Little America

by Richard Evelyn Byrd Jr.

  ADMIRAL BYRD, WFA

  We are in the Ross Sea. Estimated position at 8 A.M. Lat. 69.30° S., Long. 178° E. Hove to in clear water. Severe southerly gale of hurricane force and heavy swell. Have passed through 60 miles of new pancake ice varying in thickness up to six inches. With a low temperature and calm, the ice pack will become impassable. Therefore strongly urge that base party be prepared to leave on arrival as any delay might prove serious. With more favorable conditions we should arrive at Bay of Whales in five or six days.

  It had taken the City thirty-seven hours and twenty minutes to make the passage. She had caught the pack at just the right time. Patience had been rewarded.

  We sprang to the task of breaking camp with delight. The men were divided into groups, and the following memorandum was posted:

  February 8th, 1930

  The following is the list for details of loading, McKinley will be in charge at the ship.

  Any one desiring relief from any one of the following details will obtain permission from either McKinley or Gould.

  The following men will go to Floyd Bennett Harbor Sunday morning. These men will make camp and sort supplies:

  Black (in charge of the loading of sledges and sorting supplies.)

  Chips Gould (carpenter and will also help sort supplies.)

  Mulroy (will sort supplies.)

  Feury (cook and will help sort supplies)

  The following men will go to Floyd Bennett Harbor on Monday:

  Balchen (in charge of camp)

  Demas (sorting supplies)

  Parker (sorting supplies)

  Smith (radio operator and helping with supplies)

  Details after the ship’s arrival.

  At Floyd Bennett Harbor: The following men will load dog teams:

  Black (in charge of loading)

  Feury (cook and loading)

  Demas

  Harrison

  At ship:

  Strom (in charge of stowing and securing cargo on ship.)

  Balchen (will assist Strom)

  Chips Gould (will put up additional standee bunks on ship.)

  Haines (will assist Chips Gould)

  The following men will be under the direction of the man in charge of loading at the ship:

  Dog drivers (Note: these men will sleep and eat at Floyd Bennett Harbor)

  If only 23 hours are available for loading all hands will work straight through. If the ship is here longer than that the watches will be divided 12 and 12.

  Mail will be given out immediately after ship gets under way for home.

  Members of the Winter Party will be excused from all details on board ship for 24 hours after sailing.

  R. E. BYRD

  With the posting of that order Little America began to disintegrate before our eyes. Men were busy packing clothes and gear. The scientists were crating their records and instruments. The sound of hammering continued with unabating enthusiasm. And with the dissipation of uncertainty, spirits mounted wonderfully.

  The City, however, found the Ross Sea in an evil mood. A few minutes after Captain Melville reported reaching open water, the wind stiffened to hurricane force and gusts reached velocities in excess of 100 miles. The air ran with snow and visibility shut down to zero. The City met the storm head-on and managed to steam six miles south of the pack. Here her engines could not prevail against the seas, and she was driven back. A small storm tris’l was set to keep her head to the seas, which were treacherous.

  As she retreated slowly, a new danger appeared. The ship was driven into a spur of the pack, and in the darkness, immense floes, rising and grinding under the combined force of wind and seas, towered menacingly at the crests of the waves. Because the rudder and stern sheets are the most vulnerable points of the City, it was necessary to bring her head into the ice. Melville swung her to port. Although the engines were full on, she failed to come around quickly in the face of the tremendous seas and in a moment tons of green water swept over the rail. The deck cargo shifted, heavy steel fuel drums broke away from their lashings and charged into the bulwarks and rails, smashing them; the bags of coal washed into the companionways, blocking them so that the men below were trapped and the decks were raked unceasingly by a cross sea.

  In the darkness, they were driven into the pack. The stern, poised high, came down with fearful violence on a floe. A moment later another large mass of ice smashed against her starboard quarter. “I thought, for a moment, the blow had finished her,” Captain Melville said. But the stout old City took it with no more than a shiver, and Melville stopped the engine to save the propeller. “Had one of those floes, sliding up and down those towering seas, crashed on the deck, it would have crushed it to pulp,” the radio operator, Berkner, said.

  Captain Melville worked the ship farther into the pack> and the swell decreased. But even with bare sticks, she made more than six knots backwards. The wind at times reached a velocity of 100 miles per hour.

  The gale lasted for 24 hours, and during that time the City clung to the lee of the pack, waiting for it to subside. The following afternoon the sea calmed somewhat, and the City ventured south again. The Ross Sea was choked for twenty miles with new ice which had been blown from the south, and the ship had some difficulty traversing it. The temperature had fallen to zero, and new ice was forming in their wake. There has been no sun for three or four days and the proximity of the vessel to the magnetic Pole rendered the compasses all but useless.

  The sky cleared and for two days the City drove south at a goodish clip. Then the gale struck her again, and this time nearly finished her. On the night of the 10th a sou’easter sprung up, cold and raw. By morning it had reached almost hurricane force. Snow fell continuously, and the spray whipping from the choppy sea froze on the decks and rigging as fast as it fell. Captain Melville, recognizing the danger, ordered the crew to clear the ship with axes and hammers; but the ice formed faster than they could chop it away. The next day she was actually going down a few feet by the head under the load of ice. A cylinder of ice, ten feet thick, covered the bowsprit and the martingale; and the mass of ice on her decks brought her so low that every other sea boarded and swept her from fore to aft. The engine was cut to half speed to lessen the impact of the seas against the head gear. Erickson was injured in a daring attempt to smash the ice from the bowsprit. If the bowsprit gave way, the topmasts and rigging must have come crashing down. The ship had actually gone down two feet under the load of ice.

  The gale continued for four days, with scarcely a break, and during that period, which was surely as trying as any that Providence could inflict upon a wooden ship, the City’s plucky crew never wavered once. How hard the battle was we did not realize at Little America. There were hints of it in the meagre messages that flew between the base and ship, sandwiched in between discussions over mattresses, knives and forks, bedding, food, plates, bunks and the like—things we should have to take along to eke out the supplies of the City, which was scarcely equipped to handle 60 men.

  February 13th

  Our dead reckoning position is Lat. 76° 22’ S., Long. 179° 54’ W. Just one continuous southeast blizzard. Force 9 and IO and a rough, confused head sea. Ship laboring heavily in sea way. Practically hove to with engines at full speed. Regards.

  MELVILLE

  February 15th

  The vessel is iced up in the worst condition I have ever seen a vessel. We have been running under full steam into a living gale of wind ever since we left the ice pack. We have had no sun for a week and our positions are only approximate. Our head gear is so heavily iced up that at present we are looking for the first shelter to clear ship of ice. On the outside of her hull from the water line up there is approximately two feet of ice. Heavy pitching. We are hampered by heavy seas in our efforts to keep the ship clear of ice. The leak in the stern remains unchanged, but it is not serious. I am in full control of the situation and will advise you of any change.

  MELVILLE

  On the night of the
15th the situation reached a crisis. The men were worn out. Everything that could be spared had been thrown overboard to keep her afloat. The City was taking green water aboard every other roll. And Captain Melville, after a conference with Johansen, reached the conclusion that unless shelter was gained before morning, they would be forced to run with the gale in search of shelter to clear ship. Johansen went on watch, and toward the end he made out land to the westward through a break in the clouds. It was the cone of Mt. Erebus, an active volcano, with a feathering vapor streaming from her crater; and the land which they sighted was Ross Island. They had been driven more than 300 miles off their course. Presently they could see to the westward the lower peaks of South Victoria Land. Melville edged the ship in toward the shelter, and in the morning had her in the lee of the Barrier. Her decks were then nearly level with the sea, and her hull, rigging and spars were encased with a solid coating of ice which, in places, was three feet thick. More than 200 tons of ice lay above the water line of this 500 ton ship. That the City did not go down, I think, is due to the skill of Captain Melville and ice pilot Johansen, the courage and unswerving loyalty of her crew, and the stout heart of the old ship herself.

  We at Little America breathed a sigh of relief when Captain Melville reported, on the morning of the 16th, that the men were chopping the ship clear of ice, and he was proceeding eastward.

  Captain Brown had meanwhile started south from Dunedin, and such was his hurry to get into the fray that he started off without a pilot, and ran the Boiling ashore. “Sorry,” said Brownie. “Trying to save time. Expect to be off at 10 P.M.” They floated the Boiling off on the flood tide. She was undamaged and Brown came south at once.

  Sunday

  February 16th

  Little America is about ready to pass out of existence.

  For the past eight days the sledges have been moving in a steady line to Floyd Bennett Bay. McKinley and Black have the stuff gathered in three piles. Nearly half the camp is now living there. Feury has built a mess hall from dog crates, and an upturned ski from the Ford serves as a mess table. Two lines of tents face each other, and with tons of gear piled behind them it is like a refugee camp.

  The ice has been moving rapidly lately, and the western edge is scarcely a hundred yards from the mouth of Floyd Bennett Harbor. It will make an excellent pier.

  McKinley has handled this thing very well.

  Winter cannot be far off. The temperature has been falling steadily, and the Bay has been full of sea smoke for days. We shall get out just in time. And yet, with the end so near, I am rather sorry that it is over. I shall miss most of all the informal life and the understanding of men which only an expedition of this kind can bring out. Nowhere else can the qualities of friendship and unselfishness be so fully nurtured.

  Monday

  February 17th

  The City is making excellent time, with clear sky and open sea, although contending with a strong westerly set in the current. She will arrive some time tomorrow afternoon.

  The last things were moving out of Little America today. The camp is very quiet tonight—there are just a few here—the rest are at Floyd Bennett Bay. “Doc” Coman has remained, to keep watch over Mason. Mason is doing quite well, although in constant pain, and we have decided not to attempt to move him until the City is fully loaded and ready to go.

  His condition is really precarious. Dr. Coman does not think it will be necessary to operate. If it is some of us must make up our minds to remain here another year—Mason could not be moved for at least three weeks.

  It is a pity that we cannot take the airplanes. However, the aviation gang has anchored them securely on the top of a wind swept ridge about three-quarters of a mile to the eastward of the camp. They faced the planes into the prevailing winds and we hope that they will not be buried by the snow for several years to come.

  The skis have been covered with snow blocks, the tail lifted and the wings set at a negative angle of attack. I don’t think the planes will come to harm. There is one advantage in this climate: where there is no melting there can be no rust.

  More ice went out of the western side of the Bay today, and the edge of it lips the mouth of Floyd Bennett Bay. The City can dock less than a mile from the piles of supplies.

  I cannot speak too highly of the dog drivers—Walden, Goodale, Crockett, Vaughan, Bursey and Blackburn. It is they who have borne the burden of transport from the beginning; and for the past week they have worked like demons. The trail is very soft and dangerous, with open pools of water, yet they have performed as efficiently as ever.

  Well, another twenty-four hours will tell the story.

  Tuesday

  February 18th

  Eight o’clock

  The City is in.

  An hour ago—6:45 o’clock P.M. to be exact—Melville radioed that the ship was in the Bay of Whales, making for the West Barrier. A few minutes later the camp at Floyd Bennett Harbor radioed she was in sight, her topmasts showing through a heavy mist. She came alongside the ice a few minutes ago, and June has begun to load her.

  The camp will be deserted in a few hours. I am remaining here to send a last few radio messages to the United States, which Petersen is handling. The last message from WFA will go to Mr. Adolph Ochs, publisher of the New York Times from the station named after him.

  The place has never been so quiet, nor has it seemed so large and barn-like. The bunks are empty and stripped of everything. The fire in the stove has gone out. Mason is curled up in a bunk and the “Doc” is talking quietly to him. Vaughan is sitting nearby. Ten miles away the loading is in full swing. In all frankness, I hate to see it end.

  McKinley lowered colors for the last time. There was only one of us there to salute them as they came down.

  Wednesday

  February 19th

  At sea

  At 9:30 o’clock this morning Melville gave the order to cast off. The City nosed her way through loose ice in the Bay of Whales and then stood out to sea. We are now making our way along the Barrier, headed for Discovery Inlet.

  These last hours have been the most rushed of all.

  Early this morning, I came down to the ship on Vaughan’s sledge. As we rounded the point of Versur-Mer Inlet, we met Blackburn on his way back to pick up Dr. Coman and Mason. The air was quite raw and cold, with the hint of fog in it. We saw the City moored alongside the bay ice, and the loaded dog teams scurrying between it and the camp in Floyd Bennett Harbor. I met Captain Melville and congratulated him on bringing the ship through. The City still bore the marks of her struggle. Her bow, rigging and decks were still swathed in ice, and the sheathing was scarred where heavy floes had struck her.

  McKinley, Gould, June and Black had the loading problem well in hand. They had been working all night, and most of the important records and scientific equipment were already aboard. All hands pitched in, and the supplies marched up the wooden plankings in a steady stream.

  Taylor and the dogs which he had brought down were more than helpful in the rush of loading.

  At 9:30 o’clock the last piece was put aboard. Then the dogs were released from the sledges and taken on the ship, as were the penguins which we hope to bring back alive to the United States. We cast off.

  Now that we have started the Antarctic is showing its most beautiful side. The sun is shining, lighting up the Barrier cliffs, bringing out its lovely blue shadows and tints. It seems to say: “You see, I am not half so bad as I am painted.”

  We are passing through slush and pancake ice. The Bay of Whales was freezing as we left. In another week, I think, we would have been there to stay—at least until another year had passed. All hands are stowing gear below decks and securing the deck cargo.

  We shall attempt a passage of the pack at the 178th meridian. The Larsen, after penetrating the pack for twenty miles, has withdrawn because of heavy ice and the difficulty of maneuvering. She is heavily loaded. The City was indeed fortunate to get through.

  Thursday


  February 20th

  We took our departure from Discovery Inlet early this morning, and our noon position was approximately 50 miles northwest of it. The Bolling has reached the edge of the pack, and is now standing by the Kosmos.

  Weather continues good. We are meeting patches of new ice.

  Tuesday

  February 25th

  Last night we dogged through scattered fragments of the pack. It is much farther south than we had expected to find it. However, it is quite light and we are making excellent time. If luck is with us, we shall meet the whalers tomorrow. We are heading for the Kosmos and the Bolling.

  I am desperately anxious about Mason, whose condition has not improved. If it becomes necessary to operate on him aboard the City, he hasn’t a chance in a thousand to survive.