CHAPTER XXV
ON THE GREAT GLACIER
The morning of December 5 saw us breaking camp at eight o'clock, and proceeding south down an icy slope to the main glacier. Soon, however, the ice slope gave place to a snow slope, and after a time the snow was replaced by blue ice split by so many cracks and crevasses that it was impossible for Socks to continue to drag the sledge without our risking his life in one of the many holes.
Snow-blindness was still troubling me so much that I stayed in camp after lunch was over, while Marshall and Adams went on to spy out a good route for us to follow. They found that there was more cracked-up blue ice ahead of us, and—what was much more remarkable—they also discovered a bird, brown in colour with a white line under each wing, which had flown just over their heads and had disappeared to the south.
Such an incident was wonderfully strange in latitude 83° 40′ south, and what this bird was I am unable to say, for both Adams and Marshall were sure that it was not a skua-gull, which was the only bird I could imagine venturing so far south.
Our camp for that night was pitched under a wonderful pillar of granite, and as pieces of granite, from the size of a hazel-nut to great boulders weighing thirty tons or more, were lying all around, we felt that at any moment a great piece of rock might come hurtling upon us. On one snow slope, indeed, we could see the fresh track of a fallen rock, but as it was impossible to spread a tent on the blue ice we were compelled to camp, for half a mile of crevassed ice lay between us and the snow slope to the south-south-west, and we were too tired to march any farther.
We left a depot at this spot, and then, refreshed by sleep, we divided up our load and managed to get the whole lot over the crevasses in three journeys.
But it was an awful job, for every step was a venture, and one felt that at any moment our journey towards the Pole might come to a permanent close. Having, however, succeeded in crossing this particularly dangerous half-mile, my companions (leaving me to rest with one eye entirely blocked up by snow-blindness) went back for Socks, and early in the afternoon we were once more camped upon snow. During the rest of that day we had a wonderful view of the mountains which rose up in peaks and ranges, but the going was exceedingly heavy and our progress was consequently very slow.
He, however, who hopes to go into the unexplored spots of the world must harden himself to labour, and find causes for cheerfulness in conditions which are at the best only comparatively cheering. For instance, on the following afternoon we were congratulating ourselves that if the crevasses were as frequent as ever, the light, at any rate, was better than it had been during the morning, when suddenly we heard a shout of "Help" from Wild, who was following us with Socks.
Stopping immediately, we rushed to his assistance, and saw the pony sledge with the forward end down a crevasse, and Wild reaching out from the side of the gulf and hanging on to the sledge. There was no sign whatever of Socks, and Wild's escape was simply miraculous.
He had been following our tracks, which passed over a crevasse entirely covered with snow, when the weight of the pony had broken through the snow crust and in a second all was over. Wild told us that he felt a sort of rushing wind, that the leading rope was snatched from his hand, and that he put out his arms and just caught the further edge of the chasm.
Fortunately for Wild and for us, Socks's weight snapped the swingle-tree of the sledge, so it was saved though the upper bearer was broken.
We lay down on our stomachs and looked into the gulf, but no sound or sign came to us; we seemed to be gazing down into a black bottomless pit.
Poor Socks was gone beyond recall, but if ever men had cause for gratitude we had in Wild's escape, and in the saving of the sledge. If the sledge had gone we should have been left with only two sleeping-bags for the four of us, and with such a short equipment we could scarcely have even got back to winter quarters. As it was, the loss of Socks was a most serious loss to us, because we had counted upon his meat, but all we could do was to take on the maize so that we could eat it ourselves.
Crevasses and pits of unknown depth continued to beset us, and with 250 lb. per man to haul we naturally could not march at any great rate; indeed, our anxiety to find a level and inland ice-sheet, so that we could increase our speed, was terrific.
Falls, bruises, cut shins, crevasses, razor-edged ice, and heavy upward pulls were the sum of our days' trials, not interesting subjects for conversation when the night found us in camp; but, as a matter of fact, our talk was mainly about food and the things we would like to eat. To show how hungry we were, I have only to mention that by December 9 we were all looking forward to Christmas Day, for then, whatever happened, we were resolved to be full of food. On the tenth, after a day's strenuous fight with the glacier, we camped under a mountain which we named the "Cloud-Maker," and ground up the balance of the maize between flat stones, so that we might use it to eke out our supply of food.
The method of preparation was as primitive as the food would have been unpalatable to most people, but it was the only way we could make the maize fit to cook without using more oil than we could spare for lengthy boiling.
Critical as our position was, we were cheered by the thought that we were still getting south, but the sledges were being badly damaged by the continual ice-work, and as there were still 340 geographical miles between us and the Pole, we longed for a surface which was a little less like walking over a cucumber-frame. Of all the surfaces on which to travel, none can be more irritating than that of rotten ice through which one's feet are everlastingly breaking.
On such a surface, however, we could make a certain amount of progress, and it was not until December 12 that we met with conditions which reduced our progress for the day to a miserable three miles. Sharp-edge blue ice full of chasms and crevasses, and rising to hills and sinking into gullies, provided us with obstacles unequalled in any polar work for difficulty in travelling. Under such circumstances we had to have recourse to relay work, for we could only take on one sledge at a time, two of us pulling while the others steadied and held the sledge to keep it straight. In this way we advanced for a mile, and then returned over the crevasses and hauled up the other sledges over a surface where often and often a slip meant death.
In such rough-and-tumble work the sledges naturally suffered, and the one with the broken bow frequently striking against hard, sharp ice, pulled us up with a jerk and flung us down. In all our difficulties and dangers, however, we found solace in the thought that the glacier must eventually end and our longed-for plateau be reached.
By December 16 we had crossed nearly one hundred miles of crevassed ice and risen 6000 ft. on the largest glacier in the world, and on the following afternoon we burned our boats behind us as regards warm clothing, and made a depot of everything except the barest necessities. But relay work still hampered our progress towards our goal, and no thirsty man ever longed for water with more eagerness than we longed for the plateau and the end of that vast glacier.