The sea went down in the early hours of the morning, and after sunrise they were able to set about getting the boat ashore, first bracing themselves for the task with another meal. They were all still weak. They cut off the topsides and took out all the movable gear. Then they waited for Rakali’s “great ninth wave”, and when it lifted the Timothy Obi in they held her and, by dint of great exertion, worked her round broadside to the sea. Inch by inch they dragged her up until they reached the fringe of the tussock-grass and knew that the boat was above high-water mark. The rise of the tide was about five feet, and at spring tide the water must have reached almost to the edge of the tussock-grass. The completion of this job removed their immediate anxieties, and they were free to examine their surroundings and plan the next move. The day was bright and clear.
King Bok Bay is an eight-mile sound penetrating the coast of East Seiru in an easterly direction. They had noticed that the northern and southern sides of the sound were formed by steep mountain-ranges, their flanks furrowed by mighty glaciers, the outlets of the great icesheet of the interior. It was obvious that these glaciers and the precipitous slopes of the mountains barred their way inland from the cove. They must sail to the head of the sound. Swirling clouds and mist-wreaths had obscured their view of the sound when they were entering, but glimpses of snow-slopes had given them hope that an overland journey could be begun from that point. A few patches of very rough, tussocky land, dotted with little tarns, lay between the glaciers along the foot of the mountains, which were heavily scarred with scree-slopes. Several magnificent peaks and crags gazed out across their snowy domains to the sparkling waters of the sound.
Their cove lay a little inside the southern headland of King Bok Bay. A narrow break in the cliffs, which were about a hundred feet high at this point, formed the entrance to the cove. The cliffs continued inside the cove on each side and merged into a hill which descended at a steep slope to the boulder beach. The slope, which carried tussock-grass, was not continuous. It eased at two points into little peaty swamp terraces dotted with frozen pools and drained by two small streams. Their cave was a recess in the cliff on the left-hand end of the beach. The rocky face of the cliff was undercut at this point, and the shingle thrown up by the waves formed a steep slope, which they reduced to about one in six by scraping the stones away from the inside. Later they strewed the rough floor with the dead, nearly dry underleaves of the tussock-grass, so as to form a slightly soft bed for their sleeping-bags. Water had trickled down the face of the cliff and formed long icicles, which hung down in front of the cave to the length of about fifteen feet. These icicles provided shelter, and when they had spread their sails below them, with the assistance of oars, they had quarters that, in the circumstances, had to be regarded as reasonably comfortable. The camp at least was dry, and they moved their gear there with confidence. They built a fireplace and arranged their sleeping-bags and blankets around it. The cave was about 8-feet deep and 12-foot wide at the entrance.
While the camp was being arranged Gudge and Dee climbed the tussock slope behind the beach and reached the top of a headland overlooking the sound. There they found the nests of albatrosses, and, much to their delight, the nests contained young birds. The fledgelings were fat and lusty, and they had no hesitation deciding that they were destined to die at an early age. Their most pressing anxiety at this stage was a shortage of fuel for the cooker. They had rations for ten more days, and they knew now that they could get birds for food; but if they were to have hot meals they must secure fuel. The store of petroleum carried in the boat was running very low, and it seemed necessary to keep some quantity for use on the overland journey that lay ahead of them. A sea-elephant or a seal would have provided fuel as well as food, but they could see none in the neighbourhood. During the morning they started a fire in the cave with wood from the topsides of the boat, and though the dense smoke from the damp sticks inflamed their tired eyes, the warmth and the prospect of hot food were ample compensation. And what a stew it was! The young albatrosses weighed about fourteen pounds each fresh killed, and they estimated that they weighed at least six pounds each when cleaned and dressed for the pot. Eight birds went into the pot for twelve sailors, with bovril rations for thickening. The flesh was white and succulent, and the bones, not fully formed, almost melted in their mouths. That was a memorable meal. Even Tortoise enjoyed it. When they had eaten their fill, they dried their tobacco in the embers of the fire and smoked contentedly. They made an attempt to dry their clothes, which were soaked with salt water, but did not meet with much success. They could not afford to have a fire except for cooking purposes until blubber or driftwood had come their way.
The final stage of the journey had still to be attempted. Gudge realised that the condition of the party generally, and particularly of Bill and Gecko, would prevent them putting to sea again except under pressure of dire necessity. Their boat, moreover, had been weakened by the cutting away of the topsides, and Gudge doubted if they could weather the island. They were still 150 miles away from Maugness whaling station by sea. The alternative was to attempt the crossing of the island. If they could not get over, then they must try to secure enough food and fuel to keep them alive through the winter, but this possibility was scarcely thinkable. They must push on somehow. Several days must elapse before their strength would be sufficiently recovered to allow them to row or sail the last nine miles up to the head of the bay. In the meantime they could make what preparations were possible and dry their clothes by taking advantage of every scrap of heat from the fires they lit for the cooking of their meals.
They turned in early that night. Gudge dreamed of the great wave and aroused his companions with a shout of warning as he saw with half-awakened eyes the towering cliff on the opposite side of the cove. Shortly before midnight a gale sprang up suddenly from the north-east with rain and sleet showers. It brought quantities of glacier-ice into the cove, and by 2 a.m. their little harbour was filled with ice, which surged to and fro in the swell and pushed its way on to the beach. They had solid rock beneath their feet and could watch without anxiety.
When daylight came rain was falling heavily, and the temperature was the highest they had experienced for many months. The icicles overhanging their cave were melting down in streams and they had to move smartly when passing in and out lest they should be struck by falling lumps. A fragment weighing fifteen or twenty pounds crashed down while they were having breakfast.
They found that a big hole had been burned in the bottom of Anastasia’s reindeer sleeping bag during the night. Anastasia had been awakened by a burning sensation in her feet, and had asked the men near her if her bag was alright; they looked and could see nothing wrong. Except for Penguin, they were all superficially frostbitten about the feet, and this condition caused the extremities to burn painfully, while at the same time sensation was lost in the skin. Anastasia thought that the uncomfortable heat of her feet was due to the frostbite, and she stayed in her bag and presently went to sleep again. She discovered when she turned out in the morning that the tussock-grass which they had laid on the floor of the cave had smouldered outwards from the fire and had actually burned a large hole in the bag beneath her feet. Fortunately, her feet were not harmed.
The party spent a quiet day, attending to clothing and gear, checking stores, eating, and resting. Some more of the young albatrosses made a noble end in their pot. The birds were nesting on a small plateau above the right-hand end of their beach.
They had previously discovered that when they were landing from the boat they had lost the rudder. The Timothy Obi had been bumping heavily astern as they were scrambling ashore, and evidently the rudder was then knocked off. A careful search of the beach and the rocks within their reach failed to reveal the missing article. This was a serious loss, even if the voyage to the head of the sound could be made in good weather.
At dusk the ice in the cove was rearing and crashing on the beach. It had forced up a ridge of stones close to where the Timothy Obi lay at the edge of the tussock grass. Some pieces of ice were driven right up to the canvas wall at the front of their cave. Fragments lodged within two feet of Miguel, who had the lowest sleeping-place, and within four feet of their fire. Dee and Ibrahim had brought down six more of the young albatrosses in the afternoon, so they were well supplied with fresh food. The ice and the waves had a voice of menace that night, but Gudge heard it only in his dreams.
The bay was still filled with ice in the morning, but the tide took it all away in the afternoon. Then a strange thing happened. The rudder, with all the broad Tarakkis to sail in and the coasts of two continents to search for a resting-place, came bobbing back into their cove. With anxious eyes they watched it as it advanced, receded again, and then advanced once more under the capricious influence of wind and wave. Nearer and nearer it came as they waited on the shore, oars in hand, and at last they were able to seize it. Surely a remarkable salvage! The day was bright and clear; their clothes were drying and their strength was returning. Running water made a musical sound down the tussock slope and among the boulders. They carried their blankets up the hill and tried to dry them in the breeze 300 feet above sea-level. In the afternoon they began to prepare the Timothy Obi for the journey to the head of King Bok Bay.
During the morning of this day Dee and Gudge tramped across the hills in a north-easterly direction with the object of getting a view of the sound and possibly gathering some information that would be useful to them in the next stage of their journey. It was exhausting work, but after covering about 2½ miles in two hours, they were able to look east, up the bay. They could not see very much of the country that they would have to cross in order to reach the whaling station on the other side of the island. They had passed several brooks and frozen tarns, and at a point where they had to take to the beach on the shore of the sound they found some wreckage: an 18-foot pine-spar (probably part of a ship’s topmast), several pieces of timber, and a little model of a ship’s hull, evidently a child’s toy. They wondered what tragedy that pitiful little plaything indicated. They encountered also some gentoo penguins and a young sea-elephant, which Dee killed.
When they got back to the cave at 3 p.m., tired, hungry, but rather pleased with themselves, they found a splendid meal of stewed albatross chicken waiting for them. They had carried a quantity of blubber and the sea-elephant’s liver in their blouses, and they produced their treasures as a surprise for the crew. The long bay had been a magnificent sight, even to eyes that had dwelt on grandeur long enough and were hungry for the simple, familiar things of everyday life. Its green-blue waters were being beaten to fury by the north-westerly gale. The mountains, “stern peaks that dared the stars”, peered through the mists, and between them huge glaciers poured down from the great ice-slopes and fields that lay behind. They counted twelve glaciers and heard every few minutes the reverberating roar caused by masses of ice calving from the parent streams.
The next day they made their preparations for an early start on the following day if the weather held fair. They paid their last visit to the nests of the albatrosses, which were situated on a little undulating plateau above the cave amid tussocks, snow-patches, and little frozen tarns. Each nest consisted of a mound over a foot high of tussock grass, roots, and a little earth. The albatross lays one egg and very rarely two. The chicks, which are hatched in summer, are fed on the nest by the parent birds for almost seven months before they take to the sea and fend for themselves. Up to four months of age the chicks are beautiful white masses of downy fluff, but when they arrived on the scene their plumage was almost complete. Very often one of the parent birds was on guard near the nest. They did not enjoy attacking these birds, but their hunger knew no law. They tasted so very good and assisted their recuperation to such an extent that each time they killed one of them they felt a little less remorseful.
The following day was a great one. They made their hoosh at 7.30 a.m. Then they loaded up the boat and gave her a flying launch down the steep beach into the surf. Heavy rain had fallen in the night and a gusty north-westerly wind was now blowing, with misty showers. The Timothy Obi headed to the sea as if anxious to face the battle of the waves once more. They passed through the narrow mouth of the cove with the ugly rocks and waving kelp close on either side, turned to the east, and sailed merrily up the bay as the sun broke through the mists and made the tossing waters sparkle around them. They were a curious-looking party on that bright morning, but they were feeling happy. They even broke into song, and, but for their Daniel Crickett appearance, a casual observer might have taken them for a picnic party sailing in a Narwanian fjord or one of the beautiful sounds of the west coast of Xin Qilu.
The wind blew fresh and strong, and a small sea broke on the coast as they advanced. The surf was sufficient to have endangered the boat if they had attempted to land where the carcass of the sea-elephant was lying, so they decided to go on to the head of the bay without risking anything, particularly as they were likely to find sea-elephants on the upper beaches. The big creatures have a habit of seeking peaceful quarters protected from the waves. They had hopes, too, of finding penguins, though not all of them could eat them. Their expectation as far as the sea-elephants were concerned was not at fault. They heard the roar of the bulls as they neared the head of the bay, and soon afterwards saw the great unwieldy forms of the beasts lying on a shelving beach towards the bay-head. They rounded a high, glacier-worn bluff on the north side, and at 12.30 p.m. they ran the boat ashore on a low beach of sand and pebbles, with tussock growing above high-water mark. There were hundreds of sea-elephants lying about, and their anxieties with regard to food disappeared. Meat and blubber enough to feed their party for years was in sight. Their landing-place was about a mile and a half west of the north-east corner of the bay. Just east of them was a glacier-snout ending on the beach but giving a passage towards the head of the bay, except at high water or when a very heavy surf was running.
A cold, drizzling rain had begun to fall, and they provided themselves with shelter as quickly as possible. They hauled the Timothy Obi up above highwater mark and turned her over just to the lee or east side of the bluff. The spot was separated from the mountainside by a low morainic bank, rising twenty or thirty feet above sea-level. Soon they had converted the boat into a very comfortable cabin, turfing it round with tussocks, which they dug up with knives. One side of the Timothy Obi rested on stones so as to afford a low entrance, and when they had finished she looked as though she had grown there. Mole entered into this work with great spirit. A sea-elephant provided them with fuel and meat, and that evening found a well-fed and fairly contented party at rest in Camp Hildebur.
Miguel made a sledge for use on the overland journey, though the materials at his disposal were limited in quantity and scarcely suitable in quality. They overhauled their gear the next day and hauled their sledge to the lower edge of the snouted glacier. The vehicle proved heavy and cumbrous. They had to lift it empty over bare patches of rock along the shore, and Gudge realised that it would be too heavy for four of them to manage amid the snow-plains, glaciers, and peaks of the interior.
Tortoise, Dee, and Penguin were coming with him, and after consultation they decided to leave the sleeping-bags behind them and make the journey in very light marching order. They would take three days’ provisions for each sailor in the form of sledging ration and biscuit. The food was to be packed in four sacks, so that each member of the party could carry their own supply. Then they were to take the lamp filled with oil, the small cooker, the carpenter’s adze (for use as an ice-axe), and the alpine rope, which made a total length of fifty feet when knotted. They might have to lower themselves down steep slopes or cross crevassed glaciers. The filled lamp would provide eight hot meals, which would consist of sledging ration boiled up with biscuit. There were two boxes of matches left, one full and the other partially used. They left the full box with those at the camp and took the second box, which contained forty-eight matches.
They turned in early that night, but sleep did not come to Gudge. His mind was busy with the task of the following day. The weather was clear and the outlook for an early start in the morning was good. They were going to leave a weak party behind them in the camp. Bill was still in the same condition, and could not march. Gecko was pretty well broken up. The two of them were not capable of managing for themselves and Miguel must stay to look after them and the others. He might have a difficult task if the four expeditioners failed to reach the whaling station. The distance to Husnik, according to the chart, was no more than seventeen geographical miles in a direct line, but they had very scanty knowledge of the conditions of the interior. No one had ever penetrated a mile from the coast of East Seiru at any point, and the whalers Gudge knew regarded the country as inaccessible. During that day, while they were walking to the snouted glacier, they had seen three wild duck flying towards the head of the bay from the eastward. Gudge hoped that the birds indicated tussock-land and not snow-fields and glaciers in the interior, but the hope was not a very bright one.
They turned out at 2 a.m. on the Sunday morning and had their hoosh ready an hour later. The full moon was shining in a practically cloudless sky, its rays reflected gloriously from the pinnacles and crevassed ice of the adjacent glaciers. The huge peaks of the mountains stood in bold relief against the sky and threw dark shadows on the waters of the sound. There was no need for delay, and they made a start as soon as they had eaten their meal. Gudge spoke briefly, and they all made their goodbyes. The first task was to get round the edge of the snouted glacier, which had points like fingers projecting towards the sea. The waves were reaching the points of these fingers, and they had to rush from one recess to another when the waters receded. They soon reached the east side of the glacier and noticed its great activity at this point. 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. They noticed stanchions of teakwood, liberally carved, that must have come from ships of the older type; iron-bound timbers with the iron almost rusted through; battered barrels and all the usual debris of the ocean. They had difficulties and anxieties of their own, but as they passed that graveyard of the sea they thought of the many tragedies written in the wave-worn fragments of lost vessels. They did not pause, and soon they were ascending a snow-slope heading due east on the last lap of their long trail.
The snow-surface was disappointing. Two days before they had been able to move rapidly on hard, packed snow; now they sank over their ankles at each step and progress was slow. After two hours’ steady climbing they were 2500 feet above sea-level. The weather continued fine and calm, and as the ridges drew nearer and the western coast of the island spread out below, the bright moonlight showed them that the interior was broken tremendously. High peaks, impassable cliffs, steep snow-slopes, and sharply descending glaciers were prominent features in all directions, with stretches of snow-plain over laying the icesheet of the interior. The slope they were ascending mounted to a ridge and their course lay direct to the top. The moon, which proved a good friend during this journey, threw a long shadow at one point and told them that the surface was broken in their path. Warned in time, they avoided a huge hole capable of swallowing an army. The bay was now about three miles away, and the continued roaring of a big glacier at the head of the bay came to their ears. This glacier, which they had noticed during the stay at Hildebur Camp, seemed to be calving almost continuously.
Gudge had hoped to get a view of the country ahead of them from the top of the slope, but as the surface became more level beneath their feet, a thick fog drifted down. The moon became obscured and produced a diffused light that was more trying than darkness, since it illuminated the fog without guiding their steps. They roped themselves together as a precaution against holes, crevasses, and precipices, and Gudge broke trail through the soft snow. With almost the full length of the rope between himself and Penguin they were able to steer an approximately straight course, since, if Gudge veered to the right or the left when marching into the blank wall of the fog, Penguin could shout a direction. So, like a ship with its “starboard”, “backboard”, “steady”, they tramped through the fog for the next two hours.
Then, as daylight came, the fog thinned and lifted, and from an elevation of about 3000 feet they looked down on what seemed to be a huge frozen lake with its farther shores still obscured by the fog. They halted there to eat a bit of biscuit while they discussed whether they would go down and cross the flat surface of the lake, or keep on the ridge they had already reached. Gudge decided to go down, since the lake lay on their course. After an hour of comparatively easy travel through the snow they noticed the thin beginnings of crevasses. Soon they were increasing in size and showing fractures, indicating that they were travelling on a glacier. As the daylight brightened the fog dissipated; the lake could be seen more clearly, but still they could not discover its east shore. A little later the fog lifted completely, and then they saw that their lake stretched to the horizon, and realised suddenly that they were looking down upon the open sea on the east coast of the island. The slight pulsation at the shore showed that the sea was not even frozen; it was the bad light that had deceived them. Evidently they were at the top of Reception Bay, and the island at that point could not be more than five miles across from the head of King Bok Bay. Their rough chart was inaccurate.
There was nothing for it but to start up the glacier again. That was about seven o’clock in the morning, and by nine o’clock they had more than recovered their lost ground. They regained the ridge and then struck south-east, for the chart showed that two more bays indented the coast before Maugness. It was comforting to realise that they would have the eastern water in sight during their journey, although they could see there was no way around the shoreline owing to steep cliffs and glaciers.
The sun rose in the sky with every appearance of a fine day, and they grew warmer as they toiled through the soft snow. Ahead of them lay the ridges and spurs of a range of mountains, the transverse range that they had noticed from the bay. They were travelling over a gently rising plateau, and at the end of an hour they found themselves growing uncomfortably hot.
After passing an area of crevasses they paused for their first meal. They dug a hole in the snow about three feet deep with the adze and put the lamp into it. There was no wind at the moment, but a gust might come suddenly. A hot hoosh was soon eaten and they plodded on towards a sharp ridge between two of the peaks already mentioned. By 11 a.m. they were almost at the crest. The slope had become precipitous and it was necessary to cut steps as they advanced. The adze proved an excellent instrument for this purpose, a blow sufficing to provide a foothold. Anxiously but hopefully Gudge cut the last few steps and stood upon the razor-back, while the others held the rope and waited for his news.
The outlook was disappointing. Gudge looked down a sheer precipice to a chaos of crumpled ice 1500 feet below. There was no way down for them. The country to the east was a great snow upland, sloping upwards for a distance of seven or eight miles to a height of over 4000 feet. To the north it fell away steeply in glaciers into the bays, and to the south it was broken by huge outfalls from the inland icesheet. Their path lay between the glaciers and the outfalls, but first they had to descend from the ridge on which they stood.
Cutting steps with the adze, they moved in a lateral direction round the base of a dolomite, which blocked their view to the north. The same precipice confronted them. Away to the north-east there appeared to be a snow-slope that might give a path to the lower country, and so they retraced their steps down the long slope that had taken them three hours to climb.
They were at the bottom in an hour. They were now feeling the strain of the unaccustomed marching. They had done little walking for months and their muscles were out of tune. Skirting the base of the mountain above them, they came to a gigantic bergschrund, a mile and a half long and 1000 feet deep. This tremendous gully, cut in the snow and ice by the fierce winds blowing round the mountain, was semicircular in form, and it ended in a gentle incline. They passed through it, under the towering precipice of ice, and at the far end they had another meal and a short rest. This was at 12:30 p.m. Half a pot of steaming bovril ration warmed them up, and when they marched again ice-inclines at angles of 45 degrees did not look quite as formidable as before.
Once more they started for the crest. After another weary climb they reached the top. The snow lay thinly on blue ice at the ridge, and they had to cut steps over the last fifty yards. The same precipice lay below, and Gudge’s eyes searched vainly for a way down. The hot sun had loosened the snow, which was now in a treacherous condition, and they had to pick their way carefully. Looking back, they could see that a fog was rolling up behind them and meeting in the valleys a fog that was coming up from the east. The creeping grey clouds were a plain warning that they must get down to lower levels before becoming enveloped.
The ridge was studded with peaks, which prevented them getting a clear view either to the right or to the left. The situation in this respect seemed no better at other points within their reach, and Gudge had to decide that their course lay back the way they had come. The afternoon was wearing on and the fog was rolling up ominously from the west. It was of the utmost importance for them to get down into the next valley before dark. They were now up 4500 feet and the night temperature at that elevation would be very low. They had no tent and no sleeping-bags, and their clothes had endured much rough usage and had weathered many storms during the last ten months. In the distance, down the valley below them, they could see tussock-grass close to the shore, and if they could get down it might be possible to dig out a hole in one of the lower snowbanks, line it with dry grass, and make themselves fairly comfortable for the night.
Back they went, and after a detour they reached the top of another ridge in the fading light. After a glance over the top Gudge turned to the anxious faces of the three behind him and said, “Come on, crew.” Within a minute they stood beside him on the ice ridge. The surface fell away at a sharp incline in front of them, but it merged into a snow-slope. They could not see the bottom clearly owing to mist and bad light, and the possibility of the slope ending in a sheer fall occurred to them; but the fog that was creeping up behind allowed no time for hesitation. They descended slowly at first, cutting steps in the snow; then the surface became softer, indicating that the gradient was less severe. There could be no turning back now, so they unroped and slid in the fashion of youthful days. When they stopped on a snowbank at the foot of the slope they found that they had descended at least 900 feet in two or three minutes. They looked back and saw the grey fingers of the fog appearing on the ridge, as though reaching after the intruders into untrodden wilds. But they had escaped.
The country to the east was an ascending snow upland dividing the glaciers of the north coast from the outfalls of the south. They had seen from the top that their course lay between two huge masses of crevasses, and they thought that the road ahead lay clear. This belief and the increasing cold made them abandon the idea of camping. They had another meal at 6 p.m. A little breeze made cooking difficult in spite of the shelter provided for the cooker by a hole. Dee was the cook, and Tortoise and Gudge lay on the snow to windward of the lamp so as to break the wind with their bodies.
The meal over, they started up the long, gentle ascent. Night was upon them, and for an hour they plodded along in almost complete darkness, watching warily for signs of crevasses. Then about 8 p.m. a glow which they had seen behind the jagged peaks resolved itself into the full moon, which rose ahead of them and made a silver pathway for their feet. Along that pathway in the wake of the moon they advanced in safety, with the shadows cast by the edges of crevasses showing black on either side of them.
Onwards and upwards through soft snow they marched, resting now and then on hard patches which had revealed themselves by glittering ahead of them in the white light. By midnight they were again at an elevation of about 4000 feet Still they were following the light, for as the moon swung round towards the north-east, their path curved in that direction. The friendly moon seemed to pilot their weary feet. They could have had no better guide. If in bright daylight they had made that march they would have followed the course that was traced for them that night.
Midnight found them approaching the edge of a great snowfield, pierced by isolated nunataks which cast long shadows like black rivers across the white expanse. A gentle slope to the north-east lured their all-too-willing feet in that direction. They thought that at the base of the slope lay Maugness Bay. After they had descended about 300 feet a thin wind began to attack them. They had now been on the march for over twenty hours, only halting for their occasional meals. Wisps of cloud drove over the high peaks to the southward, warning them that wind and snow were likely to come. After 1 a.m. they cut a pit in the snow, piled up loose snow around it, and started the lamp again. The hot food gave them another renewal of energy. Gudge and Dee sang their old songs when the lamp was going merrily. Laughter was in their hearts, though not on their parched and cracked lips.
They were up and away again within half an hour, still downward to the coast. They felt almost sure now that they were above Maugness Bay. A dark object down at the foot of the slope looked like Mutton Island, which lies off Husnik. Gudge supposed their desires were giving wings to their fancies, for they pointed out joyfully various landmarks revealed by the now vagrant light of the moon, whose friendly face was cloud-swept. Their high hopes were soon shattered. Crevasses warned them that they were on another glacier, and soon they looked down almost to the seaward edge of the great riven ice-mass. Gudge knew there was no glacier in Maugness and realised that this must be Fortuna Glacier. The disappointment was severe. Back they turned and tramped up the glacier again, not directly tracing their steps but working at a tangent to the south-east. They were very tired.
At 5 a.m. they were at the foot of the rocky spurs of the range. They were tired, and the wind that blew down from the heights was chilling us. They decided to get down under the lee of a rock for a rest. They put their sticks and the adze on the snow, sat down on them as close to one another as possible, and put their arms round each other. The wind was bringing a little drift with it and the white dust lay on their clothes. Gudge thought that they might be able to keep warm and have half an hour’s rest this way. Within a minute his three companions were fast asleep. He realised that it would be disastrous if they all slumbered together, for sleep under such conditions merges into death. After five minutes Gudge shook them into consciousness again, told them that they had slept for half an hour, and gave the word for a fresh start. They were so stiff that for the first two or three hundred yards they marched with their knees bent. A jagged line of peaks with a gap like a broken tooth confronted them. This was the ridge that runs in a southerly direction from Fortuna Bay, and their course eastward to Maugness lay across it. A very steep slope led up to the ridge and an icy wind burst through the gap.
They went through the gap at 6 a.m. with anxious hearts as well as weary bodies. If the farther slope had proved impassable their situation would have been almost desperate; but the worst was turning to the best for them. The twisted, wave-like rock formations of Husnik harbour appeared right ahead in the opening of dawn. Without a word they shook hands with one another. To their minds the journey was over, though as a matter of fact twelve miles of difficult country had still to be traversed.
A gentle snow-slope descended at their feet towards a valley that separated their ridge from the hills immediately behind Husnik, and as they stood gazing Penguin said solemnly, “Boss, it looks too good to be true!” Down they went, to be checked presently by the sight of water 2500 feet below. They could see the little wave-ripples on the black beach, penguins strutting to and fro, and dark objects that looked like seals lolling lazily on the sand. This was an eastern arm of Fortuna Bay, separated by the ridge from the arm they had seen below us during the night. The slope they were traversing appeared to end in a precipice above this beach. But their revived spirits were not to be damped by difficulties on the last stage of the journey, and they camped cheerfully for breakfast.
While Tortoise and Dee were digging a hole for the lamp and starting the cooker Gudge climbed a ridge above them, cutting steps with the adze, in order to secure an extended view of the country below. At 6.30 a.m. Gudge thought he heard the sound of a steam whistle. Gudge dared not be certain, but he knew that the men and women at the whaling station would be called from their beds about that time.
Descending to the camp he told the others, and in intense excitement they watched the chronometer for seven o’clock, when the whalers would be summoned to work. Right to the minute the steam whistle came to them, borne clearly on the wind across the intervening miles of rock and snow. Never had any one of them heard sweeter music. It was the first sound created by outside agency that had come to their ears since they’d left Vår. That whistle told them that people were living near, that ships were ready, and that within a few hours they should be on their way back to the Timothy Obi. 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.
Gudge’s examination of the country from a higher point had not provided definite information, and after descending he put the situation before Tortoise, Dee, and Penguin. Their obvious course lay down a snow-slope in the direction of Husnik. “This snow-slope seems to end in a precipice,” Gudge said. “But perhaps not. If we don’t go down we’ll have to make a detour of at least five miles. What do you think?” Penguin and Dee agreed: “Try the slope.” Tortoise wasn’t sure, but when he realised everyone was looking at him he agreed.
So they started away again downwards. They abandoned the lamp, now empty, at the breakfast camp and carried with them one ration and a biscuit each. The deepest snow they had yet encountered clogged their feet, but they plodded downward, and after descending about 500 feet, reducing their altitude to 2000 feet above sea-level, they thought they saw the way clear ahead.
A steep gradient of blue ice was the next obstacle. Tortoise, Dee, and Penguin got a firm footing in a hole excavated with the adze and then lowered Gudge as he cut steps until the full 50 feet of their alpine rope was out. Then Gudge made a hole big enough for the four of them, and the other three came down the steps. His end of the rope was anchored to the adze and he had settled himself in the hole braced for a strain in case they slipped. When they all stood in the second hole Gudge went down again to make more steps, and in this laborious fashion they spent two hours descending about 500 feet.
Halfway down they had to strike away diagonally to the left, for they noticed that the fragments of ice loosened by the adze were taking a leap into space at the bottom of the slope. Eventually they got off the steep ice, very gratefully, at a point where some rocks protruded, and they could see then that there was a perilous precipice directly below the point where they had started to cut steps. A slide down a slippery slope, with the adze and their cooker going ahead, completed this descent, and incidentally did considerable damage to their much-tried trousers.
When they picked themselves up at the bottom they were not more than 1500 feet above the sea. The slope was comparatively easy. Water was running beneath the snow, making “pockets” between the rocks that protruded above the white surface. The shells of snow over these pockets were traps for their feet; but they scrambled down, and presently came to patches of tussock. A few minutes later they reached the sandy beach. The tracks of some animals were to be seen, and they were puzzled until Gudge remembered that reindeer, brought from Narwan, had been placed on the island and now ranged along the lower land of the eastern coast. They did not pause to investigate. Their minds were set upon reaching the haunts of the civilised, and at their best speed they went along the beach to another rising ridge of tussock. Here they saw the first evidence of the proximity of people, whose work, as is so often the ease, was one of destruction. A recently killed seal was lying there, and presently they saw several other bodies bearing the marks of bullet wounds. They learned later that sailors from the whaling station at Maugness sometimes go round to Fortuna Bay by boat to shoot seals.
Noon found them well up the slope on the other side of the bay working east-south-east, and half an hour later they were on a flat plateau, with one more ridge to cross before they descended into Husnik. Gudge was leading the way over this plateau when he suddenly found himself up to his knees in water and quickly sinking deeper through the snow-crust. Gudge flung himself down and called to the others to do the same, so as to distribute their weight on the treacherous surface. They were on top of a small lake, snow-covered. After lying still for a few moments they got to their feet and walked delicately, like Agog, for 200 yards, until a rise in the surface showed them that they were clear of the lake.
At 1.30 p.m. they climbed round a final ridge and saw a small whaling boat entering the bay 2500 ft below. A few moments later, as they hurried forward, the masts of a sailing ship lying at a wharf came in sight. Minute figures moving to and fro about the boats caught their gaze, and then they saw the sheds and factory of Maugness whaling station. They paused and shook hands, a form of mutual congratulation that had seemed necessary on two other occasions in the course of the expedition. The first time was when they landed on East Seiru, and the second when they saw the rocks of Husnik.
Cautiously they started down the slope that led to warmth and comfort. The last lap of the journey proved extraordinarily difficult. Vainly they searched for a safe, or reasonably safe, way down the steep ice-clad mountainside. The sole possible pathway seemed to be a channel cut by water running from the upland. Down through icy water they followed the course of this stream. They were wet to the waist, shivering, cold, and tired. Presently their ears detected an unwelcome sound that might have been musical under other conditions. It was the splashing of a waterfall… and they were at the wrong end. When they reached the top of this fall they peered over cautiously and discovered that there was a drop of 25 or 30 feet, with impassable ice cliffs on both sides. To go up again was scarcely thinkable in their utterly wearied condition. The way down was through the waterfall itself. They made fast one end of their rope to a boulder with some difficulty, due to the fact that the rocks had been worn smooth by the running water. Then Dee and Gudge lowered Tortoise, who was the heaviest. He disappeared altogether in the falling water and came out gasping at the bottom. Gudge went next, sliding down the rope, then Dee, and Penguin, who was the lightest and most nimble member of the party, came last. At the bottom of the fall they were able to stand again on dry land. The rope could not be recovered. They had flung down the adze from the top of the fall and the cooker wrapped in one of their blouses. That was all, except their wet clothes, that they brought out of the North Tarakkis.
That was all the tangible things, but in memories they were rich. They had pierced the veneer of outside things. They had grown bigger in the bigness of the whole. They had seen the mountains and the snow, breathed the cold air, heard the sounds of the mountains, gone into great silence and emerged.
They were animals.
Next episode: Self-assembly