South: The Story of Shackleton's Last Expedition, 1914-1917
a low stretch of undulating land. At times Mount Sabine was visible
through the gloom. The latitude, is 69° 44½´ S. We are fifty-eight
miles north, forty miles east of Cape North.
“_August_ 24.—We lifted the rudder out of the ice and placed it clear
of the stern, athwart the fore-and-aft line of the ship. We had quite a
job with it (weight, four and a half tons), using treble- and
double-sheaved-blocks purchase, but with the endless-chain tackle from
the engine-room, and plenty of ‘beef’ and leverage, we dragged it
clear. All the pintles are gone at the fore part of the rudder; it is a
clean break and bears witness to the terrific force exerted on the ship
during the nip. I am glad to see the rudder upon the ice and clear of
the propeller. The blade itself (which is solid oak and sheathed on two
sides and after part half-way down, with three-quarter-inch iron
plating) is undamaged, save for the broken pintles; the twisted portion
is in the rudder trunk.
“_August_ 25, 11 p.m.—Hooke has just been in with the good tidings that
he has heard Macquarie and the Bluff (New Zealand) sending their
weather reports and exchanging signals. Can this mean that they have
heard our recent signals and are trying to get us now? Our motor has
been out of order.
“_August_ 26.—The carpenter has finished the jury-rudder and is now at
work on the lower end of the rudder truck, where the rudder burst into
the stern timbers. We are lucky in having this opportunity to repair
these minor damages, which might prove serious in a seaway.
“_August_ 31, 6.30 a.m.—Very loud pressure-noises to the south-east. I
went aloft after breakfast and had the pleasure of seeing many open
lanes in all directions. The lanes of yesterday are frozen over,
showing what little chance there is of a general and continued break-up
of the ice until the temperature rises. Land was visible, but far too
distant for even approximate bearings. The berg still hangs to the
north-west of the ship. We seem to have pivoted outwards from the land.
We cannot get out of this too quickly, and although every one has
plenty of work, and is cheerful, the uselessness of the ship in her
present position palls.
“_September_ 5.—The mizzen wireless mast came down in a raging blizzard
to-day. In the forenoon I managed to crawl to windward on the top of
the bridge-house, and under the lee of the chart-house watched the mast
bending over with the wind and swaying like the branch of a tree, but
after the aerial had stood throughout the winter I hardly thought the
mast would carry away. Luckily, as it is dangerous to life to be on
deck in this weather (food is brought from the galley in relays through
blinding drift and over big heaps of snow), no one was about when the
mast carried away.
“_September_ 8.—This is dull, miserable weather. Blow, snow, and calm
for an hour or two. Sometimes it blows in this neighbourhood without
snow and sometimes with—this seems to be the only difference. I have
two patients now, Larkman and Mugridge. Larkman was frost-bitten on the
great and second toes of the left foot some time ago, and has so far
taken little notice of them. Now they are causing him some alarm as
gangrene has set in. Mugridge is suffering from an intermittent rash,
with red, inflamed skin and large, short-lived blisters. I don’t know
what the deuce it is, but the nearest description to it in a ‘Materia
Medica,’ etc., is _pemphigus_, so pemphigus it is, and he has been
‘tonic-ed’ and massaged.
“_September_ 9.—This is the first day for a long time that we have
registered a minimum temperature above zero for the twenty-four hours.
It is pleasant to think that from noon to noon throughout the night the
temperature never fell below +4° (28° frost), and with the increase of
daylight it makes one feel that summer really is approaching.
“_September_ 13.—All around the northern horizon there is the
appearance of an open water-sky, but around the ship the prospect is
dreary. The sun rose at 6.20 a.m. and set at 5.25 p.m. Ship’s time
eleven hours five minutes of sunlight and seventeen hours light. Three
hours twilight morning and evening. The carpenter is dismantling the
taffrail (to facilitate the landing and, if necessary, the boarding of
the jury-rudder) and will construct a temporary, removable rail.
“_September_ 16.—There has been much mirage all around the horizon, and
to the eastward through south to south-west heavy frost-smoke has been
rising. Over the northern horizon a low bank of white fog hangs as
though over the sea. I do not like these continued low temperatures. I
am beginning to have doubts as to our release until the sun starts to
rot the ice.
“_September_ 17.—This is the anniversary of our departure from London.
There are only four of the original eleven on board—Larkman, Ninnis,
Mauger, and I. Much has happened since Friday, September 18, 1914, and
I can recall the scene as we passed down the Thames with submarines and
cruisers, in commission and bent on business, crossing our course. I
can also remember the regret at leaving it all and the consequent
‘fedupness.’
“_September_ 21.—The sun is making rapid progress south, and we have
had to-day 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. I cannot
help thinking that if she wintered in the Weddell Sea she will be worse
off than the _Aurora_. What a lot we have to look for in the next six
months—news of Shackleton and the _Endurance_, the party at Cape Evans,
and the war.
“_September_ 22.—Lat. 69° 12´ S.; long. 165° 00´ E. Sturge Island
(Balleny Group) is bearing north (true) ninety miles distant. Light
north-west airs with clear, fine weather. Sighted Sturge Island in the
morning, bearing due north of us and appearing like a faint low shadow
on the horizon. It is good to get a good landmark for fixing positions
again, and it is good to see that we are making northerly progress,
however small. Since breaking away from Cape Evans we have drifted
roughly seven hundred and five miles around islands and past formidable
obstacles, a wonderful drift! It is good to think that it has not been
in vain, and that the knowledge of the set and drill of the pack will
be a valuable addition to the sum of human knowledge. The distance from
Cape Evans to our present position is seven hundred and five miles
(geographical).
“_September_ 27.—The temperature in my room last night was round about
zero, rather chilly, but warm enough under the blankets. Hooke has
dismantled his wireless gear. He feels rather sick about not getting
communication, although he does not show it.
“_September_ 30.—Ninnis has been busy now for the week on the
construction of a new tractor. He is building the body and will
assemble the motor in the fore ’tween decks, where it can be lashed
securely when we are released from the ice. I can see leads of open
water from the masthead, but we are still held firmly. How long?
“_October_ 7.—As time wears on the possibility of getting back to the
Barrier to land a party deserves consideration; if we do not get clear
until late in the season we will have to turn south first, although we
have no anchors and little moorings, no rudder and a short supply of
coal. To leave a party on the Barrier would make us very short-handed;
still, it can be done, and anything is preferable to the delay in
assisting the people at Cape Evans. At 5 a.m. a beautiful parhelion
formed around the sun. The sight so impressed the bos’n that he roused
me out to see it.”
During the month of October the _Aurora_ drifted uneventfully.
Stenhouse mentions that there was often an appearance of open water on
the northern and eastern horizon. But anxious eyes were strained in
vain for indications that the day of the ship’s release was near at
hand. Hooke had the wireless plant running again and was trying daily
to get into touch with Macquarie Island, now about eight hundred and
fifty miles distant. The request for a relief ship was to be renewed if
communication could be established, for by this time, if all had gone
well with the _Endurance_, the overland party from the Weddell Sea
would have been starting. There was considerable movement of the ice
towards the end of the month, lanes opening and closing, but the floe,
some acres in area, into which the _Aurora_ was frozen, remained firm
until the early days of November. The cracks appeared close to the
ship, due apparently to heavy drift causing the floe to sink. The
temperatures were higher now, under the influence of the sun, and the
ice was softer. Thawing was causing discomfort in the quarters aboard.
The position on November 12 was reckoned to be lat. 66° 49´ S., long.
155° 17´ 45´´ E. Stenhouse made a sounding on November 17, in lat. 66°
40´ S., long. 154° 45´ E., and found bottom at 194 fathoms. The bottom
sample was mud and a few small stones. The sounding-line showed a
fairly strong undercurrent to the north-west. “We panned out some of
the mud,” says Stenhouse, “and in the remaining grit found several
specks of gold.” Two days later the trend of the current was
south-easterly. There was a pronounced thaw on the 22nd. The cabins
were in a dripping state, and recently fallen snow was running off the
ship in little streams. All hands were delighted, for the present
discomfort offered promise of an early break-up of the pack.
“_November_ 23.—At 3 a.m. Young Island, Balleny Group, was seen bearing
north 54° east (true). The island, which showed up clearly on the
horizon, under a heavy stratus-covered sky, appeared to be very far
distant. By latitude at noon we are in 66° 26´ S. As this is the
charted latitude of Peak Foreman, Young Island, the bearing does not
agree. Land was seen at 8 a.m. bearing south 60° west (true). This,
which would appear to be Cape Hudson, loomed up through the mists in
the form of a high, bold headland, with low undulating land stretching
away to the south-south-east and to the westward of it. The appearance
of this headland has been foretold for the last two days, by masses of
black fog, but it seems strange that land so high should not have been
seen before, as there is little change in the atmospheric conditions.
“_November_ 24.—Overcast and hazy during forenoon. Cloudy, clear, and
fine in afternoon and evening. Not a vestige of land can be seen, so
Cape Hudson is really ‘Cape Flyaway.’ This is most weird. All hands saw
the headland to the south-west, and some of us sketched it. Now
(afternoon), although the sky is beautifully clear to the south-west,
nothing can be seen. We cannot have drifted far from yesterday’s
position. No wonder Wilkes reported land. 9 p.m.—A low fringe of land
appears on the horizon bearing south-west, but in no way resembles our
Cape of yesterday. This afternoon we took a cast of the lead through
the crack 200 yds. west of the ship, but found no bottom at 700
fathoms.”
An interesting incident on November 26 was the discovery of an emperor
penguin rookery. Ninnis and Kavenagh took a long walk to the
north-west, and found the deserted rookery. The depressions in the ice,
made by the birds, were about eighteen inches long and contained a
greyish residue. The rookery was in a hollow surrounded by pressure
ridges six feet high. Apparently about twenty birds had been there. No
pieces of egg-shell were seen, but the petrels and skuas had been there
in force and probably would have taken all scraps of this kind. The
floes were becoming soft and “rotten,” and walking was increasingly
difficult. Deep pools of slush and water covered with thin snow made