It was the 8th of March – the very tail end of the summer. The snow had abated and it was a crisp morning. The final party comprised twelve men – more than any other yet to date, but they intended to go further and Scott wanted to give as many of the crew a chance as he could. He decided the expedition was to be led by Royds again. As the officer who was mostly responsible for the construction of Winter Quarters Bay, Royds had the physique of a gym teacher and the personality to match. He was strict but fair. ‘You choose your men,’ Scott said, having briefed the lieutenant on the route.
When George Vince volunteered, the lieutenant chose him for the team. Vince was a willing soul. With a free reign Royds continued. As it was his job to oversee the men’s work, he knew them better than most. He picked a fellow officer – Barne, Evans from the Mess Deck (at which a ripple goes through the men for Evans had already had a turn), Quartly, Clarence Hare, the ship’s domestic, of all people, and Wild. With Scott’s eyes on him, Royds paused. The commander did not betray his feelings about the team and the lieutenant returned to the job of choosing six more. He had sense of fair play and wanted to give some of the weaker men a chance. It would be heavy work. But there were enough of them.
Karina watched. She licked her lips. The cold thickened the air. You could cut the sub-zero temperatures like a hot knife through a penny lick. Skelton was nervous when he took the now customary photograph as the group assembled. As usual he placed the men carefully, checking the area for rogue shadows. Scott watched him – was the fool trying to clean the ice? Skelton paused before he pressed the button. He could swear he heard a laugh.
Then the commander moved forward to shake hands with the team. Royds checked the supplies were strapped in place and the sledges were in good order. They gave three cheers and set out. Content that despite the biting cold the clouds had snowed themselves out, Royds thought that there were no words to adequately describe the feeling of moving through such coldness. England, that land of rainy summers and bright crisp winters, had not spawned vocabulary worthy of Antarctic excess.
Scott watched with satisfaction. The lieutenant was a serious fellow. Unlike Shackleton, there would be no freewheeling or undue high spirits on this trip. Doggedly, with the territory beyond McMurdo Sound awaiting them, the chosen men set to man-hauling the sledges as Scott had instructed. They carried enough supplies for the last days of light – though they would be away for less than that. Best to be safe. There was pemmican and biscuit to make a thick, hot soup, or, as Clarke had christened the mixture, hoosh. After a day on the ice, it was delicious though not a man among them truly preferred it to roasted duck, not least Vince who recently had been fantasizing about all kinds of meat – roasted pork with a veneer of crisp crackling, soft, stewed beef and game sausages. His father was a fishmonger and if he’d had to guess back in England, he’d have hazarded that he’d miss a nice fillet of cod or perhaps some haddock – the taste of home. But no. Only three days after he started the doctor’s diet, he began to dream of steak-and-kidney pie and he had not stopped since. Last week he lost a tooth, though he has not told anyone.
Commander Scott watched from his place under the mizzen boom until the twelve figures disappeared, black dots into the blinding white. The round trip was calculated at thirty miles. At home, a man might walk that in a day but here, across the wastes, it would take longer. The pole, by their calculations, lay far more than 100 miles to the south. But that was for later.
‘The waiting will be the tricky bit.’ Armitage appeared at Scott’s elbow.
The camp seemed suddenly too quiet with so many men absent. Scott thought that after this trip he would collate the differences between leather footwear and finnesko though already he was of the view that fur got soaked too easily. He smiled at Armitage.
‘Perhaps tonight we shall have Shackleton give us a lecture about his seawater samples,’ he suggested.
‘Yes, sir.’ Shackleton’s voice cut in.
The skipper stiffened. Armitage ducked below.
Shackleton squinted into the distance but he could not make out Royds’s party. Dark circles had appeared under his eyes. He had caught sight of himself in the shaving mirror that morning and thought that he looked like a man who could not sleep, when the truth was quite the reverse. When the doctor had asked if he felt well, he had insisted that he did. Nonetheless, he could not tell if it was the disquiet or simply the onset of winter, but his limbs ached. He had longed to be part of Royds’ party, though he knew it wouldn’t have been fair to choose him. Everyone should have their shot.
‘Sir,’ he said, deciding that he should tell Scott what was on his mind. ‘This man-hauling. The sledges I mean. If the native people elsewhere use dogs, then should we not—’
‘Should we what?’ Scott snapped. ‘I am the skipper.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I won’t have you making choices, Shackle. It’s not your place.’
‘Yes, sir. It’s only I’m not sure we should discount the dogs. Or the skis. When the men become accustomed to the skis, for example, they find them most useful. It’s faster than man-hauling.’
‘And more dangerous. Leave this to me. I am responsible for everyone.’
‘But, sir—’
‘You are dismissed, lieutenant.’
Shackleton lingered.
‘Dismissed,’ Scott repeated.
Shackleton blinked. He had served under several naval captains but none had been so obviously wrong about something so important. Scott’s jaw set and Shackleton decided he’d best leave it for now. He turned smartly and disappeared below. If Scott wanted him to talk about seawater he’d need to prepare, but perhaps he could catch an hour’s sleep. He could certainly use it.
Miles off now, the snow was fresh and that made it heavy going, like walking across sand. The route Scott had plotted took the party south. Royds navigated carefully. The other pilot expeditions had not covered such rough terrain, but they had given Scott confidence in how far the men could make in a day. A new challenge, there was a peak over 1,000 feet high ahead. At home, all the men, outdoor types, would have climbed higher, but a mountain in England was easier than a gentle hill in the Far South.
Royds was a fellow for whom the phrase slow but sure might have been personally coined. Taffy Evans was at the front – a beacon for the others to follow. For George Vince and Clarence Hare, close behind him, the sensation of crossing this icy wilderness was beyond what both men had expected. Vince was wearing a pair of fur boots. There was no grip on them and the burn on his hand was starting to ache in the biting cold. Clarence cracked a smile to encourage his friend and then realized with his face covered, Vince couldn’t see it. He raised a hand instead. Vince nodded and lost his footing. He had no energy for such niceties and as he regained his balance he turned his gaze to the small patch of ground in front of him. He must simply keep going, eyes down.
Karina danced her way along the route but today there would be no singing of hymns. No joyful flying across the ice. The men were tethered to heavy sledges, packed with supplies.
After four hours of hiking, Royds stopped to rally the party.
‘We’ve covered a good three miles,’ he said. ‘Another one and we’ll have made it to the foot of the mountain. We’ll camp there and rest.’
He could see that some of the men were already finding it tougher than others. Hauling the sledges was exhausting. The lieutenant was fit but even his limbs were aching. If you exposed your skin to the air it became painful in seconds. Evans moved the scarf from his mouth and cracked a grin.
‘Not long till supper, then, lads,’ he said, putting an arm on Clarence’s shoulder. ‘That’s your job, if I’m not mistaken?’
Clarence nodded. Between his other domestic duties on board he sometimes helped Clarke in the galley. You brought your expertise with you on such missions. Clarence didn’t mind.
The great hill, as yet unnamed on British maps, came into view almost as soon as the party got going again. It was at leas
t something for which to aim though the men quickly realized it looked closer than it was. Perhaps something to do with the curve of the earth. Perhaps it was simply that they were naturally optimistic. At the talks Shackleton had organized in the evenings, there had been much vaunting of the mission’s contribution to science and how Britain would be proud. Hauling their equipment, it didn’t feel that way.
The hill didn’t seem close until they were almost upon it. At the base, Royds stopped. He did not want to push the party too hard on the first day. He chose a spot and rallied them to raise the tents as Clarence Hare got the hoosh pot underway. Once the tarpaulin and canvas was up, they huddled inside in an uneven circle and gulped down the food. Able Seaman Frank Wild, piped up.
‘It seems even more silent once you’re away from the ship. Doesn’t it, sir?’ he said.
There was a murmur of general agreement. Bored, Karina played with the tent ropes but they held tight.
‘Peace and quiet for us, eh, Wild?’ Royds tried.
The idea of normal society – people passing each other on the street – had seemed alien for months now.
After the meal one or two lit up a smoke – the last diehards who had decided they didn’t care if they couldn’t taste the tobacco. Vince was the first to turn in. He didn’t say anything but his hand had gone an alarming colour of white and he could no longer feel his left foot. There was no point in making a fuss, he thought. Perhaps sleep would help.
Outside, Royds checked the tent and made sure the sledges were secure. When he came back, Barne was playing cards with Quartly. The men were not supposed to bring personal items. ‘It’s only a pack of cards,’ Royds told himself as he slipped into his sleeping bag.
In the morning, he woke first. Ninth of March, he noted in his journal and then with a flourish On The Ice. As the men opened their eyes a rumble of good-mornings rolled around and catching a glimpse of the mountains with fresh eyes, it occurred to more than one of them that sorting out their kit seemed mundane in the face of such majesty.
‘We’ll get some view up there, Royds,’ Barne said.
Royds had not considered this. He was there to take measurements and, if he was lucky, have a landmark named in his honour. However, he nodded and gave the thumbs up, ordering Clarence to get on with breakfast.
Many hours later, when the party had conquered the summit, Barne was proved correct. From 1,000 feet you could see the sea in one direction and an astonishing vista of ice and snow in the other. The truth was that from here the camp to Winter Quarters Bay was hardly any distance – at home it would scarcely take an afternoon.
Watching the men after their climb, Royds realised some were suffering. He had not chosen wisely. He wished Wilson or Koettlitz was with him. He could do with medical advice. He did not want to curtail the journey – to do so would see him disgraced in the commander’s eyes and he was positive he could make it as far as Scott had marked on the chart. None of the men had actually complained. But still, he could see them.
With the tent in place Clarence melted fresh snow and brewed tea adding copious amounts of sugar. Then he got started on the hoosh. Evans dried out by the stove. His finnesko boots had almost fused to his woollen socks. The fur got damp too easily. Still, he enjoyed the warmth. No one had enough energy for cards or for writing their journals.
‘We should sing,’ Royds said. He was not musical but he knew that singing was said to keep the spirits high. He started a shaky chorus of ‘The Lord is My Shepherd’ and the men joined in. Then Quartly and Evans broke into a round of ‘Tararaboomdiay’. The others laughed. Royds shrugged off his discomfort. He was not one for the music hall but they had started now. Hare told a story about a theatre in Hull where a woman fell off the stage and later married the man who caught her.
‘They’ll try anything to snag a fellow – those showgirls,’ he grinned.
There was silence as the men in the tent daydreamed about catching music hall actresses, should they fall from a stage.
Quartly woke in the night. The others lay on the groundsheet in their sleeping bags. There was not a spare inch of space. Towards the tent flap someone was snoring gently. He turned over as the tarpaulin shuddered suddenly, as if something was pressed against it – someone trying to find a way in. Perhaps the weather was rising, he thought, as he closed his eyes and listened to the wind making the sound of a woman sighing. Curious, he thought, as he drifted to sleep.
On the third day no sooner had they started than Royds noticed Vince was limping. He gave it twenty minutes but the able seaman was falling behind. The lieutenant stopped the party.
‘What is it, Vince?’ he asked, motioning towards the man’s leg.
‘I’m all right, sir,’ Vince squared up.
‘Good man,’ Royds replied. ‘Is it an injury?’
‘It’s the cold, sir. These boots.’
Royds insisted he showed them. Unwillingly Vince bent down to remove his footwear. Wild offered his arm and Vince took it. The finnesko was sodden already.
‘Quickly, man,’ Royds said.
Exposed flesh had only a matter of seconds. It was too late to save Vince from that, though. As he uncovered his foot it was clear that he already had frostnip. That was bad enough. But what really horrified Royds was Vince’s hand. Where his cuff rode up he saw the skin had been singed and there was a patch of frostbite that, when he inspected it, ran down to Vince’s thumb. The skin was blackened and the thumb was dead. Why didn’t he say something? Royds thought and tried not to panic. ‘We’d best take you on the sled,’ he said.
There was no argument though this made the load heavier for the others. After an hour, Vince felt so uncomfortable that he got off and limped alongside. No one stopped him but it was one of the reasons that this third day they covered two miles less than Royds intended.
The lieutenant made a decision as they pitched camp. Scott couldn’t have known but twelve men were too many – especially with one man injured and, if Royds was frank, at least three more who were not up to the pace. Giving the weaker men the opportunity had not been a kindness, he realized now. As far as he could see there was only one thing for it. Tomorrow morning he’d split the party and forge ahead with the more able. The rest would be sent back to the Discovery with Barne in command. It was the best way to complete his mission.
After dinner Royds took Barne aside.
‘Help me with this map, would you? I need to take another measurement.’
Barne jumped to his feet and the officers left the tent. Outside there was no measurement to be taken. Royds motioned Barne to accompany him further away so they would not be overheard.
‘We have more than a day to go. And with Vince injured … I think you should take half of the party back to Winter Quarters Bay under your command, Michael,’ Royds said. ‘The stronger men can come with me. Vince is a liability. Wilson might need to take off that thumb of his. I just hope it’s not the whole hand.’
‘His whole hand?’ Barne sounded shocked.
Royds nodded. ‘Frostbite,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you see?’
From the tent there was a background noise of indistinguishable chatter as Barne tried not to think of what it must be like to lose a hand. Wilson’s surgeon’s saw kept coming into his mind’s eye and he kept dismissing it. Instead he sized up what he was being told to do in terms of his career. He was the junior officer. Royds was in charge. He’d like to complete the mission with the stronger party but this was an opportunity to lead. A quiet personality and with less experience than any of the others, Barne knew if he wanted to shine he would have to take any chance that came his way.
‘I’ll get them back to base,’ he said. ‘You can rely on me, sir. Shall we inform them?’
Royds shook his head. ‘I’ll tell them in the morning. It’ll take you two days, I reckon. Going down should be quicker than climbing. You can take Wild and Evans – they’re both experienced and pretty tough. Apart from that it’ll be the lame goat, Vince – Hare and
Quartly.’ And that, Royds thought, is what comes of playing cards when you shouldn’t.
Barne nodded. ‘We’ll get Vince home,’ he promised. ‘Do you think the others will be disappointed?’
Royds shrugged. He vowed to be tougher next time and stick to a smaller team. If there was anything Scott would want to learn from this expedition, it was the extent to which incompetent and injured men could slow you down.
They never tell the men the truth, she thought and drew the darkness around the tent as if it was a cloak.
The next morning Royds announced the plan. There was no time to object. Barne stepped in efficiently to take command of the returning party. The supplies were split and the teams parted, shaking hands.
‘The expedition is the thing,’ Royds said solemnly. ‘We must achieve what we came to do.’
Ice picks at the ready, there was a sense of relief in the ongoing men – the job would be easier now they could pick up their pace. Each one of them thanked his stars that he wasn’t being sent back early.
Barne watched as they set off. Then they loaded Vince onto the sledge.
‘Well chaps,’ Barne said. ‘Let’s get to it. Homeward bound.’
Evans and Wild put their shoulders into hauling. Vince objected twice and tried to get off and walk, but Barne overruled him. Now and then the lieutenant glanced over his shoulder. He could still see the others as they continued up the slope until at last they were so small it was like watching spiders climb a pipe. He knew his team would move more slowly and it crossed his mind as long as he got back first it wouldn’t be too shaming.
Karina decided to follow the weaker party. She might as well see them back to the ship. Besides, Royds was boring. She wheeled ahead of the sledge for a while, stopping every so often so they could catch up.
Then, just as she got into her stride, there was a sudden flash of light ahead, as if the world was making an announcement. The sky tore open. She whirled round but the men couldn’t see what was happening. A buzzing started behind her eyes and she peered through a rip in the clouds onto a picturesque scene.
The Ice Maiden Page 18