floes lying near the Barrier
edge,
and at one time thought they could get up, but soon discovered
that
there were gaps everywhere off the high Barrier face. In this
dilemma
Crean volunteering was sent off to try to reach me. The sea was
like
a cauldron at the time of the break up, and killer whales were
putting
their heads up on all sides. Luckily they did not frighten the
ponies.
He travelled a great distance over the sea ice, leaping from
floe
to floe, and at last found a thick floe from which with help of
ski
stick he could climb the Barrier face. It was a desperate
venture,
but luckily successful.
As soon as I had digested Crean's news I sent Gran back to Hut
Point
with Wilson and Meares and started with my sledge, Crean, and
Oates
for the scene of the mishap. We stopped at Safety Camp to load
some
provisions and oil and then, marching carefully round,
approached
the ice edge. To my joy I caught sight of the lost party. We got
our
Alpine rope and with its help dragged the two men to the
surface. I
pitched camp at a safe distance from the edge and then we all
started
salvage work. The ice had ceased to drift and lay close and
quiet
against the Barrier edge. We got the men at 5.30 P.M. and all
the
sledges and effects on to the Barrier by 4 A.M. As we were
getting
up the last loads the ice showed signs of drifting off, and we
saw
it was hopeless to try and move the ponies. The three poor
beasts had
to be left on their floe for the moment, well fed. None of our
party
had had sleep the previous night and all were dog tired. I
decided we
must rest, but turned everyone out at 8.30 yesterday morning.
Before
breakfast we discovered the ponies had drifted away. We had
tried
to anchor their floe with the Alpine rope, but the anchors had
drawn. It was a sad moment. At breakfast we decided to pack and
follow the Barrier edge: this was the position when I last
wrote,
but the interruption came when Bowers, who had taken the
binoculars,
announced that he could see the ponies about a mile to the N.W.
We
packed and went on at once. We found it easy enough to get down
to the poor animals and decided to rush them for a last chance
of
life. Then there was an unfortunate mistake: I went along the
Barrier
edge and discovered what I thought and what proved to be a
practicable
way to land a pony, but the others meanwhile, a little
overwrought,
tried to leap Punch across a gap. The poor beast fell in;
eventually
we had to kill him--it was awful. I recalled all hands and
pointed
out my road. Bowers and Oates went out on it with a sledge and
worked
their way to the remaining ponies, and started back with them on
the
same track. Meanwhile Cherry and I dug a road at the Barrier
edge. We
saved one pony; for a time I thought we should get both, but
Bowers'
poor animal slipped at a jump and plunged into the water: we
dragged
him out on some brash ice--killer whales all about us in an
intense
state of excitement. The poor animal couldn't rise, and the only
merciful thing was to kill it. These incidents were too
terrible.
At 5 P.M. we sadly broke our temporary camp and marched back to
the
one I had first pitched. Even here it seemed unsafe, so I walked
nearly two miles to discover cracks: I could find none, and we
turned
in about midnight.
So here we are ready to start our sad journey to Hut Point.
Everything
out of joint with the loss of the ponies, but mercifully with
all
the party alive and well.
Saturday, March 4, A.M
We had a terrible pull at the start
yesterday, taking four hours to cover some three miles to march
on the
line between Safety Camp and Fodder Depot. From there Bowers
went to
Safety Camp and found my notes to Evans had been taken. We
dragged on
after lunch to the place where my tent had been pitched when
Wilson
first met me and where we had left our ski and other loads. All
these
had gone. We found sledge tracks leading in towards the land and
at length marks of a pony's hoofs. We followed these and some
ski
tracks right into the land, coming at length to the highest of
the
Pram Point ridges. I decided to camp here, and as we unpacked I
saw
four figures approaching. They proved to be Evans and his party.
They
had ascended towards Castle Rock on Friday and found a good camp
site
on top of the Ridge. They were in good condition. It was a
relief
to hear they had found a good road up. They went back to their
camp
later, dragging one of our sledges and a light load. Atkinson is
to
go to Hut Point this morning to tell Wilson about us. The rest
ought
to meet us and help us up the hill--just off to march up the
hill,
hoping to avoid trouble with the pony. 14
Sunday, March 5, A.M
Marched up the hill to Evans' Camp
under
Castle Rock. Evans' party came to meet us and helped us up with
the
loads--it was a steep, stiff pull; the pony was led up by Oates.
As
we camped for lunch Atkinson and Gran appeared, the former
having
been to Hut Point to carry news of the relief. I sent Gran on to
Safety Camp to fetch some sugar and chocolate, left Evans,
Oates, and
Keohane in camp, and marched on with remaining six to Hut Point.
It
was calm at Evans' Camp, but blowing hard on the hill and harder
at
Hut Point. Found the hut in comparative order and slept there.
CHAPTER
VII - AT DISCOVERY HUT