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tealinI hope you have a comfortable seat, Internet, because we've got a seriously epic chapter of Centenary Fever today.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO TODAY (and a bit yesterday, there is some confusion to the dates)
Birdie was woken up by a sound which he thought was a pony getting into the oats, and rushed out of the tent in his socks to find that the sea ice on which they'd pitched their camp had broken up, and they were now on an ice floe in danger of drifting out to sea.
A little backtracking, to set the scene: On their return from laying One Ton Depot, the depot party had split into several groups. The fastest back to Hut Point were the dog teams, which included Scott and Cherry. Much farther behind were the men bringing the ponies back, which included Titus Oates and Birdie. The dog teams got to the hut and then the men turned back to meet the pony party. I have to sit down with the journals and a map and figure out exactly what happened where in this time, but for the sake of moving forward, let's set a scene to start with: The pony party have been laid up by a blizzard for two days, and the ponies, exhausted by the long march to and from the depot and then a blizzard, aren't looking too good. Of particular concern is Weary Willie, who had been attacked by dogs on the way down, and for whom every amount of effort had been spent to get him back alive for use the following summer, including laying the depot short of its planned position. Remember this: Scott wanted every possible pony alive.
The blizzard had cleared, and on the morning of 28 February, they were going to try to get the ponies moving on to safety and shelter at Hut Point. They harnessed up the animals named Uncle Bill, Punch, Nobby, and Guts, and Birdie started leading them away, but when they tried to lead Weary Willie forward he fell and they were unable to raise him. Scott sent Cherry and an Irish seaman named Tom Crean to go join Birdie, while he and Oates (the horse expert) stayed behind to tend to Willie. It didn't help; he died that night.
The real action, though, is with Birdie, Cherry, and Crean. They followed the tracks of the dog teams until they reached a surface on which they didn't show up. Eventually the ice was showing signs of weakness, so they backtracked, and Birdie led them around to some much older and ostensibly more secure sea ice, where they finally made their camp. After a hilarious mixup of cocoa and curry powder they got to sleep, but not before Birdie went out one last time to make sure everything was OK: the ponies tethered to a line strung between sledges, weather calm, ice firm, though with a dark sky over the Strait that indicated open water at least a mile away. Nonetheless, after such a hard day's march, they turned in.
Upon exiting the tent he saw that they were on an ice floe about 30 yards across, which had split right under the pony line and was adrift, as was the sea ice as far as he could see in every direction. The pony Guts had disappeared into the water, and two of their sledges were on the neighbouring floe, pulled right to the edge of it. He shouted to rouse Cherry and Crean and then rushed to save the sledges, pulling them across a point where the two floes were touching. The crew struck camp and harnessed up in record time, and spent the next six hours jumping from floe to floe whenever the drift of the ice on the water nudged two floes together in the direction they wanted to travel. That direction was south, towards the permanent ice of the Barrier – which, by the way, was calving chunks of ice into the pack on which they floated. Oh, and there were killer whales patrolling the open leads between floes, as well, going after seals which had been caught in the breakup.
As they neared the edge of the Barrier, they saw the ice they'd come across drift out to sea. Birdie steered towards an upturned floe which looked like it was leaning up against the wall of the ice shelf, but when they climbed to the top of the slope they found 'a lane of water from thirty to forty feet wide' which extended all long the border between the sea ice and the twenty-foot ice cliff that was the edge of the Barrier, 'heaving up and down to the swell like the contents of a cauldron.' Oh, and it was teeming with killer whales.
Birdie decided their only option was to contact Scott, which could only be done by trekking down the ice to a point where it met the Barrier. Birdie himself couldn't go because he was in charge of the ponies, supplies, and, well, everything; Cherry was out because his eyesight was too bad to find his way safely among the floes and to the camp. So they stuffed Crean's pockets with food and sent him to fetch help.
This wouldn't be the last time Crean set off alone to save two friends in dire circumstances on the ice. The next time is, if you can believe it, even more epic, but you'll have to wait till next year for that story.
Birdie and Cherry made camp, figuring the tent would be a more visible sign of their location than a handful of sledges and some white ponies, and Birdie watched Crean through the telescope on their theodolite until he found a way onto the Barrier. 'Thank God one of us is out of the wood, anyhow,' he said.
The two remaining on the floe spent an uneasy day at camp, surrounded by killer whales, paranoid that their floe would break up under them or get blown out to sea, and later that afternoon they were heckled by skua gulls which were evidently waiting for them to become carrion. A piece of ice drifted between them and the Barrier and got stuck; they could have used it to climb to safety themselves but didn't want to leave the supplies and, more importantly, the ponies – which Scott had expressly ordered to be saved – to the vicissitude of the ice.
At around 7pm, Crean appeared on the Barrier opposite them, accompanied by Scott and Oates.
Scott wanted to abandon the remaining stuff for fear that retrieving it would be too dangerous, but Birdie convinced him to let them try to bring some of it up – they got everything to safety before the ice started moving, aside from two ladders ... and the ponies.
TO BE CONTINUED
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO TODAY (and a bit yesterday, there is some confusion to the dates)
Birdie was woken up by a sound which he thought was a pony getting into the oats, and rushed out of the tent in his socks to find that the sea ice on which they'd pitched their camp had broken up, and they were now on an ice floe in danger of drifting out to sea.
A little backtracking, to set the scene: On their return from laying One Ton Depot, the depot party had split into several groups. The fastest back to Hut Point were the dog teams, which included Scott and Cherry. Much farther behind were the men bringing the ponies back, which included Titus Oates and Birdie. The dog teams got to the hut and then the men turned back to meet the pony party. I have to sit down with the journals and a map and figure out exactly what happened where in this time, but for the sake of moving forward, let's set a scene to start with: The pony party have been laid up by a blizzard for two days, and the ponies, exhausted by the long march to and from the depot and then a blizzard, aren't looking too good. Of particular concern is Weary Willie, who had been attacked by dogs on the way down, and for whom every amount of effort had been spent to get him back alive for use the following summer, including laying the depot short of its planned position. Remember this: Scott wanted every possible pony alive.
The blizzard had cleared, and on the morning of 28 February, they were going to try to get the ponies moving on to safety and shelter at Hut Point. They harnessed up the animals named Uncle Bill, Punch, Nobby, and Guts, and Birdie started leading them away, but when they tried to lead Weary Willie forward he fell and they were unable to raise him. Scott sent Cherry and an Irish seaman named Tom Crean to go join Birdie, while he and Oates (the horse expert) stayed behind to tend to Willie. It didn't help; he died that night.
The real action, though, is with Birdie, Cherry, and Crean. They followed the tracks of the dog teams until they reached a surface on which they didn't show up. Eventually the ice was showing signs of weakness, so they backtracked, and Birdie led them around to some much older and ostensibly more secure sea ice, where they finally made their camp. After a hilarious mixup of cocoa and curry powder they got to sleep, but not before Birdie went out one last time to make sure everything was OK: the ponies tethered to a line strung between sledges, weather calm, ice firm, though with a dark sky over the Strait that indicated open water at least a mile away. Nonetheless, after such a hard day's march, they turned in.
Two and a half hours later I awoke, hearing a noise. Both my companions were snoring, I thought that was it and was on the verge of turning in again having seen that it was only 4:30, when I heard the noise again. I thought – 'My pony is at the oats!' and went out.
Upon exiting the tent he saw that they were on an ice floe about 30 yards across, which had split right under the pony line and was adrift, as was the sea ice as far as he could see in every direction. The pony Guts had disappeared into the water, and two of their sledges were on the neighbouring floe, pulled right to the edge of it. He shouted to rouse Cherry and Crean and then rushed to save the sledges, pulling them across a point where the two floes were touching. The crew struck camp and harnessed up in record time, and spent the next six hours jumping from floe to floe whenever the drift of the ice on the water nudged two floes together in the direction they wanted to travel. That direction was south, towards the permanent ice of the Barrier – which, by the way, was calving chunks of ice into the pack on which they floated. Oh, and there were killer whales patrolling the open leads between floes, as well, going after seals which had been caught in the breakup.
As they neared the edge of the Barrier, they saw the ice they'd come across drift out to sea. Birdie steered towards an upturned floe which looked like it was leaning up against the wall of the ice shelf, but when they climbed to the top of the slope they found 'a lane of water from thirty to forty feet wide' which extended all long the border between the sea ice and the twenty-foot ice cliff that was the edge of the Barrier, 'heaving up and down to the swell like the contents of a cauldron.' Oh, and it was teeming with killer whales.
Birdie decided their only option was to contact Scott, which could only be done by trekking down the ice to a point where it met the Barrier. Birdie himself couldn't go because he was in charge of the ponies, supplies, and, well, everything; Cherry was out because his eyesight was too bad to find his way safely among the floes and to the camp. So they stuffed Crean's pockets with food and sent him to fetch help.
This wouldn't be the last time Crean set off alone to save two friends in dire circumstances on the ice. The next time is, if you can believe it, even more epic, but you'll have to wait till next year for that story.
Birdie and Cherry made camp, figuring the tent would be a more visible sign of their location than a handful of sledges and some white ponies, and Birdie watched Crean through the telescope on their theodolite until he found a way onto the Barrier. 'Thank God one of us is out of the wood, anyhow,' he said.
The two remaining on the floe spent an uneasy day at camp, surrounded by killer whales, paranoid that their floe would break up under them or get blown out to sea, and later that afternoon they were heckled by skua gulls which were evidently waiting for them to become carrion. A piece of ice drifted between them and the Barrier and got stuck; they could have used it to climb to safety themselves but didn't want to leave the supplies and, more importantly, the ponies – which Scott had expressly ordered to be saved – to the vicissitude of the ice.
At around 7pm, Crean appeared on the Barrier opposite them, accompanied by Scott and Oates.
Scott, instead of blowing me up, was too relieved at our safety to be anything but pleased. I said: 'What about the ponies and the sledges?' He said: 'I don't care a damn about the ponies and sledges. It's you I want, and I am going to see you safe here up on the Barrier before I do anything else.' Cherry and I had got everything ready, so, dragging up two sledges, we dumped the gear off them, and using them as ladders, one down from the berg on to the buffer piece of ice, and the other up to the top of the Barrier, we got up without difficulty. Captain Scott was so pleased, that I realized the feeling he must have had all day. He had been blaming himself for our deaths, and here we were very much alive. He said: 'My dear chaps, you can't think how glad I am to see you safe — Cherry likewise.'
Scott wanted to abandon the remaining stuff for fear that retrieving it would be too dangerous, but Birdie convinced him to let them try to bring some of it up – they got everything to safety before the ice started moving, aside from two ladders ... and the ponies.
TO BE CONTINUED
