OHYAT: The Vote
Jun. 14th, 2012 07:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tealinIt's been an awfully long time since I've done one of these, but that's because once the mantle of winter pinned them more or less in the hut, the men of the British Antarctic Expedition 1910 didn't really get up to much. This was even more true this winter than last, as the weather was more 'boisterous' as they put it – blizzard after blizzard howled over Cape Evans and the wind at times seemed incessant, so strong that it blew gravel off the beach to rattle against the windows, and ice which had been safely permanent last year at this time kept blowing out to sea.
In the midst of this raging weather, after the Terra Nova failed to reach them on her last trip north, the six men of Campbell's northern party – including Murray Levick, who has been in the news lately – were huddled in a cave they'd dug in a snowbank up the coast, spending most of their time shivering in their summer clothes inside their reindeer bags and eking out their rations from their small store. They tried to hunt seals and penguins, but the animals which would have provided their winter larder tended not to hang around their windswept bay in the middle of winter. It was going to be a very long winter.
Back at the base, conditions were infinitely more comfortable, though the hut was emptier than it had been before. Aside from the five members of the Polar Party who had not returned, Teddy Evans had been invalided home, meteorologist Simpson and geologist Taylor had gone back to their respective government services, dog-handler Meares was back in England settling his father's estate, Ponting back publicising his photos and film, and assorted other members dispersed respectively.
They passed their time mainly in the daily housekeeping and maintenance of scientific projects. Silas kept trying to build a new magnetic hut* but no matter how much he banked the crate walls up with snow, the wind kept blowing it down. The wind played similar havoc on another front, carrying a meteorological station and some of Nelson's biological equipment out to sea on a broken ice floe. The inconstant temperature in the previous location of the pendulum** and the awkwardness in getting to it compelled the men to move it inside, but it had to stand on solid rock that was directly in contact with the earth: they cut a hole in the floor of Ponting's darkroom and sledged in a boulder, dropped it in place, levelled off the top, and anchored it in place with a cement of sand and ice, to serve as a pedestal.
*to house the equipment that would have been thrown off by the presence of magnetic materials in the main hut
**used for measuring gravity; I learned how and then forgot, sorry
There was non-work, too ... Someone had sent Simpson some hyacinth bulbs and they got these blooming in a soil of sawdust. The most popular game was a tabletop construct in which one knocked a billiard ball through one of the numbered holes in a board which spanned the table: the man with the lowest score was dubbed The Jonah and had to announce 'gentlemen, I am the Jonah' before sitting down at lunch, until someone else inherited his title. One of the balls got so banged up it was only vaguely spherical; this one was named 'British pluck.' There was the adventure of Silas' newfangled pressure lamp which Nelson exploded and which sent burning oil all around the immediate vicinity – the fire was extinguished before it caused any serious harm, though Silas noted that even in the rush the men were careful to bring blankets from others' bunks to smother the flames. One of the dogs became a regular 'house-dog,' lounging by the stove and resisting attempts to put him outside where the other dogs ran loose. Entries were written for another edition of the South Polar Times, with Cherry resuming his role as editor and Debenham now providing illustrations. 'I believe I am improving,' he wrote, 'tho' in that as in everything else we miss Bill sadly.'
So it was that we come to ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO TODAY, when Atch called a meeting to discuss what to do in the next sledging season: go north to try to assist Campbell, or south to try to find out what had happened to the Polar Party.
On one hand, if Campbell and his men survived the winter, and there was any amount of decent sea ice, it was possible they could make their own way back to Cape Evans; at any rate the earliest the main party could reach them would only be a few weeks before the ship could do the same.
While the likelihood of finding their final resting place was miniscule, Scott had been insistent about leaving notes at depots, so if nothing else they could at least determine between which points they had been lost, and perhaps recover some effects or records if they had been depoted along the way.
Atch made his case – he was for going south – but didn't want to make a unilateral decision so he asked for everyone's opinion. 'No one was for going north,' Cherry wrote, 'one member only did not vote for going south, and he preferred not to give an opinion. Considering the complexity of the question, I was surprised by this unanimity. We prepared for another Southern Journey.'
In the midst of this raging weather, after the Terra Nova failed to reach them on her last trip north, the six men of Campbell's northern party – including Murray Levick, who has been in the news lately – were huddled in a cave they'd dug in a snowbank up the coast, spending most of their time shivering in their summer clothes inside their reindeer bags and eking out their rations from their small store. They tried to hunt seals and penguins, but the animals which would have provided their winter larder tended not to hang around their windswept bay in the middle of winter. It was going to be a very long winter.
Back at the base, conditions were infinitely more comfortable, though the hut was emptier than it had been before. Aside from the five members of the Polar Party who had not returned, Teddy Evans had been invalided home, meteorologist Simpson and geologist Taylor had gone back to their respective government services, dog-handler Meares was back in England settling his father's estate, Ponting back publicising his photos and film, and assorted other members dispersed respectively.
The first thing which we settled about the winter which lay ahead of us was that, so far as possible, everything should go on as usual. The scientific work must of course be continued, and there were the dogs and mules to be looked after: a night-watch to be kept and the meteorological observations and auroral notes to be taken. Owing to our reduced numbers we should need the help of the seamen for this purpose. We were also to bring out another volume of the South Polar Times on Mid-winter Day. The importance of not allowing any sense of depression to become a part of the atmosphere of our life was clear to all.— Apsley Cherry-Garrard, The Worst Journey in the World
They passed their time mainly in the daily housekeeping and maintenance of scientific projects. Silas kept trying to build a new magnetic hut* but no matter how much he banked the crate walls up with snow, the wind kept blowing it down. The wind played similar havoc on another front, carrying a meteorological station and some of Nelson's biological equipment out to sea on a broken ice floe. The inconstant temperature in the previous location of the pendulum** and the awkwardness in getting to it compelled the men to move it inside, but it had to stand on solid rock that was directly in contact with the earth: they cut a hole in the floor of Ponting's darkroom and sledged in a boulder, dropped it in place, levelled off the top, and anchored it in place with a cement of sand and ice, to serve as a pedestal.
*to house the equipment that would have been thrown off by the presence of magnetic materials in the main hut
**used for measuring gravity; I learned how and then forgot, sorry
There was non-work, too ... Someone had sent Simpson some hyacinth bulbs and they got these blooming in a soil of sawdust. The most popular game was a tabletop construct in which one knocked a billiard ball through one of the numbered holes in a board which spanned the table: the man with the lowest score was dubbed The Jonah and had to announce 'gentlemen, I am the Jonah' before sitting down at lunch, until someone else inherited his title. One of the balls got so banged up it was only vaguely spherical; this one was named 'British pluck.' There was the adventure of Silas' newfangled pressure lamp which Nelson exploded and which sent burning oil all around the immediate vicinity – the fire was extinguished before it caused any serious harm, though Silas noted that even in the rush the men were careful to bring blankets from others' bunks to smother the flames. One of the dogs became a regular 'house-dog,' lounging by the stove and resisting attempts to put him outside where the other dogs ran loose. Entries were written for another edition of the South Polar Times, with Cherry resuming his role as editor and Debenham now providing illustrations. 'I believe I am improving,' he wrote, 'tho' in that as in everything else we miss Bill sadly.'
So it was that we come to ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO TODAY, when Atch called a meeting to discuss what to do in the next sledging season: go north to try to assist Campbell, or south to try to find out what had happened to the Polar Party.
On one hand, if Campbell and his men survived the winter, and there was any amount of decent sea ice, it was possible they could make their own way back to Cape Evans; at any rate the earliest the main party could reach them would only be a few weeks before the ship could do the same.
On the other hand we knew that the Polar Party must be dead. They might be anywhere between Hut Point and the Pole, drifted over by snow, or lying at the bottom of a crevasse, which seemed the most likely thing to have happened.— ibid.
While the likelihood of finding their final resting place was miniscule, Scott had been insistent about leaving notes at depots, so if nothing else they could at least determine between which points they had been lost, and perhaps recover some effects or records if they had been depoted along the way.
The first object of the expedition had been the Pole. If some record was not found, their success or failure would for ever remain uncertain. Was it due not only to the men and their relatives, but also to the expedition, to ascertain their fate if possible?
On the one hand we might go south, fail entirely to find any trace of the Polar Party, and while we were fruitlessly travelling all the summer Campbell's men might die for want of help. On the other hand we might go north, to find that Campbell's men were safe, and as a consequence the fate of the Polar Party and the result of their efforts might remain for ever unknown. Were we to forsake men who might be alive to look for those whom we knew were dead?
... It is impossible to express and almost impossible to imagine how difficult it was to make this decision. Then we knew nothing: now we know all. And nothing is harder than to realize in the light of facts the doubts which others have experienced in the fog of uncertainty.— ibid.
Atch made his case – he was for going south – but didn't want to make a unilateral decision so he asked for everyone's opinion. 'No one was for going north,' Cherry wrote, 'one member only did not vote for going south, and he preferred not to give an opinion. Considering the complexity of the question, I was surprised by this unanimity. We prepared for another Southern Journey.'
