Little America

Home > Other > Little America > Page 42
Little America Page 42

by Richard Evelyn Byrd Jr.


  VERMELI.

  And that is that. I hope that Captain Vermeli is right.

  Still Later

  There is another message from Captain Vermeli:

  ADMIRAL BYRD, WFA

  I quite understand your situation. However the situation on our behalf is this. We have now been lying here for more than a month and during this time caught very few whales. We have hoped all along the whales would appear, but in vain. All this time we used quite a lot of coal and fuel oil and we have very small quantities left of both. This week we received reports that the whalers outside find fishing good. For this reason we now are on our way north, but if you are absolutely hard up for food we shall send a chaser down. In that case it means stopping the whole expedition and we shall have to stay here another week. Regards.

  I sympathize with his point of view, but our needs are also important.

  Again I renewed our request for a chaser, but when he next answered the Nilsen Alonzo was already in the pack and he therefore could not send it.

  I have made known the facts to the camp in a memorandum. In my opinion, the City has but one chance in ten of making the passage—the Bolling has none.

  Worst of all, the City has apparently started south without sufficient coal to see her through a sustained battle with the pack. Why this happened is beyond me. I have instructed Brown to take on another 50 tons for her, and am now radioing the Kosmos, Southern Princess and Larsen which are still north of the pack, to see if they can spare a few tons!

  Saturday

  January 18th

  The Geological Party reported today it will reach Little America some time tomorrow afternoon. Thus will end a magnificent journey. They have now been gone three months, and it will be good to have them in camp.

  Petersen has prepared the following summary of today’s developments, which he posted on the bulletin board:

  “S.S. Ross has been stuck in the pack since yesterday afternoon, and is still stuck. Ice is up to 36 feet thick, packed hard, and impossible to move. It is likely the belt of thick pack ice is not more than 25 or 30 miles wide. Snow yesterday with northwest wind, but today clearing and wind shifted to southeast, which ought to cause some movement in the ice.

  I have laid the facts bearing on the situation before Captain Railey, who is in charge of expedition affairs in New York, suggesting that he sound out the owners of the Nilsen Alonzo with a view to determining whether or not they are willing to order the ship to return and pick us up, in case the City is unable to run the pack. I have urged Railey particularly to keep the matter confidential. As a matter of fact, our position is by no means unsafe. Not yet at least. Prudence suggests, however, that our lines of transportation be kept open. I have made this quite clear.

  The need is simply for patience—patience and control of the situation.

  At 9:30 o’clock on the morning of January 19th, the sledges of the Geological Party were seen defiling across the Barrier slopes. We gave them a royal welcome, for they had done a wonderful job. It was not the fact of having sledged 1500 miles that was remarkable. It was the fact that these men had started this punishing trip as green, from the point of view of experience, as bay trees. They went through with the dash and élan of youth. To that they added resourcefulness, and stubbornness. I doubt that few veterans could have done as well. For the measure of the trip lay in the balancing of what was planned in advance and what was actually done: if anything, they exceeded the plans. How fit they were may be judged from the fact they made 34 miles on the last day’s march and were travelling strong when they reached Little America.

  Thorne was in the lead, on skis. Behind him came Gould, with a bristling beard and wearing a red and white sash about his waist. O’Brien was behind him, and then Vaughan. Goodale brought up the rear-guard. What they had endured had left ‘ its mark on their faces and bodies. They were lean, hard, grizzled and dirty. The most jovial, tattered and unwashed group of pirates that ever disgraced a quarterdeck would have blushed at the appearance of our scientists. That men could become so dirty on the tidy surface of the Barrier was incredible. Of course, it was soot from the stoves. Gasoline was much too precious to be wasted in melting snow for bathing. “A bath—and Paradise,” Goodale yelled. They thronged into the mess hall, pillaging the precious pots of water which Tennant had stored for kitchen use; and as the layers of grime flaked and dissolved, we saw, as through a glass darkly, how very well and strong they looked.

  With the men re-united for the first time in more than three months, we forgot for a time the uncertainty which lay over the pack, but not for long. Thereafter it was with us every waking hour. If, during the winter, we had discussed every subject under the sun, some of us now concentrated on one. Sooner or later the pack edged into every conversation. How long will the pack hold? Can the City get through? Would it be worth while to risk her in the face of unfavorable conditions? Can and will the whalers really come through the pack? “What’s new?” was the first question. And for days the answer was “nothing.” The radio room was a magnet that drew the more fretful men. Here Petersen posted the messages from the whalers and the City. There was the thought in the back of several minds that important and bad news was being concealed, which was not the case at all. For example, June, Smith and Crockett, who were operators, could overhear the dots and dashes as the radio men sent and received them.

  But, on the whole, as any serious situation does, the affair yielded its lightest side. There was far more joking over the situation than dismay. There was formed the Harbor Board, so called after the organization of that name which handles marine activities at Dunedin; and this committee met every night for lengthy discussions and mad proposals. As a result the pack and this train of consequences became unreal and ludicrous.

  Meanwhile Captain McKinley went forward with his plans for demobilizing Little America. This was a difficult problem in itself. If both the City and the Boiling reached the Bay of Whales, the problem would simply be one of loading. If only the City made the passage, then the problem was one of selection. From the beginning of January I had scant hopes that the Boiling would get south of the pack, and began to prepare accordingly. Orders were issued to the various departments to begin listing all material in their charge under three classifications of importance. Class A. was to include records and valuable scientific apparatus. Classes B. and C. were progressively lower ratings of material. Three general piles were to be made of the supplies and records, according to these classifications, so that if and when the City arrived alone, the most important stuff could be put aboard her at once. As the material accumulated, the dog drivers, under the direction of McKinley, began to transport it to the camp at Floyd Bennett Harbor. The camp was approximately 10 miles from Little America, and as the trail wound back and forth around the pressure ridges the task of moving supplies was no less troublesome than when we first landed in the Bay of Whales.

  January 20th, the City came within sight of the Kosmos, but a gale from the north stirred up such a heavy sea that she could not come alongside.

  The Bolling put out from Dunedin the same day, the Ross was still stuck in the pack, beset by storm and fog, and the Nilsen Alonzo had plowed within 25 miles of the northern edge of the pack. Once more the whaling companies renewed their pledge to stand by with assistance. For this I was grateful. But assistance would come high. It would cost $500,000 to bring a whaling factory ship to the Bay of Whales. Dollars and cents—they were the commanding elements in the situation. Let me make this point clear: the whaling masters were neither reluctant to come to our aid nor mercenary. I knew most of them, and a finer group of men never walked the deck of a ship. And we, on the other hand, had neither the right nor the desire to pass the cost on to their crews, owners and stockholders. No matter what the cost, we were prepared to move our sick men to civilization, if it meant pledging everything we had or ever would have. That was an inescapable responsibility, and it was only fair that we should be ready to carry it alone.


  A thick, heavy fog extending to higher altitudes put a stop to flying in January but on the 20th Captain McKinley finished mapping the Bay of Whales. On the following day I also flew to the westward, to continue the study of the Barrier. With me went Captain McKinley, June and Petersen. We used the Ford. We took off at 2:12 o’clock P.M. and followed the coast line to the west. Visibility was excellent. There was a scattering of clouds in the distant west. The Ross Sea was spattered with bergs and fragments of pack.

  Discovery Inlet was underneath at 3:05 o’clock. As we circled it at an altitude of 2,000 feet, the thought occurred to me that here was one of the most interesting bays in the world. Entrenched most probably behind a submerged ridge of land, it resisted the stubborn and inexhaustible surges of the ice sheet which would engulf it and remained one of the few apparently permanent spots on the front of the moving Barrier. We confirmed what we had learned when we first investigated Discovery, in 1929; that while the outer part of it runs east and west, as the charts show, an inner member bends to the south. Between the tips of a V-shaped formation which forms the eastern wall of the outer bay, we saw a deep crack, sufficiently extensive to suggest that it extended to the bottom of the Barrier. Here, it would seem, the millions of tons of solid ice and snow resting on submerged land had split under its own weight.

  We headed due south, studying the Barrier. Mile after mile, the snowscape remained unchanged—fairly flat, smooth Barrier. Just before four o’clock we sighted a faint ruffling in the surface—crevasses—to the westward, and at 4:02 o’clock we changed course to bring us nearer. The surface for several miles was quite broken, and the movement apparently centered about a series of fairly high ridges, running eastward and westward. McKinley and June were certain that they saw black rock showing through, but I thought it was merely the shadows thrown by ridges. The ridges were at Lat. 80° S. and Long. 173° E—almost due west of the area through which the dog teams had struggled. This was an important discovery inasmuch as it indicated that the Barrier in the vicinity either rested on the ocean bed or on an ocean peak. It was another bit of knowledge about the Barrier and when all the bits are finally put together, the mystery of the Barrier will be explained.

  After flying about 12 miles to the westward, we turned east for a few minutes and then headed south until 4:30 o’clock. Far in the distance the Barrier began to rise, in swelling undulations, suggestive of a gradual inclination of the ocean flooring.

  McKinley photographed this area, and we then turned for home, cutting diagonally across the Barrier. The return was without incident.

  During the flight, however, a very important message from Captain Railey, who was moving heaven and earth for us at New York, asking for information about the pack, was relayed by radio from Little America. Petersen radioed my reply and it was relayed at once to New York City. I cite this merely as an example of how effectively the modern organization of exploration can keep in touch with its affairs.

  The next few days brought no end of troubles and excitement. First of all, there was the fear in my mind that Captain Melville might be persuaded against his better judgment to attempt to force a passage before the ice was sufficiently open. If he failed and the City became beset, there would be need of relieving her as well. Stout as were her old sides, her engines were much too weak to contend with very heavy pack. Then, too, reports were conflicting. It was almost impossible to know exactly what was going on within the broad reaches of the pack. One master dismissed it airily; ‘’a good south wind,” he said, “would break it up over-night.” Another said: “it is the toughest pack we have ever seen.” Come what may, I was determined the City should not start south as long as the situation remained confused. In the United States our friends, alarmed over our position, began to hammer through official channels for immediate action. Immediate action was not necessary; we did not want official action. There still remained, at that time, nearly a month for the City to try to carry off the job on her own resources. At the most, we desired only assurances of cooperation.

  To cap the matter, sensational newspapers in the United States picked up a false report from an amateur radio operator that not only had the City reached the Barrier, but the entire expedition was hastily embarking. Had that report been true, nothing could have pleased us more. However, it was solemnly posted on the bulletin board in the mess hall with the explanation: “interesting, if true.”

  From the Nilsen Alonzo came word that she was stuck in the pack again, surrounded by a belt of very heavy ice. She had not come through the northern passage unscotched. Her bow, we learned, had been badly injured in forcing movements, and the Captain was unwilling to risk the weakened structure in further assaults until conditions improved.

  The Ross, we learned, had injured her propeller in the battle.

  If these great vessels, with their wealth of horsepower, commanded by masters long versed in the lore of the pack, could not go through without injury, is it any wonder that we were reluctant to throw at this time the City into a final struggle?

  By the 26th, the Ross and the Nilsen were in open sea, north of the pack, and we were in the possession of the facts bearing on the situation. Both Captain Thorstensen, of the Ross, and Captain Vermeli, of the Nilsen Alonzo, reported heavy, hard ice and advised us not to order the City through before the middle of February. A final analysis came from the veteran ice pilot of the City, Bendik Johansen:

  January 28

  No. 42 WFBT

  AMDIRAL BYRD, WFA

  … After talking with Captain Vermeli, I also saw Captain Andresen and Captain Nilsen. The pack ice is very heavy from (Lat.) 68° S. and 70° S. and extends west towards the western shore of the Balleny Islands. From 68° to 69° it is heavy, dangerous old ice, with hard ice foots. South of 69° it is only year-old ice, which is also heavily packed but less dangerous. For the City of New York there is no danger in going through, but we will have to take our time in going through. We still have four weeks on which to figure. The Eleanor Boiling ought not to try to force the pack. Captains Andresen, Nilsen, and Vermeli are of the same opinion. I think the Boiling ought to stay on the outside of the pack and be ready in case anything happens. It would be wise to have support behind in case the whalers should have finished whaling before we get out. I wouldn’t advise you to take the Boiling through at all. I would start here and go in about 68° S. and 178° E. and follow the meridian true south. Cannot tell about exact conditions until we are there. Ice conditions can change within an hour. I firmly believe that we will be able to get in and out. Regards.

  JOHANSEN.

  With these reports in hand, the confusion that had hung over the situation was dissipated. February 10th, therefore, was set as a tentative date for the raising of the siege.

  Coal, the curse which had dogged us before, lifted its ugly head. More than once I had reason to regret the limited capacity of the City, but never did I rue it as much as then. During the time she was lying off the pack, she was under steam most of the time, and this unexpected consumption was beginning to deplete her reserve. The radio department swung into action again, and we tried to borrow as much coal as could be spared from the whalers. The Larsen offered 55 tons and the Kosmos 25, the latter giving us what was left, beyond immediate needs, of her galley supply. As these vessels are all oil-burners, they carry only enough coal to supply their chasers; and at this advanced stage of the season they had precious little to spare. For that matter most of them had not enough for their own requirements.

  I therefore decided to order Captain Brown to take the Bolling back to Dunedin, take on as much coal as she could safely hold, and return to the pack. Thus, if the City came out of the ice with depleted bunkers, we would have a reserve supply at hand. But the Bolling had already reached the pack on January 29th, and Captain Brown, in his indomitable way, plunged right in, sending me the following message:

  ADMIRAL BYRD, WFA

  We are in the northern edge of the ice pack and have coal aboard for 32 d
ays. I recommend that we go through. I assure you I will not endanger the ship or crew. Give us a chance to try this. Regards.

  BROWN.

  Twenty-four hours later the gallant Bolling and her crew, who through a cruel turn of affairs were destined to shoulder most of the dirty work of the expedition, had turned their backs on the pack and were steaming northward. This was a bitter blow to all hands on the Bolling, but the way Brown, McGuinness, Adams and the crew took it was typical of their spirit to the end. Had there been no other way, I am sure they would have taken the Bolling through, if they had had to berth it in sections in the Bay of Whales.

  On the 29th we were notified by our government and the Norwegian government that the Norwegian whaling companies had agreed to render us assistance in case it was needed with the provision that we agree to reimburse the companies for whatever losses were incurred. The heavy item was insurance. The insurance alone necessary for the protection of the whaling ship during the passage would be, we learned, between $200,000 or $250,000.

  February came in, dark and gloomy, with the hint of impending winter in the air and a darkening of the sky at night. A strong cold wind blew from the south, and the sound of the sea beating on the Barrier cliffs to the north was plainly heard, January went out in a heavy snow storm, and the whole camp was blanketed. Even the Ford lay half-buried. Fire broke out in the radio storeroom on the 6th, when gasoline spilled from the blow torch was ignited. It was put out with small damage, the incident being chiefly distinguished by the fact that one of the pups ran off with my windproof trousers, which I was indiscrete enough to lay aside while helping to put out the fire.

  Continuing southerly winds had begun to break up the pack. February 6th, the City went alongside the Southern Princess and took aboard fifty tons of coal. That evening Captain Melville decided to try his luck. He tackled the pack in the vicinity of the 179th meridian and headed south. The going for fifty miles was very difficult. The ice was tightly packed and interlocked with immense bergs. In places it reached a thickness of twenty feet. On at least two occasions the City barely wriggled from a dangerous squeeze. “We just hammered and hammered,” Captain Melville said. “We would make a few feet and stop, then back up and charge again. Sometimes we would gain a mile at a time through a lead, and often make no impression at all.” Johansen, in the crow’s nest, “conned” the pack and inevitably, when it seemed that retreat was the only alternative, he discovered a saving lead. The pounding continued all night and most of the next day. On the 7th, however, the ice lightened somewhat, open water became more frequent and toward seven o’clock in the evening the ice commenced to heave so violently that Captain Melville was certain they were nearing open sea. The wind stiffened, bringing snow squalls and cold, and as fast as they pushed through it the mushy ice froze into solid new ice six inches thick, which greatly impeded their progress. At eleven o’clock the lookout sang out he had seen the open sea. Beset by ice propelled by a south wind, they stubbornly pressed on, and at midnight entered the Ross Sea. The wind by then had reached almost hurricane force. Captain Melville sent the following message:

 

‹ Prev