Repository: swcarpentry/make-novice
Branch: main
Commit: 2843d7678c4a
Files: 67
Total size: 2.1 MB

Directory structure:
gitextract_fzjncbcy/

├── .editorconfig
├── .github/
│   ├── workbench-docker-version.txt
│   └── workflows/
│       ├── README.md
│       ├── docker_apply_cache.yaml
│       ├── docker_build_deploy.yaml
│       ├── docker_pr_receive.yaml
│       ├── pr-close-signal.yaml
│       ├── pr-comment.yaml
│       ├── pr-post-remove-branch.yaml
│       ├── pr-preflight.yaml
│       ├── update-cache.yaml
│       ├── update-workflows.yaml
│       └── workflows-version.txt
├── .gitignore
├── .mailmap
├── .update-copyright.conf
├── .zenodo.json
├── AUTHORS
├── CITATION
├── CODE_OF_CONDUCT.md
├── CONTRIBUTING.md
├── LICENSE.md
├── README.md
├── commands.mk
├── config.yaml
├── episodes/
│   ├── 01-intro.md
│   ├── 02-makefiles.md
│   ├── 03-variables.md
│   ├── 04-dependencies.md
│   ├── 05-patterns.md
│   ├── 06-variables.md
│   ├── 07-functions.md
│   ├── 08-self-doc.md
│   ├── 09-conclusion.md
│   ├── data/
│   │   └── books/
│   │       ├── LICENSE_TEXTS.md
│   │       ├── abyss.txt
│   │       ├── isles.txt
│   │       ├── last.txt
│   │       └── sierra.txt
│   └── files/
│       └── code/
│           ├── 02-makefile/
│           │   └── Makefile
│           ├── 02-makefile-challenge/
│           │   └── Makefile
│           ├── 03-variables/
│           │   └── Makefile
│           ├── 03-variables-challenge/
│           │   └── Makefile
│           ├── 04-dependencies/
│           │   └── Makefile
│           ├── 05-patterns/
│           │   └── Makefile
│           ├── 06-variables/
│           │   ├── Makefile
│           │   └── config.mk
│           ├── 06-variables-challenge/
│           │   └── Makefile
│           ├── 07-functions/
│           │   ├── Makefile
│           │   └── config.mk
│           ├── 08-self-doc/
│           │   ├── Makefile
│           │   └── config.mk
│           ├── 09-conclusion-challenge-1/
│           │   ├── Makefile
│           │   └── config.mk
│           ├── 09-conclusion-challenge-2/
│           │   ├── Makefile
│           │   └── config.mk
│           ├── countwords.py
│           ├── plotcounts.py
│           └── testzipf.py
├── index.md
├── instructors/
│   └── instructor-notes.md
├── learners/
│   ├── discuss.md
│   ├── reference.md
│   └── setup.md
├── profiles/
│   └── learner-profiles.md
├── requirements.txt
└── site/
    └── README.md

================================================
FILE CONTENTS
================================================

================================================
FILE: .editorconfig
================================================
root = true

[*]
charset = utf-8
insert_final_newline = true
trim_trailing_whitespace = true

[*.md]
indent_size = 2
indent_style = space
max_line_length = 100  # Please keep this in sync with bin/lesson_check.py!
trim_trailing_whitespace = false  # keep trailing spaces in markdown - 2+ spaces are translated to a hard break (<br/>)

[*.r]
max_line_length = 80

[*.py]
indent_size = 4
indent_style = space
max_line_length = 79

[*.sh]
end_of_line = lf

[Makefile]
indent_style = tab


================================================
FILE: .github/workbench-docker-version.txt
================================================
v0.2.4


================================================
FILE: .github/workflows/README.md
================================================
# Workflow Documentation

## Managing Workflow Updates

By using prebuilt Docker containers that are managed by the Carpentries core Workbench maintainers, these workflows are designed to be rarely updated.

However, is important to be able to keep them up-to-date when appropriate.
You can do this locally using your own R and Workbench installation, or via the "04 Maintain: Update Workflow Files" (`update-workflows.yaml`) GitHub Action.

### Updating locally

In a terminal/git bash, navigate to the lesson folder where you want to update the workflows.

Then, start an R session and:

```r
# Install/Update sandpaper
options(repos = c(carpentries = "https://carpentries.r-universe.dev/", CRAN = "https://cloud.r-project.org"))
install.packages("sandpaper")

# update the workflows in your lesson
library("sandpaper")
sandpaper::update_github_workflows()
quit()
```

And then in a bash prompt/git bash terminal:

```bash
$ git add .github/workflows
$ git commit -m "Manual update to docker workflows"
$ git push origin main
```

> [!NOTE]
> For non-renv lessons, this is all the setup you need!
> 
> For renv-enabled lessons:
> - Cancel any "01 Maintain: Build and Deploy Site" workflow currently running
> - Run the "02 Maintain: Check for Updated Packages" workflow and merge any PR opened to update the renv lockfile
> - This should automatically run the "03 Maintain: Apply Package Cache" workflow to install packages and build the cache
> - A successful cache buid should then trigger the "01 Maintain: Build and Deploy Site" workflow

### Updating using GitHub

#### Official lessons

"Official" lessons are those in the lesson program repositories, Incubator, or Lab.
They need no extra setup as this is all managed for you as part of the Carpentries GitHub organisations.

To update the workflows, either:
- wait for the scheduled run of the "04 Maintain: Update Workflow Files" at approximately midnight every Tuesday
- go to the Actions tab on GitHub, click "04 Maintain: Update Workflow Files" on the left, then "Run Workflow" on the right

Once complete, this will raise a PR with any changes to the workflows that are needed.
If you are happy with the changes made, you can merge the PR into your lesson repository.

#### Your own lessons

This presumes you:
  - already have a lesson repository available on GitHub
  - have enabled workflows in the lesson repo
  - have set up a SANDPAPER_WORKFLOW personal access token (PAT) in the lesson repo

To go through these steps, please follow the [Forking a Workbench Lesson](https://docs.carpentries.org/resources/curriculum/lesson-forks.html#forking-a-workbench-lesson-repository)
documentation.

Once set up, run the "04 Maintain: Update Workflow Files" (`update-workflows.yaml`) action.

This will raise a PR with any changes to the workflows that are needed.
If you are happy with the changes made, you can merge the PR into your lesson repository.


## Package Caches for RMarkdown Lessons

In summary, generating a reusable package cache is achieved by running the "02 Maintain: Check for Updated Packages" workflow, and then the "03 Maintain: Apply Package Cache" workflow.

> [!NOTE]
> Caching is only relevant for lessons that use Rmd files and renv to manage R packages.
> If you are building basic markdown documents, caching will not apply to you, and the only
> workflow that needs to be run is "01 Maintain: Build and Deploy Site".

### Caching

The two cache management workflows are separated to ensure that once you have a successful build with a working renv cache, this cache is stored and will be reused by the Workbench Docker container.
This means that lesson builds will be faster once an renv cache is created and reused by the Docker container.

Another major bonus of this setup is that you can keep using this cache indefinitely to build your lesson.
This is important if you need very specific versions of R packages ("pinning").

If and when you want to perform an update to the cache, you can re-run the "02 Maintain: Check for Updated Packages" and verify that your lesson still builds with the new packages.
If all looks good, re-run the "03 Maintain: Apply Package Cache" workflow, and this will write a new renv cache file to GitHub.

In any case, the renv cache is invalidated by new versions of the `renv.lock` file.
This happens:
  - if you update your lockfile locally by using the `sandpaper::update_cache()` function, and then push it to the lesson repository
  - when you run the "02 Maintain: Check for Updated Packages" and there are new packages to install

More information on managing local renv caches for lessons can be found in the [Sandpaper packages vignettes](https://carpentries.github.io/sandpaper/articles/building-with-renv.html).

#### Using different package cache versions

There are times when you may want to go back to a previous renv package cache file:
  - if you run "02 Maintain: Check for Updated Packages" and "03 Maintain: Apply Package Cache" and the cache generation fails for some reason
  - if there is a new R package that produces incorrect or broken lesson output

Cache files will have the following name format, where IMAGE is the workbench-docker image version, and HASHSUM is the `renv.lock` lockfile MD5 hash:

```
IMAGE                                HASHSUM
[ |  ]      [                           |                                  ]
v0.2.4_renv-2e499eb706112971b2cffceb49b55a6efe49f3ed75cd6579b10ff224489daca4
```

Copy the hashsum part of the desired cache file you want to use, e.g. `2e499eb706112971b2cffceb49b55a6efe49f3ed75cd6579b10ff224489daca4`.

Then either:
 1. Add a repository variable called CACHE_VERSION, and paste in the hash
    - Go to ...
 2. Run the "01 Maintain: Build and Deploy Site" manually, supplying the CACHE_VERSION input
    - Go to ...

If you have no caches listed, make sure to run the "02 Maintain: Check for Updated Packages" and "03 Maintain: Apply Package Cache" to create a new renv cache file.

> [!NOTE]
> If you are maintaining an official lesson, caches are saved in an AWS S3 bucket owned by the Carpentries.
> Once a successful cache has been saved, these will be listed in the outputs of the "01 Maintain: Build and Deploy Site" workflow.
> 
> If you are developing a lesson in your own repository, caches are saved on GitHub.
> You can see available caches by going to the Actions tab, and clicking Caches on the left hand side.


## User Settings

Input level variables are documented in the `carpentries/actions` repository READMEs for each composite action.

Specific repository level variables can be set that will force particular options across all workflow runs.

### 01 Maintain: Build and Deploy Site (docker_build_deploy.yaml)

Repository-level variables for this workflow are:
- WORKBENCH_TAG
  - The workbench-docker release version to use for a given build
  - This can be set to a specific version number to force all builds to use a given container version
  - Default is unset or `latest`
- BUILD_RESET
  - Force a reset of previously build markdown files
  - Setting this variable value to `true` will force sandpaper to delete any previously build markdown files
  - Default is unset or `false`
- AUTO_MERGE_WORKBENCH_VERSION_UPDATE
  - Control merge behaviour of the workbench-docker version update PR
  - When a new workbench Docker image version is detected, usually after a sandpaper, varnish, or pegboard update, its version number will be incremented
  - If a newer version is available, a PR will be auto-generated that updates the `.github/workbench-docker-version.txt` file, and this PR will be auto-merged
  - To not auto-merge this PR and to choose when to update the Docker version used, set this to `false`.
  - Default is unset or `true`
- LANG_CODE
  - Two-letter language code that triggers the use of Joel Nitta's {dovetail} package for lesson translation
  - This is used in the internationalisation repos of the main Carpentry lesson programs
  - Default is unset or `''`

### 02 Maintain: Check for Updated Packages (update-cache.yaml)

Repository-level variables for this workflow are:
- LOCKFILE_CACHE_GEN
  - Passed to the `generate-cache` input of the [update-lockfile](https://github.com/carpentries/actions/tree/main/update-lockfile) action
  - A temporary renv cache is generated when this workflow runs
  - If this option is set to `false`, no temporary cache will be generated
  - Default is `true`
- FORCE_RENV_INIT
  - Passed to the `force-renv-init` input of the [update-lockfile](https://github.com/carpentries/actions/tree/main/update-lockfile) action
  - renv initialises a cache based on a given lockfile
  - If this lockfile is particularly old or packages have broken/unresolvable dependencies, then builds will fail
  - If this option is set to `true`, a full renv reinitialisation will occur, "wiping the slate clean"
  - This option is useful if you're using Bioconductor packages which often break when new Bioconductor releases happen
  - Default is `false`
- UPDATE_PACKAGES
  - Passed to the `update` input of the [update-lockfile](https://github.com/carpentries/actions/tree/main/update-lockfile) action
  - If set to `false` only package hydration will happen and no package update checks will occur
  - Default is `true`

### 03 Maintain: Apply Package Cache (docker_apply_cache.yaml)

Repository-level variables for this workflow are:
- WORKBENCH_TAG
  - The workbench-docker release version to use for a given build
  - This can be set to a specific version number to force all builds to use a given container version
  - Default is unset or `latest`


### 04 Maintain: Update Workflow Files (update-workflows.yaml)

There are no repository variables for this workflow.


## Pull Request and Review Management

Because our lessons execute code, pull requests are a security risk for any lesson and thus have security measures associted with them.
**Do not merge any pull requests that do not pass checks and do not have bots commented on them.**

This series of workflows all go together and are described in the following diagram and the below sections:

![Graph representation of a pull request](https://carpentries.github.io/sandpaper/articles/img/pr-flow.dot.svg)

### Pre Flight Pull Request Validation (pr-preflight.yaml)

This workflow runs every time a pull request is created and its purpose is to validate that the pull request is okay to run.
This means the following things:

1. The pull request does not contain modified workflow files
2. If the pull request contains modified workflow files, it does not contain modified content files
   (such as a situation where @carpentries-bot will make an automated pull request)
3. The pull request does not contain an invalid commit hash
   (e.g. from a fork that was made before a lesson was transitioned from styles to use the Workbench).

Once the checks are finished, a comment is issued to the pull request, which will allow maintainers to determine if it is safe to run the "Receive Pull Request" workflow from new contributors.

### Receive Pull Request (docker_pr_receive.yaml)

**Note of caution:** This workflow runs arbitrary code by anyone who creates a pull request.
GitHub has safeguarded the token used in this workflow to have no privileges in the repository, but we have taken precautions to protect against spoofing.

This workflow is triggered with every push to a pull request.
If this workflow is already running and a new push is sent to the pull request, the workflow running from the previous push will be cancelled and a new workflow run will be started.

The first step of this workflow is to check if it is valid (e.g. that no workflow files have been modified):
- If there are workflow files that have been modified, a comment is made that indicates that the workflow will not continue.
- If both a workflow file and lesson content is modified, an error will occur and the workflow will not continue.

The second step (if valid) is to build the generated content from the pull request.
This builds the content and uploads three artifacts:

1. The pull request number (pr)
2. A summary of changes after the rendering process (diff)
3. The rendered files (build)

The artifacts produced are used by the "Comment on Pull Request" workflow.

### Comment on Pull Request (pr-comment.yaml)

This workflow is triggered if the `docker_pr_receive.yaml` workflow is successful.
The steps in this workflow are:

1. Test if the workflow is valid and comment the validity of the workflow to the pull request.
2. If it is valid: create an orphan branch with two commits: the current state of the repository and the proposed changes.
3. If it is valid: update the pull request comment with the summary of changes

Importantly: if the pull request is invalid, the branch is not created so any malicious code is not published.

From here, the maintainer can request changes from the author and eventually either merge or reject the PR.
When this happens, if the PR was valid, the preview branch needs to be deleted. 

### Send Close PR Signal (pr-close-signal.yaml)

Triggered any time a pull request is closed.
This emits an artifact that is the pull request number for the next action.

### Remove Pull Request Branch (pr-post-remove-branch.yaml)

Tiggered by `pr-close-signal.yaml`.
This removes the temporary branch associated with the pull request (if it was created).


================================================
FILE: .github/workflows/docker_apply_cache.yaml
================================================
name: "03 Maintain: Apply Package Cache"
description: "Generate the package cache for the lesson after a pull request has been merged or via manual trigger, and cache in S3 or GitHub"
on:
  workflow_dispatch:
    inputs:
      name:
        description: 'Who triggered this build?'
        required: true
        default: 'Maintainer (via GitHub)'
  pull_request:
    types:
      - closed
    branches:
      - main

# queue cache runs
concurrency:
  group: docker-apply-cache
  cancel-in-progress: false

jobs:
  preflight:
    name: "Preflight: PR or Manual Trigger?"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    outputs:
      do-apply: ${{ steps.check.outputs.merged_or_manual }}
    steps:
      - name: "Should we run cache application?"
        id: check
        run: |
          if [[ "${{ github.event_name }}" == "workflow_dispatch" ||
                ("${{ github.ref }}" == "refs/heads/main" && "${{ github.event.action }}" == "closed" && "${{ github.event.pull_request.merged }}" == "true") ]]; then
            echo "merged_or_manual=true" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT
          else
            echo "This was not a manual trigger and no PR was merged. No action taken."
            echo "merged_or_manual=false" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT
          fi
        shell: bash

  check-renv:
    name: "Check If We Need {renv}"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    needs: preflight
    if: needs.preflight.outputs.do-apply == 'true'
    permissions:
      id-token: write
    outputs:
      renv-needed: ${{ steps.check-for-renv.outputs.renv-needed }}
      renv-cache-hashsum: ${{ steps.check-for-renv.outputs.renv-cache-hashsum }}
      renv-cache-available: ${{ steps.check-for-renv.outputs.renv-cache-available }}
    steps:
      - name: "Check for renv"
        id: check-for-renv
        uses: carpentries/actions/renv-checks@main
        with:
          role-to-assume: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_ARN }}
          aws-region: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_REGION }}
          WORKBENCH_TAG: ${{ vars.WORKBENCH_TAG || 'latest' }}
          token: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}

  no-renv-cache-used:
    name: "No renv cache used"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    needs: check-renv
    if: needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-needed != 'true'
    steps:
      - name: "No renv cache needed"
        run: echo "No renv cache needed for this lesson"

  renv-cache-available:
    name: "renv cache available"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    needs: check-renv
    if: needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-cache-available == 'true'
    steps:
      - name: "renv cache available"
        run: echo "renv cache available for this lesson"

  update-renv-cache:
    name: "Update renv Cache"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    needs: check-renv
    if: |
      needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-needed == 'true' &&
      needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-cache-available != 'true' &&
      (
        github.event_name == 'workflow_dispatch' ||
        (
          github.event.pull_request.merged == true &&
          (
            (
              contains(
                join(github.event.pull_request.labels.*.name, ','),
                'type: package cache'
              ) &&
              github.event.pull_request.head.ref == 'update/packages'
            )
            ||
            (
              contains(
                join(github.event.pull_request.labels.*.name, ','),
                'type: workflows'
              ) &&
              github.event.pull_request.head.ref == 'update/workflows'
            )
            ||
            (
              contains(
                join(github.event.pull_request.labels.*.name, ','),
                'type: docker version'
              ) &&
              github.event.pull_request.head.ref == 'update/workbench-docker-version'
            )
          )
        )
      )
    permissions:
      checks: write
      contents: write
      pages: write
      id-token: write
    container:
      image: ghcr.io/carpentries/workbench-docker:${{ vars.WORKBENCH_TAG || 'latest' }}
      env:
        WORKBENCH_PROFILE: "ci"
        GITHUB_PAT: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
        RENV_PATHS_ROOT: /home/rstudio/lesson/renv
        RENV_PROFILE: "lesson-requirements"
        RENV_VERSION: ${{ needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-cache-hashsum }}
        RENV_CONFIG_EXTERNAL_LIBRARIES: "/usr/local/lib/R/site-library"
      volumes:
        - ${{ github.workspace }}:/home/rstudio/lesson
      options: --cpus 2
    steps:
      - uses: actions/checkout@v6

      - name: "Debugging Info"
        run: |
          echo "Current Directory: $(pwd)"
          ls -lah /home/rstudio/.workbench
          ls -lah $(pwd)
          Rscript -e 'sessionInfo()'
        shell: bash

      - name: "Mark Repository as Safe"
        run: |
          git config --global --add safe.directory $(pwd)
        shell: bash

      - name: "Ensure sandpaper is loadable"
        run: |
          .libPaths()
          library(sandpaper)
        shell: Rscript {0}

      - name: "Setup Lesson Dependencies"
        run: |
          Rscript /home/rstudio/.workbench/setup_lesson_deps.R
        shell: bash

      - name: "Fortify renv Cache"
        run: |
          Rscript /home/rstudio/.workbench/fortify_renv_cache.R
        shell: bash

      - name: "Get Container Version Used"
        id: wb-vers
        uses: carpentries/actions/container-version@main
        with:
          WORKBENCH_TAG: ${{ vars.WORKBENCH_TAG }}
          renv-needed: ${{ needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-needed }}
          token: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}

      - name: "Validate Current Org and Workflow"
        id: validate-org-workflow
        uses: carpentries/actions/validate-org-workflow@main
        with:
          repo: ${{ github.repository }}
          workflow: ${{ github.workflow }}

      - name: "Configure AWS credentials via OIDC"
        id: aws-creds
        env:
          role-to-assume: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_ARN }}
          aws-region: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_REGION }}
        if: |
          steps.validate-org-workflow.outputs.is_valid == 'true' &&
          env.role-to-assume != '' &&
          env.aws-region != ''
        uses: aws-actions/configure-aws-credentials@v6
        with:
          role-to-assume: ${{ env.role-to-assume }}
          aws-region: ${{ env.aws-region }}
          output-credentials: true

      - name: "Upload cache object to S3"
        id: upload-cache
        uses: tespkg/actions-cache@v1.10.0
        with:
          accessKey: ${{ steps.aws-creds.outputs.aws-access-key-id }}
          secretKey: ${{ steps.aws-creds.outputs.aws-secret-access-key }}
          sessionToken: ${{ steps.aws-creds.outputs.aws-session-token }}
          bucket: workbench-docker-caches
          path: |
            /home/rstudio/lesson/renv
            /usr/local/lib/R/site-library
          key: ${{ github.repository }}/${{ steps.wb-vers.outputs.container-version }}_renv-${{ needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-cache-hashsum }}
          restore-keys:
            ${{ github.repository }}/${{ steps.wb-vers.outputs.container-version }}_renv-

  record-cache-result:
    name: "Record Caching Status"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    needs: [check-renv, update-renv-cache]
    if: always()
    env:
      GITHUB_TOKEN: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
    steps:
      - name: "Record cache result"

        run: |
          echo "${{ needs.update-renv-cache.result == 'success' || needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-cache-available == 'true' || 'false' }}" > ${{ github.workspace }}/apply-cache-result
        shell: bash

      - name: "Upload cache result"
        uses: actions/upload-artifact@v7
        with:
          name: apply-cache-result
          path: ${{ github.workspace }}/apply-cache-result


================================================
FILE: .github/workflows/docker_build_deploy.yaml
================================================
name: "01 Maintain: Build and Deploy Site"
description: "Build and deploy the lesson site using the carpentries/workbench-docker container"
on:
  push:
    branches:
      - 'main'
      - 'l10n_main'
    paths-ignore:
      - '.github/workflows/**.yaml'
      - '.github/workbench-docker-version.txt'
  schedule:
    - cron: '0 0 * * 2'
  workflow_run:
    workflows: ["03 Maintain: Apply Package Cache"]
    types:
      - completed
  workflow_dispatch:
    inputs:
      name:
        description: 'Who triggered this build?'
        required: true
        default: 'Maintainer (via GitHub)'
      CACHE_VERSION:
        description: 'Optional renv cache version override'
        required: false
        default: ''
      reset:
        description: 'Reset cached markdown files'
        required: true
        default: false
        type: boolean
      force-skip-manage-deps:
        description: 'Skip build-time dependency management'
        required: true
        default: false
        type: boolean

# only one build/deploy at a time
concurrency:
  group: docker-build-deploy
  cancel-in-progress: true

jobs:
  preflight:
    name: "Preflight: Schedule, Push, or PR?"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    outputs:
      do-build: ${{ steps.build-check.outputs.do-build }}
      renv-needed: ${{ steps.build-check.outputs.renv-needed }}
      renv-cache-hashsum: ${{ steps.build-check.outputs.renv-cache-hashsum }}
      workbench-container-file-exists: ${{ steps.wb-vers.outputs.workbench-container-file-exists }}
      wb-vers: ${{ steps.wb-vers.outputs.container-version }}
      last-wb-vers: ${{ steps.wb-vers.outputs.last-container-version }}
      workbench-update: ${{ steps.wb-vers.outputs.workbench-update }}
    env:
      GITHUB_TOKEN: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
    steps:
      - name: "Should we run build and deploy?"
        id: build-check
        uses: carpentries/actions/build-preflight@main

      - name: "Checkout Lesson"
        if: steps.build-check.outputs.do-build == 'true'
        uses: actions/checkout@v6

      - name: "Get container version info"
        id: wb-vers
        if: steps.build-check.outputs.do-build == 'true'
        uses: carpentries/actions/container-version@main
        with:
          WORKBENCH_TAG: ${{ vars.WORKBENCH_TAG }}
          renv-needed: ${{ steps.build-check.outputs.renv-needed }}
          token: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}

  full-build:
    name: "Build Full Site"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    needs: preflight
    if: |
      needs.preflight.outputs.do-build == 'true' &&
      needs.preflight.outputs.workbench-update != 'true'
    env:
      RENV_EXISTS: ${{ needs.preflight.outputs.renv-needed }}
      RENV_HASH: ${{ needs.preflight.outputs.renv-cache-hashsum }}
    permissions:
      checks: write
      contents: write
      pages: write
      id-token: write
    container:
      image: ghcr.io/carpentries/workbench-docker:${{ vars.WORKBENCH_TAG || 'latest' }}
      env:
        WORKBENCH_PROFILE: "ci"
        GITHUB_PAT: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
        RENV_PATHS_ROOT: /home/rstudio/lesson/renv
        RENV_PROFILE: "lesson-requirements"
        RENV_CONFIG_EXTERNAL_LIBRARIES: "/usr/local/lib/R/site-library"
      volumes:
        - ${{ github.workspace }}:/home/rstudio/lesson
      options: --cpus 1
    steps:
      - uses: actions/checkout@v6

      - name: "Debugging Info"
        run: |
          cd /home/rstudio/lesson
          echo "Current Directory: $(pwd)"
          echo "RENV_HASH is $RENV_HASH"
          ls -lah /home/rstudio/.workbench
          ls -lah $(pwd)
          Rscript -e 'sessionInfo()'
        shell: bash

      - name: "Mark Repository as Safe"
        run: |
          git config --global --add safe.directory $(pwd)
        shell: bash

      - name: "Setup Lesson Dependencies"
        id: build-container-deps
        uses: carpentries/actions/build-container-deps@main
        with:
          CACHE_VERSION: ${{ vars.CACHE_VERSION || github.event.inputs.CACHE_VERSION || '' }}
          WORKBENCH_TAG: ${{ vars.WORKBENCH_TAG || 'latest' }}
          LESSON_PATH: ${{ vars.LESSON_PATH || '/home/rstudio/lesson' }}
          role-to-assume: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_ARN }}
          aws-region: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_REGION }}
          token: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}

      - name: "Run Container and Build Site"
        id: build-and-deploy
        uses: carpentries/actions/build-and-deploy@main
        with:
          reset: ${{ vars.BUILD_RESET || github.event.inputs.reset || 'false' }}
          skip-manage-deps: ${{ github.event.inputs.force-skip-manage-deps == 'true' || steps.build-container-deps.outputs.renv-cache-available || steps.build-container-deps.outputs.backup-cache-used || 'false' }}
          lang-code: ${{ vars.LANG_CODE || '' }}

  update-container-version:
    name: "Update container version used"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    needs: [preflight]
    permissions:
      actions: write
      contents: write
      pull-requests: write
      id-token: write
    if: |
      needs.preflight.outputs.do-build == 'true' &&
      (
        needs.preflight.outputs.workbench-container-file-exists == 'false' ||
        needs.preflight.outputs.workbench-update == 'true'
      )
    steps:
      - name: "Record container version used"
        uses: carpentries/actions/record-container-version@main
        with:
          CONTAINER_VER: ${{ needs.preflight.outputs.wb-vers }}
          AUTO_MERGE: ${{ vars.AUTO_MERGE_CONTAINER_VERSION_UPDATE || 'true' }}
          token: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
          role-to-assume: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_ARN }}
          aws-region: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_REGION }}


================================================
FILE: .github/workflows/docker_pr_receive.yaml
================================================
name: "Bot: Receive Pull Request"
description: "Receive a pull request and build the markdown source files"
on:
  pull_request:
    types:
      [opened, synchronize, reopened]
  workflow_dispatch:
    inputs:
      pr_number:
        type: number
        required: true

concurrency:
  group: ${{ github.ref }}
  cancel-in-progress: true

permissions:
  contents: read
  pull-requests: write

jobs:
  preflight:
    name: "Preflight: md-outputs exists?"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    outputs:
      branch-exists: ${{ steps.check.outputs.exists }}
    steps:
      - name: "Checkout Lesson"
        uses: actions/checkout@v6

      - name: "Check if md-outputs branch exists"
        id: check
        run: |
          # 💡 Checking for md-outputs branch #
          if [[ -n $(git ls-remote --exit-code --heads origin md-outputs) ]]; then
            echo "exists=true" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT
          else
            echo "exists=false" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT
            echo "::error::md-outputs branch required but does not exist."
            echo "::error::Please merge any open package update PRs to trigger the '03 Maintain: Apply Package Cache' and '01: Maintain: Build and Deploy Site' workflows."

            echo "## ❌ ERROR: md-outputs branch required" >> $GITHUB_STEP_SUMMARY
            echo "Please merge any open package update PRs to trigger the '03 Maintain: Apply Package Cache' and '01: Maintain: Build and Deploy Site' workflows." >> $GITHUB_STEP_SUMMARY

            exit 1
          fi
        shell: bash

  test-pr:
    name: "Record PR number"
    if: |
      github.event.action != 'closed' &&
      needs.preflight.outputs.branch-exists == 'true'
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    needs: preflight
    outputs:
      is_valid: ${{ steps.check-pr.outputs.VALID }}
      pr_number: ${{ env.NR }}
      pr_branch: ${{ env.PR_BRANCH }}
    steps:
      - name: "Grab PR"
        env:
          GITHUB_TOKEN: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
        run: |
          if [[ "${{ github.event_name }}" == "pull_request" ]] ; then
            PR_NUMBER=${{ github.event.number }}
          elif [[ "${{ github.event_name }}" == "workflow_dispatch" ]] ; then
            PR_NUMBER=${{ inputs.pr_number }}
          fi

          echo $PR_NUMBER > ${{ github.workspace }}/NR
          echo "NR=$PR_NUMBER" >> $GITHUB_ENV
          echo "PR_BRANCH=$(gh -R ${{ github.repository }} pr view $PR_NUMBER --json headRefName --jq '.headRefName')" >> $GITHUB_ENV
        shell: bash

      - name: "Upload PR number"
        id: upload
        if: always()
        uses: actions/upload-artifact@v7
        with:
          name: pr
          path: ${{ github.workspace }}/NR

      - name: "Get Invalid Hashes File"
        id: hash
        run: |
          echo "json<<EOF
          $(curl -sL https://files.carpentries.org/invalid-hashes.json)
          EOF" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT
        shell: bash

      - name: "Debug Hashes Output"
        run: |
          echo "${{ steps.hash.outputs.json }}"
        shell: bash

      - name: "Check PR"
        id: check-pr
        uses: carpentries/actions/check-valid-pr@main
        with:
          pr: ${{ env.NR }}
          invalid: ${{ fromJSON(steps.hash.outputs.json)[github.repository] }}

  check-renv:
    name: "Check If We Need {renv}"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    outputs:
      renv-needed: ${{ steps.renv-check.outputs.renv-needed }}
      renv-cache-hashsum: ${{ steps.renv-check.outputs.renv-cache-hashsum }}
    steps:
      - name: "Checkout Lesson"
        uses: actions/checkout@v6

      - name: "Is renv required?"
        id: renv-check
        uses: carpentries/actions/renv-checks@main
        with:
          CACHE_VERSION: ${{ inputs.CACHE_VERSION || '' }}
          skip-cache-check: true

  build-md-source:
    name: "Build markdown source files if valid"
    needs:
      - test-pr
      - check-renv
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    if: needs.test-pr.outputs.is_valid == 'true'
    env:
      CHIVE: ${{ github.workspace }}/site/chive
      PR: ${{ github.workspace }}/site/pr
      GHWMD: ${{ github.workspace }}/site/built
      PR_BRANCH: ${{ needs.test-pr.outputs.pr_branch }}
      PR_NUMBER: ${{ needs.test-pr.outputs.pr_number }}
      GITHUB_TOKEN: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
    permissions:
      checks: write
      contents: write
      pages: write
      id-token: write
    container:
      image: ghcr.io/carpentries/workbench-docker:${{ vars.WORKBENCH_TAG || 'latest' }}
      env:
        WORKBENCH_PROFILE: "ci"
        GITHUB_PAT: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
        GITHUB_TOKEN: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
        RENV_PATHS_ROOT: /home/rstudio/lesson/renv
        RENV_PROFILE: "lesson-requirements"
        RENV_CONFIG_EXTERNAL_LIBRARIES: "/usr/local/lib/R/site-library"
      volumes:
        - ${{ github.workspace }}:/home/rstudio/lesson
      options: --cpus 2
    outputs:
      workbench-update: ${{ steps.wb-vers.outputs.workbench-update }}
      build-site: ${{ steps.build-site.outcome }}
    steps:
      - uses: actions/checkout@v6

      - name: "Check Out Staging Branch"
        uses: actions/checkout@v6
        with:
          ref: md-outputs
          path: ${{ env.GHWMD }}

      - name: Mark Repository as Safe
        run: |
          git config --global --add safe.directory $(pwd)
          git config --global --add safe.directory /home/rstudio/lesson
        shell: bash

      - name: "Ensure sandpaper is loadable"
        run: |
          .libPaths()
          library(sandpaper)
        shell: Rscript {0}

      - name: Setup Lesson Dependencies
        run: |
          Rscript /home/rstudio/.workbench/setup_lesson_deps.R
        shell: bash

      - name: Get Container Version Used
        id: wb-vers
        if: needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-needed == 'true'
        uses: carpentries/actions/container-version@main
        with:
          WORKBENCH_TAG: ${{ vars.WORKBENCH_TAG }}
          renv-needed: ${{ needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-needed }}
          token: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}

      - name: "Validate Current Org and Workflow"
        id: validate-org-workflow
        if: needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-needed == 'true'
        uses: carpentries/actions/validate-org-workflow@main
        with:
          repo: ${{ github.repository }}
          workflow: ${{ github.workflow }}

      - name: Configure AWS credentials via OIDC
        id: aws-creds
        env:
          role-to-assume: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_ARN }}
          aws-region: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_REGION }}
        if: |
          steps.validate-org-workflow.outputs.is_valid == 'true' &&
          needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-needed == 'true' &&
          env.role-to-assume != '' &&
          env.aws-region != ''
        uses: aws-actions/configure-aws-credentials@v6
        with:
          role-to-assume: ${{ env.role-to-assume }}
          aws-region: ${{ env.aws-region }}
          output-credentials: true

      - name: Get cache object from S3
        id: s3-cache
        uses: tespkg/actions-cache/restore@v1.10.0
        if: needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-needed == 'true'
        with:
          # insecure: false # optional, use http instead of https. default false
          accessKey: ${{ steps.aws-creds.outputs.aws-access-key-id }}
          secretKey: ${{ steps.aws-creds.outputs.aws-secret-access-key }}
          sessionToken: ${{ steps.aws-creds.outputs.aws-session-token }}
          bucket: workbench-docker-caches
          path: |
            /home/rstudio/lesson/renv
            /usr/local/lib/R/site-library
          key: ${{ github.repository }}/${{ steps.wb-vers.outputs.container-version }}_renv-${{ needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-cache-hashsum }}
          restore-keys:
            ${{ github.repository }}/${{ steps.wb-vers.outputs.container-version }}_renv-

      - name: "Fortify renv Cache"
        if: |
          needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-needed == 'true' &&
          steps.s3-cache.outputs.cache-hit != 'true'
        run: |
          Rscript /home/rstudio/.workbench/fortify_renv_cache.R
        shell: bash

      - name: "Validate and Build Markdown"
        id: build-site
        run: |
          sandpaper::package_cache_trigger(TRUE)
          sandpaper::validate_lesson(path = '/home/rstudio/lesson')
          sandpaper:::build_markdown(path = '/home/rstudio/lesson', quiet = FALSE)
        shell: Rscript {0}

      - name: "Generate Artifacts"
        id: generate-artifacts
        run: |
          sandpaper:::ci_bundle_pr_artifacts(
            repo         = '${{ github.repository }}',
            pr_number    = '${{ env.PR_NUMBER }}',
            path_md      = '/home/rstudio/lesson/site/built',
            path_pr      = '/home/rstudio/lesson/site/pr',
            path_archive = '/home/rstudio/lesson/site/chive',
            branch       = 'md-outputs'
          )
        shell: Rscript {0}

      - name: "Upload PR"
        uses: actions/upload-artifact@v7
        with:
          name: pr
          path: ${{ env.PR }}
          overwrite: true

      - name: "Upload Diff"
        uses: actions/upload-artifact@v7
        with:
          name: diff
          path: ${{ env.CHIVE }}
          retention-days: 1

      - name: "Upload Build"
        uses: actions/upload-artifact@v7
        with:
          name: built
          path: ${{ env.GHWMD }}
          retention-days: 1

      - name: "Teardown"
        run: sandpaper::reset_site()
        shell: Rscript {0}


================================================
FILE: .github/workflows/pr-close-signal.yaml
================================================
name: "Bot: Send Close Pull Request Signal"

on:
  pull_request:
    types:
      [closed]

jobs:
  send-close-signal:
    name: "Send closing signal"
    runs-on: ubuntu-22.04
    if: ${{ github.event.action == 'closed' }}
    steps:
      - name: "Create PRtifact"
        run: |
          mkdir -p ./pr
          printf ${{ github.event.number }} > ./pr/NUM
      - name: Upload Diff
        uses: actions/upload-artifact@v7
        with:
          name: pr
          path: ./pr


================================================
FILE: .github/workflows/pr-comment.yaml
================================================
name: "Bot: Comment on the Pull Request"
description: "Comment on the pull request with the results of the markdown generation"
on:
  workflow_run:
    workflows: ["Bot: Receive Pull Request"]
    types:
      - completed

jobs:
  # Pull requests are valid if:
  #  - they match the sha of the workflow run head commit
  #  - they are open
  #  - no .github files were committed, except for .github/workbench-docker-version.txt
  test-pr:
    name: "Test if pull request is valid"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    outputs:
      is_valid: ${{ steps.check-pr.outputs.VALID }}
      payload: ${{ steps.check-pr.outputs.payload }}
      number: ${{ steps.get-pr.outputs.NUM }}
      msg: ${{ steps.check-pr.outputs.MSG }}
    steps:
      - name: "Download PR artifact"
        id: dl
        uses: carpentries/actions/download-workflow-artifact@main
        with:
          run: ${{ github.event.workflow_run.id }}
          name: 'pr'

      - name: "Get PR Number"
        if: ${{ steps.dl.outputs.success == 'true' }}
        id: get-pr
        run: |
          unzip pr.zip
          echo "NUM=$(<./NR)" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT

      - name: "Fail if PR number was not present"
        id: bad-pr
        if: ${{ steps.dl.outputs.success != 'true' }}
        run: |
          echo '::error::A pull request number was not recorded. The pull request that triggered this workflow is likely malicious.'
          exit 1

      - name: "Checkout Lesson"
        uses: actions/checkout@v6

      - name: "Verify committed files"
        id: changed-files
        env:
          GITHUB_TOKEN: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
        run: |
          ## Get list of changed files in the PR ##
          ONLY_VERSION=$(gh pr view ${{ steps.get-pr.outputs.NUM }} --json files --jq '
            .files |
            length == 1 and
            .[0].path == ".github/workbench-docker-version.txt"
          ')

          if [[ "$ONLY_VERSION" == "true" ]]; then
            echo "only_version_file=true" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT
          else
            echo "only_version_file=false" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT
          fi
        shell: bash

      - name: "Skip checks for Workbench version file updates"
        if: steps.changed-files.outputs.only_version_file == 'true'
        run: |
          echo "# 🔧 Wait for Next Cache Update #"
          echo "Only workbench-docker-version.txt changed."
          exit 0
        shell: bash

      - name: "Get Invalid Hashes File"
        id: hash
        run: |
          echo "json<<EOF
          $(curl -sL https://files.carpentries.org/invalid-hashes.json)
          EOF" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT

      - name: "Check PR"
        id: check-pr
        if: ${{ steps.dl.outputs.success == 'true' }}
        uses: carpentries/actions/check-valid-pr@main
        with:
          pr: ${{ steps.get-pr.outputs.NUM }}
          sha: ${{ github.event.workflow_run.head_sha }}
          headroom: 3 # if it's within the last three commits, we can keep going, because it's likely rapid-fire
          invalid: ${{ fromJSON(steps.hash.outputs.json)[github.repository] }}
          fail_on_error: true

      - name: "Comment result of validation"
        id: comment-diff
        if: always()
        uses: carpentries/actions/comment-diff@main
        with:
          pr: ${{ steps.get-pr.outputs.NUM }}
          body: ${{ steps.check-pr.outputs.MSG }}

  # Create an orphan branch on this repository with two commits
  #  - the current HEAD of the md-outputs branch
  #  - the output from running the current HEAD of the pull request through
  #    the md generator
  create-branch:
    name: "Create Git Branch"
    needs: test-pr
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    if: needs.test-pr.outputs.is_valid == 'true'
    env:
      NR: ${{ needs.test-pr.outputs.number }}
    permissions:
      contents: write
    steps:
      - name: "Checkout md outputs"
        uses: actions/checkout@v6
        with:
          ref: md-outputs
          path: built
          fetch-depth: 1

      - name: "Download built markdown"
        id: dl
        uses: carpentries/actions/download-workflow-artifact@main
        with:
          run: ${{ github.event.workflow_run.id }}
          name: 'built'

      - if: steps.dl.outputs.success == 'true'
        run: unzip built.zip

      - name: "Create orphan and push"
        if: steps.dl.outputs.success == 'true'
        run: |
          cd built/
          git config --local user.email "actions@github.com"
          git config --local user.name "GitHub Actions"
          CURR_HEAD=$(git rev-parse HEAD)
          git checkout --orphan md-outputs-PR-${NR}
          git add -A
          git commit -m "source commit: ${CURR_HEAD}"
          ls -A | grep -v '^.git$' | xargs -I _ rm -r '_'
          cd ..
          unzip -o -d built built.zip
          cd built
          git add -A
          git commit --allow-empty -m "differences for PR #${NR}"
          git push -u --force --set-upstream origin md-outputs-PR-${NR}

  # Comment on the Pull Request with a link to the branch and the diff
  comment-pr:
    name: "Comment on Pull Request"
    needs: [test-pr, create-branch]
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    if: needs.test-pr.outputs.is_valid == 'true'
    env:
      NR: ${{ needs.test-pr.outputs.number }}
    permissions:
      pull-requests: write
    steps:
      - name: "Download comment artifact"
        id: dl
        uses: carpentries/actions/download-workflow-artifact@main
        with:
          run: ${{ github.event.workflow_run.id }}
          name: 'diff'

      - if: steps.dl.outputs.success == 'true'
        run: unzip ${{ github.workspace }}/diff.zip

      - name: "Comment on PR"
        id: comment-diff
        if: steps.dl.outputs.success == 'true'
        uses: carpentries/actions/comment-diff@main
        with:
          pr: ${{ env.NR }}
          path: ${{ github.workspace }}/diff.md

  # Comment if the PR is open and matches the SHA, but the workflow files have
  # changed
  comment-changed-workflow:
    name: "Comment if workflow files have changed"
    needs: test-pr
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    if: |
      always() &&
      needs.test-pr.outputs.is_valid == 'false'
    env:
      NR: ${{ needs.test-pr.outputs.number }}
      body: ${{ needs.test-pr.outputs.msg }}
    permissions:
      pull-requests: write
    steps:
      - name: "Check for spoofing"
        id: dl
        uses: carpentries/actions/download-workflow-artifact@main
        with:
          run: ${{ github.event.workflow_run.id }}
          name: 'built'

      - name: "Alert if spoofed"
        id: spoof
        if: steps.dl.outputs.success == 'true'
        run: |
          echo 'body<<EOF' >> $GITHUB_ENV
          echo '' >> $GITHUB_ENV
          echo '## :x: DANGER :x:' >> $GITHUB_ENV
          echo 'This pull request has modified workflows that created output. Close this now.' >> $GITHUB_ENV
          echo '' >> $GITHUB_ENV
          echo 'EOF' >> $GITHUB_ENV

      - name: "Comment on PR"
        id: comment-diff
        uses: carpentries/actions/comment-diff@main
        with:
          pr: ${{ env.NR }}
          body: ${{ env.body }}


================================================
FILE: .github/workflows/pr-post-remove-branch.yaml
================================================
name: "Bot: Remove Temporary PR Branch"

on:
  workflow_run:
    workflows: ["Bot: Send Close Pull Request Signal"]
    types:
      - completed

jobs:
  delete:
    name: "Delete branch from Pull Request"
    runs-on: ubuntu-22.04
    if: >
      github.event.workflow_run.event == 'pull_request' &&
      github.event.workflow_run.conclusion == 'success'
    permissions:
      contents: write
    steps:
      - name: 'Download artifact'
        uses: carpentries/actions/download-workflow-artifact@main
        with:
          run: ${{ github.event.workflow_run.id }}
          name: pr
      - name: "Get PR Number"
        id: get-pr
        run: |
          unzip pr.zip
          echo "NUM=$(<./NUM)" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT
      - name: 'Remove branch'
        uses: carpentries/actions/remove-branch@main
        with:
          pr: ${{ steps.get-pr.outputs.NUM }}


================================================
FILE: .github/workflows/pr-preflight.yaml
================================================
name: "Pull Request Preflight Check"

on:
  pull_request_target:
    branches:
      ["main"]
    types:
      ["opened", "synchronize", "reopened"]

jobs:
  test-pr:
    name: "Test if pull request is valid"
    if: ${{ github.event.action != 'closed' }}
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    outputs:
      is_valid: ${{ steps.check-pr.outputs.VALID }}
    permissions:
      pull-requests: write
    steps:
      - name: "Get Invalid Hashes File"
        id: hash
        run: |
          echo "json<<EOF
          $(curl -sL https://files.carpentries.org/invalid-hashes.json)
          EOF" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT
      - name: "Check PR"
        id: check-pr
        uses: carpentries/actions/check-valid-pr@main
        with:
          pr: ${{ github.event.number }}
          invalid: ${{ fromJSON(steps.hash.outputs.json)[github.repository] }}
          fail_on_error: true
      - name: "Comment result of validation"
        id: comment-diff
        if: ${{ always() }}
        uses: carpentries/actions/comment-diff@main
        with:
          pr: ${{ github.event.number }}
          body: ${{ steps.check-pr.outputs.MSG }}


================================================
FILE: .github/workflows/update-cache.yaml
================================================
name: "02 Maintain: Check for Updated Packages"
description: "Check for updated R packages and create a pull request to update the lesson's renv lockfile and package cache"
on:
  schedule:
    - cron: '0 0 * * 2'
  workflow_dispatch:
    inputs:
      name:
        description: 'Who triggered this build?'
        required: true
        default: 'Maintainer (via GitHub)'
      force-renv-init:
        description: 'Force full lockfile update?'
        required: false
        default: false
        type: boolean
      update-packages:
        description: 'Install any package updates?'
        required: false
        default: true
        type: boolean
      generate-cache:
        description: 'Generate separate package cache?'
        required: false
        default: false
        type: boolean

env:
  LOCKFILE_CACHE_GEN: ${{ vars.LOCKFILE_CACHE_GEN || github.event.inputs.generate-cache || 'false' }}
  FORCE_RENV_INIT: ${{ vars.FORCE_RENV_INIT || github.event.inputs.force-renv-init || 'false' }}
  UPDATE_PACKAGES: ${{ vars.UPDATE_PACKAGES || github.event.inputs.update-packages || 'true' }}

jobs:
  preflight:
    name: "Preflight: Manual or Scheduled Trigger?"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    outputs:
      ok: ${{ steps.check.outputs.ok }}
    steps:
      - id: check
        run: |
          if [[ "${{ github.event_name }}" == 'workflow_dispatch' ]]; then
            echo "ok=true" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT
            echo "Running on request"
          # using single brackets here to avoid 08 being interpreted as octal
          # https://github.com/carpentries/sandpaper/issues/250
          elif [ `date +%d` -le 7 ]; then
            # If the Tuesday lands in the first week of the month, run it
            echo "ok=true" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT
            echo "Running on schedule"
          else
            echo "ok=false" >> $GITHUB_OUTPUT
            echo "Not Running Today"
          fi
        shell: bash

  check-renv:
    name: "Check If We Need {renv}"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    needs: preflight
    if: ${{ needs.preflight.outputs.ok == 'true' }}
    outputs:
      renv-needed: ${{ steps.renv-check.outputs.renv-needed }}
    steps:
      - name: "Checkout Lesson"
        uses: actions/checkout@v6

      - name: "Is renv required?"
        id: renv-check
        uses: carpentries/actions/renv-checks@main
        with:
          CACHE_VERSION: ${{ inputs.CACHE_VERSION || '' }}
          skip-cache-check: true

  update_cache:
    name: "Create Package Update Pull Request"
    runs-on: ubuntu-22.04
    needs: check-renv
    permissions:
      contents: write
      pull-requests: write
      actions: write
      issues: write
      id-token: write
    if: needs.check-renv.outputs.renv-needed == 'true'
    env:
      GITHUB_PAT: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
      GITHUB_TOKEN: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
      RENV_PATHS_ROOT: ~/.local/share/renv/
    steps:
      - name: "Checkout Lesson"
        uses: actions/checkout@v6

      - name: "Set up R"
        uses: r-lib/actions/setup-r@v2
        with:
          use-public-rspm: true
          install-r: false

      - name: "Update {renv} deps and determine if a PR is needed"
        id: update
        uses: carpentries/actions/update-lockfile@main
        with:
          update: ${{ env.UPDATE_PACKAGES }}
          force-renv-init: ${{ env.FORCE_RENV_INIT }}
          generate-cache: ${{ env.LOCKFILE_CACHE_GEN }}
          cache-version: ${{ secrets.CACHE_VERSION }}

      - name: "Validate Current Org and Workflow"
        id: validate-org-workflow
        uses: carpentries/actions/validate-org-workflow@main
        with:
          repo: ${{ github.repository }}
          workflow: ${{ github.workflow }}

      - name: "Configure AWS credentials via OIDC"
        env:
          role-to-assume: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_ARN }}
          aws-region: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_REGION }}
        if: |
          steps.validate-org-workflow.outputs.is_valid == 'true' &&
          env.role-to-assume != '' &&
          env.aws-region != ''
        uses: aws-actions/configure-aws-credentials@v6
        with:
          role-to-assume: ${{ env.role-to-assume }}
          aws-region: ${{ env.aws-region }}

      - name: "Set PAT from AWS Secrets Manager"
        env:
          role-to-assume: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_ARN }}
          aws-region: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_REGION }}
        if: |
          steps.validate-org-workflow.outputs.is_valid == 'true' &&
          env.role-to-assume != '' &&
          env.aws-region != ''
        id: set-pat
        run: |
          SECRET=$(aws secretsmanager get-secret-value \
                   --secret-id carpentries-bot/github-pat \
                   --query SecretString --output text)
          PAT=$(echo "$SECRET" | jq -r .[])
          echo "::add-mask::$PAT"
          echo "pat=$PAT" >> "$GITHUB_OUTPUT"
        shell: bash

      # Create the PR with the following roles in order of preference:
      # - Carpentries Bot classic PAT fetched from AWS (will only work in official Carpentries repos)
      # - repo-scoped SANDPAPER_WORKFLOW classic PAT (will work in all scenarios)
      # - default GITHUB_TOKEN (will work suitably, but workflows need to be triggered)
      - name: "Create Pull Request"
        id: cpr
        if: |
          steps.update.outputs.n > 0
        uses: carpentries/create-pull-request@main
        with:
          token: ${{ steps.set-pat.outputs.pat || secrets.SANDPAPER_WORKFLOW }}
          delete-branch: true
          branch: "update/packages"
          commit-message: "[actions] update ${{ steps.update.outputs.n }} packages"
          title: "Update ${{ steps.update.outputs.n }} packages"
          body: |
            :robot: This is an automated build

            This will update ${{ steps.update.outputs.n }} packages in your lesson with the following versions:

            ```
            ${{ steps.update.outputs.report }}
            ```

            :stopwatch: In a few minutes, a comment will appear that will show you how the output has changed based on these updates.

            If you want to inspect these changes locally, you can use the following code to check out a new branch:

            ```bash
            git fetch origin update/packages
            git checkout update/packages
            ```

            - Auto-generated by [create-pull-request][1] on ${{ steps.update.outputs.date }}

            [1]: https://github.com/carpentries/create-pull-request/tree/main
          labels: "type: package cache"
          draft: false

      - name: "Skip PR creation"
        if: steps.update.outputs.n == 0
        run: |
          echo "No updates needed, skipping PR creation"
        shell: bash


================================================
FILE: .github/workflows/update-workflows.yaml
================================================
name: "04 Maintain: Update Workflow Files"
description: "Update workflow files from the carpentries/sandpaper repository"

on:
  schedule:
    - cron: '0 0 * * 2'
  workflow_dispatch:
    inputs:
      name:
        description: 'Who triggered this build (enter github username to tag yourself)?'
        required: true
        default: 'weekly run'
      version:
        description: 'Workflows version number (e.g. 0.0.1), branch name (e.g. main), or "latest"'
        required: false
        default: 'latest'
      clean:
        description: 'Workflow files/file extensions to clean (no wildcards, enter "" for none)'
        required: false
        default: '.yaml'

jobs:
  update_workflow:
    name: "Update Workflow"
    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
    permissions:
      contents: write
      pull-requests: write
      id-token: write
    steps:
      - name: "Checkout Repository"
        uses: actions/checkout@v6

      - name: "Validate Current Org and Workflow"
        id: validate-org-workflow
        uses: carpentries/actions/validate-org-workflow@main
        with:
          repo: ${{ github.repository }}
          workflow: ${{ github.workflow }}

      - name: Configure AWS credentials via OIDC
        env:
          role-to-assume: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_ARN }}
          aws-region: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_REGION }}
        if: |
          steps.validate-org-workflow.outputs.is_valid == 'true' &&
          env.role-to-assume != '' &&
          env.aws-region != ''
        uses: aws-actions/configure-aws-credentials@v6
        with:
          role-to-assume: ${{ env.role-to-assume }}
          aws-region: ${{ env.aws-region }}

      - name: Set PAT from AWS Secrets Manager
        id: set-pat
        env:
          role-to-assume: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_ARN }}
          aws-region: ${{ secrets.AWS_GH_OIDC_REGION }}
        if: |
          steps.validate-org-workflow.outputs.is_valid == 'true' &&
          env.role-to-assume != '' &&
          env.aws-region != ''
        run: |
          SECRET=$(aws secretsmanager get-secret-value \
                   --secret-id carpentries-bot/github-pat \
                   --query SecretString --output text)
          PAT=$(echo "$SECRET" | jq -r .[])
          echo "::add-mask::$PAT"
          echo "pat=$PAT" >> "$GITHUB_OUTPUT"
        shell: bash

      - name: "Validate token"
        id: validate-token
        uses: carpentries/actions/check-valid-credentials@main
        with:
          token: ${{ steps.set-pat.outputs.pat || secrets.SANDPAPER_WORKFLOW }}

      - name: "No Token Found: Skipping Workflow Update"
        if: ${{ steps.validate-token.outputs.wf == 'false' }}
        run: |
          echo "❗No valid SANDPAPER_WORKFLOW token or PAT from AWS found, cannot update workflows."

          echo "## ❌ Workflow Update Failed" >> $GITHUB_STEP_SUMMARY
          echo "No valid SANDPAPER_WORKFLOW token or PAT from AWS found, cannot update workflows." >> $GITHUB_STEP_SUMMARY
        shell: bash

      - name: Update Workflows
        id: update
        if: ${{ steps.validate-token.outputs.wf == 'true' }}
        uses: carpentries/actions/update-workflows@main
        with:
          version: ${{ github.event.inputs.version || 'latest' }}
          clean: ${{ github.event.inputs.clean || '.yaml' }}

      - name: Create Pull Request
        id: cpr
        if: |
          steps.update.outputs.new &&
          steps.validate-token.outputs.wf == 'true'
        uses: carpentries/create-pull-request@main
        with:
          token: ${{ steps.set-pat.outputs.pat || secrets.SANDPAPER_WORKFLOW }}
          delete-branch: true
          branch: "update/workflows"
          commit-message: "[actions] update sandpaper workflow to version ${{ steps.update.outputs.new }}"
          title: "Update Workflows to Version ${{ steps.update.outputs.new }}"
          body: |
            :robot: This is an automated build

            Update Workflows from sandpaper version ${{ steps.update.outputs.old }} -> ${{ steps.update.outputs.new }}

            - Auto-generated by [create-pull-request][1] on ${{ steps.update.outputs.date }}

            [1]: https://github.com/carpentries/create-pull-request/tree/main
          labels: "type: workflows"
          draft: false


================================================
FILE: .github/workflows/workflows-version.txt
================================================
1.0.1


================================================
FILE: .gitignore
================================================
# sandpaper files
episodes/*html
site/*
!site/README.md

# History files
.Rhistory
.Rapp.history
# Session Data files
.RData
# User-specific files
.Ruserdata
# Example code in package build process
*-Ex.R
# Output files from R CMD build
/*.tar.gz
# Output files from R CMD check
/*.Rcheck/
# RStudio files
.Rproj.user/
# produced vignettes
vignettes/*.html
vignettes/*.pdf
# OAuth2 token, see https://github.com/hadley/httr/releases/tag/v0.3
.httr-oauth
# knitr and R markdown default cache directories
*_cache/
/cache/
# Temporary files created by R markdown
*.utf8.md
*.knit.md
# R Environment Variables
.Renviron
# pkgdown site
docs/
# translation temp files
po/*~
# renv detritus
renv/sandbox/
*.pyc
*~
.DS_Store
.ipynb_checkpoints
.sass-cache
.jekyll-cache/
.jekyll-metadata
__pycache__
_site
.Rproj.user
.bundle/
.vendor/
vendor/
.docker-vendor/
Gemfile.lock
.*history


================================================
FILE: .mailmap
================================================
Abigail Cabunoc Mayes <abigail.cabunoc@gmail.com>
Abigail Cabunoc Mayes <abigail.cabunoc@gmail.com> <abigail.cabunoc@oicr.on.ca>
Deborah Digges <deborah.gertrude.digges@gmail.com>
Erin Becker <erinstellabecker@gmail.com>
Evan P. Williamson <evanpeterw@gmail.com>
François Michonneau <francois.michonneau@gmail.com>
Greg Wilson <gvwilson@software-carpentry.org> <gvwilson@third-bit.com>
James Allen <james@sharelatex.com> <jamesallen0108@gmail.com>
Jason Sherman <jsherman@ou.edu> <jsnshrmn@users.noreply.github.com>
Lex Nederbragt <lex.nederbragt@bio.uio.no> <lex.nederbragt@ibv.uio.no>
Maxim Belkin <maxim.belkin@gmail.com> <maxim-belkin@users.noreply.github.com>
Mike Jackson <m.jackson@software.ac.uk> <michaelj@epcc.ed.ac.uk>
Pier-Luc St-Onge <plstonge@users.noreply.github.com>
Raniere Silva <raniere@rgaiacs.com> <ra092767@ime.unicamp.br>
Raniere Silva <raniere@rgaiacs.com> <raniere@ime.unicamp.br>
Rémi Emonet <remi@heeere.com> <remi.emonet@reverse--com.heeere>
Rémi Emonet <remi@heeere.com> <twitwi@users.noreply.github.com>
Timothée Poisot <t.poisot@gmail.com> <tim@poisotlab.io>


================================================
FILE: .update-copyright.conf
================================================
[project]
vcs: Git

[files]
authors: yes
files: no


================================================
FILE: .zenodo.json
================================================
{
  "contributors": [
    {
      "type": "Editor",
      "name": "Gerard Capes"
    }
  ],
  "creators": [
    {
      "name": "Gerard Capes"
    },
    {
      "name": "Matthias Rüster"
    },
    {
      "name": "Maciej Cytowski"
    },
    {
      "name": "Manuel Haussmann"
    },
    {
      "name": "Nicolas Quiniou-Briand"
    },
    {
      "name": "Tomas Stary"
    }
  ],
  "license": {
    "id": "CC-BY-4.0"
  }
}

================================================
FILE: AUTHORS
================================================
Pete Bachant
Maxime Boissonneault
Gerard Capes
Deborah Digges
Andrew Fraser
Luiz Irber
Mike Jackson
Gang Liu
Lex Nederbragt
Adam Richie-Halford
Jason Sherman
Raniere Silva
Byron Smith
Pier-Luc St-Onge
Andy Teucher
Greg Wilson
David E. Bernholdt
Juan Fung
Radovan Bast


================================================
FILE: CITATION
================================================
Please cite as:

Mike Jackson (ed.): "Software Carpentry: Automation and Make."
Version 2016.06, June 2016,
https://github.com/swcarpentry/make-novice, 10.5281/zenodo.57473.


================================================
FILE: CODE_OF_CONDUCT.md
================================================
---
title: "Contributor Code of Conduct"
---

As contributors and maintainers of this project,
we pledge to follow the [The Carpentries Code of Conduct][coc].

Instances of abusive, harassing, or otherwise unacceptable behavior
may be reported by following our [reporting guidelines][coc-reporting].


[coc-reporting]: https://docs.carpentries.org/topic_folders/policies/incident-reporting.html
[coc]: https://docs.carpentries.org/topic_folders/policies/code-of-conduct.html


================================================
FILE: CONTRIBUTING.md
================================================
## Contributing

[The Carpentries][cp-site] ([Software Carpentry][swc-site], [Data
Carpentry][dc-site], and [Library Carpentry][lc-site]) are open source
projects, and we welcome contributions of all kinds: new lessons, fixes to
existing material, bug reports, and reviews of proposed changes are all
welcome.

### Contributor Agreement

By contributing, you agree that we may redistribute your work under [our
license](LICENSE.md). In exchange, we will address your issues and/or assess
your change proposal as promptly as we can, and help you become a member of our
community. Everyone involved in [The Carpentries][cp-site] agrees to abide by
our [code of conduct](CODE_OF_CONDUCT.md).

### How to Contribute

The easiest way to get started is to file an issue to tell us about a spelling
mistake, some awkward wording, or a factual error. This is a good way to
introduce yourself and to meet some of our community members.

1. If you do not have a [GitHub][github] account, you can [send us comments by
   email][contact]. However, we will be able to respond more quickly if you use
   one of the other methods described below.

2. If you have a [GitHub][github] account, or are willing to [create
   one][github-join], but do not know how to use Git, you can report problems
   or suggest improvements by [creating an issue][repo-issues]. This allows us
   to assign the item to someone and to respond to it in a threaded discussion.

3. If you are comfortable with Git, and would like to add or change material,
   you can submit a pull request (PR). Instructions for doing this are
   [included below](#using-github). For inspiration about changes that need to
   be made, check out the [list of open issues][issues] across the Carpentries.

Note: if you want to build the website locally, please refer to [The Workbench
documentation][template-doc].

### Where to Contribute

1. If you wish to change this lesson, add issues and pull requests here.
2. If you wish to change the template used for workshop websites, please refer
   to [The Workbench documentation][template-doc].


### What to Contribute

There are many ways to contribute, from writing new exercises and improving
existing ones to updating or filling in the documentation and submitting [bug
reports][issues] about things that do not work, are not clear, or are missing.
If you are looking for ideas, please see [the list of issues for this
repository][repo-issues], or the issues for [Data Carpentry][dc-issues],
[Library Carpentry][lc-issues], and [Software Carpentry][swc-issues] projects.

Comments on issues and reviews of pull requests are just as welcome: we are
smarter together than we are on our own. **Reviews from novices and newcomers
are particularly valuable**: it's easy for people who have been using these
lessons for a while to forget how impenetrable some of this material can be, so
fresh eyes are always welcome.

### What *Not* to Contribute

Our lessons already contain more material than we can cover in a typical
workshop, so we are usually *not* looking for more concepts or tools to add to
them. As a rule, if you want to introduce a new idea, you must (a) estimate how
long it will take to teach and (b) explain what you would take out to make room
for it. The first encourages contributors to be honest about requirements; the
second, to think hard about priorities.

We are also not looking for exercises or other material that only run on one
platform. Our workshops typically contain a mixture of Windows, macOS, and
Linux users; in order to be usable, our lessons must run equally well on all
three.

### Using GitHub

If you choose to contribute via GitHub, you may want to look at [How to
Contribute to an Open Source Project on GitHub][how-contribute]. In brief, we
use [GitHub flow][github-flow] to manage changes:

1. Create a new branch in your desktop copy of this repository for each
   significant change.
2. Commit the change in that branch.
3. Push that branch to your fork of this repository on GitHub.
4. Submit a pull request from that branch to the [upstream repository][repo].
5. If you receive feedback, make changes on your desktop and push to your
   branch on GitHub: the pull request will update automatically.

NB: The published copy of the lesson is usually in the `main` branch.

Each lesson has a team of maintainers who review issues and pull requests or
encourage others to do so. The maintainers are community volunteers, and have
final say over what gets merged into the lesson.

### Other Resources

The Carpentries is a global organisation with volunteers and learners all over
the world. We share values of inclusivity and a passion for sharing knowledge,
teaching and learning. There are several ways to connect with The Carpentries
community listed at <https://carpentries.org/connect/> including via social
media, slack, newsletters, and email lists. You can also [reach us by
email][contact].

[repo]: https://example.com/FIXME
[repo-issues]: https://example.com/FIXME/issues
[contact]: mailto:team@carpentries.org
[cp-site]: https://carpentries.org/
[dc-issues]: https://github.com/issues?q=user%3Adatacarpentry
[dc-lessons]: https://datacarpentry.org/lessons/
[dc-site]: https://datacarpentry.org/
[discuss-list]: https://lists.software-carpentry.org/listinfo/discuss
[github]: https://github.com
[github-flow]: https://guides.github.com/introduction/flow/
[github-join]: https://github.com/join
[how-contribute]: https://egghead.io/courses/how-to-contribute-to-an-open-source-project-on-github
[issues]: https://carpentries.org/help-wanted-issues/
[lc-issues]: https://github.com/issues?q=user%3ALibraryCarpentry
[swc-issues]: https://github.com/issues?q=user%3Aswcarpentry
[swc-lessons]: https://software-carpentry.org/lessons/
[swc-site]: https://software-carpentry.org/
[lc-site]: https://librarycarpentry.org/
[template-doc]: https://carpentries.github.io/workbench/


================================================
FILE: LICENSE.md
================================================
---
title: "Licenses"
---

## Instructional Material

All Carpentries (Software Carpentry, Data Carpentry, and Library Carpentry)
instructional material is made available under the [Creative Commons
Attribution license][cc-by-human]. The following is a human-readable summary of
(and not a substitute for) the [full legal text of the CC BY 4.0
license][cc-by-legal].

You are free:

- to **Share**---copy and redistribute the material in any medium or format
- to **Adapt**---remix, transform, and build upon the material

for any purpose, even commercially.

The licensor cannot revoke these freedoms as long as you follow the license
terms.

Under the following terms:

- **Attribution**---You must give appropriate credit (mentioning that your work
  is derived from work that is Copyright (c) The Carpentries and, where
  practical, linking to <https://carpentries.org/>), provide a [link to the
  license][cc-by-human], and indicate if changes were made. You may do so in
  any reasonable manner, but not in any way that suggests the licensor endorses
  you or your use.

- **No additional restrictions**---You may not apply legal terms or
  technological measures that legally restrict others from doing anything the
  license permits.  With the understanding that:

Notices:

* You do not have to comply with the license for elements of the material in
  the public domain or where your use is permitted by an applicable exception
  or limitation.
* No warranties are given. The license may not give you all of the permissions
  necessary for your intended use. For example, other rights such as publicity,
  privacy, or moral rights may limit how you use the material.

## Software

Except where otherwise noted, the example programs and other software provided
by The Carpentries are made available under the [OSI][osi]-approved [MIT
license][mit-license].

Permission is hereby granted, free of charge, to any person obtaining a copy of
this software and associated documentation files (the "Software"), to deal in
the Software without restriction, including without limitation the rights to
use, copy, modify, merge, publish, distribute, sublicense, and/or sell copies
of the Software, and to permit persons to whom the Software is furnished to do
so, subject to the following conditions:

The above copyright notice and this permission notice shall be included in all
copies or substantial portions of the Software.

THE SOFTWARE IS PROVIDED "AS IS", WITHOUT WARRANTY OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR
IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO THE WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY,
FITNESS FOR A PARTICULAR PURPOSE AND NONINFRINGEMENT. IN NO EVENT SHALL THE
AUTHORS OR COPYRIGHT HOLDERS BE LIABLE FOR ANY CLAIM, DAMAGES OR OTHER
LIABILITY, WHETHER IN AN ACTION OF CONTRACT, TORT OR OTHERWISE, ARISING FROM,
OUT OF OR IN CONNECTION WITH THE SOFTWARE OR THE USE OR OTHER DEALINGS IN THE
SOFTWARE.

## Trademark

"The Carpentries", "Software Carpentry", "Data Carpentry", and "Library
Carpentry" and their respective logos are registered trademarks of
[The Carpentries, Inc.][carpentries].

[cc-by-human]: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
[cc-by-legal]: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/legalcode
[mit-license]: https://opensource.org/licenses/mit-license.html
[carpentries]: https://carpentries.org
[osi]: https://opensource.org


================================================
FILE: README.md
================================================
[![DOI](https://zenodo.org/badge/DOI/10.5281/zenodo.3265286.svg)](https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.3265286)
[![Create a Slack Account with us](https://img.shields.io/badge/Create_Slack_Account-The_Carpentries-071159.svg)](https://slack-invite.carpentries.org/)
[![Slack Status](https://img.shields.io/badge/Slack_Channel-swc--make-E01563.svg)](https://carpentries.slack.com/messages/C9X2YCPT5)

# make-novice

An introduction to Make using reproducible papers as a motivating example.
Please see [https://swcarpentry.github.io/make-novice/](https://swcarpentry.github.io/make-novice/) for a rendered version
of this material, [the lesson template documentation][lesson-example]
for instructions on formatting, building, and submitting material,
or run `make` in this directory for a list of helpful commands.

Maintainer(s):

- [Gerard Capes][capes-gerard]

[lesson-example]: https://swcarpentry.github.com/lesson-example/
[capes-gerard]: https://carpentries.org/instructors/#gcapes





================================================
FILE: commands.mk
================================================
## ----------------------------------------
MAKE2PNG = make2graph | grep -v Makefile | grep -v config.mk | grep -v commands.mk | dot -Tpng -o
FIGS = 02-makefile 02-makefile-challenge 04-dependencies 07-functions 09-conclusion-challenge-1
PNGS = $(patsubst %,fig/%.png,$(FIGS))

.PHONY: $(PNGS)

## diagrams       : rebuild diagrams of Makefiles.
diagrams: $(PNGS)

fig/02-makefile.png: build
	cp code/02-makefile/* $<
	cd build && make -Bnd dats | $(MAKE2PNG) "$(CURDIR)/$@"

fig/02-makefile-challenge.png: build
	cp code/02-makefile-challenge/* $<
	cd build && make dats && make -Bnd results.txt | $(MAKE2PNG) "$(CURDIR)/$@"

fig/04-dependencies.png: build
	cp code/04-dependencies/* $<
	cd build && make dats && make -Bnd results.txt | $(MAKE2PNG) "$(CURDIR)/$@"

fig/07-functions.png: build
	cp code/07-functions/* $<
	cd build && make -Bnd results.txt | $(MAKE2PNG) "$(CURDIR)/$@"

fig/09-conclusion-challenge-1.png: build
	cp code/09-conclusion-challenge-1/* $<
	cd build && make -Bnd | $(MAKE2PNG) "$(CURDIR)/$@" 

build:
	mkdir -p $@
	cp code/*.py $@
	cp -r data/books $@


================================================
FILE: config.yaml
================================================
#------------------------------------------------------------
# Values for this lesson.
#------------------------------------------------------------

# Which carpentry is this (swc, dc, lc, or cp)?
# swc: Software Carpentry
# dc: Data Carpentry
# lc: Library Carpentry
# cp: Carpentries (to use for instructor training for instance)
# incubator: The Carpentries Incubator
carpentry: 'swc'

# Overall title for pages.
title: 'Automation and Make'

# Date the lesson was created (YYYY-MM-DD, this is empty by default)
created: '2015-06-18'

# Comma-separated list of keywords for the lesson
keywords: 'software, data, lesson, The Carpentries'

# Life cycle stage of the lesson
# possible values: pre-alpha, alpha, beta, stable
life_cycle: 'stable'

# License of the lesson materials (recommended CC-BY 4.0)
license: 'CC-BY 4.0'

# Link to the source repository for this lesson
source: 'https://github.com/swcarpentry/make-novice'

# Default branch of your lesson
branch: 'main'

# Who to contact if there are any issues
contact: 'team@carpentries.org'

# Navigation ------------------------------------------------
#
# Use the following menu items to specify the order of
# individual pages in each dropdown section. Leave blank to
# include all pages in the folder.
#
# Example -------------
#
# episodes:
# - introduction.md
# - first-steps.md
#
# learners:
# - setup.md
#
# instructors:
# - instructor-notes.md
#
# profiles:
# - one-learner.md
# - another-learner.md

# Order of episodes in your lesson
episodes: 
- 01-intro.md
- 02-makefiles.md
- 03-variables.md
- 04-dependencies.md
- 05-patterns.md
- 06-variables.md
- 07-functions.md
- 08-self-doc.md
- 09-conclusion.md

# Information for Learners
learners: 

# Information for Instructors
instructors: 

# Learner Profiles
profiles: 

# Customisation ---------------------------------------------
#
# This space below is where custom yaml items (e.g. pinning
# sandpaper and varnish versions) should live


url: 'https://swcarpentry.github.io/make-novice'
analytics: carpentries
lang: en


================================================
FILE: episodes/01-intro.md
================================================
---
title: Introduction
teaching: 25
exercises: 0
---

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: objectives

- Explain what Make is for.
- Explain why Make differs from shell scripts.
- Name other popular build tools.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: questions

- How can I make my results easier to reproduce?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Let's imagine that we're interested in
testing Zipf's Law in some of our favorite books.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Zipf's Law

The most frequently-occurring word occurs approximately twice as
often as the second most frequent word. This is [Zipf's Law][zipfs-law].


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

We've compiled our raw data i.e. the books we want to analyze
and have prepared several Python scripts that together make up our
analysis pipeline.

Let's take quick look at one of the books using the command
`head books/isles.txt`.

Our directory has the Python scripts and data files we will be working with:

```output
|- books
|  |- abyss.txt
|  |- isles.txt
|  |- last.txt
|  |- LICENSE_TEXTS.md
|  |- sierra.txt
|- plotcounts.py
|- countwords.py
|- testzipf.py
```

The first step is to count the frequency of each word in a book.
For this purpose we will use a python script `countwords.py` which takes two command line arguments.
The first argument is the input file (`books/isles.txt`) and the second is the output file that is generated (here `isles.dat`) by processing the input.

```bash
$ python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
```

Let's take a quick peek at the result.

```bash
$ head -5 isles.dat
```

This shows us the top 5 lines in the output file:

```output
the 3822 6.7371760973
of 2460 4.33632998414
and 1723 3.03719372466
to 1479 2.60708619778
a 1308 2.30565838181
```

We can see that the file consists of one row per word.
Each row shows the word itself, the number of occurrences of that
word, and the number of occurrences as a percentage of the total
number of words in the text file.

We can do the same thing for a different book:

```bash
$ python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat
$ head -5 abyss.dat
```

```output
the 4044 6.35449402891
and 2807 4.41074795726
of 1907 2.99654305468
a 1594 2.50471401634
to 1515 2.38057825267
```

Let's visualize the results.
The script `plotcounts.py` reads in a data file and plots the 10 most
frequently occurring words as a text-based bar plot:

```bash
$ python plotcounts.py isles.dat ascii
```

```output
the   ########################################################################
of    ##############################################
and   ################################
to    ############################
a     #########################
in    ###################
is    #################
that  ############
by    ###########
it    ###########
```

`plotcounts.py` can also show the plot graphically:

```bash
$ python plotcounts.py isles.dat show
```

Close the window to exit the plot.

`plotcounts.py` can also create the plot as an image file (e.g. a PNG file):

```bash
$ python plotcounts.py isles.dat isles.png
```

Finally, let's test Zipf's law for these books:

```bash
$ python testzipf.py abyss.dat isles.dat
```

```output
Book	First	Second	Ratio
abyss	4044	2807	1.44
isles	3822	2460	1.55
```

So we're not too far off from Zipf's law.

Together these scripts implement a common workflow:

1. Read a data file.
2. Perform an analysis on this data file.
3. Write the analysis results to a new file.
4. Plot a graph of the analysis results.
5. Save the graph as an image, so we can put it in a paper.
6. Make a summary table of the analyses

Running `countwords.py` and `plotcounts.py` at the shell prompt, as we
have been doing, is fine for one or two files. If, however, we had 5
or 10 or 20 text files,
or if the number of steps in the pipeline were to expand, this could turn into
a lot of work.
Plus, no one wants to sit and wait for a command to finish, even just for 30
seconds.

The most common solution to the tedium of data processing is to write
a shell script that runs the whole pipeline from start to finish.

So to reproduce the tasks that we have just done we create a new file
named `run_pipeline.sh` in which we place the commands one by one.
Using a text editor of your choice (e.g. for nano use the command `nano run_pipeline.sh`) copy and paste the following text and save it.

```bash
# USAGE: bash run_pipeline.sh
# to produce plots for isles and abyss
# and the summary table for the Zipf's law tests

python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat

python plotcounts.py isles.dat isles.png
python plotcounts.py abyss.dat abyss.png

# Generate summary table
python testzipf.py abyss.dat isles.dat > results.txt
```

Run the script and check that the output is the same as before:

```bash
$ bash run_pipeline.sh
$ cat results.txt
```

This shell script solves several problems in computational reproducibility:

1. It explicitly documents our pipeline,
  making communication with colleagues (and our future selves) more efficient.
2. It allows us to type a single command, `bash run_pipeline.sh`, to
  reproduce the full analysis.
3. It prevents us from *repeating* typos or mistakes.
  You might not get it right the first time, but once you fix something
  it'll stay fixed.

Despite these benefits it has a few shortcomings.

Let's adjust the width of the bars in our plot produced by `plotcounts.py`.

Edit `plotcounts.py` so that the bars are 0.8 units wide instead of 1 unit.
(Hint: replace `width = 1.0` with `width = 0.8` in the definition of
`plot_word_counts`.)

Now we want to recreate our figures.
We *could* just `bash run_pipeline.sh` again.
That would work, but it could also be a big pain if counting words takes
more than a few seconds.
The word counting routine hasn't changed; we shouldn't need to recreate
those files.

Alternatively, we could manually rerun the plotting for each word-count file.
(Experienced shell scripters can make this easier on themselves using a
for-loop.)

```bash
for book in abyss isles; do
    python plotcounts.py $book.dat $book.png
done
```

With this approach, however,
we don't get many of the benefits of having a shell script in the first place.

Another popular option is to comment out a subset of the lines in
`run_pipeline.sh`:

```bash
# USAGE: bash run_pipeline.sh
# to produce plots for isles and abyss
# and the summary table for the Zipf's law tests.

# These lines are commented out because they don't need to be rerun.
#python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
#python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat

python plotcounts.py isles.dat isles.png
python plotcounts.py abyss.dat abyss.png

# Generate summary table
# This line is also commented out because it doesn't need to be rerun.
#python testzipf.py abyss.dat isles.dat > results.txt
```

Then, we would run our modified shell script using `bash run_pipeline.sh`.

But commenting out these lines, and subsequently uncommenting them,
can be a hassle and source of errors in complicated pipelines.

What we really want is an executable *description* of our pipeline that
allows software to do the tricky part for us:
figuring out what steps need to be rerun.

For our pipeline Make can execute the commands needed to run our
analysis and plot our results. Like shell scripts it allows us to
execute complex sequences of commands via a single shell
command. Unlike shell scripts it explicitly records the dependencies
between files - what files are needed to create what other files -
and so can determine when to recreate our data files or
image files, if our text files change. Make can be used for any
commands that follow the general pattern of processing files to create
new files, for example:

- Run analysis scripts on raw data files to get data files that
  summarize the raw data (e.g. creating files with word counts from book text).
- Run visualization scripts on data files to produce plots
  (e.g. creating images of word counts).
- Parse and combine text files and plots to create papers.
- Compile source code into executable programs or libraries.

There are now many build tools available, for example [Apache
ANT][apache-ant], [doit], and [nmake] for Windows.
Which is best for you depends on your requirements,
intended usage, and operating system. However, they all share the same
fundamental concepts as Make.

Also, you might come across build generation scripts e.g. [GNU
Autoconf][autoconf] and [CMake][cmake].  Those tools do not run the
pipelines directly, but rather generate files for use with the build
tools.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Why Use Make if it is Almost 40 Years Old?

Make development was started by Stuart Feldman in 1977 as a Bell
Labs summer intern. Since then it has been undergoing an active
development and several implementations are available. Since it
solves a common issue of workflow management, it remains in
widespread use even today.

Researchers working with legacy codes in C or FORTRAN, which are
very common in high-performance computing, will, very likely
encounter Make.

Researchers can use Make for implementing reproducible
research workflows, automating data analysis and visualisation
(using Python or R) and combining tables and plots with text to
produce reports and papers for publication.

Make's fundamental concepts are common across build tools.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

[GNU Make][gnu-make] is a free-libre, fast, [well-documented][gnu-make-documentation],
and very popular Make implementation. From now on, we will focus on it, and when we say
Make, we mean GNU Make.

[zipfs-law]: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zipf%27s_law
[apache-ant]: https://ant.apache.org/
[doit]: https://pydoit.org/
[nmake]: https://docs.microsoft.com/en-us/cpp/build/reference/nmake-reference
[autoconf]: https://www.gnu.org/software/autoconf/autoconf.html
[cmake]: https://www.cmake.org/
[gnu-make]: https://www.gnu.org/software/make/
[gnu-make-documentation]: https://www.gnu.org/software/make/#documentation


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: keypoints

- Make allows us to specify what depends on what and how to update things that are out of date.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::




================================================
FILE: episodes/02-makefiles.md
================================================
---
title: Makefiles
teaching: 30
exercises: 10
---

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: objectives

- Recognize the key parts of a Makefile, rules, targets, dependencies and actions.
- Write a simple Makefile.
- Run Make from the shell.
- Explain when and why to mark targets as `.PHONY`.
- Explain constraints on dependencies.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: questions

- How do I write a simple Makefile?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Create a file, called `Makefile`, with the following content:

```make
# Count words.
isles.dat : books/isles.txt
	python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
```

This is a [build file](../learners/reference.md#build-file), which for
Make is called a [Makefile](../learners/reference.md#makefile) - a file
executed by Make. Note how it resembles one of the lines from our shell script.

Let us go through each line in turn:

- `#` denotes a *comment*. Any text from `#` to the end of the line is
  ignored by Make but could be very helpful for anyone reading your Makefile.
- `isles.dat` is a [target](../learners/reference.md#target), a file to be
  created, or built.
- `books/isles.txt` is a [dependency](../learners/reference.md#dependency), a
  file that is needed to build or update the target. Targets can have
  zero or more dependencies.
- A colon, `:`, separates targets from dependencies.
- `python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat` is an
  [action](../learners/reference.md#action), a command to run to build or
  update the target using the dependencies. Targets can have zero or more
  actions. These actions form a recipe to build the target
  from its dependencies and are executed similarly to a shell script.
- Actions are indented using a single TAB character, *not* 8 spaces. This
  is a legacy of Make's 1970's origins. If the difference between
  spaces and a TAB character isn't obvious in your editor, try moving
  your cursor from one side of the TAB to the other. It should jump
  four or more spaces.
- Together, the target, dependencies, and actions form a
  [rule](../learners/reference.md#rule).

Our rule above describes how to build the target `isles.dat` using the
action `python countwords.py` and the dependency `books/isles.txt`.

Information that was implicit in our shell script - that we are
generating a file called `isles.dat` and that creating this file
requires `books/isles.txt` - is now made explicit by Make's syntax.

Let's first ensure we start from scratch and delete the `.dat` and `.png`
files we created earlier:

```bash
$ rm *.dat *.png
```

By default, Make looks for a Makefile, called `Makefile`, and we can
run Make as follows:

```bash
$ make
```

By default, Make prints out the actions it executes:

```output
python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
```

If we see,

```error
Makefile:3: *** missing separator.  Stop.
```

then we have used a space instead of a TAB characters to indent one of
our actions.

Let's see if we got what we expected.

```bash
head -5 isles.dat
```

The first 5 lines of `isles.dat` should look exactly like before.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Makefiles Do Not Have to be Called `Makefile`

We don't have to call our Makefile `Makefile`. However, if we call it
something else we need to tell Make where to find it. This we can do
using `-f` flag. For example, if our Makefile is named `MyOtherMakefile`:

```bash
$ make -f MyOtherMakefile
```

Sometimes, the suffix `.mk` will be used to identify Makefiles that
are not called `Makefile` e.g. `install.mk`, `common.mk` etc.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When we re-run our Makefile, Make now informs us that:

```output
make: `isles.dat' is up to date.
```

This is because our target, `isles.dat`, has now been created, and
Make will not create it again. To see how this works, let's pretend to
update one of the text files. Rather than opening the file in an
editor, we can use the shell `touch` command to update its timestamp
(which would happen if we did edit the file):

```bash
$ touch books/isles.txt
```

If we compare the timestamps of `books/isles.txt` and `isles.dat`,

```bash
$ ls -l books/isles.txt isles.dat
```

then we see that `isles.dat`, the target, is now older
than `books/isles.txt`, its dependency:

```output
-rw-r--r--    1 mjj      Administ   323972 Jun 12 10:35 books/isles.txt
-rw-r--r--    1 mjj      Administ   182273 Jun 12 09:58 isles.dat
```

If we run Make again,

```bash
$ make
```

then it recreates `isles.dat`:

```output
python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
```

When it is asked to build a target, Make checks the 'last modification
time' of both the target and its dependencies. If any dependency has
been updated since the target, then the actions are re-run to update
the target. Using this approach, Make knows to only rebuild the files
that, either directly or indirectly, depend on the file that
changed. This is called an [incremental
build](../learners/reference.md#incremental-build).

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Makefiles as Documentation

By explicitly recording the inputs to and outputs from steps in our
analysis and the dependencies between files, Makefiles act as a type
of documentation, reducing the number of things we have to remember.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Let's add another rule to the end of `Makefile`:

```make
abyss.dat : books/abyss.txt
	python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat
```

If we run Make,

```bash
$ make
```

then we get:

```output
make: `isles.dat' is up to date.
```

Nothing happens because Make attempts to build the first target it
finds in the Makefile, the
[default target](../learners/reference.md#default-target), which is
`isles.dat` which is already up-to-date. We need to explicitly tell Make we want
to build `abyss.dat`:

```bash
$ make abyss.dat
```

Now, we get:

```output
python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat
```

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## "Up to Date" Versus "Nothing to be Done"

If we ask Make to build a file that already exists and is up to
date, then Make informs us that:

```output
make: `isles.dat' is up to date.
```

If we ask Make to build a file that exists but for which there is
no rule in our Makefile, then we get message like:

```bash
$ make countwords.py
```

```output
make: Nothing to be done for `countwords.py'.
```

`up to date` means that the Makefile has a rule with one or more actions
whose target is the name of a file (or directory) and the file is up to date.

`Nothing to be done` means that
the file exists but either :

- the Makefile has no rule for it, or
- the Makefile has a rule for it, but that rule has no actions
  

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

We may want to remove all our data files so we can explicitly recreate
them all. We can introduce a new target, and associated rule, to do
this. We will call it `clean`, as this is a common name for rules that
delete auto-generated files, like our `.dat` files:

```make
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
```

This is an example of a rule that has no dependencies. `clean` has no
dependencies on any `.dat` file as it makes no sense to create these
just to remove them. We just want to remove the data files whether or
not they exist. If we run Make and specify this target,

```bash
$ make clean
```

then we get:

```output
rm -f *.dat
```

There is no actual thing built called `clean`. Rather, it is a
short-hand that we can use to execute a useful sequence of
actions. Such targets, though very useful, can lead to problems. For
example, let us recreate our data files, create a directory called
`clean`, then run Make:

```bash
$ make isles.dat abyss.dat
$ mkdir clean
$ make clean
```

We get:

```output
make: `clean' is up to date.
```

Make finds a file (or directory) called `clean` and, as its `clean`
rule has no dependencies, assumes that `clean` has been built and is
up-to-date and so does not execute the rule's actions. As we are using
`clean` as a short-hand, we need to tell Make to always execute this
rule if we run `make clean`, by telling Make that this is a
[phony target](../learners/reference.md#phony-target), that it does not build
anything. This we do by marking the target as `.PHONY`:

```make
.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
```

If we run Make,

```bash
$ make clean
```

then we get:

```output
rm -f *.dat
```

We can add a similar command to create all the data files. We can put
this at the top of our Makefile so that it is the [default
target](../learners/reference.md#default-target), which is executed by default
if no target is given to the `make` command:

```make
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat
```

This is an example of a rule that has dependencies that are targets of
other rules. When Make runs, it will check to see if the dependencies
exist and, if not, will see if rules are available that will create
these. If such rules exist it will invoke these first, otherwise
Make will raise an error.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Dependencies

The order of rebuilding dependencies is arbitrary. You should not
assume that they will be built in the order in which they are
listed.

Dependencies must form a directed acyclic graph. A target cannot
depend on a dependency which itself, or one of its dependencies,
depends on that target.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

This rule (`dats`) is also an example of a rule that has no actions. It is used
purely to trigger the build of its dependencies, if needed.

If we run,

```bash
$ make dats
```

then Make creates the data files:

```output
python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat
```

If we run `make dats` again, then Make will see that the dependencies (`isles.dat`
and `abyss.dat`) are already up to date.
Given the target `dats` has no actions, there is `nothing to be done`:

```bash
$ make dats
```

```output
make: Nothing to be done for `dats'.
```

Our Makefile now looks like this:

```make
# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat

isles.dat : books/isles.txt
	python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat

abyss.dat : books/abyss.txt
	python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
```

The following figure shows a graph of the dependencies embodied within
our Makefile, involved in building the `dats` target:

![](fig/02-makefile.png "Dependencies represented within the Makefile"){alt='Dependencies represented within the Makefile'}

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  challenge

## Write Two New Rules

1. Write a new rule for `last.dat`, created from `books/last.txt`.
2. Update the `dats` rule with this target.
3. Write a new rule for `results.txt`, which creates the summary
  table. The rule needs to:
  - Depend upon each of the three `.dat` files.
  - Invoke the action `python testzipf.py abyss.dat isles.dat last.dat > results.txt`.
4. Put this rule at the top of the Makefile so that it is the default target.
5. Update `clean` so that it removes `results.txt`.

The starting Makefile is [here](files/code/02-makefile/Makefile).

:::::::::::::::  solution

## Solution

See [this file](files/code/02-makefile-challenge/Makefile) for a solution.



:::::::::::::::::::::::::

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The following figure shows the dependencies embodied within our
Makefile, involved in building the `results.txt` target:

![](fig/02-makefile-challenge.png "results.txt dependencies represented within the Makefile"){alt='results.txt dependencies represented within the Makefile'}

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: keypoints

- Use `#` for comments in Makefiles.
- Write rules as `target: dependencies`.
- Specify update actions in a tab-indented block under the rule.
- Use `.PHONY` to mark targets that don't correspond to files.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::




================================================
FILE: episodes/03-variables.md
================================================
---
title: Automatic Variables
teaching: 10
exercises: 5
---

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: objectives

- Use Make automatic variables to remove duplication in a Makefile.
- Explain why shell wildcards in dependencies can cause problems.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: questions

- How can I abbreviate the rules in my Makefiles?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

After the exercise at the end of the previous episode, our Makefile looked like
this:

```make
# Generate summary table.
results.txt : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	python testzipf.py abyss.dat isles.dat last.dat > results.txt

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat

isles.dat : books/isles.txt
	python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat

abyss.dat : books/abyss.txt
	python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat

last.dat : books/last.txt
	python countwords.py books/last.txt last.dat

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
	rm -f results.txt
```

Our Makefile has a lot of duplication. For example, the names of text
files and data files are repeated in many places throughout the
Makefile. Makefiles are a form of code and, in any code, repeated code
can lead to problems e.g. we rename a data file in one part of the
Makefile but forget to rename it elsewhere.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## D.R.Y. (Don't Repeat Yourself)

In many programming languages, the bulk of the language features are
there to allow the programmer to describe long-winded computational
routines as short, expressive, beautiful code.  Features in Python
or R or Java, such as user-defined variables and functions are useful in
part because they mean we don't have to write out (or think about)
all of the details over and over again.  This good habit of writing
things out only once is known as the "Don't Repeat Yourself"
principle or D.R.Y.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Let us set about removing some of the repetition from our Makefile.

In our `results.txt` rule we duplicate the data file names and the
name of the results file name:

```make
results.txt : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	python testzipf.py abyss.dat isles.dat last.dat > results.txt
```

Looking at the results file name first, we can replace it in the action
with `$@`:

```make
results.txt : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	python testzipf.py abyss.dat isles.dat last.dat > $@
```

`$@` is a Make
[automatic variable](../learners/reference.md#automatic-variable)
which means 'the target of the current rule'. When Make is run it will
replace this variable with the target name.

We can replace the dependencies in the action with `$^`:

```make
results.txt : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	python testzipf.py $^ > $@
```

`$^` is another automatic variable which means 'all the dependencies
of the current rule'. Again, when Make is run it will replace this
variable with the dependencies.

Let's update our text files and re-run our rule:

```bash
$ touch books/*.txt
$ make results.txt
```

We get:

```output
python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat
python countwords.py books/last.txt last.dat
python testzipf.py isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat > results.txt
```

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  challenge

## Update Dependencies

What will happen if you now execute:

```bash
$ touch *.dat
$ make results.txt
```

1. nothing
2. all files recreated
3. only `.dat` files recreated
4. only `results.txt` recreated

:::::::::::::::  solution

## Solution

`4.` Only `results.txt` recreated.

The rules for `*.dat` are not executed because their corresponding `.txt` files
haven't been modified.

If you run:

```bash
$ touch books/*.txt
$ make results.txt
```

you will find that the `.dat` files as well as `results.txt` are recreated.



:::::::::::::::::::::::::

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

As we saw, `$^` means 'all the dependencies of the current rule'. This
works well for `results.txt` as its action treats all the dependencies
the same - as the input for the `testzipf.py` script.

However, for some rules, we may want to treat the first dependency
differently. For example, our rules for `.dat` use their first (and
only) dependency specifically as the input file to `countwords.py`. If
we add additional dependencies (as we will soon do) then we don't want
these being passed as input files to `countwords.py` as it expects only
one input file to be named when it is invoked.

Make provides an automatic variable for this, `$<` which means 'the
first dependency of the current rule'.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  challenge

## Rewrite `.dat` Rules to Use Automatic Variables

Rewrite each `.dat` rule to use the automatic variables `$@` ('the
target of the current rule') and `$<` ('the first dependency of the
current rule').
[This file](files/code/03-variables/Makefile) contains
the Makefile immediately before the challenge.

:::::::::::::::  solution

## Solution

See [this file](files/code/03-variables-challenge/Makefile)
for a solution to this challenge.



:::::::::::::::::::::::::

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: keypoints

- Use `$@` to refer to the target of the current rule.
- Use `$^` to refer to the dependencies of the current rule.
- Use `$<` to refer to the first dependency of the current rule.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::




================================================
FILE: episodes/04-dependencies.md
================================================
---
title: Dependencies on Data and Code
teaching: 15
exercises: 5
---

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: objectives

- Output files are a product not only of input files but of the scripts or code that created the output files.
- Recognize and avoid false dependencies.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: questions

- How can I write a Makefile to update things when my scripts have changed rather than my input files?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Our Makefile now looks like this:

```make
# Generate summary table.
results.txt : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	python testzipf.py $^ > $@

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat

isles.dat : books/isles.txt
	python countwords.py $< $@

abyss.dat : books/abyss.txt
	python countwords.py $< $@

last.dat : books/last.txt
	python countwords.py $< $@

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
	rm -f results.txt
```

Our data files are produced using not only the input text files but also the
script `countwords.py` that processes the text files and creates the
data files. A change to `countwords.py` (e.g. adding a new column of
summary data or removing an existing one) results in changes to the
`.dat` files it outputs. So, let's pretend to edit `countwords.py`,
using `touch`, and re-run Make:

```bash
$ make dats
$ touch countwords.py
$ make dats
```

Nothing happens! Though we've updated `countwords.py` our data files
are not updated because our rules for creating `.dat` files don't
record any dependencies on `countwords.py`.

We need to add `countwords.py` as a dependency of each of our
data files also:

```make
isles.dat : books/isles.txt countwords.py
	python countwords.py $< $@

abyss.dat : books/abyss.txt countwords.py
	python countwords.py $< $@

last.dat : books/last.txt countwords.py
	python countwords.py $< $@
```

If we pretend to edit `countwords.py` and re-run Make,

```bash
$ touch countwords.py
$ make dats
```

then we get:

```output
python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat
python countwords.py books/last.txt last.dat
```

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Dry run

`make` can show the commands it will execute without actually running them if we pass the `-n` flag:

```bash
$ touch countwords.py
$ make -n dats
```

This gives the same output to the screen as without the `-n` flag, but the commands are not actually run. Using this 'dry-run' mode is a good way to check that you have set up your Makefile properly before actually running the commands in it.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The following figure shows a graph of the dependencies, that are
involved in building the target `results.txt`. Notice the recently
added dependencies `countwords.py` and `testzipf.py`.  This is how the
Makefile should look after completing the rest of the exercises
in this episode.

![](fig/04-dependencies.png "results.txt dependencies after adding countwords.py and testzipf.py as dependencies"){alt='results.txt dependencies after adding countwords.py and testzipf.py as dependencies'}

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Why Don't the `.txt` Files Depend on `countwords.py`?

`.txt` files are input files and as such have no dependencies. To make these
depend on `countwords.py` would introduce a [false
dependency](../learners/reference.md#false-dependency) which is not desirable.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Intuitively, we should also add `countwords.py` as a dependency for
`results.txt`, because the final table should be rebuilt if we remake the
`.dat` files. However, it turns out we don't have to do that! Let's see what
happens to `results.txt` when we update `countwords.py`:

```bash
$ touch countwords.py
$ make results.txt
```

then we get:

```output
python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat
python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
python countwords.py books/last.txt last.dat
python testzipf.py abyss.dat isles.dat last.dat > results.txt
```

The whole pipeline is triggered, even the creation of the
`results.txt` file! To understand this, note that according to the
dependency figure, `results.txt` depends on the `.dat` files. The
update of `countwords.py` triggers an update of the `*.dat`
files. Thus, `make` sees that the dependencies (the `.dat` files) are
newer than the target file (`results.txt`) and thus it recreates
`results.txt`. This is an example of the power of `make`: updating a
subset of the files in the pipeline triggers rerunning the appropriate
downstream steps.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  challenge

## Updating One Input File

What will happen if you now execute:

```bash
$ touch books/last.txt
$ make results.txt
```

1. only `last.dat` is recreated
2. all `.dat` files are recreated
3. only `last.dat` and `results.txt` are recreated
4. all `.dat` and `results.txt` are recreated

:::::::::::::::  solution

## Solution

`3.` only `last.dat` and `results.txt` are recreated.

Follow the dependency tree to understand the answer(s).



:::::::::::::::::::::::::

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  challenge

## `testzipf.py` as a Dependency of `results.txt`.

What would happen if you added `testzipf.py` as dependency of `results.txt`, and why?

:::::::::::::::  solution

## Solution

If you change the rule for the `results.txt` file like this:

```make
results.txt : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat testzipf.py
        python testzipf.py $^ > $@
```

`testzipf.py` becomes a part of `$^`, thus the command becomes

```bash
python testzipf.py abyss.dat isles.dat last.dat testzipf.py > results.txt
```

This results in an error from `testzipf.py` as it tries to parse the
script as if it were a `.dat` file. Try this by running:

```bash
$ make results.txt
```

You'll get

```error
python testzipf.py abyss.dat isles.dat last.dat testzipf.py > results.txt
Traceback (most recent call last):
  File "testzipf.py", line 19, in <module>
    counts = load_word_counts(input_file)
  File "path/to/testzipf.py", line 39, in load_word_counts
    counts.append((fields[0], int(fields[1]), float(fields[2])))
IndexError: list index out of range
make: *** [results.txt] Error 1
```

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

We still have to add the `testzipf.py` script as dependency to
`results.txt`.
Given the answer to the challenge above,
we need to make a couple of small changes so that we can still use automatic variables.

We'll move `testzipf.py` to be the first dependency and then edit the action
so that we pass all the dependencies as arguments to python using `$^`.

```make
results.txt : testzipf.py isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	python $^ > $@
```

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Where We Are

[This Makefile](files/code/04-dependencies/Makefile)
contains everything done so far in this topic.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: keypoints

- Make results depend on processing scripts as well as data files.
- Dependencies are transitive: if A depends on B and B depends on C, a change to C will indirectly trigger an update to A.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::




================================================
FILE: episodes/05-patterns.md
================================================
---
title: Pattern Rules
teaching: 10
exercises: 0
---

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: objectives

- Write Make pattern rules.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: questions

- How can I define rules to operate on similar files?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Our Makefile still has repeated content. The rules for each `.dat`
file are identical apart from the text and data file names. We can
replace these rules with a single [pattern
rule](../learners/reference.md#pattern-rule) which can be used to build any
`.dat` file from a `.txt` file in `books/`:

```make
%.dat : countwords.py books/%.txt
	python $^ $@
```

`%` is a Make [wildcard](../learners/reference.md#wildcard),
matching any number of any characters.

This rule can be interpreted as:
"In order to build a file named `[something].dat` (the target)
find a file named `books/[that same something].txt` (one of the dependencies)
and run `python [the dependencies] [the target]`."

If we re-run Make,

```bash
$ make clean
$ make dats
```

then we get:

```output
python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat
python countwords.py books/last.txt last.dat
```

Note that we can still use Make to build individual `.dat` targets as before,
and that our new rule will work no matter what stem is being matched.

```bash
$ make sierra.dat
```

which gives the output below:

```output
python countwords.py books/sierra.txt sierra.dat
```

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Using Make Wildcards

The Make `%` wildcard can only be used in a target and in its
dependencies. It cannot be used in actions. In actions, you may
however use `$*`, which will be replaced by the stem with which
the rule matched.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Our Makefile is now much shorter and cleaner:

```make
# Generate summary table.
results.txt : testzipf.py isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	python $^ > $@

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat

%.dat : countwords.py books/%.txt
	python $^ $@

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
	rm -f results.txt
```

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Where We Are

[This Makefile](files/code/05-patterns/Makefile)
contains all of our work so far.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: keypoints

- Use the wildcard `%` as a placeholder in targets and dependencies.
- Use the special variable `$*` to refer to matching sets of files in actions.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::




================================================
FILE: episodes/06-variables.md
================================================
---
title: Variables
teaching: 15
exercises: 5
---

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: objectives

- Use variables in a Makefile.
- Explain the benefits of decoupling configuration from computation.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: questions

- How can I eliminate redundancy in my Makefiles?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Despite our efforts, our Makefile still has repeated content, i.e.
the name of our script -- `countwords.py`, and the program we use to run it --
`python`. If we renamed our script we'd have to update our Makefile in multiple
places.

We can introduce a Make [variable](../learners/reference.md#variable) (called a
[macro](../learners/reference.md#macro) in some versions of Make) to hold our
script name:

```make
COUNT_SRC=countwords.py
```

This is a variable [assignment](../learners/reference.md#assignment) -
`COUNT_SRC` is assigned the value `countwords.py`.

We can do the same thing with the interpreter language used to run the script:

```make
LANGUAGE=python
```

`$(...)` tells Make to replace a variable with its value when Make
is run. This is a variable [reference](../learners/reference.md#reference). At
any place where we want to use the value of a variable we have to
write it, or reference it, in this way.

Here we reference the variables `LANGUAGE` and `COUNT_SRC`. This tells Make to
replace the variable `LANGUAGE` with its value `python`,
and to replace the variable `COUNT_SRC` with its value `countwords.py`.

Defining the variable `LANGUAGE` in this way avoids repeating `python` in our
Makefile, and allows us to easily
change how our script is run (e.g. we might want to use a different
version of Python and need to change `python` to `python2` -- or we might want
to rewrite the script using another language (e.g. switch from Python to R)).

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  challenge

## Use Variables

Update `Makefile` so that the `%.dat` rule
references the variable `COUNT_SRC`.
Then do the same for the `testzipf.py` script
and the `results.txt` rule,
using `ZIPF_SRC` as the variable name.

:::::::::::::::  solution

## Solution

[This Makefile](files/code/06-variables-challenge/Makefile)
contains a solution to this challenge.



:::::::::::::::::::::::::

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

We place variables at the top of a Makefile so they are easy to
find and modify. Alternatively, we can pull them out into a new
file that just holds variable definitions (i.e. delete them from
the original Makefile). Let us create `config.mk`:

```make
# Count words script.
LANGUAGE=python
COUNT_SRC=countwords.py

# Test Zipf's rule
ZIPF_SRC=testzipf.py
```

We can then import `config.mk` into `Makefile` using:

```make
include config.mk
```

We can re-run Make to see that everything still works:

```bash
$ make clean
$ make dats
$ make results.txt
```

We have separated the configuration of our Makefile from its rules --
the parts that do all the work. If we want to change our script name
or how it is executed we just need to edit our configuration file, not
our source code in `Makefile`. Decoupling code from configuration in
this way is good programming practice, as it promotes more modular,
flexible and reusable code.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Where We Are

[This Makefile](files/code/06-variables/Makefile)
and [its accompanying `config.mk`](files/code/06-variables/config.mk)
contain all of our work so far.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: keypoints

- Define variables by assigning values to names.
- Reference variables using `$(...)`.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::




================================================
FILE: episodes/07-functions.md
================================================
---
title: Functions
teaching: 20
exercises: 5
---

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: objectives

- Write Makefiles that use functions to match and transform sets of files.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: questions

- How *else* can I eliminate redundancy in my Makefiles?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

At this point, we have the following Makefile:

```make
include config.mk

# Generate summary table.
results.txt : $(ZIPF_SRC) isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ > $@

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat

%.dat : $(COUNT_SRC) books/%.txt
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ $@

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
	rm -f results.txt
```

Make has many [functions](../learners/reference.md#function) which can be used
to write more complex rules. One example is `wildcard`. `wildcard` gets a
list of files matching some pattern, which we can then save in a
variable. So, for example, we can get a list of all our text files
(files ending in `.txt`) and save these in a variable by adding this at
the beginning of our makefile:

```make
TXT_FILES=$(wildcard books/*.txt)
```

We can add a `.PHONY` target and rule to show the variable's value:

```make
.PHONY : variables
variables:
	@echo TXT_FILES: $(TXT_FILES)
```

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## @echo

Make prints actions as it executes them. Using `@` at the start of
an action tells Make not to print this action. So, by using `@echo`
instead of `echo`, we can see the result of `echo` (the variable's
value being printed) but not the `echo` command itself.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

If we run Make:

```bash
$ make variables
```

We get:

```output
TXT_FILES: books/abyss.txt books/isles.txt books/last.txt books/sierra.txt
```

Note how `sierra.txt` is now included too.

`patsubst` ('pattern substitution') takes a pattern, a replacement string and a
list of names in that order; each name in the list that matches the pattern is
replaced by the replacement string. Again, we can save the result in a
variable. So, for example, we can rewrite our list of text files into
a list of data files (files ending in `.dat`) and save these in a
variable:

```make
DAT_FILES=$(patsubst books/%.txt, %.dat, $(TXT_FILES))
```

We can extend `variables` to show the value of `DAT_FILES` too:

```make
.PHONY : variables
variables:
	@echo TXT_FILES: $(TXT_FILES)
	@echo DAT_FILES: $(DAT_FILES)
```

If we run Make,

```bash
$ make variables
```

then we get:

```output
TXT_FILES: books/abyss.txt books/isles.txt books/last.txt books/sierra.txt
DAT_FILES: abyss.dat isles.dat last.dat sierra.dat
```

Now, `sierra.txt` is processed too.

With these we can rewrite `clean` and `dats`:

```make
.PHONY : dats
dats : $(DAT_FILES)

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f $(DAT_FILES)
	rm -f results.txt
```

Let's check:

```bash
$ make clean
$ make dats
```

We get:

```output
python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat
python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
python countwords.py books/last.txt last.dat
python countwords.py books/sierra.txt sierra.dat
```

We can also rewrite `results.txt`:

```make
results.txt : $(ZIPF_SRC) $(DAT_FILES)
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ > $@
```

If we re-run Make:

```bash
$ make clean
$ make results.txt
```

We get:

```output
python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat
python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat
python countwords.py books/last.txt last.dat
python countwords.py books/sierra.txt sierra.dat
python testzipf.py  last.dat  isles.dat  abyss.dat  sierra.dat > results.txt
```

Let's check the `results.txt` file:

```bash
$ cat results.txt
```

```output
Book	First	Second	Ratio
abyss	4044	2807	1.44
isles	3822	2460	1.55
last	12244	5566	2.20
sierra	4242	2469	1.72
```

So the range of the ratios of occurrences of the two most frequent
words in our books is indeed around 2, as predicted by Zipf's Law,
i.e., the most frequently-occurring word occurs approximately twice as
often as the second most frequent word.  Here is our final Makefile:

```make
include config.mk

TXT_FILES=$(wildcard books/*.txt)
DAT_FILES=$(patsubst books/%.txt, %.dat, $(TXT_FILES))

# Generate summary table.
results.txt : $(ZIPF_SRC) $(DAT_FILES)
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ > $@

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : $(DAT_FILES)

%.dat : $(COUNT_SRC) books/%.txt
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ $@

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f $(DAT_FILES)
	rm -f results.txt

.PHONY : variables
variables:
	@echo TXT_FILES: $(TXT_FILES)
	@echo DAT_FILES: $(DAT_FILES)
```

Remember, the `config.mk` file contains:

```make
# Count words script.
LANGUAGE=python
COUNT_SRC=countwords.py

# Test Zipf's rule
ZIPF_SRC=testzipf.py
```

The following figure shows the dependencies embodied within our Makefile,
involved in building the `results.txt` target,
now we have introduced our function:

![](fig/07-functions.png "results.txt dependencies after introducing a function"){alt='results.txt dependencies after introducing a function'}

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Where We Are

[This Makefile](files/code/07-functions/Makefile)
and [its accompanying `config.mk`](files/code/07-functions/config.mk)
contain all of our work so far.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  challenge

## Adding more books

We can now do a better job at testing Zipf's rule by adding more books.
The books we have used come from the [Project Gutenberg](https://www.gutenberg.org/) website.
Project Gutenberg offers thousands of free ebooks to download.

**Exercise instructions:**

- go to [Project Gutenberg](https://www.gutenberg.org/) and use the search box to find another book,
  for example ['The Picture of Dorian Gray'](https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/174) from Oscar Wilde.
- download the 'Plain Text UTF-8' version and save it to the `books` folder;
  choose a short name for the file (**that doesn't include spaces**) e.g. "dorian\_gray.txt"
  because the filename is going to be used in the `results.txt` file
- optionally, open the file in a text editor and remove extraneous text at the beginning and end
  (look for the phrase `END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK [title]`)
- run `make` and check that the correct commands are run, given the dependency tree
- check the results.txt file to see how this book compares to the others
  

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: keypoints

- Make is actually a small programming language with many built-in functions.
- Use `wildcard` function to get lists of files matching a pattern.
- Use `patsubst` function to rewrite file names.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::




================================================
FILE: episodes/08-self-doc.md
================================================
---
title: Self-Documenting Makefiles
teaching: 10
exercises: 0
---

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: objectives

- Write self-documenting Makefiles with built-in help.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: questions

- How should I document a Makefile?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Many bash commands, and programs that people have written that can be
run from within bash, support a `--help` flag to display more
information on how to use the commands or programs. In this spirit, it
can be useful, both for ourselves and for others, to provide a `help`
target in our Makefiles. This can provide a summary of the names of
the key targets and what they do, so we don't need to look at the
Makefile itself unless we want to. For our Makefile, running a `help`
target might print:

```bash
$ make help
```

```output
results.txt : Generate Zipf summary table.
dats        : Count words in text files.
clean       : Remove auto-generated files.
```

So, how would we implement this? We could write a rule like:

```make
.PHONY : help
help :
	@echo "results.txt : Generate Zipf summary table."
	@echo "dats        : Count words in text files."
	@echo "clean       : Remove auto-generated files."
```

But every time we add or remove a rule, or change the description of a
rule, we would have to update this rule too. It would be better if we
could keep the descriptions of the rules by the rules themselves and
extract these descriptions automatically.

The bash shell can help us here. It provides a command called
[sed][sed-docs] which stands for 'stream editor'. `sed` reads in some
text, does some filtering, and writes out the filtered text.

So, we could write comments for our rules, and mark them up in a way
which `sed` can detect. Since Make uses `#` for comments, we can use
`##` for comments that describe what a rule does and that we want
`sed` to detect. For example:

```make
## results.txt : Generate Zipf summary table.
results.txt : $(ZIPF_SRC) $(DAT_FILES)
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ > $@

## dats        : Count words in text files.
.PHONY : dats
dats : $(DAT_FILES)

%.dat : $(COUNT_SRC) books/%.txt
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ $@

## clean       : Remove auto-generated files.
.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f $(DAT_FILES)
	rm -f results.txt

## variables   : Print variables.
.PHONY : variables
variables:
	@echo TXT_FILES: $(TXT_FILES)
	@echo DAT_FILES: $(DAT_FILES)
```

We use `##` so we can distinguish between comments that we want `sed`
to automatically filter, and other comments that may describe what
other rules do, or that describe variables.

We can then write a `help` target that applies `sed` to our `Makefile`:

```make
.PHONY : help
help : Makefile
	@sed -n 's/^##//p' $<
```

This rule depends upon the Makefile itself. It runs `sed` on the first
dependency of the rule, which is our Makefile, and tells `sed` to get
all the lines that begin with `##`, which `sed` then prints for us.

If we now run

```bash
$ make help
```

we get:

```output
 results.txt : Generate Zipf summary table.
 dats        : Count words in text files.
 clean       : Remove auto-generated files.
 variables   : Print variables.
```

If we add, change or remove a target or rule, we now only need to
remember to add, update or remove a comment next to the rule. So long
as we respect our convention of using `##` for such comments, then our
`help` rule will take care of detecting these comments and printing
them for us.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  callout

## Where We Are

[This Makefile](files/code/08-self-doc/Makefile)
and [its accompanying `config.mk`](files/code/08-self-doc/config.mk)
contain all of our work so far.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

[sed-docs]: https://www.gnu.org/software/sed/


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: keypoints

- Document Makefiles by adding specially-formatted comments and a target to extract and format them.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::




================================================
FILE: episodes/09-conclusion.md
================================================
---
title: Conclusion
teaching: 5
exercises: 30
---

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: objectives

- Understand advantages of automated build tools such as Make.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: questions

- What are the advantages and disadvantages of using tools like Make?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Automated build tools such as Make can help us in a number of
ways. They help us to automate repetitive commands, hence saving us
time and reducing the likelihood of errors compared with running
these commands manually.

They can also save time by ensuring that automatically-generated
artifacts (such as data files or plots) are only recreated when the
files that were used to create these have changed in some way.

Through their notion of targets, dependencies, and actions, they serve
as a form of documentation, recording dependencies between code,
scripts, tools, configurations, raw data, derived data, plots, and
papers.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  challenge

## Creating PNGs

Add new rules, update existing rules, and add new variables to:

- Create `.png` files from `.dat` files using `plotcounts.py`.
- Remove all auto-generated files (`.dat`, `.png`,
  `results.txt`).

Finally, many Makefiles define a default [phony
target](../learners/reference.md#phony-target) called `all` as first target,
that will build what the Makefile has been written to build (e.g. in
our case, the `.png` files and the `results.txt` file). As others
may assume your Makefile conforms to convention and supports an
`all` target, add an `all` target to your Makefile (Hint: this rule
has the `results.txt` file and the `.png` files as dependencies, but
no actions).  With that in place, instead of running `make results.txt`, you should now run `make all`, or just simply
`make`. By default, `make` runs the first target it finds in the
Makefile, in this case your new `all` target.

:::::::::::::::  solution

## Solution

[This Makefile](files/code/09-conclusion-challenge-1/Makefile)
and [this `config.mk`](files/code/09-conclusion-challenge-1/config.mk)
contain a solution to this challenge.



:::::::::::::::::::::::::

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The following figure shows the dependencies involved in building the `all`
target, once we've added support for images:

![](fig/09-conclusion-challenge-1.png "results.txt dependencies once images have been added"){alt='results.txt dependencies once images have been added'}

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  challenge

## Creating an Archive

Often it is useful to create an archive file of your project that includes all data, code
and results. An archive file can package many files into a single file that can easily be
downloaded and shared with collaborators. We can add steps to create the archive file inside
the Makefile itself so it's easy to update our archive file as the project changes.

Edit the Makefile to create an archive file of your project.  Add new rules, update existing
rules and add new variables to:

- Create a new directory called `zipf_analysis` in the project directory.

- Copy all our code, data, plots, the Zipf summary table, the Makefile and config.mk
  to this directory.
  The `cp -r` command can be used to copy files and directories
  into the new `zipf_analysis` directory:
  
  ```bash
  $ cp -r [files and directories to copy] zipf_analysis/
  ```

- Hint: create a new variable for the `books` directory so that it can be
  copied to the new `zipf_analysis` directory

- Create an archive, `zipf_analysis.tar.gz`, of this directory. The
  bash command `tar` can be used, as follows:
  
  ```bash
  $ tar -czf zipf_analysis.tar.gz zipf_analysis
  ```

- Update the target `all` so that it creates `zipf_analysis.tar.gz`.

- Remove `zipf_analysis.tar.gz` when `make clean` is called.

- Print the values of any additional variables you have defined when
  `make variables` is called.

:::::::::::::::  solution

## Solution

[This Makefile](files/code/09-conclusion-challenge-2/Makefile)
and [this `config.mk`](files/code/09-conclusion-challenge-2/config.mk)
contain a solution to this challenge.



:::::::::::::::::::::::::

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  challenge

## Archiving the Makefile

Why does the Makefile rule for the archive directory add the Makefile to our archive of code,
data, plots and Zipf summary table?

:::::::::::::::  solution

## Solution

Our code files (`countwords.py`, `plotcounts.py`, `testzipf.py`) implement
the individual parts of our workflow. They allow us to create `.dat`
files from `.txt` files, and `results.txt` and `.png` files from `.dat` files.
Our Makefile, however, documents dependencies between
our code, raw data, derived data, and plots, as well as implementing
our workflow as a whole. `config.mk` contains configuration information
for our Makefile, so it must be archived too.



:::::::::::::::::::::::::

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  challenge

## `touch` the Archive Directory

Why does the Makefile rule for the archive directory `touch` the archive directory after moving our code, data, plots and summary table into it?

:::::::::::::::  solution

## Solution

A directory's timestamp is not automatically updated when files are copied into it.
If the code, data, plots, and summary table are updated and copied into the
archive directory, the archive directory's timestamp must be updated with `touch`
so that the rule that makes `zipf_analysis.tar.gz` knows to run again;
without this `touch`, `zipf_analysis.tar.gz` will only be created the first time
the rule is run and will not be updated on subsequent runs even if the contents
of the archive directory have changed.



:::::::::::::::::::::::::

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: keypoints

- Makefiles save time by automating repetitive work, and save thinking by documenting how to reproduce results.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::




================================================
FILE: episodes/data/books/LICENSE_TEXTS.md
================================================
A Note on the Texts' Licensing
==============================

Each text is from [Project Gutenberg](http://www.gutenberg.org/).

Headers and footers have been removed for the purposes of this
exercise. All the texts are governed by The Full Project Gutenberg
License reproduced below.

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* [A Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland by Samuel Johnson](http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/2064/pg2064.txt)
* [The People of the Abyss by Jack London](http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1688)
* [My First Summer in the Sierra by John Muir](http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/32540/pg32540.txt)
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================================================
FILE: episodes/data/books/abyss.txt
================================================
THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS


The chief priests and rulers cry:-

   "O Lord and Master, not ours the guilt,
   We build but as our fathers built;
   Behold thine images how they stand
   Sovereign and sole through all our land.

   "Our task is hard--with sword and flame,
   To hold thine earth forever the same,
   And with sharp crooks of steel to keep,
   Still as thou leftest them, thy sheep."

   Then Christ sought out an artisan,
   A low-browed, stunted, haggard man,
   And a motherless girl whose fingers thin
   Crushed from her faintly want and sin.

   These set he in the midst of them,
   And as they drew back their garment hem
   For fear of defilement, "Lo, here," said he,
   "The images ye have made of me."

   JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.




PREFACE


The experiences related in this volume fell to me in the summer of 1902.
I went down into the under-world of London with an attitude of mind which
I may best liken to that of the explorer.  I was open to be convinced by
the evidence of my eyes, rather than by the teachings of those who had
not seen, or by the words of those who had seen and gone before.  Further,
I took with me certain simple criteria with which to measure the life of
the under-world.  That which made for more life, for physical and
spiritual health, was good; that which made for less life, which hurt,
and dwarfed, and distorted life, was bad.

It will be readily apparent to the reader that I saw much that was bad.
Yet it must not be forgotten that the time of which I write was
considered "good times" in England.  The starvation and lack of shelter I
encountered constituted a chronic condition of misery which is never
wiped out, even in the periods of greatest prosperity.

Following the summer in question came a hard winter.  Great numbers of
the unemployed formed into processions, as many as a dozen at a time, and
daily marched through the streets of London crying for bread.  Mr. Justin
McCarthy, writing in the month of January 1903, to the New York
_Independent_, briefly epitomises the situation as follows:-

   "The workhouses have no space left in which to pack the starving
   crowds who are craving every day and night at their doors for food and
   shelter.  All the charitable institutions have exhausted their means
   in trying to raise supplies of food for the famishing residents of the
   garrets and cellars of London lanes and alleys.  The quarters of the
   Salvation Army in various parts of London are nightly besieged by
   hosts of the unemployed and the hungry for whom neither shelter nor
   the means of sustenance can be provided."

It has been urged that the criticism I have passed on things as they are
in England is too pessimistic.  I must say, in extenuation, that of
optimists I am the most optimistic.  But I measure manhood less by
political aggregations than by individuals.  Society grows, while
political machines rack to pieces and become "scrap."  For the English,
so far as manhood and womanhood and health and happiness go, I see a
broad and smiling future.  But for a great deal of the political
machinery, which at present mismanages for them, I see nothing else than
the scrap heap.

JACK LONDON.
PIEDMONT, CALIFORNIA.




CHAPTER I--THE DESCENT


"But you can't do it, you know," friends said, to whom I applied for
assistance in the matter of sinking myself down into the East End of
London.  "You had better see the police for a guide," they added, on
second thought, painfully endeavouring to adjust themselves to the
psychological processes of a madman who had come to them with better
credentials than brains.

"But I don't want to see the police," I protested.  "What I wish to do is
to go down into the East End and see things for myself.  I wish to know
how those people are living there, and why they are living there, and
what they are living for.  In short, I am going to live there myself."

"You don't want to _live_ down there!" everybody said, with
disapprobation writ large upon their faces.  "Why, it is said there are
places where a man's life isn't worth tu'pence."

"The very places I wish to see," I broke in.

"But you can't, you know," was the unfailing rejoinder.

"Which is not what I came to see you about," I answered brusquely,
somewhat nettled by their incomprehension.  "I am a stranger here, and I
want you to tell me what you know of the East End, in order that I may
have something to start on."

"But we know nothing of the East End.  It is over there, somewhere."  And
they waved their hands vaguely in the direction where the sun on rare
occasions may be seen to rise.

"Then I shall go to Cook's," I announced.

"Oh yes," they said, with relief.  "Cook's will be sure to know."

But O Cook, O Thomas Cook & Son, path-finders and trail-clearers, living
sign-posts to all the world, and bestowers of first aid to bewildered
travellers--unhesitatingly and instantly, with ease and celerity, could
you send me to Darkest Africa or Innermost Thibet, but to the East End of
London, barely a stone's throw distant from Ludgate Circus, you know not
the way!

"You can't do it, you know," said the human emporium of routes and fares
at Cook's Cheapside branch.  "It is so--hem--so unusual."

"Consult the police," he concluded authoritatively, when I had persisted.
"We are not accustomed to taking travellers to the East End; we receive
no call to take them there, and we know nothing whatsoever about the
place at all."

"Never mind that," I interposed, to save myself from being swept out of
the office by his flood of negations.  "Here's something you can do for
me.  I wish you to understand in advance what I intend doing, so that in
case of trouble you may be able to identify me."

"Ah, I see! should you be murdered, we would be in position to identify
the corpse."

He said it so cheerfully and cold-bloodedly that on the instant I saw my
stark and mutilated cadaver stretched upon a slab where cool waters
trickle ceaselessly, and him I saw bending over and sadly and patiently
identifying it as the body of the insane American who _would_ see the
East End.

"No, no," I answered; "merely to identify me in case I get into a scrape
with the 'bobbies.'"  This last I said with a thrill; truly, I was
gripping hold of the vernacular.

"That," he said, "is a matter for the consideration of the Chief Office."

"It is so unprecedented, you know," he added apologetically.

The man at the Chief Office hemmed and hawed.  "We make it a rule," he
explained, "to give no information concerning our clients."

"But in this case," I urged, "it is the client who requests you to give
the information concerning himself."

Again he hemmed and hawed.

"Of course," I hastily anticipated, "I know it is unprecedented, but--"

"As I was about to remark," he went on steadily, "it is unprecedented,
and I don't think we can do anything for you."

However, I departed with the address of a detective who lived in the East
End, and took my way to the American consul-general.  And here, at last,
I found a man with whom I could "do business."  There was no hemming and
hawing, no lifted brows, open incredulity, or blank amazement.  In one
minute I explained myself and my project, which he accepted as a matter
of course.  In the second minute he asked my age, height, and weight, and
looked me over.  And in the third minute, as we shook hands at parting,
he said: "All right, Jack.  I'll remember you and keep track."

I breathed a sigh of relief.  Having burnt my ships behind me, I was now
free to plunge into that human wilderness of which nobody seemed to know
anything.  But at once I encountered a new difficulty in the shape of my
cabby, a grey-whiskered and eminently decorous personage who had
imperturbably driven me for several hours about the "City."

"Drive me down to the East End," I ordered, taking my seat.

"Where, sir?" he demanded with frank surprise.

"To the East End, anywhere.  Go on."

The hansom pursued an aimless way for several minutes, then came to a
puzzled stop.  The aperture above my head was uncovered, and the cabman
peered down perplexedly at me.

"I say," he said, "wot plyce yer wanter go?"

"East End," I repeated.  "Nowhere in particular.  Just drive me around
anywhere."

"But wot's the haddress, sir?"

"See here!" I thundered.  "Drive me down to the East End, and at once!"

It was evident that he did not understand, but he withdrew his head, and
grumblingly started his horse.

Nowhere in the streets of London may one escape the sight of abject
poverty, while five minutes' walk from almost any point will bring one to
a slum; but the region my hansom was now penetrating was one unending
slum.  The streets were filled with a new and different race of people,
short of stature, and of wretched or beer-sodden appearance.  We rolled
along through miles of bricks and squalor, and from each cross street and
alley flashed long vistas of bricks and misery.  Here and there lurched a
drunken man or woman, and the air was obscene with sounds of jangling and
squabbling.  At a market, tottery old men and women were searching in the
garbage thrown in the mud for rotten potatoes, beans, and vegetables,
while little children clustered like flies around a festering mass of
fruit, thrusting their arms to the shoulders into the liquid corruption,
and drawing forth morsels but partially decayed, which they devoured on
the spot.

Not a hansom did I meet with in all my drive, while mine was like an
apparition from another and better world, the way the children ran after
it and alongside.  And as far as I could see were the solid walls of
brick, the slimy pavements, and the screaming streets; and for the first
time in my life the fear of the crowd smote me.  It was like the fear of
the sea; and the miserable multitudes, street upon street, seemed so many
waves of a vast and malodorous sea, lapping about me and threatening to
well up and over me.

"Stepney, sir; Stepney Station," the cabby called down.

I looked about.  It was really a railroad station, and he had driven
desperately to it as the one familiar spot he had ever heard of in all
that wilderness.

"Well," I said.

He spluttered unintelligibly, shook his head, and looked very miserable.
"I'm a strynger 'ere," he managed to articulate.  "An' if yer don't want
Stepney Station, I'm blessed if I know wotcher do want."

"I'll tell you what I want," I said.  "You drive along and keep your eye
out for a shop where old clothes are sold.  Now, when you see such a
shop, drive right on till you turn the corner, then stop and let me out."

I could see that he was growing dubious of his fare, but not long
afterwards he pulled up to the curb and informed me that an old-clothes
shop was to be found a bit of the way back.

"Won'tcher py me?" he pleaded.  "There's seven an' six owin' me."

"Yes," I laughed, "and it would be the last I'd see of you."

"Lord lumme, but it'll be the last I see of you if yer don't py me," he
retorted.

But a crowd of ragged onlookers had already gathered around the cab, and
I laughed again and walked back to the old-clothes shop.

Here the chief difficulty was in making the shopman understand that I
really and truly wanted old clothes.  But after fruitless attempts to
press upon me new and impossible coats and trousers, he began to bring to
light heaps of old ones, looking mysterious the while and hinting darkly.
This he did with the palpable intention of letting me know that he had
"piped my lay," in order to bulldose me, through fear of exposure, into
paying heavily for my purchases.  A man in trouble, or a high-class
criminal from across the water, was what he took my measure for--in
either case, a person anxious to avoid the police.

But I disputed with him over the outrageous difference between prices and
values, till I quite disabused him of the notion, and he settled down to
drive a hard bargain with a hard customer.  In the end I selected a pair
of stout though well-worn trousers, a frayed jacket with one remaining
button, a pair of brogans which had plainly seen service where coal was
shovelled, a thin leather belt, and a very dirty cloth cap.  My
underclothing and socks, however, were new and warm, but of the sort that
any American waif, down in his luck, could acquire in the ordinary course
of events.

"I must sy yer a sharp 'un," he said, with counterfeit admiration, as I
handed over the ten shillings finally agreed upon for the outfit.
"Blimey, if you ain't ben up an' down Petticut Lane afore now.  Yer
trouseys is wuth five bob to hany man, an' a docker 'ud give two an' six
for the shoes, to sy nothin' of the coat an' cap an' new stoker's singlet
an' hother things."

"How much will you give me for them?" I demanded suddenly.  "I paid you
ten bob for the lot, and I'll sell them back to you, right now, for
eight!  Come, it's a go!"

But he grinned and shook his head, and though I had made a good bargain,
I was unpleasantly aware that he had made a better one.

I found the cabby and a policeman with their heads together, but the
latter, after looking me over sharply, and particularly scrutinizing the
bundle under my arm, turned away and left the cabby to wax mutinous by
himself.  And not a step would he budge till I paid him the seven
shillings and sixpence owing him.  Whereupon he was willing to drive me
to the ends of the earth, apologising profusely for his insistence, and
explaining that one ran across queer customers in London Town.

But he drove me only to Highbury Vale, in North London, where my luggage
was waiting for me.  Here, next day, I took off my shoes (not without
regret for their lightness and comfort), and my soft, grey travelling
suit, and, in fact, all my clothing; and proceeded to array myself in the
clothes of the other and unimaginable men, who must have been indeed
unfortunate to have had to part with such rags for the pitiable sums
obtainable from a dealer.

Inside my stoker's singlet, in the armpit, I sewed a gold sovereign (an
emergency sum certainly of modest proportions); and inside my stoker's
singlet I put myself.  And then I sat down and moralised upon the fair
years and fat, which had made my skin soft and brought the nerves close
to the surface; for the singlet was rough and raspy as a hair shirt, and
I am confident that the most rigorous of ascetics suffer no more than I
did in the ensuing twenty-four hours.

The remainder of my costume was fairly easy to put on, though the
brogans, or brogues, were quite a problem.  As stiff and hard as if made
of wood, it was only after a prolonged pounding of the uppers with my
fists that I was able to get my feet into them at all.  Then, with a few
shillings, a knife, a handkerchief, and some brown papers and flake
tobacco stowed away in my pockets, I thumped down the stairs and said
good-bye to my foreboding friends.  As I paused out of the door, the
"help," a comely middle-aged woman, could not conquer a grin that twisted
her lips and separated them till the throat, out of involuntary sympathy,
made the uncouth animal noises we are wont to designate as "laughter."

No sooner was I out on the streets than I was impressed by the difference
in status effected by my clothes.  All servility vanished from the
demeanour of the common people with whom I came in contact.  Presto! in
the twinkling of an eye, so to say, I had become one of them.  My frayed
and out-at-elbows jacket was the badge and advertisement of my class,
which was their class.  It made me of like kind, and in place of the
fawning and too respectful attention I had hitherto received, I now
shared with them a comradeship.  The man in corduroy and dirty
neckerchief no longer addressed me as "sir" or "governor."  It was "mate"
now--and a fine and hearty word, with a tingle to it, and a warmth and
gladness, which the other term does not possess.  Governor!  It smacks of
mastery, and power, and high authority--the tribute of the man who is
under to the man on top, delivered in the hope that he will let up a bit
and ease his weight, which is another way of saying that it is an appeal
for alms.

This brings me to a delight I experienced in my rags and tatters which is
denied the average American abroad.  The European traveller from the
States, who is not a Croesus, speedily finds himself reduced to a chronic
state of self-conscious sordidness by the hordes of cringing robbers who
clutter his steps from dawn till dark, and deplete his pocket-book in a
way that puts compound interest to the blush.

In my rags and tatters I escaped the pestilence of tipping, and
encountered men on a basis of equality.  Nay, before the day was out I
turned the tables, and said, most gratefully, "Thank you, sir," to a
gentleman whose horse I held, and who dropped a penny into my eager palm.

Other changes I discovered were wrought in my condition by my new garb.
In crossing crowded thoroughfares I found I had to be, if anything, more
lively in avoiding vehicles, and it was strikingly impressed upon me that
my life had cheapened in direct ratio with my clothes.  When before I
inquired the way of a policeman, I was usually asked, "Bus or 'ansom,
sir?"  But now the query became, "Walk or ride?"  Also, at the railway
stations, a third-class ticket was now shoved out to me as a matter of
course.

But there was compensation for it all.  For the first time I met the
English lower classes face to face, and knew them for what they were.
When loungers and workmen, at street corners and in public-houses, talked
with me, they talked as one man to another, and they talked as natural
men should talk, without the least idea of getting anything out of me for
what they talked or the way they talked.

And when at last I made into the East End, I was gratified to find that
the fear of the crowd no longer haunted me.  I had become a part of it.
The vast and malodorous sea had welled up and over me, or I had slipped
gently into it, and there was nothing fearsome about it--with the one
exception of the stoker's singlet.




CHAPTER II--JOHNNY UPRIGHT


I shall not give you the address of Johnny Upright.  Let it suffice that
he lives in the most respectable street in the East End--a street that
would be considered very mean in America, but a veritable oasis in the
desert of East London.  It is surrounded on every side by close-packed
squalor and streets jammed by a young and vile and dirty generation; but
its own pavements are comparatively bare of the children who have no
other place to play, while it has an air of desertion, so few are the
people that come and go.

Each house in this street, as in all the streets, is shoulder to shoulder
with its neighbours.  To each house there is but one entrance, the front
door; and each house is about eighteen feet wide, with a bit of a brick-
walled yard behind, where, when it is not raining, one may look at a
slate-coloured sky.  But it must be understood that this is East End
opulence we are now considering.  Some of the people in this street are
even so well-to-do as to keep a "slavey."  Johnny Upright keeps one, as I
well know, she being my first acquaintance in this particular portion of
the world.

To Johnny Upright's house I came, and to the door came the "slavey."  Now,
mark you, her position in life was pitiable and contemptible, but it was
with pity and contempt that she looked at me.  She evinced a plain desire
that our conversation should be short.  It was Sunday, and Johnny Upright
was not at home, and that was all there was to it.  But I lingered,
discussing whether or not it was all there was to it, till Mrs. Johnny
Upright was attracted to the door, where she scolded the girl for not
having closed it before turning her attention to me.

No, Mr. Johnny Upright was not at home, and further, he saw nobody on
Sunday.  It is too bad, said I.  Was I looking for work?  No, quite the
contrary; in fact, I had come to see Johnny Upright on business which
might be profitable to him.

A change came over the face of things at once.  The gentleman in question
was at church, but would be home in an hour or thereabouts, when no doubt
he could be seen.

Would I kindly step in?--no, the lady did not ask me, though I fished for
an invitation by stating that I would go down to the corner and wait in a
public-house.  And down to the corner I went, but, it being church time,
the "pub" was closed.  A miserable drizzle was falling, and, in lieu of
better, I took a seat on a neighbourly doorstep and waited.

And here to the doorstep came the "slavey," very frowzy and very
perplexed, to tell me that the missus would let me come back and wait in
the kitchen.

"So many people come 'ere lookin' for work," Mrs. Johnny Upright
apologetically explained.  "So I 'ope you won't feel bad the way I
spoke."

"Not at all, not at all," I replied in my grandest manner, for the nonce
investing my rags with dignity.  "I quite understand, I assure you.  I
suppose people looking for work almost worry you to death?"

"That they do," she answered, with an eloquent and expressive glance; and
thereupon ushered me into, not the kitchen, but the dining room--a
favour, I took it, in recompense for my grand manner.

This dining-room, on the same floor as the kitchen, was about four feet
below the level of the ground, and so dark (it was midday) that I had to
wait a space for my eyes to adjust themselves to the gloom.  Dirty light
filtered in through a window, the top of which was on a level with a
sidewalk, and in this light I found that I was able to read newspaper
print.

And here, while waiting the coming of Johnny Upright, let me explain my
errand.  While living, eating, and sleeping with the people of the East
End, it was my intention to have a port of refuge, not too far distant,
into which could run now and again to assure myself that good clothes and
cleanliness still existed.  Also in such port I could receive my mail,
work up my notes, and sally forth occasionally in changed garb to
civilisation.

But this involved a dilemma.  A lodging where my property would be safe
implied a landlady apt to be suspicious of a gentleman leading a double
life; while a landlady who would not bother her head over the double life
of her lodgers would imply lodgings where property was unsafe.  To avoid
the dilemma was what had brought me to Johnny Upright.  A detective of
thirty-odd years' continuous service in the East End, known far and wide
by a name given him by a convicted felon in the dock, he was just the man
to find me an honest landlady, and make her rest easy concerning the
strange comings and goings of which I might be guilty.

His two daughters beat him home from church--and pretty girls they were
in their Sunday dresses; withal it was the certain weak and delicate
prettiness which characterises the Cockney lasses, a prettiness which is
no more than a promise with no grip on time, and doomed to fade quickly
away like the colour from a sunset sky.

They looked me over with frank curiosity, as though I were some sort of a
strange animal, and then ignored me utterly for the rest of my wait.  Then
Johnny Upright himself arrived, and I was summoned upstairs to confer
with him.

"Speak loud," he interrupted my opening words.  "I've got a bad cold, and
I can't hear well."

Shades of Old Sleuth and Sherlock Holmes!  I wondered as to where the
assistant was located whose duty it was to take down whatever information
I might loudly vouchsafe.  And to this day, much as I have seen of Johnny
Upright and much as I have puzzled over the incident, I have never been
quite able to make up my mind as to whether or not he had a cold, or had
an assistant planted in the other room.  But of one thing I am sure:
though I gave Johnny Upright the facts concerning myself and project, he
withheld judgment till next day, when I dodged into his street
conventionally garbed and in a hansom.  Then his greeting was cordial
enough, and I went down into the dining-room to join the family at tea.

"We are humble here," he said, "not given to the flesh, and you must take
us for what we are, in our humble way."

The girls were flushed and embarrassed at greeting me, while he did not
make it any the easier for them.

"Ha! ha!" he roared heartily, slapping the table with his open hand till
the dishes rang.  "The girls thought yesterday you had come to ask for a
piece of bread!  Ha! ha! ho! ho! ho!"

This they indignantly denied, with snapping eyes and guilty red cheeks,
as though it were an essential of true refinement to be able to discern
under his rags a man who had no need to go ragged.

And then, while I ate bread and marmalade, proceeded a play at cross
purposes, the daughters deeming it an insult to me that I should have
been mistaken for a beggar, and the father considering it as the highest
compliment to my cleverness to succeed in being so mistaken.  All of
which I enjoyed, and the bread, the marmalade, and the tea, till the time
came for Johnny Upright to find me a lodging, which he did, not half-a-
dozen doors away, in his own respectable and opulent street, in a house
as like to his own as a pea to its mate.




CHAPTER III--MY LODGING AND SOME OTHERS


From an East London standpoint, the room I rented for six shillings, or a
dollar and a half, per week, was a most comfortable affair.  From the
American standpoint, on the other hand, it was rudely furnished,
uncomfortable, and small.  By the time I had added an ordinary typewriter
table to its scanty furnishing, I was hard put to turn around; at the
best, I managed to navigate it by a sort of vermicular progression
requiring great dexterity and presence of mind.

Having settled myself, or my property rather, I put on my knockabout
clothes and went out for a walk.  Lodgings being fresh in my mind, I
began to look them up, bearing in mind the hypothesis that I was a poor
young man with a wife and large family.

My first discovery was that empty houses were few and far between--so far
between, in fact, that though I walked miles in irregular circles over a
large area, I still remained between.  Not one empty house could I find--a
conclusive proof that the district was "saturated."

It being plain that as a poor young man with a family I could rent no
houses at all in this most undesirable region, I next looked for rooms,
unfurnished rooms, in which I could store my wife and babies and
chattels.  There were not many, but I found them, usually in the
singular, for one appears to be considered sufficient for a poor man's
family in which to cook and eat and sleep.  When I asked for two rooms,
the sublettees looked at me very much in the manner, I imagine, that a
certain personage looked at Oliver Twist when he asked for more.

Not only was one room deemed sufficient for a poor man and his family,
but I learned that many families, occupying single rooms, had so much
space to spare as to be able to take in a lodger or two.  When such rooms
can be rented for from three to six shillings per week, it is a fair
conclusion that a lodger with references should obtain floor space for,
say, from eightpence to a shilling.  He may even be able to board with
the sublettees for a few shillings more.  This, however, I failed to
inquire into--a reprehensible error on my part, considering that I was
working on the basis of a hypothetical family.

Not only did the houses I investigated have no bath-tubs, but I learned
that there were no bath-tubs in all the thousands of houses I had seen.
Under the circumstances, with my wife and babies and a couple of lodgers
suffering from the too great spaciousness of one room, taking a bath in a
tin wash-basin would be an unfeasible undertaking.  But, it seems, the
compensation comes in with the saving of soap, so all's well, and God's
still in heaven.

However, I rented no rooms, but returned to my own Johnny Upright's
street.  What with my wife, and babies, and lodgers, and the various
cubby-holes into which I had fitted them, my mind's eye had become narrow-
angled, and I could not quite take in all of my own room at once.  The
immensity of it was awe-inspiring.  Could this be the room I had rented
for six shillings a week?  Impossible!  But my landlady, knocking at the
door to learn if I were comfortable, dispelled my doubts.

"Oh yes, sir," she said, in reply to a question.  "This street is the
very last.  All the other streets were like this eight or ten years ago,
and all the people were very respectable.  But the others have driven our
kind out.  Those in this street are the only ones left.  It's shocking,
sir!"

And then she explained the process of saturation, by which the rental
value of a neighbourhood went up, while its tone went down.

"You see, sir, our kind are not used to crowding in the way the others
do.  We need more room.  The others, the foreigners and lower-class
people, can get five and six families into this house, where we only get
one.  So they can pay more rent for the house than we can afford.  It
_is_ shocking, sir; and just to think, only a few years ago all this
neighbourhood was just as nice as it could be."

I looked at her.  Here was a woman, of the finest grade of the English
working-class, with numerous evidences of refinement, being slowly
engulfed by that noisome and rotten tide of humanity which the powers
that be are pouring eastward out of London Town.  Bank, factory, hotel,
and office building must go up, and the city poor folk are a nomadic
breed; so they migrate eastward, wave upon wave, saturating and degrading
neighbourhood by neighbourhood, driving the better class of workers
before them to pioneer, on the rim of the city, or dragging them down, if
not in the first generation, surely in the second and third.

It is only a question of months when Johnny Upright's street must go.  He
realises it himself.

"In a couple of years," he says, "my lease expires.  My landlord is one
of our kind.  He has not put up the rent on any of his houses here, and
this has enabled us to stay.  But any day he may sell, or any day he may
die, which is the same thing so far as we are concerned.  The house is
bought by a money breeder, who builds a sweat shop on the patch of ground
at the rear where my grapevine is, adds to the house, and rents it a room
to a family.  There you are, and Johnny Upright's gone!"

And truly I saw Johnny Upright, and his good wife and fair daughters, and
frowzy slavey, like so many ghosts flitting eastward through the gloom,
the monster city roaring at their heels.

But Johnny Upright is not alone in his flitting.  Far, far out, on the
fringe of the city, live the small business men, little managers, and
successful clerks.  They dwell in cottages and semi-detached villas, with
bits of flower garden, and elbow room, and breathing space.  They inflate
themselves with pride, and throw out their chests when they contemplate
the Abyss from which they have escaped, and they thank God that they are
not as other men.  And lo! down upon them comes Johnny Upright and the
monster city at his heels.  Tenements spring up like magic, gardens are
built upon, villas are divided and subdivided into many dwellings, and
the black night of London settles down in a greasy pall.




CHAPTER IV--A MAN AND THE ABYSS


"I say, can you let a lodging?"

These words I discharged carelessly over my shoulder at a stout and
elderly woman, of whose fare I was partaking in a greasy coffee-house
down near the Pool and not very far from Limehouse.

"Oh yus," she answered shortly, my appearance possibly not approximating
the standard of affluence required by her house.

I said no more, consuming my rasher of bacon and pint of sickly tea in
silence.  Nor did she take further interest in me till I came to pay my
reckoning (fourpence), when I pulled all of ten shillings out of my
pocket.  The expected result was produced.

"Yus, sir," she at once volunteered; "I 'ave nice lodgin's you'd likely
tyke a fancy to.  Back from a voyage, sir?"

"How much for a room?" I inquired, ignoring her curiosity.

She looked me up and down with frank surprise.  "I don't let rooms, not
to my reg'lar lodgers, much less casuals."

"Then I'll have to look along a bit," I said, with marked disappointment.

But the sight of my ten shillings had made her keen.  "I can let you have
a nice bed in with two hother men," she urged.  "Good, respectable men,
an' steady."

"But I don't want to sleep with two other men," I objected.

"You don't 'ave to.  There's three beds in the room, an' hit's not a very
small room."

"How much?" I demanded.

"'Arf a crown a week, two an' six, to a regular lodger.  You'll fancy the
men, I'm sure.  One works in the ware'ouse, an' 'e's been with me two
years now.  An' the hother's bin with me six--six years, sir, an' two
months comin' nex' Saturday.  'E's a scene-shifter," she went on.  "A
steady, respectable man, never missin' a night's work in the time 'e's
bin with me.  An' 'e likes the 'ouse; 'e says as it's the best 'e can do
in the w'y of lodgin's.  I board 'im, an' the hother lodgers too."

"I suppose he's saving money right along," I insinuated innocently.

"Bless you, no!  Nor can 'e do as well helsewhere with 'is money."

And I thought of my own spacious West, with room under its sky and
unlimited air for a thousand Londons; and here was this man, a steady and
reliable man, never missing a night's work, frugal and honest, lodging in
one room with two other men, paying two dollars and a half per month for
it, and out of his experience adjudging it to be the best he could do!
And here was I, on the strength of the ten shillings in my pocket, able
to enter in with my rags and take up my bed with him.  The human soul is
a lonely thing, but it must be very lonely sometimes when there are three
beds to a room, and casuals with ten shillings are admitted.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Thirteen years, sir; an' don't you think you'll fancy the lodgin'?"

The while she talked she was shuffling ponderously about the small
kitchen in which she cooked the food for her lodgers who were also
boarders.  When I first entered, she had been hard at work, nor had she
let up once throughout the conversation.  Undoubtedly she was a busy
woman.  "Up at half-past five," "to bed the last thing at night,"
"workin' fit ter drop," thirteen years of it, and for reward, grey hairs,
frowzy clothes, stooped shoulders, slatternly figure, unending toil in a
foul and noisome coffee-house that faced on an alley ten feet between the
walls, and a waterside environment that was ugly and sickening, to say
the least.

"You'll be hin hagain to 'ave a look?" she questioned wistfully, as I
went out of the door.

And as I turned and looked at her, I realized to the full the deeper
truth underlying that very wise old maxim: "Virtue is its own reward."

I went back to her.  "Have you ever taken a vacation?" I asked.

"Vycytion!"

"A trip to the country for a couple of days, fresh air, a day off, you
know, a rest."

"Lor' lumme!" she laughed, for the first time stopping from her work.  "A
vycytion, eh? for the likes o' me?  Just fancy, now!--Mind yer
feet!"--this last sharply, and to me, as I stumbled over the rotten
threshold.

Down near the West India Dock I came upon a young fellow staring
disconsolately at the muddy water.  A fireman's cap was pulled down
across his eyes, and the fit and sag of his clothes whispered
unmistakably of the sea.

"Hello, mate," I greeted him, sparring for a beginning.  "Can you tell me
the way to Wapping?"

"Worked yer way over on a cattle boat?" he countered, fixing my
nationality on the instant.

And thereupon we entered upon a talk that extended itself to a public-
house and a couple of pints of "arf an' arf."  This led to closer
intimacy, so that when I brought to light all of a shilling's worth of
coppers (ostensibly my all), and put aside sixpence for a bed, and
sixpence for more arf an' arf, he generously proposed that we drink up
the whole shilling.

"My mate, 'e cut up rough las' night," he explained.  "An' the bobbies
got 'm, so you can bunk in wi' me.  Wotcher say?"

I said yes, and by the time we had soaked ourselves in a whole shilling's
worth of beer, and slept the night on a miserable bed in a miserable den,
I knew him pretty fairly for what he was.  And that in one respect he was
representative of a large body of the lower-class London workman, my
later experience substantiates.

He was London-born, his father a fireman and a drinker before him.  As a
child, his home was the streets and the docks.  He had never learned to
read, and had never felt the need for it--a vain and useless
accomplishment, he held, at least for a man of his station in life.

He had had a mother and numerous squalling brothers and sisters, all
crammed into a couple of rooms and living on poorer and less regular food
than he could ordinarily rustle for himself.  In fact, he never went home
except at periods when he was unfortunate in procuring his own food.
Petty pilfering and begging along the streets and docks, a trip or two to
sea as mess-boy, a few trips more as coal-trimmer, and then a
full-fledged fireman, he had reached the top of his life.

And in the course of this he had also hammered out a philosophy of life,
an ugly and repulsive philosophy, but withal a very logical and sensible
one from his point of view.  When I asked him what he lived for, he
immediately answered, "Booze."  A voyage to sea (for a man must live and
get the wherewithal), and then the paying off and the big drunk at the
end.  After that, haphazard little drunks, sponged in the "pubs" from
mates with a few coppers left, like myself, and when sponging was played
out another trip to sea and a repetition of the beastly cycle.

"But women," I suggested, when he had finished proclaiming booze the sole
end of existence.

"Wimmen!"  He thumped his pot upon the bar and orated eloquently.  "Wimmen
is a thing my edication 'as learnt me t' let alone.  It don't pay, matey;
it don't pay.  Wot's a man like me want o' wimmen, eh? jest you tell me.
There was my mar, she was enough, a-bangin' the kids about an' makin' the
ole man mis'rable when 'e come 'ome, w'ich was seldom, I grant.  An' fer
w'y?  Becos o' mar!  She didn't make 'is 'ome 'appy, that was w'y.  Then,
there's the other wimmen, 'ow do they treat a pore stoker with a few
shillin's in 'is trouseys?  A good drunk is wot 'e's got in 'is pockits,
a good long drunk, an' the wimmen skin 'im out of his money so quick 'e
ain't 'ad 'ardly a glass.  I know.  I've 'ad my fling, an' I know wot's
wot.  An' I tell you, where's wimmen is trouble--screechin' an' carryin'
on, fightin', cuttin', bobbies, magistrates, an' a month's 'ard labour
back of it all, an' no pay-day when you come out."

"But a wife and children," I insisted.  "A home of your own, and all
that.  Think of it, back from a voyage, little children climbing on your
knee, and the wife happy and smiling, and a kiss for you when she lays
the table, and a kiss all round from the babies when they go to bed, and
the kettle singing and the long talk afterwards of where you've been and
what you've seen, and of her and all the little happenings at home while
you've been away, and--"

"Garn!" he cried, with a playful shove of his fist on my shoulder.  "Wot's
yer game, eh?  A missus kissin' an' kids clim'in', an' kettle singin',
all on four poun' ten a month w'en you 'ave a ship, an' four nothin' w'en
you 'aven't.  I'll tell you wot I'd get on four poun' ten--a missus
rowin', kids squallin', no coal t' make the kettle sing, an' the kettle
up the spout, that's wot I'd get.  Enough t' make a bloke bloomin' well
glad to be back t' sea.  A missus!  Wot for?  T' make you mis'rable?
Kids?  Jest take my counsel, matey, an' don't 'ave 'em.  Look at me!  I
can 'ave my beer w'en I like, an' no blessed missus an' kids a-crying for
bread.  I'm 'appy, I am, with my beer an' mates like you, an' a good ship
comin', an' another trip to sea.  So I say, let's 'ave another pint.  Arf
an' arf's good enough for me."

Without going further with the speech of this young fellow of two-and-
twenty, I think I have sufficiently indicated his philosophy of life and
the underlying economic reason for it.  Home life he had never known.  The
word "home" aroused nothing but unpleasant associations.  In the low
wages of his father, and of other men in the same walk in life, he found
sufficient reason for branding wife and children as encumbrances and
causes of masculine misery.  An unconscious hedonist, utterly unmoral and
materialistic, he sought the greatest possible happiness for himself, and
found it in drink.

A young sot; a premature wreck; physical inability to do a stoker's work;
the gutter or the workhouse; and the end--he saw it all as clearly as I,
but it held no terrors for him.  From the moment of his birth, all the
forces of his environment had tended to harden him, and he viewed his
wretched, inevitable future with a callousness and unconcern I could not
shake.

And yet he was not a bad man.  He was not inherently vicious and brutal.
He had normal mentality, and a more than average physique.  His eyes were
blue and round, shaded by long lashes, and wide apart.  And there was a
laugh in them, and a fund of humour behind.  The brow and general
features were good, the mouth and lips sweet, though already developing a
harsh twist.  The chin was weak, but not too weak; I have seen men
sitting in the high places with weaker.

His head was shapely, and so gracefully was it poised upon a perfect neck
that I was not surprised by his body that night when he stripped for bed.
I have seen many men strip, in gymnasium and training quarters, men of
good blood and upbringing, but I have never seen one who stripped to
better advantage than this young sot of two-and-twenty, this young god
doomed to rack and ruin in four or five short years, and to pass hence
without posterity to receive the splendid heritage it was his to
bequeath.

It seemed sacrilege to waste such life, and yet I was forced to confess
that he was right in not marrying on four pounds ten in London Town.  Just
as the scene-shifter was happier in making both ends meet in a room
shared with two other men, than he would have been had he packed a feeble
family along with a couple of men into a cheaper room, and failed in
making both ends meet.

And day by day I became convinced that not only is it unwise, but it is
criminal for the people of the Abyss to marry.  They are the stones by
the builder rejected.  There is no place for them, in the social fabric,
while all the forces of society drive them downward till they perish.  At
the bottom of the Abyss they are feeble, besotted, and imbecile.  If they
reproduce, the life is so cheap that perforce it perishes of itself.  The
work of the world goes on above them, and they do not care to take part
in it, nor are they able.  Moreover, the work of the world does not need
them.  There are plenty, far fitter than they, clinging to the steep
slope above, and struggling frantically to slide no more.

In short, the London Abyss is a vast shambles.  Year by year, and decade
after decade, rural England pours in a flood of vigorous strong life,
that not only does not renew itself, but perishes by the third
generation.  Competent authorities aver that the London workman whose
parents and grand-parents were born in London is so remarkable a specimen
that he is rarely found.

Mr. A. C. Pigou has said that the aged poor, and the residuum which
compose the "submerged tenth," constitute 71 per cent, of the population
of London.  Which is to say that last year, and yesterday, and to-day, at
this very moment, 450,000 of these creatures are dying miserably at the
bottom of the social pit called "London."  As to how they die, I shall
take an instance from this morning's paper.

   SELF-NEGLECT

   Yesterday Dr. Wynn Westcott held an inquest at Shoreditch, respecting
   the death of Elizabeth Crews, aged 77 years, of 32 East Street,
   Holborn, who died on Wednesday last.  Alice Mathieson stated that she
   was landlady of the house where deceased lived.  Witness last saw her
   alive on the previous Monday.  She lived quite alone.  Mr. Francis
   Birch, relieving officer for the Holborn district, stated that
   deceased had occupied the room in question for thirty-five years.  When
   witness was called, on the 1st, he found the old woman in a terrible
   state, and the ambulance and coachman had to be disinfected after the
   removal.  Dr. Chase Fennell said death was due to blood-poisoning from
   bed-sores, due to self-neglect and filthy surroundings, and the jury
   returned a verdict to that effect.

The most startling thing about this little incident of a woman's death is
the smug complacency with which the officials looked upon it and rendered
judgment.  That an old woman of seventy-seven years of age should die of
SELF-NEGLECT is the most optimistic way possible of looking at it.  It
was the old dead woman's fault that she died, and having located the
responsibility, society goes contentedly on about its own affairs.

Of the "submerged tenth" Mr. Pigou has said: "Either through lack of
bodily strength, or of intelligence, or of fibre, or of all three, they
are inefficient or unwilling workers, and consequently unable to support
themselves . . . They are often so degraded in intellect as to be
incapable of distinguishing their right from their left hand, or of
recognising the numbers of their own houses; their bodies are feeble and
without stamina, their affections are warped, and they scarcely know what
family life means."

Four hundred and fifty thousand is a whole lot of people.  The young
fireman was only one, and it took him some time to say his little say.  I
should not like to hear them all talk at once.  I wonder if God hears
them?




CHAPTER V--THOSE ON THE EDGE


My first impression of East London was naturally a general one.  Later
the details began to appear, and here and there in the chaos of misery I
found little spots where a fair measure of happiness reigned--sometimes
whole rows of houses in little out-of-the-way streets, where artisans
dwell and where a rude sort of family life obtains.  In the evenings the
men can be seen at the doors, pipes in their mouths and children on their
knees, wives gossiping, and laughter and fun going on.  The content of
these people is manifestly great, for, relative to the wretchedness that
encompasses them, they are well off.

But at the best, it is a dull, animal happiness, the content of the full
belly.  The dominant note of their lives is materialistic.  They are
stupid and heavy, without imagination.  The Abyss seems to exude a
stupefying atmosphere of torpor, which wraps about them and deadens them.
Religion passes them by.  The Unseen holds for them neither terror nor
delight.  They are unaware of the Unseen; and the full belly and the
evening pipe, with their regular "arf an' arf," is all they demand, or
dream of demanding, from existence.

This would not be so bad if it were all; but it is not all.  The
satisfied torpor in which they are sunk is the deadly inertia that
precedes dissolution.  There is no progress, and with them not to
progress is to fall back and into the Abyss.  In their own lives they may
only start to fall, leaving the fall to be completed by their children
and their children's children.  Man always gets less than he demands from
life; and so little do they demand, that the less than little they get
cannot save them.

At the best, city life is an unnatural life for the human; but the city
life of London is so utterly unnatural that the average workman or
workwoman cannot stand it.  Mind and body are sapped by the undermining
influences ceaselessly at work.  Moral and physical stamina are broken,
and the good workman, fresh from the soil, becomes in the first city
generation a poor workman; and by the second city generation, devoid of
push and go and initiative, and actually unable physically to perform the
labour his father did, he is well on the way to the shambles at the
bottom of the Abyss.

If nothing else, the air he breathes, and from which he never escapes, is
sufficient to weaken him mentally and physically, so that he becomes
unable to compete with the fresh virile life from the country hastening
on to London Town to destroy and be destroyed.

Leaving out the disease germs that fill the air of the East End, consider
but the one item of smoke.  Sir William Thiselton-Dyer, curator of Kew
Gardens, has been studying smoke deposits on vegetation, and, according
to his calculations, no less than six tons of solid matter, consisting of
soot and tarry hydrocarbons, are deposited every week on every quarter of
a square mile in and about London.  This is equivalent to twenty-four
tons per week to the square mile, or 1248 tons per year to the square
mile.  From the cornice below the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral was
recently taken a solid deposit of crystallised sulphate of lime.  This
deposit had been formed by the action of the sulphuric acid in the
atmosphere upon the carbonate of lime in the stone.  And this sulphuric
acid in the atmosphere is constantly being breathed by the London workmen
through all the days and nights of their lives.

It is incontrovertible that the children grow up into rotten adults,
without virility or stamina, a weak-kneed, narrow-chested, listless
breed, that crumples up and goes down in the brute struggle for life with
the invading hordes from the country.  The railway men, carriers, omnibus
drivers, corn and timber porters, and all those who require physical
stamina, are largely drawn from the country; while in the Metropolitan
Police there are, roughly, 12,000 country-born as against 3000 London-
born.

So one is forced to conclude that the Abyss is literally a huge
man-killing machine, and when I pass along the little out-of-the-way
streets with the full-bellied artisans at the doors, I am aware of a
greater sorrow for them than for the 450,000 lost and hopeless wretches
dying at the bottom of the pit.  They, at least, are dying, that is the
point; while these have yet to go through the slow and preliminary pangs
extending through two and even three generations.

And yet the quality of the life is good.  All human potentialities are in
it.  Given proper conditions, it could live through the centuries, and
great men, heroes and masters, spring from it and make the world better
by having lived.

I talked with a woman who was representative of that type which has been
jerked out of its little out-of-the-way streets and has started on the
fatal fall to the bottom.  Her husband was a fitter and a member of the
Engineers' Union.  That he was a poor engineer was evidenced by his
inability to get regular employment.  He did not have the energy and
enterprise necessary to obtain or hold a steady position.

The pair had two daughters, and the four of them lived in a couple of
holes, called "rooms" by courtesy, for which they paid seven shillings
per week.  They possessed no stove, managing their cooking on a single
gas-ring in the fireplace.  Not being persons of property, they were
unable to obtain an unlimited supply of gas; but a clever machine had
been installed for their benefit.  By dropping a penny in the slot, the
gas was forthcoming, and when a penny's worth had forthcome the supply
was automatically shut off.  "A penny gawn in no time," she explained,
"an' the cookin' not arf done!"

Incipient starvation had been their portion for years.  Month in and
month out, they had arisen from the table able and willing to eat more.
And when once on the downward slope, chronic innutrition is an important
factor in sapping vitality and hastening the descent.

Yet this woman was a hard worker.  From 4.30 in the morning till the last
light at night, she said, she had toiled at making cloth dress-skirts,
lined up and with two flounces, for seven shillings a dozen.  Cloth dress-
skirts, mark you, lined up with two flounces, for seven shillings a
dozen!  This is equal to $1.75 per dozen, or 14.75 cents per skirt.

The husband, in order to obtain employment, had to belong to the union,
which collected one shilling and sixpence from him each week.  Also, when
strikes were afoot and he chanced to be working, he had at times been
compelled to pay as high as seventeen shillings into the union's coffers
for the relief fund.

One daughter, the elder, had worked as green hand for a dressmaker, for
one shilling and sixpence per week--37.5 cents per week, or a fraction
over 5 cents per day.  However, when the slack season came she was
discharged, though she had been taken on at such low pay with the
understanding that she was to learn the trade and work up.  After that
she had been employed in a bicycle store for three years, for which she
received five shillings per week, walking two miles to her work, and two
back, and being fined for tardiness.

As far as the man and woman were concerned, the game was played.  They
had lost handhold and foothold, and were falling into the pit.  But what
of the daughters?  Living like swine, enfeebled by chronic innutrition,
being sapped mentally, morally, and physically, what chance have they to
crawl up and out of the Abyss into which they were born falling?

As I write this, and for an hour past, the air has been made hideous by a
free-for-all, rough-and-tumble fight going on in the yard that is back to
back with my yard.  When the first sounds reached me I took it for the
barking and snarling of dogs, and some minutes were required to convince
me that human beings, and women at that, could produce such a fearful
clamour.

Drunken women fighting!  It is not nice to think of; it is far worse to
listen to.  Something like this it runs--

Incoherent babble, shrieked at the top of the lungs of several women; a
lull, in which is heard a child crying and a young girl's voice pleading
tearfully; a woman's voice rises, harsh and grating, "You 'it me!  Jest
you 'it me!" then, swat! challenge accepted and fight rages afresh.

The back windows of the houses commanding the scene are lined with
enthusiastic spectators, and the sound of blows, and of oaths that make
one's blood run cold, are borne to my ears.  Happily, I cannot see the
combatants.

A lull; "You let that child alone!" child, evidently of few years,
screaming in downright terror.  "Awright," repeated insistently and at
top pitch twenty times straight running; "you'll git this rock on the
'ead!" and then rock evidently on the head from the shriek that goes up.

A lull; apparently one combatant temporarily disabled and being
resuscitated; child's voice audible again, but now sunk to a lower note
of terror and growing exhaustion.

Voices begin to go up the scale, something like this:-

"Yes?"

"Yes!"

"Yes?"

"Yes!"

"Yes?"

"Yes!"

"Yes?"

"Yes!"

Sufficient affirmation on both sides, conflict again precipitated.  One
combatant gets overwhelming advantage, and follows it up from the way the
other combatant screams bloody murder.  Bloody murder gurgles and dies
out, undoubtedly throttled by a strangle hold.

Entrance of new voices; a flank attack; strangle hold suddenly broken
from the way bloody murder goes up half an octave higher than before;
general hullaballoo, everybody fighting.

Lull; new voice, young girl's, "I'm goin' ter tyke my mother's part;"
dialogue, repeated about five times, "I'll do as I like, blankety, blank,
blank!"  "I'd like ter see yer, blankety, blank, blank!" renewed
conflict, mothers, daughters, everybody, during which my landlady calls
her young daughter in from the back steps, while I wonder what will be
the effect of all that she has heard upon her moral fibre.




CHAPTER VI--FRYING-PAN ALLEY AND A GLIMPSE OF INFERNO


Three of us walked down Mile End Road, and one was a hero.  He was a
slender lad of nineteen, so slight and frail, in fact, that, like Fra
Lippo Lippi, a puff of wind might double him up and turn him over.  He
was a burning young socialist, in the first throes of enthusiasm and ripe
for martyrdom.  As platform speaker or chairman he had taken an active
and dangerous part in the many indoor and outdoor pro-Boer meetings which
have vexed the serenity of Merry England these several years back.  Little
items he had been imparting to me as he walked along; of being mobbed in
parks and on tram-cars; of climbing on the platform to lead the forlorn
hope, when brother speaker after brother speaker had been dragged down by
the angry crowd and cruelly beaten; of a siege in a church, where he and
three others had taken sanctuary, and where, amid flying missiles and the
crashing of stained glass, they had fought off the mob till rescued by
platoons of constables; of pitched and giddy battles on stairways,
galleries, and balconies; of smashed windows, collapsed stairways,
wrecked lecture halls, and broken heads and bones--and then, with a
regretful sigh, he looked at me and said: "How I envy you big, strong
men!  I'm such a little mite I can't do much when it comes to fighting."

And I, walking head and shoulders above my two companions, remembered my
own husky West, and the stalwart men it had been my custom, in turn, to
envy there.  Also, as I looked at the mite of a youth with the heart of a
lion, I thought, this is the type that on occasion rears barricades and
shows the world that men have not forgotten how to die.

But up spoke my other companion, a man of twenty-eight, who eked out a
precarious existence in a sweating den.

"I'm a 'earty man, I am," he announced.  "Not like the other chaps at my
shop, I ain't.  They consider me a fine specimen of manhood.  W'y, d' ye
know, I weigh ten stone!"

I was ashamed to tell him that I weighed one hundred and seventy pounds,
or over twelve stone, so I contented myself with taking his measure.
Poor, misshapen little man!  His skin an unhealthy colour, body gnarled
and twisted out of all decency, contracted chest, shoulders bent
prodigiously from long hours of toil, and head hanging heavily forward
and out of place!  A "'earty man,' 'e was!"

"How tall are you?"

"Five foot two," he answered proudly; "an' the chaps at the shop . . . "

"Let me see that shop," I said.

The shop was idle just then, but I still desired to see it.  Passing
Leman Street, we cut off to the left into Spitalfields, and dived into
Frying-pan Alley.  A spawn of children cluttered the slimy pavement, for
all the world like tadpoles just turned frogs on the bottom of a dry
pond.  In a narrow doorway, so narrow that perforce we stepped over her,
sat a woman with a young babe, nursing at breasts grossly naked and
libelling all the sacredness of motherhood.  In the black and narrow hall
behind her we waded through a mess of young life, and essayed an even
narrower and fouler stairway.  Up we went, three flights, each landing
two feet by three in area, and heaped with filth and refuse.

There were seven rooms in this abomination called a house.  In six of the
rooms, twenty-odd people, of both sexes and all ages, cooked, ate, slept,
and worked.  In size the rooms averaged eight feet by eight, or possibly
nine.  The seventh room we entered.  It was the den in which five men
"sweated."  It was seven feet wide by eight long, and the table at which
the work was performed took up the major portion of the space.  On this
table were five lasts, and there was barely room for the men to stand to
their work, for the rest of the space was heaped with cardboard, leather,
bundles of shoe uppers, and a miscellaneous assortment of materials used
in attaching the uppers of shoes to their soles.

In the adjoining room lived a woman and six children.  In another vile
hole lived a widow, with an only son of sixteen who was dying of
consumption.  The woman hawked sweetmeats on the street, I was told, and
more often failed than not to supply her son with the three quarts of
milk he daily required.  Further, this son, weak and dying, did not taste
meat oftener than once a week; and the kind and quality of this meat
cannot possibly be imagined by people who have never watched human swine
eat.

"The w'y 'e coughs is somethin' terrible," volunteered my sweated friend,
referring to the dying boy.  "We 'ear 'im 'ere, w'ile we're workin', an'
it's terrible, I say, terrible!"

And, what of the coughing and the sweetmeats, I found another menace
added to the hostile environment of the children of the slum.

My sweated friend, when work was to be had, toiled with four other men in
his eight-by-seven room.  In the winter a lamp burned nearly all the day
and added its fumes to the over-loaded air, which was breathed, and
breathed, and breathed again.

In good times, when there was a rush of work, this man told me that he
could earn as high as "thirty bob a week."--Thirty shillings!  Seven
dollars and a half!

"But it's only the best of us can do it," he qualified.  "An' then we
work twelve, thirteen, and fourteen hours a day, just as fast as we can.
An' you should see us sweat!  Just running from us!  If you could see us,
it'd dazzle your eyes--tacks flyin' out of mouth like from a machine.
Look at my mouth."

I looked.  The teeth were worn down by the constant friction of the
metallic brads, while they were coal-black and rotten.

"I clean my teeth," he added, "else they'd be worse."

After he had told me that the workers had to furnish their own tools,
brads, "grindery," cardboard, rent, light, and what not, it was plain
that his thirty bob was a diminishing quantity.

"But how long does the rush season last, in which you receive this high
wage of thirty bob?" I asked.

"Four months," was the answer; and for the rest of the year, he informed
me, they average from "half a quid" to a "quid" a week, which is
equivalent to from two dollars and a half to five dollars.  The present
week was half gone, and he had earned four bob, or one dollar.  And yet I
was given to understand that this was one of the better grades of
sweating.

I looked out of the window, which should have commanded the back yards of
the neighbouring buildings.  But there were no back yards, or, rather,
they were covered with one-storey hovels, cowsheds, in which people
lived.  The roofs of these hovels were covered with deposits of filth, in
some places a couple of feet deep--the contributions from the back
windows of the second and third storeys.  I could make out fish and meat
bones, garbage, pestilential rags, old boots, broken earthenware, and all
the general refuse of a human sty.

"This is the last year of this trade; they're getting machines to do away
with us," said the sweated one mournfully, as we stepped over the woman
with the breasts grossly naked and waded anew through the cheap young
life.

We next visited the municipal dwellings erected by the London County
Council on the site of the slums where lived Arthur Morrison's "Child of
the Jago."  While the buildings housed more people than before, it was
much healthier.  But the dwellings were inhabited by the better-class
workmen and artisans.  The slum people had simply drifted on to crowd
other slums or to form new slums.

"An' now," said the sweated one, the 'earty man who worked so fast as to
dazzle one's eyes, "I'll show you one of London's lungs.  This is
Spitalfields Garden."  And he mouthed the word "garden" with scorn.

The shadow of Christ's Church falls across Spitalfields Garden, and in
the shadow of Christ's Church, at three o'clock in the afternoon, I saw a
sight I never wish to see again.  There are no flowers in this garden,
which is smaller than my own rose garden at home.  Grass only grows here,
and it is surrounded by a sharp-spiked iron fencing, as are all the parks
of London Town, so that homeless men and women may not come in at night
and sleep upon it.

As we entered the garden, an old woman, between fifty and sixty, passed
us, striding with sturdy intention if somewhat rickety action, with two
bulky bundles, covered with sacking, slung fore and aft upon her.  She
was a woman tramp, a houseless soul, too independent to drag her failing
carcass through the workhouse door.  Like the snail, she carried her home
with her.  In the two sacking-covered bundles were her household goods,
her wardrobe, linen, and dear feminine possessions.

We went up the narrow gravelled walk.  On the benches on either side
arrayed a mass of miserable and distorted humanity, the sight of which
would have impelled Dore to more diabolical flights of fancy than he ever
succeeded in achieving.  It was a welter of rags and filth, of all manner
of loathsome skin diseases, open sores, bruises, grossness, indecency,
leering monstrosities, and bestial faces.  A chill, raw wind was blowing,
and these creatures huddled there in their rags, sleeping for the most
part, or trying to sleep.  Here were a dozen women, ranging in age from
twenty years to seventy.  Next a babe, possibly of nine months, lying
asleep, flat on the hard bench, with neither pillow nor covering, nor
with any one looking after it.  Next half-a-dozen men, sleeping bolt
upright or leaning against one another in their sleep.  In one place a
family group, a child asleep in its sleeping mother's arms, and the
husband (or male mate) clumsily mending a dilapidated shoe.  On another
bench a woman trimming the frayed strips of her rags with a knife, and
another woman, with thread and needle, sewing up rents.  Adjoining, a man
holding a sleeping woman in his arms.  Farther on, a man, his clothing
caked with gutter mud, asleep, with head in the lap of a woman, not more
than twenty-five years old, and also asleep.

It was this sleeping that puzzled me.  Why were nine out of ten of them
asleep or trying to sleep?  But it was not till afterwards that I
learned.  _It is a law of the powers that be that the homeless shall not
sleep by night_.  On the pavement, by the portico of Christ's Church,
where the stone pillars rise toward the sky in a stately row, were whole
rows of men lying asleep or drowsing, and all too deep sunk in torpor to
rouse or be made curious by our intrusion.

"A lung of London," I said; "nay, an abscess, a great putrescent sore."

"Oh, why did you bring me here?" demanded the burning young socialist,
his delicate face white with sickness of soul and stomach sickness.

"Those women there," said our guide, "will sell themselves for
thru'pence, or tu'pence, or a loaf of stale bread."

He said it with a cheerful sneer.

But what more he might have said I do not know, for the sick man cried,
"For heaven's sake let us get out of this."




CHAPTER VII--A WINNER OF THE VICTORIA CROSS


I have found that it is not easy to get into the casual ward of the
workhouse.  I have made two attempts now, and I shall shortly make a
third.  The first time I started out at seven o'clock in the evening with
four shillings in my pocket.  Herein I committed two errors.  In the
first place, the applicant for admission to the casual ward must be
destitute, and as he is subjected to a rigorous search, he must really be
destitute; and fourpence, much less four shillings, is sufficient
affluence to disqualify him.  In the second place, I made the mistake of
tardiness.  Seven o'clock in the evening is too late in the day for a
pauper to get a pauper's bed.

For the benefit of gently nurtured and innocent folk, let me explain what
a ward is.  It is a building where the homeless, bedless, penniless man,
if he be lucky, may _casually_ rest his weary bones, and then work like a
navvy next day to pay for it.

My second attempt to break into the casual ward began more auspiciously.
I started in the middle of the afternoon, accompanied by the burning
young socialist and another friend, and all I had in my pocket was
thru'pence.  They piloted me to the Whitechapel Workhouse, at which I
peered from around a friendly corner.  It was a few minutes past five in
the afternoon but already a long and melancholy line was formed, which
strung out around the corner of the building and out of sight.

It was a most woeful picture, men and women waiting in the cold grey end
of the day for a pauper's shelter from the night, and I confess it almost
unnerved me.  Like the boy before the dentist's door, I suddenly
discovered a multitude of reasons for being elsewhere.  Some hints of the
struggle going on within must have shown in my face, for one of my
companions said, "Don't funk; you can do it."

Of course I could do it, but I became aware that even thru'pence in my
pocket was too lordly a treasure for such a throng; and, in order that
all invidious distinctions might be removed, I emptied out the coppers.
Then I bade good-bye to my friends, and with my heart going pit-a-pat,
slouched down the street and took my place at the end of the line.  Woeful
it looked, this line of poor folk tottering on the steep pitch to death;
how woeful it was I did not dream.

Next to me stood a short, stout man.  Hale and hearty, though aged,
strong-featured, with the tough and leathery skin produced by long years
of sunbeat and weatherbeat, his was the unmistakable sea face and eyes;
and at once there came to me a bit of Kipling's "Galley Slave":-

   "By the brand upon my shoulder, by the gall of clinging steel;
   By the welt the whips have left me, by the scars that never heal;
   By eyes grown old with staring through the sun-wash on the brine,
   I am paid in full for service . . . "

How correct I was in my surmise, and how peculiarly appropriate the verse
was, you shall learn.

"I won't stand it much longer, I won't," he was complaining to the man on
the other side of him.  "I'll smash a windy, a big 'un, an' get run in
for fourteen days.  Then I'll have a good place to sleep, never fear, an'
better grub than you get here.  Though I'd miss my bit of bacey"--this as
an after-thought, and said regretfully and resignedly.

"I've been out two nights now," he went on; "wet to the skin night before
last, an' I can't stand it much longer.  I'm gettin' old, an' some
mornin' they'll pick me up dead."

He whirled with fierce passion on me: "Don't you ever let yourself grow
old, lad.  Die when you're young, or you'll come to this.  I'm tellin'
you sure.  Seven an' eighty years am I, an' served my country like a man.
Three good-conduct stripes and the Victoria Cross, an' this is what I get
for it.  I wish I was dead, I wish I was dead.  Can't come any too quick
for me, I tell you."

The moisture rushed into his eyes, but, before the other man could
comfort him, he began to hum a lilting sea song as though there was no
such thing as heartbreak in the world.

Given encouragement, this is the story he told while waiting in line at
the workhouse after two nights of exposure in the streets.

As a boy he had enlisted in the British navy, and for two score years and
more served faithfully and well.  Names, dates, commanders, ports, ships,
engagements, and battles, rolled from his lips in a steady stream, but it
is beyond me to remember them all, for it is not quite in keeping to take
notes at the poorhouse door.  He had been through the "First War in
China," as he termed it; had enlisted with the East India Company and
served ten years in India; was back in India again, in the English navy,
at the time of the Mutiny; had served in the Burmese War and in the
Crimea; and all this in addition to having fought and toiled for the
English flag pretty well over the rest of the globe.

Then the thing happened.  A little thing, it could only be traced back to
first causes: perhaps the lieutenant's breakfast had not agreed with him;
or he had been up late the night before; or his debts were pressing; or
the commander had spoken brusquely to him.  The point is, that on this
particular day the lieutenant was irritable.  The sailor, with others,
was "setting up" the fore rigging.

Now, mark you, the sailor had been over forty years in the navy, had
three good-conduct stripes, and possessed the Victoria Cross for
distinguished service in battle; so he could not have been such an
altogether bad sort of a sailorman.  The lieutenant was irritable; the
lieutenant called him a name--well, not a nice sort of name.  It referred
to his mother.  When I was a boy it was our boys' code to fight like
little demons should such an insult be given our mothers; and many men
have died in my part of the world for calling other men this name.

However, the lieutenant called the sailor this name.  At that moment it
chanced the sailor had an iron lever or bar in his hands.  He promptly
struck the lieutenant over the head with it, knocking him out of the
rigging and overboard.

And then, in the man's own words: "I saw what I had done.  I knew the
Regulations, and I said to myself, 'It's all up with you, Jack, my boy;
so here goes.'  An' I jumped over after him, my mind made up to drown us
both.  An' I'd ha' done it, too, only the pinnace from the flagship was
just comin' alongside.  Up we came to the top, me a hold of him an'
punchin' him.  This was what settled for me.  If I hadn't ben strikin'
him, I could have claimed that, seein' what I had done, I jumped over to
save him."

Then came the court-martial, or whatever name a sea trial goes by.  He
recited his sentence, word for word, as though memorised and gone over in
bitterness many times.  And here it is, for the sake of discipline and
respect to officers not always gentlemen, the punishment of a man who was
guilty of manhood.  To be reduced to the rank of ordinary seaman; to be
debarred all prize-money due him; to forfeit all rights to pension; to
resign the Victoria Cross; to be discharged from the navy with a good
character (this being his first offence); to receive fifty lashes; and to
serve two years in prison.

"I wish I had drowned that day, I wish to God I had," he concluded, as
the line moved up and we passed around the corner.

At last the door came in sight, through which the paupers were being
admitted in bunches.  And here I learned a surprising thing: _this being
Wednesday, none of us would be released till Friday morning_.
Furthermore, and oh, you tobacco users, take heed: _we would not be
permitted to take in any tobacco_.  This we would have to surrender as we
entered.  Sometimes, I was told, it was returned on leaving and sometimes
it was destroyed.

The old man-of-war's man gave me a lesson.  Opening his pouch, he emptied
the tobacco (a pitiful quantity) into a piece of paper.  This, snugly and
flatly wrapped, went down his sock inside his shoe.  Down went my piece
of tobacco inside my sock, for forty hours without tobacco is a hardship
all tobacco users will understand.

Again and again the line moved up, and we were slowly but surely
approaching the wicket.  At the moment we happened to be standing on an
iron grating, and a man appearing underneath, the old sailor called down
to him,--

"How many more do they want?"

"Twenty-four," came the answer.

We looked ahead anxiously and counted.  Thirty-four were ahead of us.
Disappointment and consternation dawned upon the faces about me.  It is
not a nice thing, hungry and penniless, to face a sleepless night in the
streets.  But we hoped against hope, till, when ten stood outside the
wicket, the porter turned us away.

"Full up," was what he said, as he banged the door.

Like a flash, for all his eighty-seven years, the old sailor was speeding
away on the desperate chance of finding shelter elsewhere.  I stood and
debated with two other men, wise in the knowledge of casual wards, as to
where we should go.  They decided on the Poplar Workhouse, three miles
away, and we started off.

As we rounded the corner, one of them said, "I could a' got in 'ere to-
day.  I come by at one o'clock, an' the line was beginnin' to form
then--pets, that's what they are.  They let 'm in, the same ones, night
upon night."




CHAPTER VIII--THE CARTER AND THE CARPENTER


The Carter, with his clean-cut face, chin beard, and shaved upper lip, I
should have taken in the United States for anything from a master workman
to a well-to-do farmer.  The Carpenter--well, I should have taken him for
a carpenter.  He looked it, lean and wiry, with shrewd, observant eyes,
and hands that had grown twisted to the handles of tools through forty-
seven years' work at the trade.  The chief difficulty with these men was
that they were old, and that their children, instead of growing up to
take care of them, had died.  Their years had told on them, and they had
been forced out of the whirl of industry by the younger and stronger
competitors who had taken their places.

These two men, turned away from the casual ward of Whitechapel Workhouse,
were bound with me for Poplar Workhouse.  Not much of a show, they
thought, but to chance it was all that remained to us.  It was Poplar, or
the streets and night.  Both men were anxious for a bed, for they were
"about gone," as they phrased it.  The Carter, fifty-eight years of age,
had spent the last three nights without shelter or sleep, while the
Carpenter, sixty-five years of age, had been out five nights.

But, O dear, soft people, full of meat and blood, with white beds and
airy rooms waiting you each night, how can I make you know what it is to
suffer as you would suffer if you spent a weary night on London's
streets!  Believe me, you would think a thousand centuries had come and
gone before the east paled into dawn; you would shiver till you were
ready to cry aloud with the pain of each aching muscle; and you would
marvel that you could endure so much and live.  Should you rest upon a
bench, and your tired eyes close, depend upon it the policeman would
rouse you and gruffly order you to "move on."  You may rest upon the
bench, and benches are few and far between; but if rest means sleep, on
you must go, dragging your tired body through the endless streets.  Should
you, in desperate slyness, seek some forlorn alley or dark passageway and
lie down, the omnipresent policeman will rout you out just the same.  It
is his business to rout you out.  It is a law of the powers that be that
you shall be routed out.

But when the dawn came, the nightmare over, you would hale you home to
refresh yourself, and until you died you would tell the story of your
adventure to groups of admiring friends.  It would grow into a mighty
story.  Your little eight-hour night would become an Odyssey and you a
Homer.

Not so with these homeless ones who walked to Poplar Workhouse with me.
And there are thirty-five thousand of them, men and women, in London Town
this night.  Please don't remember it as you go to bed; if you are as
soft as you ought to be you may not rest so well as usual.  But for old
men of sixty, seventy, and eighty, ill-fed, with neither meat nor blood,
to greet the dawn unrefreshed, and to stagger through the day in mad
search for crusts, with relentless night rushing down upon them again,
and to do this five nights and days--O dear, soft people, full of meat
and blood, how can you ever understand?

I walked up Mile End Road between the Carter and the Carpenter.  Mile End
Road is a wide thoroughfare, cutting the heart of East London, and there
were tens of thousands of people abroad on it.  I tell you this so that
you may fully appreciate what I shall describe in the next paragraph.  As
I say, we walked along, and when they grew bitter and cursed the land, I
cursed with them, cursed as an American waif would curse, stranded in a
strange and terrible land.  And, as I tried to lead them to believe, and
succeeded in making them believe, they took me for a "seafaring man," who
had spent his money in riotous living, lost his clothes (no unusual
occurrence with seafaring men ashore), and was temporarily broke while
looking for a ship.  This accounted for my ignorance of English ways in
general and casual wards in particular, and my curiosity concerning the
same.

The Carter was hard put to keep the pace at which we walked (he told me
that he had eaten nothing that day), but the Carpenter, lean and hungry,
his grey and ragged overcoat flapping mournfully in the breeze, swung on
in a long and tireless stride which reminded me strongly of the plains
wolf or coyote.  Both kept their eyes upon the pavement as they walked
and talked, and every now and then one or the other would stoop and pick
something up, never missing the stride the while.  I thought it was cigar
and cigarette stumps they were collecting, and for some time took no
notice.  Then I did notice.

_From the slimy, spittle-drenched, sidewalk, they were picking up bits of
orange peel, apple skin, and grape stems, and, they were eating them.  The
pits of greengage plums they cracked between their teeth for the kernels
inside.  They picked up stray bits of bread the size of peas, apple cores
so black and dirty one would not take them to be apple cores, and these
things these two men took into their mouths, and chewed them, and
swallowed them; and this, between six and seven o'clock in the evening of
August 20, year of our Lord 1902, in the heart of the greatest,
wealthiest, and most powerful empire the world has ever seen_.

These two men talked.  They were not fools, they were merely old.  And,
naturally, their guts a-reek with pavement offal, they talked of bloody
revolution.  They talked as anarchists, fanatics, and madmen would talk.
And who shall blame them?  In spite of my three good meals that day, and
the snug bed I could occupy if I wished, and my social philosophy, and my
evolutionary belief in the slow development and metamorphosis of
things--in spite of all this, I say, I felt impelled to talk rot with
them or hold my tongue.  Poor fools!  Not of their sort are revolutions
bred.  And when they are dead and dust, which will be shortly, other
fools will talk bloody revolution as they gather offal from the spittle-
drenched sidewalk along Mile End Road to Poplar Workhouse.

Being a foreigner, and a young man, the Carter and the Carpenter
explained things to me and advised me.  Their advice, by the way, was
brief, and to the point; it was to get out of the country.  "As fast as
God'll let me," I assured them; "I'll hit only the high places, till you
won't be able to see my trail for smoke."  They felt the force of my
figures, rather than understood them, and they nodded their heads
approvingly.

"Actually make a man a criminal against 'is will," said the Carpenter.
"'Ere I am, old, younger men takin' my place, my clothes gettin' shabbier
an' shabbier, an' makin' it 'arder every day to get a job.  I go to the
casual ward for a bed.  Must be there by two or three in the afternoon or
I won't get in.  You saw what happened to-day.  What chance does that
give me to look for work?  S'pose I do get into the casual ward?  Keep me
in all day to-morrow, let me out mornin' o' next day.  What then?  The
law sez I can't get in another casual ward that night less'n ten miles
distant.  Have to hurry an' walk to be there in time that day.  What
chance does that give me to look for a job?  S'pose I don't walk.  S'pose
I look for a job?  In no time there's night come, an' no bed.  No sleep
all night, nothin' to eat, what shape am I in the mornin' to look for
work?  Got to make up my sleep in the park somehow" (the vision of
Christ's Church, Spitalfield, was strong on me) "an' get something to
eat.  An' there I am!  Old, down, an' no chance to get up."

"Used to be a toll-gate 'ere," said the Carter.  "Many's the time I've
paid my toll 'ere in my cartin' days."

"I've 'ad three 'a'penny rolls in two days," the Carpenter announced,
after a long pause in the conversation.  "Two of them I ate yesterday,
an' the third to-day," he concluded, after another long pause.

"I ain't 'ad anything to-day," said the Carter.  "An' I'm fagged out.  My
legs is hurtin' me something fearful."

"The roll you get in the 'spike' is that 'ard you can't eat it nicely
with less'n a pint of water," said the Carpenter, for my benefit.  And,
on asking him what the "spike" was, he answered, "The casual ward.  It's
a cant word, you know."

But what surprised me was that he should have the word "cant" in his
vocabulary, a vocabulary that I found was no mean one before we parted.

I asked them what I might expect in the way of treatment, if we succeeded
in getting into the Poplar Workhouse, and between them I was supplied
with much information.  Having taken a cold bath on entering, I would be
given for supper six ounces of bread and "three parts of skilly."  "Three
parts" means three-quarters of a pint, and "skilly" is a fluid concoction
of three quarts of oatmeal stirred into three buckets and a half of hot
water.

"Milk and sugar, I suppose, and a silver spoon?" I queried.

"No fear.  Salt's what you'll get, an' I've seen some places where you'd
not get any spoon.  'Old 'er up an' let 'er run down, that's 'ow they do
it."

"You do get good skilly at 'Ackney," said the Carter.

"Oh, wonderful skilly, that," praised the Carpenter, and each looked
eloquently at the other.

"Flour an' water at St. George's in the East," said the Carter.

The Carpenter nodded.  He had tried them all.

"Then what?" I demanded

And I was informed that I was sent directly to bed.  "Call you at half
after five in the mornin', an' you get up an' take a 'sluice'--if there's
any soap.  Then breakfast, same as supper, three parts o' skilly an' a
six-ounce loaf."

"'Tisn't always six ounces," corrected the Carter.

"'Tisn't, no; an' often that sour you can 'ardly eat it.  When first I
started I couldn't eat the skilly nor the bread, but now I can eat my own
an' another man's portion."

"I could eat three other men's portions," said the Carter.  "I 'aven't
'ad a bit this blessed day."

"Then what?"

"Then you've got to do your task, pick four pounds of oakum, or clean an'
scrub, or break ten to eleven hundredweight o' stones.  I don't 'ave to
break stones; I'm past sixty, you see.  They'll make you do it, though.
You're young an' strong."

"What I don't like," grumbled the Carter, "is to be locked up in a cell
to pick oakum.  It's too much like prison."

"But suppose, after you've had your night's sleep, you refuse to pick
oakum, or break stones, or do any work at all?" I asked.

"No fear you'll refuse the second time; they'll run you in," answered the
Carpenter.  "Wouldn't advise you to try it on, my lad."

"Then comes dinner," he went on.  "Eight ounces of bread, one and a arf
ounces of cheese, an' cold water.  Then you finish your task an' 'ave
supper, same as before, three parts o' skilly any six ounces o' bread.
Then to bed, six o'clock, an' next mornin' you're turned loose, provided
you've finished your task."

We had long since left Mile End Road, and after traversing a gloomy maze
of narrow, winding streets, we came to Poplar Workhouse.  On a low stone
wall we spread our handkerchiefs, and each in his handkerchief put all
his worldly possessions, with the exception of the "bit o' baccy" down
his sock.  And then, as the last light was fading from the drab-coloured
sky, the wind blowing cheerless and cold, we stood, with our pitiful
little bundles in our hands, a forlorn group at the workhouse door.

Three working girls came along, and one looked pityingly at me; as she
passed I followed her with my eyes, and she still looked pityingly back
at me.  The old men she did not notice.  Dear Christ, she pitied me,
young and vigorous and strong, but she had no pity for the two old men
who stood by my side!  She was a young woman, and I was a young man, and
what vague sex promptings impelled her to pity me put her sentiment on
the lowest plane.  Pity for old men is an altruistic feeling, and
besides, the workhouse door is the accustomed place for old men.  So she
showed no pity for them, only for me, who deserved it least or not at
all.  Not in honour do grey hairs go down to the grave in London Town.

On one side the door was a bell handle, on the other side a press button.

"Ring the bell," said the Carter to me.

And just as I ordinarily would at anybody's door, I pulled out the handle
and rang a peal.

"Oh!  Oh!" they cried in one terrified voice.  "Not so 'ard!"

I let go, and they looked reproachfully at me, as though I had imperilled
their chance for a bed and three parts of skilly.  Nobody came.  Luckily
it was the wrong bell, and I felt better.

"Press the button," I said to the Carpenter.

"No, no, wait a bit," the Carter hurriedly interposed.

From all of which I drew the conclusion that a poorhouse porter, who
commonly draws a yearly salary of from seven to nine pounds, is a very
finicky and important personage, and cannot be treated too fastidiously
by--paupers.

So we waited, ten times a decent interval, when the Carter stealthily
advanced a timid forefinger to the button, and gave it the faintest,
shortest possible push.  I have looked at waiting men where life or death
was in the issue; but anxious suspense showed less plainly on their faces
than it showed on the faces of these two men as they waited on the coming
of the porter.

He came.  He barely looked at us.  "Full up," he said and shut the door.

"Another night of it," groaned the Carpenter.  In the dim light the
Carter looked wan and grey.

Indiscriminate charity is vicious, say the professional philanthropists.
Well, I resolved to be vicious.

"Come on; get your knife out and come here," I said to the Carter,
drawing him into a dark alley.

He glared at me in a frightened manner, and tried to draw back.  Possibly
he took me for a latter-day Jack-the-Ripper, with a penchant for elderly
male paupers.  Or he may have thought I was inveigling him into the
commission of some desperate crime.  Anyway, he was frightened.

It will be remembered, at the outset, that I sewed a pound inside my
stoker's singlet under the armpit.  This was my emergency fund, and I was
now called upon to use it for the first time.

Not until I had gone through the acts of a contortionist, and shown the
round coin sewed in, did I succeed in getting the Carter's help.  Even
then his hand was trembling so that I was afraid he would cut me instead
of the stitches, and I was forced to take the knife away and do it
myself.  Out rolled the gold piece, a fortune in their hungry eyes; and
away we stampeded for the nearest coffee-house.

Of course I had to explain to them that I was merely an investigator, a
social student, seeking to find out how the other half lived.  And at
once they shut up like clams.  I was not of their kind; my speech had
changed, the tones of my voice were different, in short, I was a
superior, and they were superbly class conscious.

"What will you have?" I asked, as the waiter came for the order.

"Two slices an' a cup of tea," meekly said the Carter.

"Two slices an' a cup of tea," meekly said the Carpenter.

Stop a moment, and consider the situation.  Here were two men, invited by
me into the coffee-house.  They had seen my gold piece, and they could
understand that I was no pauper.  One had eaten a ha'penny roll that day,
the other had eaten nothing.  And they called for "two slices an' a cup
of tea!"  Each man had given a tu'penny order.  "Two slices," by the way,
means two slices of bread and butter.

This was the same degraded humility that had characterised their attitude
toward the poorhouse porter.  But I wouldn't have it.  Step by step I
increased their order--eggs, rashers of bacon, more eggs, more bacon,
more tea, more slices and so forth--they denying wistfully all the while
that they cared for anything more, and devouring it ravenously as fast as
it arrived.

"First cup o' tea I've 'ad in a fortnight," said the Carter.

"Wonderful tea, that," said the Carpenter.

They each drank two pints of it, and I assure you that it was slops.  It
resembled tea less than lager beer resembles champagne.  Nay, it was
"water-bewitched," and did not resemble tea at all.

It was curious, after the first shock, to notice the effect the food had
on them.  At first they were melancholy, and talked of the divers times
they had contemplated suicide.  The Carter, not a week before, had stood
on the bridge and looked at the water, and pondered the question.  Water,
the Carpenter insisted with heat, was a bad route.  He, for one, he knew,
would struggle.  A bullet was "'andier," but how under the sun was he to
get hold of a revolver?  That was the rub.

They grew more cheerful as the hot "tea" soaked in, and talked more about
themselves.  The Carter had buried his wife and children, with the
exception of one son, who grew to manhood and helped him in his little
business.  Then the thing happened.  The son, a man of thirty-one, died
of the smallpox.  No sooner was this over than the father came down with
fever and went to the hospital for three months.  Then he was done for.
He came out weak, debilitated, no strong young son to stand by him, his
little business gone glimmering, and not a farthing.  The thing had
happened, and the game was up.  No chance for an old man to start again.
Friends all poor and unable to help.  He had tried for work when they
were putting up the stands for the first Coronation parade.  "An' I got
fair sick of the answer: 'No! no! no!'  It rang in my ears at night when
I tried to sleep, always the same, 'No! no! no!'"  Only the past week he
had answered an advertisement in Hackney, and on giving his age was told,
"Oh, too old, too old by far."

The Carpenter had been born in the army, where his father had served
twenty-two years.  Likewise, his two brothers had gone into the army;
one, troop sergeant-major of the Seventh Hussars, dying in India after
the Mutiny; the other, after nine years under Roberts in the East, had
been lost in Egypt.  The Carpenter had not gone into the army, so here he
was, still on the planet.

"But 'ere, give me your 'and," he said, ripping open his ragged shirt.
"I'm fit for the anatomist, that's all.  I'm wastin' away, sir, actually
wastin' away for want of food.  Feel my ribs an' you'll see."

I put my hand under his shirt and felt.  The skin was stretched like
parchment over the bones, and the sensation produced was for all the
world like running one's hand over a washboard.

"Seven years o' bliss I 'ad," he said.  "A good missus and three bonnie
lassies.  But they all died.  Scarlet fever took the girls inside a
fortnight."

"After this, sir," said the Carter, indicating the spread, and desiring
to turn the conversation into more cheerful channels; "after this, I
wouldn't be able to eat a workhouse breakfast in the morning."

"Nor I," agreed the Carpenter, and they fell to discussing belly delights
and the fine dishes their respective wives had cooked in the old days.

"I've gone three days and never broke my fast," said the Carter.

"And I, five," his companion added, turning gloomy with the memory of it.
"Five days once, with nothing on my stomach but a bit of orange peel, an'
outraged nature wouldn't stand it, sir, an' I near died.  Sometimes,
walkin' the streets at night, I've ben that desperate I've made up my
mind to win the horse or lose the saddle.  You know what I mean, sir--to
commit some big robbery.  But when mornin' come, there was I, too weak
from 'unger an' cold to 'arm a mouse."

As their poor vitals warmed to the food, they began to expand and wax
boastful, and to talk politics.  I can only say that they talked politics
as well as the average middle-class man, and a great deal better than
some of the middle-class men I have heard.  What surprised me was the
hold they had on the world, its geography and peoples, and on recent and
contemporaneous history.  As I say, they were not fools, these two men.
They were merely old, and their children had undutifully failed to grow
up and give them a place by the fire.

One last incident, as I bade them good-bye on the corner, happy with a
couple of shillings in their pockets and the certain prospect of a bed
for the night.  Lighting a cigarette, I was about to throw away the
burning match when the Carter reached for it.  I proffered him the box,
but he said, "Never mind, won't waste it, sir."  And while he lighted the
cigarette I had given him, the Carpenter hurried with the filling of his
pipe in order to have a go at the same match.

"It's wrong to waste," said he.

"Yes," I said, but I was thinking of the wash-board ribs over which I had
run my hand.




CHAPTER IX--THE SPIKE


First of all, I must beg forgiveness of my body for the vileness through
which I have dragged it, and forgiveness of my stomach for the vileness
which I have thrust into it.  I have been to the spike, and slept in the
spike, and eaten in the spike; also, I have run away from the spike.

After my two unsuccessful attempts to penetrate the Whitechapel casual
ward, I started early, and joined the desolate line before three o'clock
in the afternoon.  They did not "let in" till six, but at that early hour
I was number twenty, while the news had gone forth that only twenty-two
were to be admitted.  By four o'clock there were thirty-four in line, the
last ten hanging on in the slender hope of getting in by some kind of a
miracle.  Many more came, looked at the line, and went away, wise to the
bitter fact that the spike would be "full up."

Conversation was slack at first, standing there, till the man on one side
of me and the man on the other side of me discovered that they had been
in the smallpox hospital at the same time, though a full house of sixteen
hundred patients had prevented their becoming acquainted.  But they made
up for it, discussing and comparing the more loathsome features of their
disease in the most cold-blooded, matter-of-fact way.  I learned that the
average mortality was one in six, that one of them had been in three
months and the other three months and a half, and that they had been
"rotten wi' it."  Whereat my flesh began to creep and crawl, and I asked
them how long they had been out.  One had been out two weeks, and the
other three weeks.  Their faces were badly pitted (though each assured
the other that this was not so), and further, they showed me in their
hands and under the nails the smallpox "seeds" still working out.  Nay,
one of them worked a seed out for my edification, and pop it went, right
out of his flesh into the air.  I tried to shrink up smaller inside my
clothes, and I registered a fervent though silent hope that it had not
popped on me.

In both instances, I found that the smallpox was the cause of their being
"on the doss," which means on the tramp.  Both had been working when
smitten by the disease, and both had emerged from the hospital "broke,"
with the gloomy task before them of hunting for work.  So far, they had
not found any, and they had come to the spike for a "rest up" after three
days and nights on the street.

It seems that not only the man who becomes old is punished for his
involuntary misfortune, but likewise the man who is struck by disease or
accident.  Later on, I talked with another man--"Ginger" we called
him--who stood at the head of the line--a sure indication that he had
been waiting since one o'clock.  A year before, one day, while in the
employ of a fish dealer, he was carrying a heavy box of fish which was
too much for him.  Result: "something broke," and there was the box on
the ground, and he on the ground beside it.

At the first hospital, whither he was immediately carried, they said it
was a rupture, reduced the swelling, gave him some vaseline to rub on it,
kept him four hours, and told him to get along.  But he was not on the
streets more than two or three hours when he was down on his back again.
This time he went to another hospital and was patched up.  But the point
is, the employer did nothing, positively nothing, for the man injured in
his employment, and even refused him "a light job now and again," when he
came out.  As far as Ginger is concerned, he is a broken man.  His only
chance to earn a living was by heavy work.  He is now incapable of
performing heavy work, and from now until he dies, the spike, the peg,
and the streets are all he can look forward to in the way of food and
shelter.  The thing happened--that is all.  He put his back under too
great a load of fish, and his chance for happiness in life was crossed
off the books.

Several men in the line had been to the United States, and they were
wishing that they had remained there, and were cursing themselves for
their folly in ever having left.  England had become a prison to them, a
prison from which there was no hope of escape.  It was impossible for
them to get away.  They could neither scrape together the passage money,
nor get a chance to work their passage.  The country was too overrun by
poor devils on that "lay."

I was on the seafaring-man-who-had-lost-his-clothes-and-money tack, and
they all condoled with me and gave me much sound advice.  To sum it up,
the advice was something like this: To keep out of all places like the
spike.  There was nothing good in it for me.  To head for the coast and
bend every effort to get away on a ship.  To go to work, if possible, and
scrape together a pound or so, with which I might bribe some steward or
underling to give me chance to work my passage.  They envied me my youth
and strength, which would sooner or later get me out of the country.
These they no longer possessed.  Age and English hardship had broken
them, and for them the game was played and up.

There was one, however, who was still young, and who, I am sure, will in
the end make it out.  He had gone to the United States as a young fellow,
and in fourteen years' residence the longest period he had been out of
work was twelve hours.  He had saved his money, grown too prosperous, and
returned to the mother-country.  Now he was standing in line at the
spike.

For the past two years, he told me, he had been working as a cook.  His
hours had been from 7 a.m. to 10.30 p.m., and on Saturday to 12.30
p.m.--ninety-five hours per week, for which he had received twenty
shillings, or five dollars.

"But the work and the long hours was killing me," he said, "and I had to
chuck the job.  I had a little money saved, but I spent it living and
looking for another place."

This was his first night in the spike, and he had come in only to get
rested.  As soon as he emerged, he intended to start for Bristol, a one-
hundred-and-ten-mile walk, where he thought he would eventually get a
ship for the States.

But the men in the line were not all of this calibre.  Some were poor,
wretched beasts, inarticulate and callous, but for all of that, in many
ways very human.  I remember a carter, evidently returning home after the
day's work, stopping his cart before us so that his young hopeful, who
had run to meet him, could climb in.  But the cart was big, the young
hopeful little, and he failed in his several attempts to swarm up.
Whereupon one of the most degraded-looking men stepped out of the line
and hoisted him in.  Now the virtue and the joy of this act lies in that
it was service of love, not hire.  The carter was poor, and the man knew
it; and the man was standing in the spike line, and the carter knew it;
and the man had done the little act, and the carter had thanked him, even
as you and I would have done and thanked.

Another beautiful touch was that displayed by the "Hopper" and his "ole
woman."  He had been in line about half-an-hour when the "ole woman" (his
mate) came up to him.  She was fairly clad, for her class, with a weather-
worn bonnet on her grey head and a sacking-covered bundle in her arms.  As
she talked to him, he reached forward, caught the one stray wisp of the
white hair that was flying wild, deftly twirled it between his fingers,
and tucked it back properly behind her ear.  From all of which one may
conclude many things.  He certainly liked her well enough to wish her to
be neat and tidy.  He was proud of her, standing there in the spike line,
and it was his desire that she should look well in the eyes of the other
unfortunates who stood in the spike line.  But last and best, and
underlying all these motives, it was a sturdy affection he bore her; for
man is not prone to bother his head over neatness and tidiness in a woman
for whom he does not care, nor is he likely to be proud of such a woman.

And I found myself questioning why this man and his mate, hard workers I
knew from their talk, should have to seek a pauper lodging.  He had
pride, pride in his old woman and pride in himself.  When I asked him
what he thought I, a greenhorn, might expect to earn at "hopping," he
sized me up, and said that it all depended.  Plenty of people were too
slow to pick hops and made a failure of it.  A man, to succeed, must use
his head and be quick with his fingers, must be exceeding quick with his
fingers.  Now he and his old woman could do very well at it, working the
one bin between them and not going to sleep over it; but then, they had
been at it for years.

"I 'ad a mate as went down last year," spoke up a man.  "It was 'is fust
time, but 'e come back wi' two poun' ten in 'is pockit, an' 'e was only
gone a month."

"There you are," said the Hopper, a wealth of admiration in his voice.
"'E was quick.  'E was jest nat'rally born to it, 'e was."

Two pound ten--twelve dollars and a half--for a month's work when one is
"jest nat'rally born to it!"  And in addition, sleeping out without
blankets and living the Lord knows how.  There are moments when I am
thankful that I was not "jest nat'rally born" a genius for anything, not
even hop-picking,

In the matter of getting an outfit for "the hops," the Hopper gave me
some sterling advice, to which same give heed, you soft and tender
people, in case you should ever be stranded in London Town.

"If you ain't got tins an' cookin' things, all as you can get'll be bread
and cheese.  No bloomin' good that!  You must 'ave 'ot tea, an'
wegetables, an' a bit o' meat, now an' again, if you're goin' to do work
as is work.  Cawn't do it on cold wittles.  Tell you wot you do, lad.  Run
around in the mornin' an' look in the dust pans.  You'll find plenty o'
tins to cook in.  Fine tins, wonderful good some o' them.  Me an' the ole
woman got ours that way."  (He pointed at the bundle she held, while she
nodded proudly, beaming on me with good-nature and consciousness of
success and prosperity.)  "This overcoat is as good as a blanket," he
went on, advancing the skirt of it that I might feel its thickness.  "An'
'oo knows, I may find a blanket before long."

Again the old woman nodded and beamed, this time with the dead certainty
that he _would_ find a blanket before long.

"I call it a 'oliday, 'oppin'," he concluded rapturously.  "A tidy way o'
gettin' two or three pounds together an' fixin' up for winter.  The only
thing I don't like"--and here was the rift within the lute--"is paddin'
the 'oof down there."

It was plain the years were telling on this energetic pair, and while
they enjoyed the quick work with the fingers, "paddin' the 'oof," which
is walking, was beginning to bear heavily upon them.  And I looked at
their grey hairs, and ahead into the future ten years, and wondered how
it would be with them.

I noticed another man and his old woman join the line, both of them past
fifty.  The woman, because she was a woman, was admitted into the spike;
but he was too late, and, separated from his mate, was turned away to
tramp the streets all night.

The street on which we stood, from wall to wall, was barely twenty feet
wide.  The sidewalks were three feet wide.  It was a residence street.  At
least workmen and their families existed in some sort of fashion in the
houses across from us.  And each day and every day, from one in the
afternoon till six, our ragged spike line is the principal feature of the
view commanded by their front doors and windows.  One workman sat in his
door directly opposite us, taking his rest and a breath of air after the
toil of the day.  His wife came to chat with him.  The doorway was too
small for two, so she stood up.  Their babes sprawled before them.  And
here was the spike line, less than a score of feet away--neither privacy
for the workman, nor privacy for the pauper.  About our feet played the
children of the neighbourhood.  To them our presence was nothing unusual.
We were not an intrusion.  We were as natural and ordinary as the brick
walls and stone curbs of their environment.  They had been born to the
sight of the spike line, and all their brief days they had seen it.

At six o'clock the line moved up, and we were admitted in groups of
three.  Name, age, occupation, place of birth, condition of destitution,
and the previous night's "doss," were taken with lightning-like rapidity
by the superintendent; and as I turned I was startled by a man's
thrusting into my hand something that felt like a brick, and shouting
into my ear, "any knives, matches, or tobacco?"  "No, sir," I lied, as
lied every man who entered.  As I passed downstairs to the cellar, I
looked at the brick in my hand, and saw that by doing violence to the
language it might be called "bread."  By its weight and hardness it
certainly must have been unleavened.

The light was very dim down in the cellar, and before I knew it some
other man had thrust a pannikin into my other hand.  Then I stumbled on
to a still darker room, where were benches and tables and men.  The place
smelled vilely, and the sombre gloom, and the mumble of voices from out
of the obscurity, made it seem more like some anteroom to the infernal
regions.

Most of the men were suffering from tired feet, and they prefaced the
meal by removing their shoes and unbinding the filthy rags with which
their feet were wrapped.  This added to the general noisomeness, while it
took away from my appetite.

In fact, I found that I had made a mistake.  I had eaten a hearty dinner
five hours before, and to have done justice to the fare before me I
should have fasted for a couple of days.  The pannikin contained skilly,
three-quarters of a pint, a mixture of Indian corn and hot water.  The
men were dipping their bread into heaps of salt scattered over the dirty
tables.  I attempted the same, but the bread seemed to stick in my mouth,
and I remembered the words of the Carpenter, "You need a pint of water to
eat the bread nicely."

I went over into a dark corner where I had observed other men going and
found the water.  Then I returned and attacked the skilly.  It was coarse
of texture, unseasoned, gross, and bitter.  This bitterness which
lingered persistently in the mouth after the skilly had passed on, I
found especially repulsive.  I struggled manfully, but was mastered by my
qualms, and half-a-dozen mouthfuls of skilly and bread was the measure of
my success.  The man beside me ate his own share, and mine to boot,
scraped the pannikins, and looked hungrily for more.

"I met a 'towny,' and he stood me too good a dinner," I explained.

"An' I 'aven't 'ad a bite since yesterday mornin'," he replied.

"How about tobacco?" I asked.  "Will the bloke bother with a fellow now?"

"Oh no," he answered me.  "No bloomin' fear.  This is the easiest spike
goin'.  Y'oughto see some of them.  Search you to the skin."

The pannikins scraped clean, conversation began to spring up.  "This
super'tendent 'ere is always writin' to the papers 'bout us mugs," said
the man on the other side of me.

"What does he say?" I asked.

"Oh, 'e sez we're no good, a lot o' blackguards an' scoundrels as won't
work.  Tells all the ole tricks I've bin 'earin' for twenty years an'
w'ich I never seen a mug ever do.  Las' thing of 'is I see, 'e was
tellin' 'ow a mug gets out o' the spike, wi' a crust in 'is pockit.  An'
w'en 'e sees a nice ole gentleman comin' along the street 'e chucks the
crust into the drain, an' borrows the old gent's stick to poke it out.
An' then the ole gent gi'es 'im a tanner."

A roar of applause greeted the time-honoured yarn, and from somewhere
over in the deeper darkness came another voice, orating angrily:

"Talk o' the country bein' good for tommy [food]; I'd like to see it.  I
jest came up from Dover, an' blessed little tommy I got.  They won't gi'
ye a drink o' water, they won't, much less tommy."

"There's mugs never go out of Kent," spoke a second voice, "they live
bloomin' fat all along."

"I come through Kent," went on the first voice, still more angrily, "an'
Gawd blimey if I see any tommy.  An' I always notices as the blokes as
talks about 'ow much they can get, w'en they're in the spike can eat my
share o' skilly as well as their bleedin' own."

"There's chaps in London," said a man across the table from me, "that get
all the tommy they want, an' they never think o' goin' to the country.
Stay in London the year 'round.  Nor do they think of lookin' for a kip
[place to sleep], till nine or ten o'clock at night."

A general chorus verified this statement

"But they're bloomin' clever, them chaps," said an admiring voice.

"Course they are," said another voice.  "But it's not the likes of me an'
you can do it.  You got to be born to it, I say.  Them chaps 'ave ben
openin' cabs an' sellin' papers since the day they was born, an' their
fathers an' mothers before 'em.  It's all in the trainin', I say, an' the
likes of me an' you 'ud starve at it."

This also was verified by the general chorus, and likewise the statement
that there were "mugs as lives the twelvemonth 'round in the spike an'
never get a blessed bit o' tommy other than spike skilly an' bread."

"I once got arf a crown in the Stratford spike," said a new voice.
Silence fell on the instant, and all listened to the wonderful tale.
"There was three of us breakin' stones.  Winter-time, an' the cold was
cruel.  T'other two said they'd be blessed if they do it, an' they
didn't; but I kept wearin' into mine to warm up, you know.  An' then the
guardians come, an' t'other chaps got run in for fourteen days, an' the
guardians, w'en they see wot I'd been doin', gives me a tanner each, five
o' them, an' turns me up."

The majority of these men, nay, all of them, I found, do not like the
spike, and only come to it when driven in.  After the "rest up" they are
good for two or three days and nights on the streets, when they are
driven in again for another rest.  Of course, this continuous hardship
quickly breaks their constitutions, and they realise it, though only in a
vague way; while it is so much the common run of things that they do not
worry about it.

"On the doss," they call vagabondage here, which corresponds to "on the
road" in the United States.  The agreement is that kipping, or dossing,
or sleeping, is the hardest problem they have to face, harder even than
that of food.  The inclement weather and the harsh laws are mainly
responsible for this, while the men themselves ascribe their homelessness
to foreign immigration, especially of Polish and Russian Jews, who take
their places at lower wages and establish the sweating system.

By seven o'clock we were called away to bathe and go to bed.  We stripped
our clothes, wrapping them up in our coats and buckling our belts about
them, and deposited them in a heaped rack and on the floor--a beautiful
scheme for the spread of vermin.  Then, two by two, we entered the
bathroom.  There were two ordinary tubs, and this I know: the two men
preceding had washed in that water, we washed in the same water, and it
was not changed for the two men that followed us.  This I know; but I am
also certain that the twenty-two of us washed in the same water.

I did no more than make a show of splashing some of this dubious liquid
at myself, while I hastily brushed it off with a towel wet from the
bodies of other men.  My equanimity was not restored by seeing the back
of one poor wretch a mass of blood from attacks of vermin and retaliatory
scratching.

A shirt was handed me--which I could not help but wonder how many other
men had worn; and with a couple of blankets under my arm I trudged off to
the sleeping apartment.  This was a long, narrow room, traversed by two
low iron rails.  Between these rails were stretched, not hammocks, but
pieces of canvas, six feet long and less than two feet wide.  These were
the beds, and they were six inches apart and about eight inches above the
floor.  The chief difficulty was that the head was somewhat higher than
the feet, which caused the body constantly to slip down.  Being slung to
the same rails, when one man moved, no matter how slightly, the rest were
set rocking; and whenever I dozed somebody was sure to struggle back to
the position from which he had slipped, and arouse me again.

Many hours passed before I won to sleep.  It was only seven in the
evening, and the voices of children, in shrill outcry, playing in the
street, continued till nearly midnight.  The smell was frightful and
sickening, while my imagination broke loose, and my skin crept and
crawled till I was nearly frantic.  Grunting, groaning, and snoring arose
like the sounds emitted by some sea monster, and several times, afflicted
by nightmare, one or another, by his shrieks and yells, aroused the lot
of us.  Toward morning I was awakened by a rat or some similar animal on
my breast.  In the quick transition from sleep to waking, before I was
completely myself, I raised a shout to wake the dead.  At any rate, I
woke the living, and they cursed me roundly for my lack of manners.

But morning came, with a six o'clock breakfast of bread and skilly, which
I gave away, and we were told off to our various tasks.  Some were set to
scrubbing and cleaning, others to picking oakum, and eight of us were
convoyed across the street to the Whitechapel Infirmary where we were set
at scavenger work.  This was the method by which we paid for our skilly
and canvas, and I, for one, know that I paid in full many times over.

Though we had most revolting tasks to perform, our allotment was
considered the best and the other men deemed themselves lucky in being
chosen to perform it.

"Don't touch it, mate, the nurse sez it's deadly," warned my working
partner, as I held open a sack into which he was emptying a garbage can.

It came from the sick wards, and I told him that I purposed neither to
touch it, nor to allow it to touch me.  Nevertheless, I had to carry the
sack, and other sacks, down five flights of stairs and empty them in a
receptacle where the corruption was speedily sprinkled with strong
disinfectant.

Perhaps there is a wise mercy in all this.  These men of the spike, the
peg, and the street, are encumbrances.  They are of no good or use to any
one, nor to themselves.  They clutter the earth with their presence, and
are better out of the way.  Broken by hardship, ill fed, and worse
nourished, they are always the first to be struck down by disease, as
they are likewise the quickest to die.

They feel, themselves, that the forces of society tend to hurl them out
of existence.  We were sprinkling disinfectant by the mortuary, when the
dead waggon drove up and five bodies were packed into it.  The
conversation turned to the "white potion" and "black jack," and I found
they were all agreed that the poor person, man or woman, who in the
Infirmary gave too much trouble or was in a bad way, was "polished off."
That is to say, the incurables and the obstreperous were given a dose of
"black jack" or the "white potion," and sent over the divide.  It does
not matter in the least whether this be actually so or not.  The point
is, they have the feeling that it is so, and they have created the
language with which to express that feeling--"black jack" "white potion,"
"polishing off."

At eight o'clock we went down into a cellar under the infirmary, where
tea was brought to us, and the hospital scraps.  These were heaped high
on a huge platter in an indescribable mess--pieces of bread, chunks of
grease and fat pork, the burnt skin from the outside of roasted joints,
bones, in short, all the leavings from the fingers and mouths of the sick
ones suffering from all manner of diseases.  Into this mess the men
plunged their hands, digging, pawing, turning over, examining, rejecting,
and scrambling for.  It wasn't pretty.  Pigs couldn't have done worse.
But the poor devils were hungry, and they ate ravenously of the swill,
and when they could eat no more they bundled what was left into their
handkerchiefs and thrust it inside their shirts.

"Once, w'en I was 'ere before, wot did I find out there but a 'ole lot of
pork-ribs," said Ginger to me.  By "out there" he meant the place where
the corruption was dumped and sprinkled with strong disinfectant.  "They
was a prime lot, no end o' meat on 'em, an' I 'ad 'em into my arms an'
was out the gate an' down the street, a-lookin' for some 'un to gi' 'em
to.  Couldn't see a soul, an' I was runnin' 'round clean crazy, the bloke
runnin' after me an' thinkin' I was 'slingin' my 'ook' [running away].
But jest before 'e got me, I got a ole woman an' poked 'em into 'er
apron."

O Charity, O Philanthropy, descend to the spike and take a lesson from
Ginger.  At the bottom of the Abyss he performed as purely an altruistic
act as was ever performed outside the Abyss.  It was fine of Ginger, and
if the old woman caught some contagion from the "no end o' meat" on the
pork-ribs, it was still fine, though not so fine.  But the most salient
thing in this incident, it seems to me, is poor Ginger, "clean crazy" at
sight of so much food going to waste.

It is the rule of the casual ward that a man who enters must stay two
nights and a day; but I had seen sufficient for my purpose, had paid for
my skilly and canvas, and was preparing to run for it.

"Come on, let's sling it," I said to one of my mates, pointing toward the
open gate through which the dead waggon had come.

"An' get fourteen days?"

"No; get away."

"Aw, I come 'ere for a rest," he said complacently.  "An' another night's
kip won't 'urt me none."

They were all of this opinion, so I was forced to "sling it" alone.

"You cawn't ever come back 'ere again for a doss," they warned me.

"No fear," said I, with an enthusiasm they could not comprehend; and,
dodging out the gate, I sped down the street.

Straight to my room I hurried, changed my clothes, and less than an hour
from my escape, in a Turkish bath, I was sweating out whatever germs and
other things had penetrated my epidermis, and wishing that I could stand
a temperature of three hundred and twenty rather than two hundred and
twenty.




CHAPTER X--CARRYING THE BANNER


"To carry the banner" means to walk the streets all night; and I, with
the figurative emblem hoisted, went out to see what I could see.  Men and
women walk the streets at night all over this great city, but I selected
the West End, making Leicester Square my base, and scouting about from
the Thames Embankment to Hyde Park.

The rain was falling heavily when the theatres let out, and the brilliant
throng which poured from the places of amusement was hard put to find
cabs.  The streets were so many wild rivers of cabs, most of which were
engaged, however; and here I saw the desperate attempts of ragged men and
boys to get a shelter from the night by procuring cabs for the cabless
ladies and gentlemen.  I use the word "desperate" advisedly, for these
wretched, homeless ones were gambling a soaking against a bed; and most
of them, I took notice, got the soaking and missed the bed.  Now, to go
through a stormy night with wet clothes, and, in addition, to be ill
nourished and not to have tasted meat for a week or a month, is about as
severe a hardship as a man can undergo.  Well fed and well clad, I have
travelled all day with the spirit thermometer down to seventy-four
degrees below zero--one hundred and six degrees of frost {1}; and though
I suffered, it was a mere nothing compared with carrying the banner for a
night, ill fed, ill clad, and soaking wet.

The streets grew very quiet and lonely after the theatre crowd had gone
home.  Only were to be seen the ubiquitous policemen, flashing their dark
lanterns into doorways and alleys, and men and women and boys taking
shelter in the lee of buildings from the wind and rain.  Piccadilly,
however, was not quite so deserted.  Its pavements were brightened by
well-dressed women without escort, and there was more life and action
there than elsewhere, due to the process of finding escort.  But by three
o'clock the last of them had vanished, and it was then indeed lonely.

At half-past one the steady downpour ceased, and only showers fell
thereafter.  The homeless folk came away from the protection of the
buildings, and slouched up and down and everywhere, in order to rush up
the circulation and keep warm.

One old woman, between fifty and sixty, a sheer wreck, I had noticed
earlier in the night standing in Piccadilly, not far from Leicester
Square.  She seemed to have neither the sense nor the strength to get out
of the rain or keep walking, but stood stupidly, whenever she got the
chance, meditating on past days, I imagine, when life was young and blood
was warm.  But she did not get the chance often.  She was moved on by
every policeman, and it required an average of six moves to send her
doddering off one man's beat and on to another's.  By three o'clock, she
had progressed as far as St. James Street, and as the clocks were
striking four I saw her sleeping soundly against the iron railings of
Green Park.  A brisk shower was falling at the time, and she must have
been drenched to the skin.

Now, said I, at one o'clock, to myself; consider that you are a poor
young man, penniless, in London Town, and that to-morrow you must look
for work.  It is necessary, therefore, that you get some sleep in order
that you may have strength to look for work and to do work in case you
find it.

So I sat down on the stone steps of a building.  Five minutes later a
policeman was looking at me.  My eyes were wide open, so he only grunted
and passed on.  Ten minutes later my head was on my knees, I was dozing,
and the same policeman was saying gruffly, "'Ere, you, get outa that!"

I got.  And, like the old woman, I continued to get; for every time I
dozed, a policeman was there to rout me along again.  Not long after,
when I had given this up, I was walking with a young Londoner (who had
been out to the colonies and wished he were out to them again), when I
noticed an open passage leading under a building and disappearing in
darkness.  A low iron gate barred the entrance.

"Come on," I said.  "Let's climb over and get a good sleep."

"Wot?" he answered, recoiling from me.  "An' get run in fer three months!
Blimey if I do!"

Later on I was passing Hyde Park with a young boy of fourteen or fifteen,
a most wretched-looking youth, gaunt and hollow-eyed and sick.

"Let's go over the fence," I proposed, "and crawl into the shrubbery for
a sleep.  The bobbies couldn't find us there."

"No fear," he answered.  "There's the park guardians, and they'd run you
in for six months."

Times have changed, alas!  When I was a youngster I used to read of
homeless boys sleeping in doorways.  Already the thing has become a
tradition.  As a stock situation it will doubtless linger in literature
for a century to come, but as a cold fact it has ceased to be.  Here are
the doorways, and here are the boys, but happy conjunctions are no longer
effected.  The doorways remain empty, and the boys keep awake and carry
the banner.

"I was down under the arches," grumbled another young fellow.  By
"arches" he meant the shore arches where begin the bridges that span the
Thames.  "I was down under the arches wen it was ryning its 'ardest, an'
a bobby comes in an' chyses me out.  But I come back, an' 'e come too.
''Ere,' sez 'e, 'wot you doin' 'ere?'  An' out I goes, but I sez, 'Think
I want ter pinch [steal] the bleedin' bridge?'"

Among those who carry the banner, Green Park has the reputation of
opening its gates earlier than the other parks, and at quarter-past four
in the morning, I, and many more, entered Green Park.  It was raining
again, but they were worn out with the night's walking, and they were
down on the benches and asleep at once.  Many of the men stretched out
full length on the dripping wet grass, and, with the rain falling
steadily upon them, were sleeping the sleep of exhaustion.

And now I wish to criticise the powers that be.  They _are_ the powers,
therefore they may decree whatever they please; so I make bold only to
criticise the ridiculousness of their decrees.  All night long they make
the homeless ones walk up and down.  They drive them out of doors and
passages, and lock them out of the parks.  The evident intention of all
this is to deprive them of sleep.  Well and good, the powers have the
power to deprive them of sleep, or of anything else for that matter; but
why under the sun do they open the gates of the parks at five o'clock in
the morning and let the homeless ones go inside and sleep?  If it is
their intention to deprive them of sleep, why do they let them sleep
after five in the morning?  And if it is not their intention to deprive
them of sleep, why don't they let them sleep earlier in the night?

In this connection, I will say that I came by Green Park that same day,
at one in the afternoon, and that I counted scores of the ragged wretches
asleep in the grass.  It was Sunday afternoon, the sun was fitfully
appearing, and the well-dressed West Enders, with their wives and
progeny, were out by thousands, taking the air.  It was not a pleasant
sight for them, those horrible, unkempt, sleeping vagabonds; while the
vagabonds themselves, I know, would rather have done their sleeping the
night before.

And so, dear soft people, should you ever visit London Town, and see
these men asleep on the benches and in the grass, please do not think
they are lazy creatures, preferring sleep to work.  Know that the powers
that be have kept them walking all the night long, and that in the day
they have nowhere else to sleep.




CHAPTER XI--THE PEG


But, after carrying the banner all night, I did not sleep in Green Park
when morning dawned.  I was wet to the skin, it is true, and I had had no
sleep for twenty-four hours; but, still adventuring as a penniless man
looking for work, I had to look about me, first for a breakfast, and next
for the work.

During the night I had heard of a place over on the Surrey side of the
Thames, where the Salvation Army every Sunday morning gave away a
breakfast to the unwashed.  (And, by the way, the men who carry the
banner are unwashed in the morning, and unless it is raining they do not
have much show for a wash, either.)  This, thought I, is the very
thing--breakfast in the morning, and then the whole day in which to look
for work.

It was a weary walk.  Down St. James Street I dragged my tired legs,
along Pall Mall, past Trafalgar Square, to the Strand.  I crossed the
Waterloo Bridge to the Surrey side, cut across to Blackfriars Road,
coming out near the Surrey Theatre, and arrived at the Salvation Army
barracks before seven o'clock.  This was "the peg."  And by "the peg," in
the argot, is meant the place where a free meal may be obtained.

Here was a motley crowd of woebegone wretches who had spent the night in
the rain.  Such prodigious misery! and so much of it!  Old men, young
men, all manner of men, and boys to boot, and all manner of boys.  Some
were drowsing standing up; half a score of them were stretched out on the
stone steps in most painful postures, all of them sound asleep, the skin
of their bodies showing red through the holes, and rents in their rags.
And up and down the street and across the street for a block either way,
each doorstep had from two to three occupants, all asleep, their heads
bent forward on their knees.  And, it must be remembered, these are not
hard times in England.  Things are going on very much as they ordinarily
do, and times are neither hard nor easy.

And then came the policeman.  "Get outa that, you bloomin' swine!  Eigh!
eigh!  Get out now!"  And like swine he drove them from the doorways and
scattered them to the four winds of Surrey.  But when he encountered the
crowd asleep on the steps he was astounded.  "Shocking!" he exclaimed.
"Shocking!  And of a Sunday morning!  A pretty sight!  Eigh! eigh!  Get
outa that, you bleeding nuisances!"

Of course it was a shocking sight, I was shocked myself.  And I should
not care to have my own daughter pollute her eyes with such a sight, or
come within half a mile of it; but--and there we were, and there you are,
and "but" is all that can be said.

The policeman passed on, and back we clustered, like flies around a honey
jar.  For was there not that wonderful thing, a breakfast, awaiting us?
We could not have clustered more persistently and desperately had they
been giving away million-dollar bank-notes.  Some were already off to
sleep, when back came the policeman and away we scattered only to return
again as soon as the coast was clear.

At half-past seven a little door opened, and a Salvation Army soldier
stuck out his head.  "Ayn't no sense blockin' the wy up that wy," he
said.  "Those as 'as tickets cawn come hin now, an' those as 'asn't
cawn't come hin till nine."

Oh, that breakfast!  Nine o'clock!  An hour and a half longer!  The men
who held tickets were greatly envied.  They were permitted to go inside,
have a wash, and sit down and rest until breakfast, while we waited for
the same breakfast on the street.  The tickets had been distributed the
previous night on the streets and along the Embankment, and the
possession of them was not a matter of merit, but of chance.

At eight-thirty, more men with tickets were admitted, and by nine the
little gate was opened to us.  We crushed through somehow, and found
ourselves packed in a courtyard like sardines.  On more occasions than
one, as a Yankee tramp in Yankeeland, I have had to work for my
breakfast; but for no breakfast did I ever work so hard as for this one.
For over two hours I had waited outside, and for over another hour I
waited in this packed courtyard.  I had had nothing to eat all night, and
I was weak and faint, while the smell of the soiled clothes and unwashed
bodies, steaming from pent animal heat, and blocked solidly about me,
nearly turned my stomach.  So tightly were we packed, that a number of
the men took advantage of the opportunity and went soundly asleep
standing up.

Now, about the Salvation Army in general I know nothing, and whatever
criticism I shall make here is of that particular portion of the
Salvation Army which does business on Blackfriars Road near the Surrey
Theatre.  In the first place, this forcing of men who have been up all
night to stand on their feet for hours longer, is as cruel as it is
needless.  We were weak, famished, and exhausted from our night's
hardship and lack of sleep, and yet there we stood, and stood, and stood,
without rhyme or reason.

Sailors were very plentiful in this crowd.  It seemed to me that one man
in four was looking for a ship, and I found at least a dozen of them to
be American sailors.  In accounting for their being "on the beach," I
received the same story from each and all, and from my knowledge of sea
affairs this story rang true.  English ships sign their sailors for the
voyage, which means the round trip, sometimes lasting as long as three
years; and they cannot sign off and receive their discharges until they
reach the home port, which is England.  Their wages are low, their food
is bad, and their treatment worse.  Very often they are really forced by
their captains to desert in the New World or the colonies, leaving a
handsome sum of wages behind them--a distinct gain, either to the captain
or the owners, or to both.  But whether for this reason alone or not, it
is a fact that large numbers of them desert.  Then, for the home voyage,
the ship engages whatever sailors it can find on the beach.  These men
are engaged at the somewhat higher wages that obtain in other portions of
the world, under the agreement that they shall sign off on reaching
England.  The reason for this is obvious; for it would be poor business
policy to sign them for any longer time, since seamen's wages are low in
England, and England is always crowded with sailormen on the beach.  So
this fully accounted for the American seamen at the Salvation Army
barracks.  To get off the beach in other outlandish places they had come
to England, and gone on the beach in the most outlandish place of all.

There were fully a score of Americans in the crowd, the non-sailors being
"tramps royal," the men whose "mate is the wind that tramps the world."
They were all cheerful, facing things with the pluck which is their chief
characteristic and which seems never to desert them, withal they were
cursing the country with lurid metaphors quite refreshing after a month
of unimaginative, monotonous Cockney swearing.  The Cockney has one oath,
and one oath only, the most indecent in the language, which he uses on
any and every occasion.  Far different is the luminous and varied Western
swearing, which runs to blasphemy rather than indecency.  And after all,
since men will swear, I think I prefer blasphemy to indecency; there is
an audacity about it, an adventurousness and defiance that is better than
sheer filthiness.

There was one American tramp royal whom I found particularly enjoyable.  I
first noticed him on the street, asleep in a doorway, his head on his
knees, but a hat on his head that one does not meet this side of the
Western Ocean.  When the policeman routed him out, he got up slowly and
deliberately, looked at the policeman, yawned and stretched himself,
looked at the policeman again as much as to say he didn't know whether he
would or wouldn't, and then sauntered leisurely down the sidewalk.  At
the outset I was sure of the hat, but this made me sure of the wearer of
the hat.

In the jam inside I found myself alongside of him, and we had quite a
chat.  He had been through Spain, Italy, Switzerland, and France, and had
accomplished the practically impossible feat of beating his way three
hundred miles on a French railway without being caught at the finish.
Where was I hanging out? he asked.  And how did I manage for
"kipping"?--which means sleeping.  Did I know the rounds yet?  He was
getting on, though the country was "horstyl" and the cities were "bum."
Fierce, wasn't it?  Couldn't "batter" (beg) anywhere without being
"pinched."  But he wasn't going to quit it.  Buffalo Bill's Show was
coming over soon, and a man who could drive eight horses was sure of a
job any time.  These mugs over here didn't know beans about driving
anything more than a span.  What was the matter with me hanging on and
waiting for Buffalo Bill?  He was sure I could ring in somehow.

And so, after all, blood is thicker than water.  We were
fellow-countrymen and strangers in a strange land.  I had warmed to his
battered old hat at sight of it, and he was as solicitous for my welfare
as if we were blood brothers.  We swapped all manner of useful
information concerning the country and the ways of its people, methods by
which to obtain food and shelter and what not, and we parted genuinely
sorry at having to say good-bye.

One thing particularly conspicuous in this crowd was the shortness of
stature.  I, who am but of medium height, looked over the heads of nine
out of ten.  The natives were all short, as were the foreign sailors.
There were only five or six in the crowd who could be called fairly tall,
and they were Scandinavians and Americans.  The tallest man there,
however, was an exception.  He was an Englishman, though not a Londoner.
"Candidate for the Life Guards," I remarked to him.  "You've hit it,
mate," was his reply; "I've served my bit in that same, and the way
things are I'll be back at it before long."

For an hour we stood quietly in this packed courtyard.  Then the men
began to grow restless.  There was pushing and shoving forward, and a
mild hubbub of voices.  Nothing rough, however, nor violent; merely the
restlessness of weary and hungry men.  At this juncture forth came the
adjutant.  I did not like him.  His eyes were not good.  There was
nothing of the lowly Galilean about him, but a great deal of the
centurion who said: "For I am a man in authority, having soldiers under
me; and I say to this man, Go, and he goeth; and to another, Come, and he
cometh; and to my servant, Do this, and he doeth it."

Well, he looked at us in just that way, and those nearest to him quailed.
Then he lifted his voice.

"Stop this 'ere, now, or I'll turn you the other wy an' march you out,
an' you'll get no breakfast."

I cannot convey by printed speech the insufferable way in which he said
this.  He seemed to me to revel in that he was a man in authority, able
to say to half a thousand ragged wretches, "you may eat or go hungry, as
I elect."

To deny us our breakfast after standing for hours!  It was an awful
threat, and the pitiful, abject silence which instantly fell attested its
awfulness.  And it was a cowardly threat.  We could not strike back, for
we were starving; and it is the way of the world that when one man feeds
another he is that man's master.  But the centurion--I mean the
adjutant--was not satisfied.  In the dead silence he raised his voice
again, and repeated the threat, and amplified it.

At last we were permitted to enter the feasting hall, where we found the
"ticket men" washed but unfed.  All told, there must have been nearly
seven hundred of us who sat down--not to meat or bread, but to speech,
song, and prayer.  From all of which I am convinced that Tantalus suffers
in many guises this side of the infernal regions.  The adjutant made the
prayer, but I did not take note of it, being too engrossed with the
massed picture of misery before me.  But the speech ran something like
this: "You will feast in Paradise.  No matter how you starve and suffer
here, you will feast in Paradise, that is, if you will follow the
directions."  And so forth and so forth.  A clever bit of propaganda, I
took it, but rendered of no avail for two reasons.  First, the men who
received it were unimaginative and materialistic, unaware of the
existence of any Unseen, and too inured to hell on earth to be frightened
by hell to come.  And second, weary and exhausted from the night's
sleeplessness and hardship, suffering from the long wait upon their feet,
and faint from hunger, they were yearning, not for salvation, but for
grub.  The "soul-snatchers" (as these men call all religious
propagandists), should study the physiological basis of psychology a
little, if they wish to make their efforts more effective.

All in good time, about eleven o'clock, breakfast arrived.  It arrived,
not on plates, but in paper parcels.  I did not have all I wanted, and I
am sure that no man there had all he wanted, or half of what he wanted or
needed.  I gave part of my bread to the tramp royal who was waiting for
Buffalo Bill, and he was as ravenous at the end as he was in the
beginning.  This is the breakfast: two slices of bread, one small piece
of bread with raisins in it and called "cake," a wafer of cheese, and a
mug of "water bewitched."  Numbers of the men had been waiting since five
o'clock for it, while all of us had waited at least four hours; and in
addition, we had been herded like swine, packed like sardines, and
treated like curs, and been preached at, and sung to, and prayed for.  Nor
was that all.

No sooner was breakfast over (and it was over almost as quickly as it
takes to tell), than the tired heads began to nod and droop, and in five
minutes half of us were sound asleep.  There were no signs of our being
dismissed, while there were unmistakable signs of preparation for a
meeting.  I looked at a small clock hanging on the wall.  It indicated
twenty-five minutes to twelve.  Heigh-ho, thought I, time is flying, and
I have yet to look for work.

"I want to go," I said to a couple of waking men near me.

"Got ter sty fer the service," was the answer.

"Do you want to stay?" I asked.

They shook their heads.

"Then let us go and tell them we want to get out," I continued.  "Come
on."

But the poor creatures were aghast.  So I left them to their fate, and
went up to the nearest Salvation Army man.

"I want to go," I said.  "I came here for breakfast in order that I might
be in shape to look for work.  I didn't think it would take so long to
get breakfast.  I think I have a chance for work in Stepney, and the
sooner I start, the better chance I'll have of getting it."

He was really a good fellow, though he was startled by my request.  "Wy,"
he said, "we're goin' to 'old services, and you'd better sty."

"But that will spoil my chances for work," I urged.  "And work is the
most important thing for me just now."

As he was only a private, he referred me to the adjutant, and to the
adjutant I repeated my reasons for wishing to go, and politely requested
that he let me go.

"But it cawn't be done," he said, waxing virtuously indignant at such
ingratitude.  "The idea!" he snorted.  "The idea!"

"Do you mean to say that I can't get out of here?" I demanded.  "That you
will keep me here against my will?"

"Yes," he snorted.

I do not know what might have happened, for I was waxing indignant
myself; but the "congregation" had "piped" the situation, and he drew me
over to a corner of the room, and then into another room.  Here he again
demanded my reasons for wishing to go.

"I want to go," I said, "because I wish to look for work over in Stepney,
and every hour lessens my chance of finding work.  It is now twenty-five
minutes to twelve.  I did not think when I came in that it would take so
long to get a breakfast."

"You 'ave business, eh?" he sneered.  "A man of business you are, eh?
Then wot did you come 'ere for?"

"I was out all night, and I needed a breakfast in order to strengthen me
to find work.  That is why I came here."

"A nice thing to do," he went on in the same sneering manner.  "A man
with business shouldn't come 'ere.  You've tyken some poor man's
breakfast 'ere this morning, that's wot you've done."

Which was a lie, for every mother's son of us had come in.

Now I submit, was this Christian-like, or even honest?--after I had
plainly stated that I was homeless and hungry, and that I wished to look
for work, for him to call my looking for work "business," to call me
therefore a business man, and to draw the corollary that a man of
business, and well off, did not require a charity breakfast, and that by
taking a charity breakfast I had robbed some hungry waif who was not a
man of business.

I kept my temper, but I went over the facts again, and clearly and
concisely demonstrated to him how unjust he was and how he had perverted
the facts.  As I manifested no signs of backing down (and I am sure my
eyes were beginning to snap), he led me to the rear of the building
where, in an open court, stood a tent.  In the same sneering tone he
informed a couple of privates standing there that "'ere is a fellow that
'as business an' 'e wants to go before services."

They were duly shocked, of course, and they looked unutterable horror
while he went into the tent and brought out the major.  Still in the same
sneering manner, laying particular stress on the "business," he brought
my case before the commanding officer.  The major was of a different
stamp of man.  I liked him as soon as I saw him, and to him I stated my
case in the same fashion as before.

"Didn't you know you had to stay for services?" he asked.

"Certainly not," I answered, "or I should have gone without my breakfast.
You have no placards posted to that effect, nor was I so informed when I
entered the place."

He meditated a moment.  "You can go," he said.

It was twelve o'clock when I gained the street, and I couldn't quite make
up my mind whether I had been in the army or in prison.  The day was half
gone, and it was a far fetch to Stepney.  And besides, it was Sunday, and
why should even a starving man look for work on Sunday?  Furthermore, it
was my judgment that I had done a hard night's work walking the streets,
and a hard day's work getting my breakfast; so I disconnected myself from
my working hypothesis of a starving young man in search of employment,
hailed a bus, and climbed aboard.

After a shave and a bath, with my clothes all off, I got in between clean
white sheets and went to sleep.  It was six in the evening when I closed
my eyes.  When they opened again, the clocks were striking nine next
morning.  I had slept fifteen straight hours.  And as I lay there
drowsily, my mind went back to the seven hundred unfortunates I had left
waiting for services.  No bath, no shave for them, no clean white sheets
and all clothes off, and fifteen hours' straight sleep.  Services over,
it was the weary streets again, the problem of a crust of bread ere
night, and the long sleepless night in the streets, and the pondering of
the problem of how to obtain a crust at dawn.




CHAPTER XII--CORONATION DAY


   O thou that sea-walls sever
   From lands unwalled by seas!
   Wilt thou endure forever,
   O Milton's England, these?
   Thou that wast his Republic,
   Wilt thou clasp their knees?
   These royalties rust-eaten,
   These worm-corroded lies
   That keep thy head storm-beaten,
   And sun-like strength of eyes
   From the open air and heaven
   Of intercepted skies!

   SWINBURNE.

Vivat Rex Eduardus!  They crowned a king this day, and there has been
great rejoicing and elaborate tomfoolery, and I am perplexed and
saddened.  I never saw anything to compare with the pageant, except
Yankee circuses and Alhambra ballets; nor did I ever see anything so
hopeless and so tragic.

To have enjoyed the Coronation procession, I should have come straight
from America to the Hotel Cecil, and straight from the Hotel Cecil to a
five-guinea seat among the washed.  My mistake was in coming from the
unwashed of the East End.  There were not many who came from that
quarter.  The East End, as a whole, remained in the East End and got
drunk.  The Socialists, Democrats, and Republicans went off to the
country for a breath of fresh air, quite unaffected by the fact that four
hundred millions of people were taking to themselves a crowned and
anointed ruler.  Six thousand five hundred prelates, priests, statesmen,
princes, and warriors beheld the crowning and anointing, and the rest of
us the pageant as it passed.

I saw it at Trafalgar Square, "the most splendid site in Europe," and the
very innermost heart of the empire.  There were many thousands of us, all
checked and held in order by a superb display of armed power.  The line
of march was double-walled with soldiers.  The base of the Nelson Column
was triple-fringed with bluejackets.  Eastward, at the entrance to the
square, stood the Royal Marine Artillery.  In the triangle of Pall Mall
and Cockspur Street, the statue of George III. was buttressed on either
side by the Lancers and Hussars.  To the west were the red-coats of the
Royal Marines, and from the Union Club to the embouchure of Whitehall
swept the glittering, massive curve of the 1st Life Guards--gigantic men
mounted on gigantic chargers, steel-breastplated, steel-helmeted, steel-
caparisoned, a great war-sword of steel ready to the hand of the powers
that be.  And further, throughout the crowd, were flung long lines of the
Metropolitan Constabulary, while in the rear were the reserves--tall,
well-fed men, with weapons to wield and muscles to wield them in ease of
need.

And as it was thus at Trafalgar Square, so was it along the whole line of
march--force, overpowering force; myriads of men, splendid men, the pick
of the people, whose sole function in life is blindly to obey, and
blindly to kill and destroy and stamp out life.  And that they should be
well fed, well clothed, and well armed, and have ships to hurl them to
the ends of the earth, the East End of London, and the "East End" of all
England, toils and rots and dies.

There is a Chinese proverb that if one man lives in laziness another will
die of hunger; and Montesquieu has said, "The fact that many men are
occupied in making clothes for one individual is the cause of there being
many people without clothes."  So one explains the other.  We cannot
understand the starved and runty {2} toiler of the East End (living with
his family in a one-room den, and letting out the floor space for
lodgings to other starved and runty toilers) till we look at the
strapping Life Guardsmen of the West End, and come to know that the one
must feed and clothe and groom the other.

And while in Westminster Abbey the people were taking unto themselves a
king, I, jammed between the Life Guards and Constabulary of Trafalgar
Square, was dwelling upon the time when the people of Israel first took
unto themselves a king.  You all know how it runs.  The elders came to
the prophet Samuel, and said: "Make us a king to judge us like all the
nations."

   And the Lord said unto Samuel: Now therefore hearken unto their voice;
   howbeit thou shalt show them the manner of the king that shall reign
   over them.

   And Samuel told all the words of the Lord unto the people that asked
   of him a king, and he said:

   This will be the manner of the king that shall reign over you; he will
   take your sons, and appoint them unto him, for his chariots, and to be
   his horsemen, and they shall run before his chariots.

   And he will appoint them unto him for captains of thousands, and
   captains of fifties; and he will set some to plough his ground, and to
   reap his harvest, and to make his instruments of war, and the
   instruments of his chariots.

   And he will take your daughters to be confectionaries, and to be
   cooks, and to be bakers.

   And he will take your fields and your vineyards, and your oliveyards,
   even the best of them, and give them to his servants.

   And he will take a tenth of your seed, and of your vineyards, and give
   to his officers, and to his servants.

   And he will take your menservants, and your maidservants, and your
   goodliest young men, and your asses, and put them to his work.

   He will take a tenth of your flocks; and ye shall be his servants.

   And ye shall call out in that day because of your king which ye shall
   have chosen you; and the Lord will not answer you in that day.

All of which came to pass in that ancient day, and they did cry out to
Samuel, saying: "Pray for thy servants unto the Lord thy God, that we die
not; for we have added unto all our sins this evil, to ask us a king."
And after Saul, David, and Solomon, came Rehoboam, who "answered the
people roughly, saying: My father made your yoke heavy, but I will add to
your yoke; my father chastised you with whips, but I will chastise you
with scorpions."

And in these latter days, five hundred hereditary peers own one-fifth of
England; and they, and the officers and servants under the King, and
those who go to compose the powers that be, yearly spend in wasteful
luxury $1,850,000,000, or 370,000,000 pounds, which is thirty-two per
cent. of the total wealth produced by all the toilers of the country.

At the Abbey, clad in wonderful golden raiment, amid fanfare of trumpets
and throbbing of music, surrounded by a brilliant throng of masters,
lords, and rulers, the King was being invested with the insignia of his
sovereignty.  The spurs were placed to his heels by the Lord Great
Chamberlain, and a sword of state, in purple scabbard, was presented him
by the Archbishop of Canterbury, with these words:-

   Receive this kingly sword brought now from the altar of God, and
   delivered to you by the hands of the bishops and servants of God,
   though unworthy.

Whereupon, being girded, he gave heed to the Archbishop's exhortation:-

   With this sword do justice, stop the growth of iniquity, protect the
   Holy Church of God, help and defend widows and orphans, restore the
   things that are gone to decay, maintain the things that are restored,
   punish and reform what is amiss, and confirm what is in good order.

But hark!  There is cheering down Whitehall; the crowd sways, the double
walls of soldiers come to attention, and into view swing the King's
watermen, in fantastic mediaeval garbs of red, for all the world like the
van of a circus parade.  Then a royal carriage, filled with ladies and
gentlemen of the household, with powdered footmen and coachmen most
gorgeously arrayed.  More carriages, lords, and chamberlains, viscounts,
mistresses of the robes--lackeys all.  Then the warriors, a kingly
escort, generals, bronzed and worn, from the ends of the earth come up to
London Town, volunteer officers, officers of the militia and regular
forces; Spens and Plumer, Broadwood and Cooper who relieved Ookiep,
Mathias of Dargai, Dixon of Vlakfontein; General Gaselee and Admiral
Seymour of China; Kitchener of Khartoum; Lord Roberts of India and all
the world--the fighting men of England, masters of destruction, engineers
of death!  Another race of men from those of the shops and slums, a
totally different race of men.

But here they come, in all the pomp and certitude of power, and still
they come, these men of steel, these war lords and world harnessers.  Pell-
mell, peers and commoners, princes and maharajahs, Equerries to the King
and Yeomen of the Guard.  And here the colonials, lithe and hardy men;
and here all the breeds of all the world-soldiers from Canada, Australia,
New Zealand; from Bermuda, Borneo, Fiji, and the Gold Coast; from
Rhodesia, Cape Colony, Natal, Sierra Leone and Gambia, Nigeria, and
Uganda; from Ceylon, Cyprus, Hong-Kong, Jamaica, and Wei-Hai-Wei; from
Lagos, Malta, St. Lucia, Singapore, Trinidad.  And here the conquered men
of Ind, swarthy horsemen and sword wielders, fiercely barbaric, blazing
in crimson and scarlet, Sikhs, Rajputs, Burmese, province by province,
and caste by caste.

And now the Horse Guards, a glimpse of beautiful cream ponies, and a
golden panoply, a hurricane of cheers, the crashing of bands--"The King!
the King!  God save the King!"  Everybody has gone mad.  The contagion is
sweeping me off my feet--I, too, want to shout, "The King!  God save the
King!"  Ragged men about me, tears in their eyes, are tossing up their
hats and crying ecstatically, "Bless 'em!  Bless 'em!  Bless 'em!"  See,
there he is, in that wondrous golden coach, the great crown flashing on
his head, the woman in white beside him likewise crowned.

And I check myself with a rush, striving to convince myself that it is
all real and rational, and not some glimpse of fairyland.  This I cannot
succeed in doing, and it is better so.  I much prefer to believe that all
this pomp, and vanity, and show, and mumbo-jumbo foolery has come from
fairyland, than to believe it the performance of sane and sensible people
who have mastered matter and solved the secrets of the stars.

Princes and princelings, dukes, duchesses, and all manner of coroneted
folk of the royal train are flashing past; more warriors, and lackeys,
and conquered peoples, and the pagent is over.  I drift with the crowd
out of the square into a tangle of narrow streets, where the
public-houses are a-roar with drunkenness, men, women, and children mixed
together in colossal debauch.  And on every side is rising the favourite
song of the Coronation:-

   "Oh! on Coronation Day, on Coronation Day,
   We'll have a spree, a jubilee, and shout, Hip, hip, hooray,
   For we'll all be marry, drinking whisky, wine, and sherry,
   We'll all be merry on Coronation Day."

The rain is pouring down.  Up the street come troops of the auxiliaries,
black Africans and yellow Asiatics, beturbaned and befezed, and coolies
swinging along with machine guns and mountain batteries on their heads,
and the bare feet of all, in quick rhythm, going _slish, slish, slish_
through the pavement mud.  The public-houses empty by magic, and the
swarthy allegiants are cheered by their British brothers, who return at
once to the carouse.

"And how did you like the procession, mate?" I asked an old man on a
bench in Green Park.

"'Ow did I like it?  A bloomin' good chawnce, sez I to myself, for a
sleep, wi' all the coppers aw'y, so I turned into the corner there, along
wi' fifty others.  But I couldn't sleep, a-lyin' there an' thinkin' 'ow
I'd worked all the years o' my life an' now 'ad no plyce to rest my 'ead;
an' the music comin' to me, an' the cheers an' cannon, till I got almost
a hanarchist an' wanted to blow out the brains o' the Lord Chamberlain."

Why the Lord Chamberlain I could not precisely see, nor could he, but
that was the way he felt, he said conclusively, and them was no more
discussion.

As night drew on, the city became a blaze of light.  Splashes of colour,
green, amber, and ruby, caught the eye at every point, and "E. R.," in
great crystal letters and backed by flaming gas, was everywhere.  The
crowds in the streets increased by hundreds of thousands, and though the
police sternly put down mafficking, drunkenness and rough play abounded.
The tired workers seemed to have gone mad with the relaxation and
excitement, and they surged and danced down the streets, men and women,
old and young, with linked arms and in long rows, singing, "I may be
crazy, but I love you," "Dolly Gray," and "The Honeysuckle and the
Bee"--the last rendered something like this:-

   "Yew aw the enny, ennyseckle, Oi em ther bee,
   Oi'd like ter sip ther enny from those red lips, yew see."

I sat on a bench on the Thames Embankment, looking across the illuminated
water.  It was approaching midnight, and before me poured the better
class of merrymakers, shunning the more riotous streets and returning
home.  On the bench beside me sat two ragged creatures, a man and a
woman, nodding and dozing.  The woman sat with her arms clasped across
the breast, holding tightly, her body in constant play--now dropping
forward till it seemed its balance would be overcome and she would fall
to the pavement; now inclining to the left, sideways, till her head
rested on the man's shoulder; and now to the right, stretched and
strained, till the pain of it awoke her and she sat bolt upright.
Whereupon the dropping forward would begin again and go through its cycle
till she was aroused by the strain and stretch.

Every little while boys and young men stopped long enough to go behind
the bench and give vent to sudden and fiendish shouts.  This always
jerked the man and woman abruptly from their sleep; and at sight of the
startled woe upon their faces the crowd would roar with laughter as it
flooded past.

This was the most striking thing, the general heartlessness exhibited on
every hand.  It is a commonplace, the homeless on the benches, the poor
miserable folk who may be teased and are harmless.  Fifty thousand people
must have passed the bench while I sat upon it, and not one, on such a
jubilee occasion as the crowning of the King, felt his heart-strings
touched sufficiently to come up and say to the woman: "Here's sixpence;
go and get a bed."  But the women, especially the young women, made witty
remarks upon the woman nodding, and invariably set their companions
laughing.

To use a Briticism, it was "cruel"; the corresponding Americanism was
more appropriate--it was "fierce."  I confess I began to grow incensed at
this happy crowd streaming by, and to extract a sort of satisfaction from
the London statistics which demonstrate that one in every four adults is
destined to die on public charity, either in the workhouse, the
infirmary, or the asylum.

I talked with the man.  He was fifty-four and a broken-down docker.  He
could only find odd work when there was a large demand for labour, for
the younger and stronger men were preferred when times were slack.  He
had spent a week, now, on the benches of the Embankment; but things
looked brighter for next week, and he might possibly get in a few days'
work and have a bed in some doss-house.  He had lived all his life in
London, save for five years, when, in 1878, he saw foreign service in
India.

Of course he would eat; so would the girl.  Days like this were uncommon
hard on such as they, though the coppers were so busy poor folk could get
in more sleep.  I awoke the girl, or woman, rather, for she was "Eyght
an' twenty, sir," and we started for a coffee-house.

"Wot a lot o' work puttin' up the lights," said the man at sight of some
building superbly illuminated.  This was the keynote of his being.  All
his life he had worked, and the whole objective universe, as well as his
own soul, he could express in terms only of work.  "Coronations is some
good," he went on.  "They give work to men."

"But your belly is empty," I said.

"Yes," he answered.  "I tried, but there wasn't any chawnce.  My age is
against me.  Wot do you work at?  Seafarin' chap, eh?  I knew it from yer
clothes."

"I know wot you are," said the girl, "an Eyetalian."

"No 'e ayn't," the man cried heatedly.  "'E's a Yank, that's wot 'e is.  I
know."

"Lord lumne, look a' that," she exclaimed, as we debauched upon the
Strand, choked with the roaring, reeling Coronation crowd, the men
bellowing and the girls singing in high throaty notes:-

   "Oh! on Coronation D'y, on Coronation D'y,
   We'll 'ave a spree, a jubilee, an' shout 'Ip, 'ip, 'ooray;
   For we'll all be merry, drinkin' whisky, wine, and sherry,
   We'll all be merry on Coronation D'y."

"'Ow dirty I am, bein' around the w'y I 'ave," the woman said, as she sat
down in a coffee-house, wiping the sleep and grime from the corners of
her eyes.  "An' the sights I 'ave seen this d'y, an' I enjoyed it, though
it was lonesome by myself.  An' the duchesses an' the lydies 'ad sich
gran' w'ite dresses.  They was jest bu'ful, bu'ful."

"I'm Irish," she said, in answer to a question.  "My nyme's Eyethorne."

"What?" I asked.

"Eyethorne, sir; Eyethorne."

"Spell it."

"H-a-y-t-h-o-r-n-e, Eyethorne.'

"Oh," I said, "Irish Cockney."

"Yes, sir, London-born."

She had lived happily at home till her father died, killed in an
accident, when she had found herself on the world.  One brother was in
the army, and the other brother, engaged in keeping a wife and eight
children on twenty shillings a week and unsteady employment, could do
nothing for her.  She had been out of London once in her life, to a place
in Essex, twelve miles away, where she had picked fruit for three weeks:
"An' I was as brown as a berry w'en I come back.  You won't b'lieve it,
but I was."

The last place in which she had worked was a coffee-house, hours from
seven in the morning till eleven at night, and for which she had received
five shillings a week and her food.  Then she had fallen sick, and since
emerging from the hospital had been unable to find anything to do.  She
wasn't feeling up to much, and the last two nights had been spent in the
street.

Between them they stowed away a prodigious amount of food, this man and
woman, and it was not till I had duplicated and triplicated their
original orders that they showed signs of easing down.

Once she reached across and felt the texture of my coat and shirt, and
remarked upon the good clothes the Yanks wore.  My rags good clothes!  It
put me to the blush; but, on inspecting them more closely and on
examining the clothes worn by the man and woman, I began to feel quite
well dressed and respectable.

"What do you expect to do in the end?" I asked them.  "You know you're
growing older every day."

"Work'ouse," said he.

"Gawd blimey if I do," said she.  "There's no 'ope for me, I know, but
I'll die on the streets.  No work'ouse for me, thank you.  No, indeed,"
she sniffed in the silence that fell.

"After you have been out all night in the streets," I asked, "what do you
do in the morning for something to eat?"

"Try to get a penny, if you 'aven't one saved over," the man explained.
"Then go to a coffee-'ouse an' get a mug o' tea."

"But I don't see how that is to feed you," I objected.

The pair smiled knowingly.

"You drink your tea in little sips," he went on, "making it last its
longest.  An' you look sharp, an' there's some as leaves a bit be'ind
'em."

"It's s'prisin', the food wot some people leaves," the woman broke in.

"The thing," said the man judicially, as the trick dawned upon me, "is to
get 'old o' the penny."

As we started to leave, Miss Haythorne gathered up a couple of crusts
from the neighbouring tables and thrust them somewhere into her rags.

"Cawn't wyste 'em, you know," said she; to which the docker nodded,
tucking away a couple of crusts himself.

At three in the morning I strolled up the Embankment.  It was a gala
night for the homeless, for the police were elsewhere; and each bench was
jammed with sleeping occupants.  There were as many women as men, and the
great majority of them, male and female, were old.  Occasionally a boy
was to be seen.  On one bench I noticed a family, a man sitting upright
with a sleeping babe in his arms, his wife asleep, her head on his
shoulder, and in her lap the head of a sleeping youngster.  The man's
eyes were wide open.  He was staring out over the water and thinking,
which is not a good thing for a shelterless man with a family to do.  It
would not be a pleasant thing to speculate upon his thoughts; but this I
know, and all London knows, that the cases of out-of-works killing their
wives and babies is not an uncommon happening.

One cannot walk along the Thames Embankment, in the small hours of
morning, from the Houses of Parliament, past Cleopatra's Needle, to
Waterloo Bridge, without being reminded of the sufferings, seven and
twenty centuries old, recited by the author of "Job":-

   There are that remove the landmarks; they violently take away flocks
   and feed them.

   They drive away the ass of the fatherless, they take the widow's ox
   for a pledge.

   They turn the needy out of the way; the poor of the earth hide
   themselves together.

   Behold, as wild asses in the desert they go forth to their work,
   seeking diligently for meat; the wilderness yieldeth them food for
   their children.

   They cut their provender in the field, and they glean the vintage of
   the wicked.

   They lie all night naked without clothing, and have no covering in the
   cold.

   They are wet with the showers of the mountains, and embrace the rock
   for want of a shelter.

   There are that pluck the fatherless from the breast, and take a pledge
   of the poor.

   So that they go about naked without clothing, and being an hungered
   they carry the sheaves.--Job xxiv. 2-10.

Seven and twenty centuries agone!  And it is all as true and apposite to-
day in the innermost centre of this Christian civilisation whereof Edward
VII. is king.




CHAPTER XIII--DAN CULLEN, DOCKER


I stood, yesterday, in a room in one of the "Municipal Dwellings," not
far from Leman Street.  If I looked into a dreary future and saw that I
would have to live in such a room until I died, I should immediately go
down, plump into the Thames, and cut the tenancy short.

It was not a room.  Courtesy to the language will no more permit it to be
called a room than it will permit a hovel to be called a mansion.  It was
a den, a lair.  Seven feet by eight were its dimensions, and the ceiling
was so low as not to give the cubic air space required by a British
soldier in barracks.  A crazy couch, with ragged coverlets, occupied
nearly half the room.  A rickety table, a chair, and a couple of boxes
left little space in which to turn around.  Five dollars would have
purchased everything in sight.  The floor was bare, while the walls and
ceiling were literally covered with blood marks and splotches.  Each mark
represented a violent death--of an insect, for the place swarmed with
vermin, a plague with which no person could cope single-handed.

The man who had occupied this hole, one Dan Cullen, docker, was dying in
hospital.  Yet he had impressed his personality on his miserable
surroundings sufficiently to give an inkling as to what sort of man he
was.  On the walls were cheap pictures of Garibaldi, Engels, Dan Burns,
and other labour leaders, while on the table lay one of Walter Besant's
novels.  He knew his Shakespeare, I was told, and had read history,
sociology, and economics.  And he was self-educated.

On the table, amidst a wonderful disarray, lay a sheet of paper on which
was scrawled: _Mr. Cullen, please return the large white jug and
corkscrew I lent you_--articles loaned, during the first stages of his
sickness, by a woman neighbour, and demanded back in anticipation of his
death.  A large white jug and a corkscrew are far too valuable to a
creature of the Abyss to permit another creature to die in peace.  To the
last, Dan Cullen's soul must be harrowed by the sordidness out of which
it strove vainly to rise.

It is a brief little story, the story of Dan Cullen, but there is much to
read between the lines.  He was born lowly, in a city and land where the
lines of caste are tightly drawn.  All his days he toiled hard with his
body; and because he had opened the books, and been caught up by the
fires of the spirit, and could "write a letter like a lawyer," he had
been selected by his fellows to toil hard for them with his brain.  He
became a leader of the fruit-porters, represented the dockers on the
London Trades Council, and wrote trenchant articles for the labour
journals.

He did not cringe to other men, even though they were his economic
masters, and controlled the means whereby he lived, and he spoke his mind
freely, and fought the good fight.  In the "Great Dock Strike" he was
guilty of taking a leading part.  And that was the end of Dan Cullen.
From that day he was a marked man, and every day, for ten years and more,
he was "paid off" for what he had done.

A docker is a casual labourer.  Work ebbs and flows, and he works or does
not work according to the amount of goods on hand to be moved.  Dan
Cullen was discriminated against.  While he was not absolutely turned
away (which would have caused trouble, and which would certainly have
been more merciful), he was called in by the foreman to do not more than
two or three days' work per week.  This is what is called being
"disciplined," or "drilled."  It means being starved.  There is no
politer word.  Ten years of it broke his heart, and broken-hearted men
cannot live.

He took to his bed in his terrible den, which grew more terrible with his
helplessness.  He was without kith or kin, a lonely old man, embittered
and pessimistic, fighting vermin the while and looking at Garibaldi,
Engels, and Dan Burns gazing down at him from the blood-bespattered
walls.  No one came to see him in that crowded municipal barracks (he had
made friends with none of them), and he was left to rot.

But from the far reaches of the East End came a cobbler and his son, his
sole friends.  They cleansed his room, brought fresh linen from home, and
took from off his limbs the sheets, greyish-black with dirt.  And they
brought to him one of the Queen's Bounty nurses from Aldgate.

She washed his face, shook up his conch, and talked with him.  It was
interesting to talk with him--until he learned her name.  Oh, yes, Blank
was her name, she replied innocently, and Sir George Blank was her
brother.  Sir George Blank, eh? thundered old Dan Cullen on his death-
bed; Sir George Blank, solicitor to the docks at Cardiff, who, more than
any other man, had broken up the Dockers' Union of Cardiff, and was
knighted?  And she was his sister?  Thereupon Dan Cullen sat up on his
crazy couch and pronounced anathema upon her and all her breed; and she
fled, to return no more, strongly impressed with the ungratefulness of
the poor.

Dan Cullen's feet became swollen with dropsy.  He sat up all day on the
side of the bed (to keep the water out of his body), no mat on the floor,
a thin blanket on his legs, and an old coat around his shoulders.  A
missionary brought him a pair of paper slippers, worth fourpence (I saw
them), and proceeded to offer up fifty prayers or so for the good of Dan
Cullen's soul.  But Dan Cullen was the sort of man that wanted his soul
left alone.  He did not care to have Tom, Dick, or Harry, on the strength
of fourpenny slippers, tampering with it.  He asked the missionary kindly
to open the window, so that he might toss the slippers out.  And the
missionary went away, to return no more, likewise impressed with the
ungratefulness of the poor.

The cobbler, a brave old hero himself, though unaneled and unsung, went
privily to the head office of the big fruit brokers for whom Dan Cullen
had worked as a casual labourer for thirty years.  Their system was such
that the work was almost entirely done by casual hands.  The cobbler told
them the man's desperate plight, old, broken, dying, without help or
money, reminded them that he had worked for them thirty years, and asked
them to do something for him.

"Oh," said the manager, remembering Dan Cullen without having to refer to
the books, "you see, we make it a rule never to help casuals, and we can
do nothing."

Nor did they do anything, not even sign a letter asking for Dan Cullen's
admission to a hospital.  And it is not so easy to get into a hospital in
London Town.  At Hampstead, if he passed the doctors, at least four
months would elapse before he could get in, there were so many on the
books ahead of him.  The cobbler finally got him into the Whitechapel
Infirmary, where he visited him frequently.  Here he found that Dan
Cullen had succumbed to the prevalent feeling, that, being hopeless, they
were hurrying him out of the way.  A fair and logical conclusion, one
must agree, for an old and broken man to arrive at, who has been
resolutely "disciplined" and "drilled" for ten years.  When they sweated
him for Bright's disease to remove the fat from the kidneys, Dan Cullen
contended that the sweating was hastening his death; while Bright's
disease, being a wasting away of the kidneys, there was therefore no fat
to remove, and the doctor's excuse was a palpable lie.  Whereupon the
doctor became wroth, and did not come near him for nine days.

Then his bed was tilted up so that his feet and legs were elevated.  At
once dropsy appeared in the body, and Dan Cullen contended that the thing
was done in order to run the water down into his body from his legs and
kill him more quickly.  He demanded his discharge, though they told him
he would die on the stairs, and dragged himself, more dead than alive, to
the cobbler's shop.  At the moment of writing this, he is dying at the
Temperance Hospital, into which place his staunch friend, the cobbler,
moved heaven and earth to have him admitted.

Poor Dan Cullen!  A Jude the Obscure, who reached out after knowledge;
who toiled with his body in the day and studied in the watches of the
night; who dreamed his dream and struck valiantly for the Cause; a
patriot, a lover of human freedom, and a fighter unafraid; and in the
end, not gigantic enough to beat down the conditions which baffled and
stifled him, a cynic and a pessimist, gasping his final agony on a
pauper's couch in a charity ward,--"For a man to die who might have been
wise and was not, this I call a tragedy."




CHAPTER XIV--HOPS AND HOPPERS


So far has the divorcement of the worker from the soil proceeded, that
the farming districts, the civilised world over, are dependent upon the
cities for the gathering of the harvests.  Then it is, when the land is
spilling its ripe wealth to waste, that the street folk, who have been
driven away from the soil, are called back to it again.  But in England
they return, not as prodigals, but as outcasts still, as vagrants and
pariahs, to be doubted and flouted by their country brethren, to sleep in
jails and casual wards, or under the hedges, and to live the Lord knows
how.

It is estimated that Kent alone requires eighty thousand of the street
people to pick her hops.  And out they come, obedient to the call, which
is the call of their bellies and of the lingering dregs of adventure-lust
still in them.  Slum, stews, and ghetto pour them forth, and the
festering contents of slum, stews, and ghetto are undiminished.  Yet they
overrun the country like an army of ghouls, and the country does not want
them.  They are out of place.  As they drag their squat, misshapen bodies
along the highways and byways, they resemble some vile spawn from
underground.  Their very presence, the fact of their existence, is an
outrage to the fresh, bright sun and the green and growing things.  The
clean, upstanding trees cry shame upon them and their withered
crookedness, and their rottenness is a slimy desecration of the sweetness
and purity of nature.

Is the picture overdrawn?  It all depends.  For one who sees and thinks
life in terms of shares and coupons, it is certainly overdrawn.  But for
one who sees and thinks life in terms of manhood and womanhood, it cannot
be overdrawn.  Such hordes of beastly wretchedness and inarticulate
misery are no compensation for a millionaire brewer who lives in a West
End palace, sates himself with the sensuous delights of London's golden
theatres, hobnobs with lordlings and princelings, and is knighted by the
king.  Wins his spurs--God forbid!  In old time the great blonde beasts
rode in the battle's van and won their spurs by cleaving men from pate to
chine.  And, after all, it is finer to kill a strong man with a clean-
slicing blow of singing steel than to make a beast of him, and of his
seed through the generations, by the artful and spidery manipulation of
industry and politics.

But to return to the hops.  Here the divorcement from the soil is as
apparent as in every other agricultural line in England.  While the
manufacture of beer steadily increases, the growth of hops steadily
decreases.  In 1835 the acreage under hops was 71,327.  To-day it stands
at 48,024, a decrease of 3103 from the acreage of last year.

Small as the acreage is this year, a poor summer and terrible storms
reduced the yield.  This misfortune is divided between the people who own
hops and the people who pick hops.  The owners perforce must put up with
less of the nicer things of life, the pickers with less grub, of which,
in the best of times, they never get enough.  For weary weeks headlines
like the following have appeared in the London papers.-

   TRAMPS PLENTIFUL, BUT THE HOPS ARE FEW AND NOT YET READY.

Then there have been numberless paragraphs like this:-

   From the neighbourhood of the hop fields comes news of a distressing
   nature.  The bright outburst of the last two days has sent many
   hundreds of hoppers into Kent, who will have to wait till the fields
   are ready for them.  At Dover the number of vagrants in the workhouse
   is treble the number there last year at this time, and in other towns
   the lateness of the season is responsible for a large increase in the
   number of casuals.

To cap their wretchedness, when at last the picking had begun, hops and
hoppers were well-nigh swept away by a frightful storm of wind, rain, and
hail.  The hops were stripped clean from the poles and pounded into the
earth, while the hoppers, seeking shelter from the stinging hail, were
close to drowning in their huts and camps on the low-lying ground.  Their
condition after the storm was pitiable, their state of vagrancy more
pronounced than ever; for, poor crop that it was, its destruction had
taken away the chance of earning a few pennies, and nothing remained for
thousands of them but to "pad the hoof" back to London.

"We ayn't crossin'-sweepers," they said, turning away from the ground,
carpeted ankle-deep with hops.

Those that remained grumbled savagely among the half-stripped poles at
the seven bushels for a shilling--a rate paid in good seasons when the
hops are in prime condition, and a rate likewise paid in bad seasons by
the growers because they cannot afford more.

I passed through Teston and East and West Farleigh shortly after the
storm, and listened to the grumbling of the hoppers and saw the hops
rotting on the ground.  At the hothouses of Barham Court, thirty thousand
panes of glass had been broken by the hail, while peaches, plums, pears,
apples, rhubarb, cabbages, mangolds, everything, had been pounded to
pieces and torn to shreds.

All of which was too bad for the owners, certainly; but at the worst, not
one of them, for one meal, would have to go short of food or drink.  Yet
it was to them that the newspapers devoted columns of sympathy, their
pecuniary losses being detailed at harrowing length.  "Mr. Herbert L---
calculates his loss at 8000 pounds;" "Mr. F---, of brewery fame, who
rents all the land in this parish, loses 10,000 pounds;" and "Mr. L---,
the Wateringbury brewer, brother to Mr. Herbert L---, is another heavy
loser."  As for the hoppers, they did not count.  Yet I venture to assert
that the several almost-square meals lost by underfed William Buggles,
and underfed Mrs. Buggles, and the underfed Buggles kiddies, was a
greater tragedy than the 10,000 pounds lost by Mr. F---.  And in
addition, underfed William Buggles' tragedy might be multiplied by
thousands where Mr. F---'s could not be multiplied by five.

To see how William Buggles and his kind fared, I donned my seafaring togs
and started out to get a job.  With me was a young East London cobbler,
Bert, who had yielded to the lure of adventure and joined me for the
trip.  Acting on my advice, he had brought his "worst rags," and as we
hiked up the London road out of Maidstone he was worrying greatly for
fear we had come too ill-dressed for the business.

Nor was he to be blamed.  When we stopped in a tavern the publican eyed
us gingerly, nor did his demeanour brighten till we showed him the colour
of our cash.  The natives along the coast were all dubious; and "bean-
feasters" from London, dashing past in coaches, cheered and jeered and
shouted insulting things after us.  But before we were done with the
Maidstone district my friend found that we were as well clad, if not
better, than the average hopper.  Some of the bunches of rags we chanced
upon were marvellous.

"The tide is out," called a gypsy-looking woman to her mates, as we came
up a long row of bins into which the pickers were stripping the hops.

"Do you twig?" Bert whispered.  "She's on to you."

I twigged.  And it must be confessed the figure was an apt one.  When the
tide is out boats are left on the beach and do not sail, and a sailor,
when the tide is out, does not sail either.  My seafaring togs and my
presence in the hop field proclaimed that I was a seaman without a ship,
a man on the beach, and very like a craft at low water.

"Can yer give us a job, governor?" Bert asked the bailiff, a kindly faced
and elderly man who was very busy.

His "No" was decisively uttered; but Bert clung on and followed him
about, and I followed after, pretty well all over the field.  Whether our
persistency struck the bailiff as anxiety to work, or whether he was
affected by our hard-luck appearance and tale, neither Bert nor I
succeeded in making out; but in the end he softened his heart and found
us the one unoccupied bin in the place--a bin deserted by two other men,
from what I could learn, because of inability to make living wages.

"No bad conduct, mind ye," warned the bailiff, as he left us at work in
the midst of the women.

It was Saturday afternoon, and we knew quitting time would come early; so
we applied ourselves earnestly to the task, desiring to learn if we could
at least make our salt.  It was simple work, woman's work, in fact, and
not man's.  We sat on the edge of the bin, between the standing hops,
while a pole-puller supplied us with great fragrant branches.  In an
hour's time we became as expert as it is possible to become.  As soon as
the fingers became accustomed automatically to differentiate between hops
and leaves and to strip half-a-dozen blossoms at a time there was no more
to learn.

We worked nimbly, and as fast as the women themselves, though their bins
filled more rapidly because of their swarming children, each of which
picked with two hands almost as fast as we picked.

"Don'tcher pick too clean, it's against the rules," one of the women
informed us; and we took the tip and were grateful.

As the afternoon wore along, we realised that living wages could not be
made--by men.  Women could pick as much as men, and children could do
almost as well as women; so it was impossible for a man to compete with a
woman and half-a-dozen children.  For it is the woman and the half-dozen
children who count as a unit, and by their combined capacity determine
the unit's pay.

"I say, matey, I'm beastly hungry," said I to Bert.  We had not had any
dinner.

"Blimey, but I could eat the 'ops," he replied.

Whereupon we both lamented our negligence in not rearing up a numerous
progeny to help us in this day of need.  And in such fashion we whiled
away the time and talked for the edification of our neighbours.  We quite
won the sympathy of the pole-puller, a young country yokel, who now and
again emptied a few picked blossoms into our bin, it being part of his
business to gather up the stray clusters torn off in the process of
pulling.

With him we discussed how much we could "sub," and were informed that
while we were being paid a shilling for seven bushels, we could only
"sub," or have advanced to us, a shilling for every twelve bushels.  Which
is to say that the pay for five out of every twelve bushels was
withheld--a method of the grower to hold the hopper to his work whether
the crop runs good or bad, and especially if it runs bad.

After all, it was pleasant sitting there in the bright sunshine, the
golden pollen showering from our hands, the pungent aromatic odour of the
hops biting our nostrils, and the while remembering dimly the sounding
cities whence these people came.  Poor street people!  Poor gutter folk!
Even they grow earth-hungry, and yearn vaguely for the soil from which
they have been driven, and for the free life in the open, and the wind
and rain and sun all undefiled by city smirches.  As the sea calls to the
sailor, so calls the land to them; and, deep down in their aborted and
decaying carcasses, they are stirred strangely by the peasant memories of
their forbears who lived before cities were.  And in incomprehensible
ways they are made glad by the earth smells and sights and sounds which
their blood has not forgotten though unremembered by them.

"No more 'ops, matey," Bert complained.

It was five o'clock, and the pole-pullers had knocked off, so that
everything could be cleaned up, there being no work on Sunday.  For an
hour we were forced idly to wait the coming of the measurers, our feet
tingling with the frost which came on the heels of the setting sun.  In
the adjoining bin, two women and half-a-dozen children had picked nine
bushels: so that the five bushels the measurers found in our bin
demonstrated that we had done equally well, for the half-dozen children
had ranged from nine to fourteen years of age.

Five bushels!  We worked it out to eight-pence ha'penny, or seventeen
cents, for two men working three hours and a half.  Fourpence farthing
apiece! a little over a penny an hour!  But we were allowed only to "sub"
fivepence of the total sum, though the tally-keeper, short of change,
gave us sixpence.  Entreaty was in vain.  A hard-luck story could not
move him.  He proclaimed loudly that we had received a penny more than
our due, and went his way.

Granting, for the sake of the argument, that we were what we represented
ourselves to be--namely, poor men and broke--then here was out position:
night was coming on; we had had no supper, much less dinner; and we
possessed sixpence between us.  I was hungry enough to eat three
sixpenn'orths of food, and so was Bert.  One thing was patent.  By doing
16.3 per cent. justice to our stomachs, we would expend the sixpence, and
our stomachs would still be gnawing under 83.3 per cent. injustice.  Being
broke again, we could sleep under a hedge, which was not so bad, though
the cold would sap an undue portion of what we had eaten.  But the morrow
was Sunday, on which we could do no work, though our silly stomachs would
not knock off on that account.  Here, then, was the problem: how to get
three meals on Sunday, and two on Monday (for we could not make another
"sub" till Monday evening).

We knew that the casual wards were overcrowded; also, that if we begged
from farmer or villager, there was a large likelihood of our going to
jail for fourteen days.  What was to be done?  We looked at each other in
despair--

--Not a bit of it.  We joyfully thanked God that we were not as other
men, especially hoppers, and went down the road to Maidstone, jingling in
our pockets the half-crowns and florins we had brought from London.




CHAPTER XV--THE SEA WIFE


You might not expect to find the Sea Wife in the heart of Kent, but that
is where I found her, in a mean street, in the poor quarter of Maidstone.
In her window she had no sign of lodgings to let, and persuasion was
necessary before she could bring herself to let me sleep in her front
room.  In the evening I descended to the semi-subterranean kitchen, and
talked with her and her old man, Thomas Mugridge by name.

And as I talked to them, all the subtleties and complexities of this
tremendous machine civilisation vanished away.  It seemed that I went
down through the skin and the flesh to the naked soul of it, and in
Thomas Mugridge and his old woman gripped hold of the essence of this
remarkable English breed.  I found there the spirit of the wanderlust
which has lured Albion's sons across the zones; and I found there the
colossal unreckoning which has tricked the English into foolish
squabblings and preposterous fights, and the doggedness and stubbornness
which have brought them blindly through to empire and greatness; and
likewise I found that vast, incomprehensible patience which has enabled
the home population to endure under the burden of it all, to toil without
complaint through the weary years, and docilely to yield the best of its
sons to fight and colonise to the ends of the earth.

Thomas Mugridge was seventy-one years old and a little man.  It was
because he was little that he had not gone for a soldier.  He had
remained at home and worked.  His first recollections were connected with
work.  He knew nothing else but work.  He had worked all his days, and at
seventy-one he still worked.  Each morning saw him up with the lark and
afield, a day labourer, for as such he had been born.  Mrs. Mugridge was
seventy-three.  From seven years of age she had worked in the fields,
doing a boy's work at first, and later a man's.  She still worked,
keeping the house shining, washing, boiling, and baking, and, with my
advent, cooking for me and shaming me by making my bed.  At the end of
threescore years and more of work they possessed nothing, had nothing to
look forward to save more work.  And they were contented.  They expected
nothing else, desired nothing else.

They lived simply.  Their wants were few--a pint of beer at the end of
the day, sipped in the semi-subterranean kitchen, a weekly paper to pore
over for seven nights hand-running, and conversation as meditative and
vacant as the chewing of a heifer's cud.  From a wood engraving on the
wall a slender, angelic girl looked down upon them, and underneath was
the legend: "Our Future Queen."  And from a highly coloured lithograph
alongside looked down a stout and elderly lady, with underneath: "Our
Queen--Diamond Jubilee."

"What you earn is sweetest," quoth Mrs. Mugridge, when I suggested that
it was about time they took a rest.

"No, an' we don't want help," said Thomas Mugridge, in reply to my
question as to whether the children lent them a hand.

"We'll work till we dry up and blow away, mother an' me," he added; and
Mrs. Mugridge nodded her head in vigorous indorsement.

Fifteen children she had borne, and all were away and gone, or dead.  The
"baby," however, lived in Maidstone, and she was twenty-seven.  When the
children married they had their hands full with their own families and
troubles, like their fathers and mothers before them.

Where were the children?  Ah, where were they not?  Lizzie was in
Australia; Mary was in Buenos Ayres; Poll was in New York; Joe had died
in India--and so they called them up, the living and the dead, soldier
and sailor, and colonist's wife, for the traveller's sake who sat in
their kitchen.

They passed me a photograph.  A trim young fellow, in soldier's garb
looked out at me.

"And which son is this?" I asked.

They laughed a hearty chorus.  Son!  Nay, grandson, just back from Indian
service and a soldier-trumpeter to the King.  His brother was in the same
regiment with him.  And so it ran, sons and daughters, and grand sons and
daughters, world-wanderers and empire-builders, all of them, while the
old folks stayed at home and worked at building empire too.

   "There dwells a wife by the Northern Gate,
      And a wealthy wife is she;
   She breeds a breed o' rovin' men
      And casts them over sea.

   "And some are drowned in deep water,
      And some in sight of shore;
   And word goes back to the weary wife,
      And ever she sends more."

But the Sea Wife's child-bearing is about done.  The stock is running
out, and the planet is filling up.  The wives of her sons may carry on
the breed, but her work is past.  The erstwhile men of England are now
the men of Australia, of Africa, of America.  England has sent forth "the
best she breeds" for so long, and has destroyed those that remained so
fiercely, that little remains for her to do but to sit down through the
long nights and gaze at royalty on the wall.

The true British merchant seaman has passed away.  The merchant service
is no longer a recruiting ground for such sea dogs as fought with Nelson
at Trafalgar and the Nile.  Foreigners largely man the merchant ships,
though Englishmen still continue to officer them and to prefer foreigners
for'ard.  In South Africa the colonial teaches the islander how to shoot,
and the officers muddle and blunder; while at home the street people play
hysterically at mafficking, and the War Office lowers the stature for
enlistment.

It could not be otherwise.  The most complacent Britisher cannot hope to
draw off the life-blood, and underfeed, and keep it up forever.  The
average Mrs. Thomas Mugridge has been driven into the city, and she is
not breeding very much of anything save an anaemic and sickly progeny
which cannot find enough to eat.  The strength of the English-speaking
race to-day is not in the tight little island, but in the New World
overseas, where are the sons and daughters of Mrs. Thomas Mugridge.  The
Sea Wife by the Northern Gate has just about done her work in the world,
though she does not realize it.  She must sit down and rest her tired
loins for a space; and if the casual ward and the workhouse do not await
her, it is because of the sons and daughters she has reared up against
the day of her feebleness and decay.




CHAPTER XVI--PROPERTY VERSUS PERSON


In a civilisation frankly materialistic and based upon property, not
soul, it is inevitable that property shall be exalted over soul, that
crimes against property shall be considered far more serious than crimes
against the person.  To pound one's wife to a jelly and break a few of
her ribs is a trivial offence compared with sleeping out under the naked
stars because one has not the price of a doss.  The lad who steals a few
pears from a wealthy railway corporation is a greater menace to society
than the young brute who commits an unprovoked assault upon an old man
over seventy years of age.  While the young girl who takes a lodging
under the pretence that she has work commits so dangerous an offence,
that, were she not severely punished, she and her kind might bring the
whole fabric of property clattering to the ground.  Had she unholily
tramped Piccadilly and the Strand after midnight, the police would not
have interfered with her, and she would have been able to pay for her
lodging.

The following illustrative cases are culled from the police-court reports
for a single week:-

   Widnes Police Court.  Before Aldermen Gossage and Neil.  Thomas Lynch,
   charged with being drunk and disorderly and with assaulting a
   constable.  Defendant rescued a woman from custody, kicked the
   constable, and threw stones at him.  Fined 3s. 6d. for the first
   offence, and 10s. and costs for the assault.

   Glasgow Queen's Park Police Court.  Before Baillie Norman Thompson.
   John Kane pleaded guilty to assaulting his wife.  There were five
   previous convictions.  Fined 2 pounds, 2s.

   Taunton County Petty Sessions.  John Painter, a big, burly fellow,
   described as a labourer, charged with assaulting his wife.  The woman
   received two severe black eyes, and her face was badly swollen.  Fined
   1 pound, 8s., including costs, and bound over to keep the peace.

   Widnes Police Court.  Richard Bestwick and George Hunt, charged with
   trespassing in search of game.  Hunt fined 1 pound and costs, Bestwick
   2 pounds and costs; in default, one month.

   Shaftesbury Police Court.  Before the Mayor (Mr. A. T. Carpenter).
   Thomas Baker, charged with sleeping out.  Fourteen days.

   Glasgow Central Police Court.  Before Bailie Dunlop.  Edward Morrison,
   a lad, convicted of stealing fifteen pears from a lorry at the
   railroad station.  Seven days.

   Doncaster Borough Police Court.  Before Alderman Clark and other
   magistrates.  James M'Gowan, charged under the Poaching Prevention Act
   with being found in possession of poaching implements and a number of
   rabbits.  Fined 2 pounds and costs, or one month.

   Dunfermline Sheriff Court.  Before Sheriff Gillespie.  John Young, a
   pit-head worker, pleaded guilty to assaulting Alexander Storrar by
   beating him about the head and body with his fists, throwing him on
   the ground, and also striking him with a pit prop.  Fined 1 pound.

   Kirkcaldy Police Court.  Before Bailie Dishart.  Simon Walker pleaded
   guilty to assaulting a man by striking and knocking him down.  It was
   an unprovoked assault, and the magistrate described the accused as a
   perfect danger to the community.  Fined 30s.

   Mansfield Police Court.  Before the Mayor, Messrs. F. J. Turner, J.
   Whitaker, F. Tidsbury, E. Holmes, and Dr. R. Nesbitt.  Joseph Jackson,
   charged with assaulting Charles Nunn.  Without any provocation,
   defendant struck the complainant a violent blow in the face, knocking
   him down, and then kicked him on the side of the head.  He was
   rendered unconscious, and he remained under medical treatment for a
   fortnight.  Fined 21s.

   Perth Sheriff Court.  Before Sheriff Sym.  David Mitchell, charged
   with poaching.  There were two previous convictions, the last being
   three years ago.  The sheriff was asked to deal leniently with
   Mitchell, who was sixty-two years of age, and who offered no
   resistance to the gamekeeper.  Four months.

   Dundee Sheriff Court.  Before Hon. Sheriff-Substitute R. C. Walker.
   John Murray, Donald Craig, and James Parkes, charged with poaching.
   Craig and Parkes fined 1 pound each or fourteen days; Murray, 5 pounds
   or one month.

   Reading Borough Police Court.  Before Messrs. W. B. Monck, F. B.
   Parfitt, H. M. Wallis, and G. Gillagan.  Alfred Masters, aged sixteen,
   charged with sleeping out on a waste piece of ground and having no
   visible means of subsistence.  Seven days.

   Salisbury City Petty Sessions.  Before the Mayor, Messrs. C. Hoskins,
   G. Fullford, E. Alexander, and W. Marlow.  James Moore, charged with
   stealing a pair of boots from outside a shop.  Twenty-one days.

   Horncastle Police Court.  Before the Rev. W. F. Massingberd, the Rev.
   J. Graham, and Mr. N. Lucas Calcraft.  George Brackenbury, a young
   labourer, convicted of what the magistrates characterised as an
   altogether unprovoked and brutal assault upon James Sargeant Foster, a
   man over seventy years of age.  Fined 1 pound and 5s. 6d. costs.

   Worksop Petty Sessions.  Before Messrs. F. J. S. Foljambe, R. Eddison,
   and S. Smith.  John Priestley, charged with assaulting the Rev. Leslie
   Graham.  Defendant, who was drunk, was wheeling a perambulator and
   pushed it in front of a lorry, with the result that the perambulator
   was overturned and the baby in it thrown out.  The lorry passed over
   the perambulator, but the baby was uninjured.  Defendant then attacked
   the driver of the lorry, and afterwards assaulted the complainant, who
   remonstrated with him upon his conduct.  In consequence of the
   injuries defendant inflicted, complainant had to consult a doctor.
   Fined 40s. and costs.

   Rotherham West Riding Police Court.  Before Messrs. C. Wright and G.
   Pugh and Colonel Stoddart.  Benjamin Storey, Thomas Brammer, and
   Samuel Wilcock, charged with poaching.  One month each.

   Southampton County Police Court.  Before Admiral J. C. Rowley, Mr. H.
   H. Culme-Seymour, and other magistrates.  Henry Thorrington, charged
   with sleeping out.  Seven days.

   Eckington Police Court.  Before Major L. B. Bowden, Messrs. R. Eyre,
   and H. A. Fowler, and Dr. Court.  Joseph Watts, charged with stealing
   nine ferns from a garden.  One month.

   Ripley Petty Sessions.  Before Messrs. J. B. Wheeler, W. D. Bembridge,
   and M. Hooper.  Vincent Allen and George Hall, charged under the
   Poaching Prevention Act with being found in possession of a number of
   rabbits, and John Sparham, charged with aiding and abetting them.  Hall
   and Sparham fined 1 pound, 17s. 4d., and Allen 2 pounds, 17s. 4d.,
   including costs; the former committed for fourteen days and the latter
   for one month in default of payment.

   South-western Police Court, London.  Before Mr. Rose.  John Probyn,
   charged with doing grievous bodily harm to a constable.  Prisoner had
   been kicking his wife, and also assaulting another woman who protested
   against his brutality.  The constable tried to persuade him to go
   inside his house, but prisoner suddenly turned upon him, knocking him
   down by a blow on the face, kicking him as he lay on the ground, and
   attempting to strangle him.  Finally the prisoner deliberately kicked
   the officer in a dangerous part, inflicting an injury which will keep
   him off duty for a long time to come.  Six weeks.

   Lambeth Police Court, London.  Before Mr. Hopkins.  "Baby" Stuart,
   aged nineteen, described as a chorus girl, charged with obtaining food
   and lodging to the value of 5s. by false pretences, and with intent to
   defraud Emma Brasier.  Emma Brasier, complainant, lodging-house keeper
   of Atwell Road.  Prisoner took apartments at her house on the
   representation that she was employed at the Crown Theatre.  After
   prisoner had been in her house two or three days, Mrs. Brasier made
   inquiries, and, finding the girl's story untrue, gave her into
   custody.  Prisoner told the magistrate that she would have worked had
   she not had such bad health.  Six weeks' hard labour.




CHAPTER XVII--INEFFICIENCY


I stopped a moment to listen to an argument on the Mile End Waste.  It
was night-time, and they were all workmen of the better class.  They had
surrounded one of their number, a pleasant-faced man of thirty, and were
giving it to him rather heatedly.

"But 'ow about this 'ere cheap immigration?" one of them demanded.  "The
Jews of Whitechapel, say, a-cutting our throats right along?"

"You can't blame them," was the answer.  "They're just like us, and
they've got to live.  Don't blame the man who offers to work cheaper than
you and gets your job."

"But 'ow about the wife an' kiddies?" his interlocutor demanded.

"There you are," came the answer.  "How about the wife and kiddies of the
man who works cheaper than you and gets your job?  Eh?  How about his
wife and kiddies?  He's more interested in them than in yours, and he
can't see them starve.  So he cuts the price of labour and out you go.
But you mustn't blame him, poor devil.  He can't help it.  Wages always
come down when two men are after the same job.  That's the fault of
competition, not of the man who cuts the price."

"But wyges don't come down where there's a union," the objection was
made.

"And there you are again, right on the head.  The union cheeks
competition among the labourers, but makes it harder where there are no
unions.  There's where your cheap labour of Whitechapel comes in.  They're
unskilled, and have no unions, and cut each other's throats, and ours in
the bargain, if we don't belong to a strong union."

Without going further into the argument, this man on the Mile End Waste
pointed the moral that when two men were after the one job wages were
bound to fall.  Had he gone deeper into the matter, he would have found
that even the union, say twenty thousand strong, could not hold up wages
if twenty thousand idle men were trying to displace the union men.  This
is admirably instanced, just now, by the return and disbandment of the
soldiers from South Africa.  They find themselves, by tens of thousands,
in desperate straits in the army of the unemployed.  There is a general
decline in wages throughout the land, which, giving rise to labour
disputes and strikes, is taken advantage of by the unemployed, who gladly
pick up the tools thrown down by the strikers.

Sweating, starvation wages, armies of unemployed, and great numbers of
the homeless and shelterless are inevitable when there are more men to do
work than there is work for men to do.  The men and women I have met upon
the streets, and in the spikes and pegs, are not there because as a mode
of life it may be considered a "soft snap."  I have sufficiently outlined
the hardships they undergo to demonstrate that their existence is
anything but "soft."

It is a matter of sober calculation, here in England, that it is softer
to work for twenty shillings a week, and have regular food, and a bed at
night, than it is to walk the streets.  The man who walks the streets
suffers more, and works harder, for far less return.  I have depicted the
nights they spend, and how, driven in by physical exhaustion, they go to
the casual ward for a "rest up."  Nor is the casual ward a soft snap.  To
pick four pounds of oakum, break twelve hundredweight of stones, or
perform the most revolting tasks, in return for the miserable food and
shelter they receive, is an unqualified extravagance on the part of the
men who are guilty of it.  On the part of the authorities it is sheer
robbery.  They give the men far less for their labour than do the
capitalistic employers.  The wage for the same amount of labour,
performed for a private employer, would buy them better beds, better
food, more good cheer, and, above all, greater freedom.

As I say, it is an extravagance for a man to patronise a casual ward.  And
that they know it themselves is shown by the way these men shun it till
driven in by physical exhaustion.  Then why do they do it?  Not because
they are discouraged workers.  The very opposite is true; they are
discouraged vagabonds.  In the United States the tramp is almost
invariably a discouraged worker.  He finds tramping a softer mode of life
than working.  But this is not true in England.  Here the powers that be
do their utmost to discourage the tramp and vagabond, and he is, in all
truth, a mightily discouraged creature.  He knows that two shillings a
day, which is only fifty cents, will buy him three fair meals, a bed at
night, and leave him a couple of pennies for pocket money.  He would
rather work for those two shillings than for the charity of the casual
ward; for he knows that he would not have to work so hard, and that he
would not be so abominably treated.  He does not do so, however, because
there are more men to do work than there is work for men to do.

When there are more men than there is work to be done, a sifting-out
process must obtain.  In every branch of industry the less efficient are
crowded out.  Being crowded out because of inefficiency, they cannot go
up, but must descend, and continue to descend, until they reach their
proper level, a place in the industrial fabric where they are efficient.
It follows, therefore, and it is inexorable, that the least efficient
must descend to the very bottom, which is the shambles wherein they
perish miserably.

A glance at the confirmed inefficients at the bottom demonstrates that
they are, as a rule, mental, physical, and moral wrecks.  The exceptions
to the rule are the late arrivals, who are merely very inefficient, and
upon whom the wrecking process is just beginning to operate.  All the
forces here, it must be remembered, are destructive.  The good body
(which is there because its brain is not quick and capable) is speedily
wrenched and twisted out of shape; the clean mind (which is there because
of its weak body) is speedily fouled and contaminated.

The mortality is excessive, but, even then, they die far too lingering
deaths.

Here, then, we have the construction of the Abyss and the shambles.
Throughout the whole industrial fabric a constant elimination is going
on.  The inefficient are weeded out and flung downward.  Various things
constitute inefficiency.  The engineer who is irregular or irresponsible
will sink down until he finds his place, say as a casual labourer, an
occupation irregular in its very nature and in which there is little or
no responsibility.  Those who are slow and clumsy, who suffer from
weakness of body or mind, or who lack nervous, mental, and physical
stamina, must sink down, sometimes rapidly, sometimes step by step, to
the bottom.  Accident, by disabling an efficient worker, will make him
inefficient, and down he must go.  And the worker who becomes aged, with
failing energy and numbing brain, must begin the frightful descent which
knows no stopping-place short of the bottom and death.

In this last instance, the statistics of London tell a terrible tale.  The
population of London is one-seventh of the total population of the United
Kingdom, and in London, year in and year out, one adult in every four
dies on public charity, either in the workhouse, the hospital, or the
asylum.  When the fact that the well-to-do do not end thus is taken into
consideration, it becomes manifest that it is the fate of at least one in
every three adult workers to die on public charity.

As an illustration of how a good worker may suddenly become inefficient,
and what then happens to him, I am tempted to give the case of M'Garry, a
man thirty-two years of age, and an inmate of the workhouse.  The
extracts are quoted from the annual report of the trade union.

   I worked at Sullivan's place in Widnes, better known as the British
   Alkali Chemical Works.  I was working in a shed, and I had to cross
   the yard.  It was ten o'clock at night, and there was no light about.
   While crossing the yard I felt something take hold of my leg and screw
   it off.  I became unconscious; I didn't know what became of me for a
   day or two.  On the following Sunday night I came to my senses, and
   found myself in the hospital.  I asked the nurse what was to do with
   my legs, and she told me both legs were off.

   There was a stationary crank in the yard, let into the ground; the
   hole was 18 inches long, 15 inches deep, and 15 inches wide.  The
   crank revolved in the hole three revolutions a minute.  There was no
   fence or covering over the hole.  Since my accident they have stopped
   it altogether, and have covered the hole up with a piece of sheet
   iron. . . . They gave me 25 pounds.  They didn't reckon that as
   compensation; they said it was only for charity's sake.  Out of that I
   paid 9 pounds for a machine by which to wheel myself about.

   I was labouring at the time I got my legs off.  I got twenty-four
   shillings a week, rather better pay than the other men, because I used
   to take shifts.  When there was heavy work to be done I used to be
   picked out to do it.  Mr. Manton, the manager, visited me at the
   hospital several times.  When I was getting better, I asked him if he
   would be able to find me a job.  He told me not to trouble myself, as
   the firm was not cold-hearted.  I would be right enough in any case .
   . . Mr. Manton stopped coming to see me; and the last time, he said he
   thought of asking the directors to give me a fifty-pound note, so I
   could go home to my friends in Ireland.

Poor M'Garry!  He received rather better pay than the other men because
he was ambitious and took shifts, and when heavy work was to be done he
was the man picked out to do it.  And then the thing happened, and he
went into the workhouse.  The alternative to the workhouse is to go home
to Ireland and burden his friends for the rest of his life.  Comment is
superfluous.

It must be understood that efficiency is not determined by the workers
themselves, but is determined by the demand for labour.  If three men
seek one position, the most efficient man will get it.  The other two, no
matter how capable they may be, will none the less be inefficients.  If
Germany, Japan, and the United States should capture the entire world
market for iron, coal, and textiles, at once the English workers would be
thrown idle by hundreds of thousands.  Some would emigrate, but the rest
would rush their labour into the remaining industries.  A general shaking
up of the workers from top to bottom would result; and when equilibrium
had been restored, the number of the inefficients at the bottom of the
Abyss would have been increased by hundreds of thousands.  On the other
hand, conditions remaining constant and all the workers doubling their
efficiency, there would still be as many inefficients, though each
inefficient were twice as capable as he had been and more capable than
many of the efficients had previously been.

When there are more men to work than there is work for men to do, just as
many men as are in excess of work will be inefficients, and as
inefficients they are doomed to lingering and painful destruction.  It
shall be the aim of future chapters to show, by their work and manner of
living, not only how the inefficients are weeded out and destroyed, but
to show how inefficients are being constantly and wantonly created by the
forces of industrial society as it exists to-day.




CHAPTER XVIII--WAGES


When I learned that in Lesser London there were 1,292,737 people who
received twenty-one shillings or less a week per family, I became
interested as to how the wages could best be spent in order to maintain
the physical efficiency of such families.  Families of six, seven, eight
or ten being beyond consideration, I have based the following table upon
a family of five--a father, mother, and three children; while I have made
twenty-one shillings equivalent to $5.25, though actually, twenty-one
shillings are equivalent to about $5.11.

Rent       $1.50    or 6/0
Bread       1.00    " 4/0
Meat        O.87.5  " 3/6
Vegetables  O.62.5  " 2/6
Coals       0.25    " 1/0
Tea         0.18    " 0/9
Oil         0.16    " 0/8
Sugar       0.18    " 0/9
Milk        0.12    " 0/6
Soap        0.08    " 0/4
Butter      0.20    " 0/10
Firewood    0.08    " 0/4
Total      $5.25     21/2

An analysis of one item alone will show how little room there is for
waste.  _Bread_, $1: for a family of five, for seven days, one dollar's
worth of bread will give each a daily ration of 2.8 cents; and if they
eat three meals a day, each may consume per meal 9.5 mills' worth of
bread, a little less than one halfpennyworth.  Now bread is the heaviest
item.  They will get less of meat per mouth each meal, and still less of
vegetates; while the smaller items become too microscopic for
consideration.  On the other hand, these food articles are all bought at
small retail, the most expensive and wasteful method of purchasing.

While the table given above will permit no extravagance, no overloading
of stomachs, it will be noticed that there is no surplus.  The whole
guinea is spent for food and rent.  There is no pocket-money left over.
Does the man buy a glass of beer, the family must eat that much less; and
in so far as it eats less, just that far will it impair its physical
efficiency.  The members of this family cannot ride in busses or trams,
cannot write letters, take outings, go to a "tu'penny gaff" for cheap
vaudeville, join social or benefit clubs, nor can they buy sweetmeats,
tobacco, books, or newspapers.

And further, should one child (and there are three) require a pair of
shoes, the family must strike meat for a week from its bill of fare.  And
since there are five pairs of feet requiring shoes, and five heads
requiring hats, and five bodies requiring clothes, and since there are
laws regulating indecency, the family must constantly impair its physical
efficiency in order to keep warm and out of jail.  For notice, when rent,
coals, oil, soap, and firewood are extracted from the weekly income,
there remains a daily allowance for food of 4.5d. to each person; and
that 4.5d. cannot be lessened by buying clothes without impairing the
physical efficiency.

All of which is hard enough.  But the thing happens; the husband and
father breaks his leg or his neck.  No 4.5d. a day per mouth for food is
coming in; no halfpennyworth of bread per meal; and, at the end of the
week, no six shillings for rent.  So out they must go, to the streets or
the workhouse, or to a miserable den, somewhere, in which the mother will
desperately endeavour to hold the family together on the ten shillings
she may possibly be able to earn.

While in London there are 1,292,737 people who receive twenty-one
shillings or less a week per family, it must be remembered that we have
investigated a family of five living on a twenty-one shilling basis.
There are larger families, there are many families that live on less than
twenty-one shillings, and there is much irregular employment.  The
question naturally arises, How do _they_ live?  The answer is that they
do not live.  They do not know what life is.  They drag out a
subterbestial existence until mercifully released by death.

Before descending to the fouler depths, let the case of the telephone
girls be cited.  Here are clean, fresh English maids, for whom a higher
standard of living than that of the beasts is absolutely necessary.
Otherwise they cannot remain clean, fresh English maids.  On entering the
service, a telephone girl receives a weekly wage of eleven shillings.  If
she be quick and clever, she may, at the end of five years, attain a
minimum wage of one pound.  Recently a table of such a girl's weekly
expenditure was furnished to Lord Londonderry.  Here it is:-

                      s.   d.
Rent, fire, and light 7    6
Board at home         3    6
Board at the office   4    6
Street car fare       1    6
Laundry               1    0
Total                18    0

This leaves nothing for clothes, recreation, or sickness.  And yet many
of the girls are receiving, not eighteen shillings, but eleven shillings,
twelve shillings, and fourteen shillings per week.  They must have
clothes and recreation, and--

   Man to Man so oft unjust,
   Is always so to Woman.

At the Trades Union Congress now being held in London, the Gasworkers'
Union moved that instructions be given the Parliamentary Committee to
introduce a Bill to prohibit the employment of children under fifteen
years of age.  Mr. Shackleton, Member of Parliament and a representative
of the Northern Counties Weavers, opposed the resolution on behalf of the
textile workers, who, he said, could not dispense with the earnings of
their children and live on the scale of wages which obtained.  The
representatives of 514,000 workers voted against the resolution, while
the representatives of 535,000 workers voted in favour of it.  When
514,000 workers oppose a resolution prohibiting child-labour under
fifteen, it is evident that a less-than-living wage is being paid to an
immense number of the adult workers of the country.

I have spoken with women in Whitechapel who receive right along less than
one shilling for a twelve-hour day in the coat-making sweat shops; and
with women trousers finishers who receive an average princely and weekly
wage of three to four shillings.

A case recently cropped up of men, in the employ of a wealthy business
house, receiving their board and six shillings per week for six working
days of sixteen hours each.  The sandwich men get fourteenpence per day
and find themselves.  The average weekly earnings of the hawkers and
costermongers are not more than ten to twelve shillings.  The average of
all common labourers, outside the dockers, is less than sixteen shillings
per week, while the dockers average from eight to nine shillings.  These
figures are taken from a royal commission report and are authentic.

Conceive of an old woman, broken and dying, supporting herself and four
children, and paying three shillings per week rent, by making match boxes
at 2.25d. per gross.  Twelve dozen boxes for 2.25d., and, in addition,
finding her own paste and thread!  She never knew a day off, either for
sickness, rest, or recreation.  Each day and every day, Sundays as well,
she toiled fourteen hours.  Her day's stint was seven gross, for which
she received 1s. 3.75d.  In the week of ninety-eight hours' work, she
made 7066 match boxes, and earned 4s. 10.25d., less per paste and thread.

Last year, Mr. Thomas Holmes, a police-court missionary of note, after
writing about the condition of the women workers, received the following
letter, dated April 18, 1901:-

   Sir,--Pardon the liberty I am taking, but, having read what you said
   about poor women working fourteen hours a day for ten shillings per
   week, I beg to state my case.  I am a tie-maker, who, after working
   all the week, cannot earn more than five shillings, and I have a poor
   afflicted husband to keep who hasn't earned a penny for more than ten
   years.

Imagine a woman, capable of writing such a clear, sensible, grammatical
letter, supporting her husband and self on five shillings per week!  Mr.
Holmes visited her.  He had to squeeze to get into the room.  There lay
her sick husband; there she worked all day long; there she cooked, ate,
washed, and slept; and there her husband and she performed all the
functions of living and dying.  There was no space for the missionary to
sit down, save on the bed, which was partially covered with ties and
silk.  The sick man's lungs were in the last stages of decay.  He coughed
and expectorated constantly, the woman ceasing from her work to assist
him in his paroxysms.  The silken fluff from the ties was not good for
his sickness; nor was his sickness good for the ties, and the handlers
and wearers of the ties yet to come.

Another case Mr. Holmes visited was that of a young girl, twelve years of
age, charged in the police court with stealing food.  He found her the
deputy mother of a boy of nine, a crippled boy of seven, and a younger
child.  Her mother was a widow and a blouse-maker.  She paid five
shillings a week rent.  Here are the last items in her housekeeping
account: Tea. 0.5d.; sugar, 0.5d.; bread, 0.25d.; margarine, 1d.; oil,
1.5d.; and firewood, 1d.  Good housewives of the soft and tender folk,
imagine yourselves marketing and keeping house on such a scale, setting a
table for five, and keeping an eye on your deputy mother of twelve to see
that she did not steal food for her little brothers and sisters, the
while you stitched, stitched, stitched at a nightmare line of blouses,
which stretched away into the gloom and down to the pauper's coffin a-
yawn for you.




CHAPTER XIX--THE GHETTO


   Is it well that while we range with Science, glorying in the time,
   City children soak and blacken soul and sense in city slime?
   There among the gloomy alleys Progress halts on palsied feet;
   Crime and hunger cast out maidens by the thousand on the street;

   There the master scrimps his haggard seamstress of her daily bread;
   There the single sordid attic holds the living and the dead;
   There the smouldering fire of fever creeps across the rotted floor,
   And the crowded couch of incest, in the warrens of the poor.

At one time the nations of Europe confined the undesirable Jews in city
ghettos.  But to-day the dominant economic class, by less arbitrary but
none the less rigorous methods, has confined the undesirable yet
necessary workers into ghettos of remarkable meanness and vastness.  East
London is such a ghetto, where the rich and the powerful do not dwell,
and the traveller cometh not, and where two million workers swarm,
procreate, and die.

It must not be supposed that all the workers of London are crowded into
the East End, but the tide is setting strongly in that direction.  The
poor quarters of the city proper are constantly being destroyed, and the
main stream of the unhoused is toward the east.  In the last twelve
years, one district, "London over the Border," as it is called, which
lies well beyond Aldgate, Whitechapel, and Mile End, has increased
260,000, or over sixty per cent.  The churches in this district, by the
way, can seat but one in every thirty-seven of the added population.

The City of Dreadful Monotony, the East End is often called, especially
by well-fed, optimistic sightseers, who look over the surface of things
and are merely shocked by the intolerable sameness and meanness of it
all.  If the East End is worthy of no worse title than The City of
Dreadful Monotony, and if working people are unworthy of variety and
beauty and surprise, it would not be such a bad place in which to live.
But the East End does merit a worse title.  It should be called The City
of Degradation.

While it is not a city of slums, as some people imagine, it may well be
said to be one gigantic slum.  From the standpoint of simple decency and
clean manhood and womanhood, any mean street, of all its mean streets, is
a slum.  Where sights and sounds abound which neither you nor I would
care to have our children see and hear is a place where no man's children
should live, and see, and hear.  Where you and I would not care to have
our wives pass their lives is a place where no other man's wife should
have to pass her life.  For here, in the East End, the obscenities and
brute vulgarities of life are rampant.  There is no privacy.  The bad
corrupts the good, and all fester together.  Innocent childhood is sweet
and beautiful: but in East London innocence is a fleeting thing, and you
must catch them before they crawl out of the cradle, or you will find the
very babes as unholily wise as you.

The application of the Golden Rule determines that East London is an
unfit place in which to live.  Where you would not have your own babe
live, and develop, and gather to itself knowledge of life and the things
of life, is not a fit place for the babes of other men to live, and
develop, and gather to themselves knowledge of life and the things of
life.  It is a simple thing, this Golden Rule, and all that is required.
Political economy and the survival of the fittest can go hang if they say
otherwise.  What is not good enough for you is not good enough for other
men, and there's no more to be said.

There are 300,000 people in London, divided into families, that live in
one-room tenements.  Far, far more live in two and three rooms and are as
badly crowded, regardless of sex, as those that live in one room.  The
law demands 400 cubic feet of space for each person.  In army barracks
each soldier is allowed 600 cubic feet.  Professor Huxley, at one time
himself a medical officer in East London, always held that each person
should have 800 cubic feet of space, and that it should be well
ventilated with pure air.  Yet in London there are 900,000 people living
in less than the 400 cubic feet prescribed by the law.

Mr. Charles Booth, who engaged in a systematic work of years in charting
and classifying the toiling city population, estimates that there are
1,800,000 people in London who are _poor_ and _very poor_.  It is of
interest to mark what he terms poor.  By _poor_ he means families which
have a total weekly income of from eighteen to twenty-one shillings.  The
_very poor_ fall greatly below this standard.

The workers, as a class, are being more and more segregated by their
economic masters; and this process, with its jamming and overcrowding,
tends not so much toward immorality as unmorality.  Here is an extract
from a recent meeting of the London County Council, terse and bald, but
with a wealth of horror to be read between the lines:-

   Mr. Bruce asked the Chairman of the Public Health Committee whether
   his attention had been called to a number of cases of serious
   overcrowding in the East End.  In St. Georges-in-the-East a man and
   his wife and their family of eight occupied one small room.  This
   family consisted of five daughters, aged twenty, seventeen, eight,
   four, and an infant; and three sons, aged fifteen, thirteen, and
   twelve.  In Whitechapel a man and his wife and their three daughters,
   aged sixteen, eight, and four, and two sons, aged ten and twelve
   years, occupied a smaller room.  In Bethnal Green a man and his wife,
   with four sons, aged twenty-three, twenty-one, nineteen, and sixteen,
   and two daughters, aged fourteen and seven, were also found in one
   room.  He asked whether it was not the duty of the various local
   authorities to prevent such serious overcrowding.

But with 900,000 people actually living under illegal conditions, the
authorities have their hands full.  When the overcrowded folk are ejected
they stray off into some other hole; and, as they move their belongings
by night, on hand-barrows (one hand-barrow accommodating the entire
household goods and the sleeping children), it is next to impossible to
keep track of them.  If the Public Health Act of 1891 were suddenly and
completely enforced, 900,000 people would receive notice to clear out of
their houses and go on to the streets, and 500,000 rooms would have to be
built before they were all legally housed again.

The mean streets merely look mean from the outside, but inside the walls
are to be found squalor, misery, and tragedy.  While the following
tragedy may be revolting to read, it must not be forgotten that the
existence of it is far more revolting.

In Devonshire Place, Lisson Grove, a short while back died an old woman
of seventy-five years of age.  At the inquest the coroner's officer
stated that "all he found in the room was a lot of old rags covered with
vermin.  He had got himself smothered with the vermin.  The room was in a
shocking condition, and he had never seen anything like it.  Everything
was absolutely covered with vermin."

The doctor said: "He found deceased lying across the fender on her back.
She had one garment and her stockings on.  The body was quite alive with
vermin, and all the clothes in the room were absolutely grey with
insects.  Deceased was very badly nourished and was very emaciated.  She
had extensive sores on her legs, and her stockings were adherent to those
sores.  The sores were the result of vermin."

A man present at the inquest wrote: "I had the evil fortune to see the
body of the unfortunate woman as it lay in the mortuary; and even now the
memory of that gruesome sight makes me shudder.  There she lay in the
mortuary shell, so starved and emaciated that she was a mere bundle of
skin and bones.  Her hair, which was matted with filth, was simply a nest
of vermin.  Over her bony chest leaped and rolled hundreds, thousands,
myriads of vermin!"

If it is not good for your mother and my mother so to die, then it is not
good for this woman, whosoever's mother she might be, so to die.

Bishop Wilkinson, who has lived in Zululand, recently said, "No human of
an African village would allow such a promiscuous mixing of young men and
women, boys and girls."  He had reference to the children of the
overcrowded folk, who at five have nothing to learn and much to unlearn
which they will never unlearn.

It is notorious that here in the Ghetto the houses of the poor are
greater profit earners than the mansions of the rich.  Not only does the
poor worker have to live like a beast, but he pays proportionately more
for it than does the rich man for his spacious comfort.  A class of house-
sweaters has been made possible by the competition of the poor for
houses.  There are more people than there is room, and numbers are in the
workhouse because they cannot find shelter elsewhere.  Not only are
houses let, but they are sublet, and sub-sublet down to the very rooms.

"A part of a room to let."  This notice was posted a short while ago in a
window not five minutes' walk from St. James's Hall.  The Rev. Hugh Price
Hughes is authority for the statement that beds are let on the
three-relay system--that is, three tenants to a bed, each occupying it
eight hours, so that it never grows cold; while the floor space
underneath the bed is likewise let on the three-relay system.  Health
officers are not at all unused to finding such cases as the following: in
one room having a cubic capacity of 1000 feet, three adult females in the
bed, and two adult females under the bed; and in one room of 1650 cubic
feet, one adult male and two children in the bed, and two adult females
under the bed.

Here is a typical example of a room on the more respectable two-relay
system.  It is occupied in the daytime by a young woman employed all
night in a hotel.  At seven o'clock in the evening she vacates the room,
and a bricklayer's labourer comes in.  At seven in the morning he
vacates, and goes to his work, at which time she returns from hers.

The Rev. W. N. Davies, rector of Spitalfields, took a census of some of
the alleys in his parish.  He says:-

   In one alley there are ten houses--fifty-one rooms, nearly all about 8
   feet by 9 feet--and 254 people.  In six instances only do 2 people
   occupy one room; and in others the number varied from 3 to 9.  In
   another court with six houses and twenty-two rooms were 84
   people--again 6, 7, 8, and 9 being the number living in one room, in
   several instances.  In one house with eight rooms are 45 people--one
   room containing 9 persons, one 8, two 7, and another 6.

This Ghetto crowding is not through inclination, but compulsion.  Nearly
fifty per cent. of the workers pay from one-fourth to one-half of their
earnings for rent.  The average rent in the larger part of the East End
is from four to six shillings per week for one room, while skilled
mechanics, earning thirty-five shillings per week, are forced to part
with fifteen shillings of it for two or three pokey little dens, in which
they strive desperately to obtain some semblance of home life.  And rents
are going up all the time.  In one street in Stepney the increase in only
two years has been from thirteen to eighteen shillings; in another street
from eleven to sixteen shillings; and in another street, from eleven to
fifteen shillings; while in Whitechapel, two-room houses that recently
rented for ten shillings are now costing twenty-one shillings.  East,
west, north, and south the rents are going up.  When land is worth from
20,000 to 30,000 pounds an acre, some one must pay the landlord.

Mr. W. C. Steadman, in the House of Commons, in a speech concerning his
constituency in Stepney, related the following:-

   This morning, not a hundred yards from where I am myself living, a
   widow stopped me.  She has six children to support, and the rent of
   her house was fourteen shillings per week.  She gets her living by
   letting the house to lodgers and doing a day's washing or charring.
   That woman, with tears in her eyes, told me that the landlord had
   increased the rent from fourteen shillings to eighteen shillings.  What
   could the woman do?  There is no accommodation in Stepney.  Every
   place is taken up and overcrowded.

Class supremacy can rest only on class degradation; and when the workers
are segregated in the Ghetto, they cannot escape the consequent
degradation.  A short and stunted people is created--a breed strikingly
differentiated from their masters' breed, a pavement folk, as it were
lacking stamina and strength.  The men become caricatures of what
physical men ought to be, and their women and children are pale and
anaemic, with eyes ringed darkly, who stoop and slouch, and are early
twisted out of all shapeliness and beauty.

To make matters worse, the men of the Ghetto are the men who are left--a
deteriorated stock, left to undergo still further deterioration.  For a
hundred and fifty years, at least, they have been drained of their best.
The strong men, the men of pluck, initiative, and ambition, have been
faring forth to the fresher and freer portions of the globe, to make new
lands and nations.  Those who are lacking, the weak of heart and head and
hand, as well as the rotten and hopeless, have remained to carry on the
breed.  And year by year, in turn, the best they breed are taken from
them.  Wherever a man of vigour and stature manages to grow up, he is
haled forthwith into the army.  A soldier, as Bernard Shaw has said,
"ostensibly a heroic and patriotic defender of his country, is really an
unfortunate man driven by destitution to offer himself as food for powder
for the sake of regular rations, shelter, and clothing."

This constant selection of the best from the workers has impoverished
those who are left, a sadly degraded remainder, for the great part,
which, in the Ghetto, sinks to the deepest depths.  The wine of life has
been drawn off to spill itself in blood and progeny over the rest of the
earth.  Those that remain are the lees, and they are segregated and
steeped in themselves.  They become indecent and bestial.  When they
kill, they kill with their hands, and then stupidly surrender themselves
to the executioners.  There is no splendid audacity about their
transgressions.  They gouge a mate with a dull knife, or beat his head in
with an iron pot, and then sit down and wait for the police.  Wife-beating
is the masculine prerogative of matrimony.  They wear remarkable boots of
brass and iron, and when they have polished off the mother of their
children with a black eye or so, they knock her down and proceed to
trample her very much as a Western stallion tramples a rattlesnake.

A woman of the lower Ghetto classes is as much the slave of her husband
as is the Indian squaw.  And I, for one, were I a woman and had but the
two choices, should prefer being a squaw.  The men are economically
dependent on their masters, and the women are economically dependent on
the men.  The result is, the woman gets the beating the man should give
his master, and she can do nothing.  There are the kiddies, and he is the
bread-winner, and she dare not send him to jail and leave herself and
children to starve.  Evidence to convict can rarely be obtained when such
cases come into the courts; as a rule, the trampled wife and mother is
weeping and hysterically beseeching the magistrate to let her husband off
for the kiddies' sakes.

The wives become screaming harridans or, broken-spirited and doglike,
lose what little decency and self-respect they have remaining over from
their maiden days, and all sink together, unheeding, in their degradation
and dirt.

Sometimes I become afraid of my own generalizations upon the massed
misery of this Ghetto life, and feel that my impressions are exaggerated,
that I am too close to the picture and lack perspective.  At such moments
I find it well to turn to the testimony of other men to prove to myself
that I am not becoming over-wrought and addle-pated.  Frederick Harrison
has always struck me as being a level-headed, well-controlled man, and he
says:-

   To me, at least, it would be enough to condemn modern society as
   hardly an advance on slavery or serfdom, if the permanent condition of
   industry were to be that which we behold, that ninety per cent. of the
   actual producers of wealth have no home that they can call their own
   beyond the end of the week; have no bit of soil, or so much as a room
   that belongs to them; have nothing of value of any kind, except as
   much old furniture as will go into a cart; have the precarious chance
   of weekly wages, which barely suffice to keep them in health; are
   housed, for the most part, in places that no man thinks fit for his
   horse; are separated by so narrow a margin from destitution that a
   month of bad trade, sickness, or unexpected loss brings them face to
   face with hunger and pauperism . . . But below this normal state of
   the average workman in town and country, there is found the great band
   of destitute outcasts--the camp followers of the army of industry--at
   least one-tenth the whole proletarian population, whose normal
   condition is one of sickening wretchedness.  If this is to be the
   permanent arrangement of modern society, civilization must be held to
   bring a curse on the great majority of mankind.

Ninety per cent.!  The figures are appalling, yet Mr. Stopford Brooke,
after drawing a frightful London picture, finds himself compelled to
multiply it by half a million.  Here it is:-

   I often used to meet, when I was curate at Kensington, families
   drifting into London along the Hammersmith Road.  One day there came
   along a labourer and his wife, his son and two daughters.  Their
   family had lived for a long time on an estate in the country, and
   managed, with the help of the common-land and their labour, to get on.
   But the time came when the common was encroached upon, and their
   labour was not needed on the estate, and they were quietly turned out
   of their cottage.  Where should they go?  Of course to London, where
   work was thought to be plentiful.  They had a little savings, and they
   thought they could get two decent rooms to live in.  But the
   inexorable land question met them in London.  They tried the decent
   courts for lodgings, and found that two rooms would cost ten shillings
   a week.  Food was dear and bad, water was bad, and in a short time
   their health suffered.  Work was hard to get, and its wage was so low
   that they were soon in debt.  They became more ill and more despairing
   with the poisonous surroundings, the darkness, and the long hours of
   work; and they were driven forth to seek a cheaper lodging.  They
   found it in a court I knew well--a hotbed of crime and nameless
   horrors.  In this they got a single room at a cruel rent, and work was
   more difficult for them to get now, as they came from a place of such
   bad repute, and they fell into the hands of those who sweat the last
   drop out of man and woman and child, for wages which are the food only
   of despair.  And the darkness and the dirt, the bad food and the
   sickness, and the want of water was worse than before; and the crowd
   and the companionship of the court robbed them of the last shreds of
   self-respect.  The drink demon seized upon them.  Of course there was
   a public-house at both ends of the court.  There they fled, one and
   all, for shelter, and warmth, and society, and forgetfulness.  And
   they came out in deeper debt, with inflamed senses and burning brains,
   and an unsatisfied craving for drink they would do anything to
   satiate.  And in a few months the father was in prison, the wife
   dying, the son a criminal, and the daughters on the street.  _Multiply
   this by half a million, and you will be beneath the truth_.

No more dreary spectacle can be found on this earth than the whole of the
"awful East," with its Whitechapel, Hoxton, Spitalfields, Bethnal Green,
and Wapping to the East India Docks.  The colour of life is grey and
drab.  Everything is helpless, hopeless, unrelieved, and dirty.  Bath
tubs are a thing totally unknown, as mythical as the ambrosia of the
gods.  The people themselves are dirty, while any attempt at cleanliness
becomes howling farce, when it is not pitiful and tragic.  Strange,
vagrant odours come drifting along the greasy wind, and the rain, when it
falls, is more like grease than water from heaven.  The very cobblestones
are scummed with grease.

Here lives a population as dull and unimaginative as its long grey miles
of dingy brick.  Religion has virtually passed it by, and a gross and
stupid materialism reigns, fatal alike to the things of the spirit and
the finer instincts of life.

It used to be the proud boast that every Englishman's home was his
castle.  But to-day it is an anachronism.  The Ghetto folk have no homes.
They do not know the significance and the sacredness of home life.  Even
the municipal dwellings, where live the better-class workers, are
overcrowded barracks.  They have no home life.  The very language proves
it.  The father returning from work asks his child in the street where
her mother is; and back the answer comes, "In the buildings."

A new race has sprung up, a street people.  They pass their lives at work
and in the streets.  They have dens and lairs into which to crawl for
sleeping purposes, and that is all.  One cannot travesty the word by
calling such dens and lairs "homes."  The traditional silent and reserved
Englishman has passed away.  The pavement folk are noisy, voluble, high-
strung, excitable--when they are yet young.  As they grow older they
become steeped and stupefied in beer.  When they have nothing else to do,
they ruminate as a cow ruminates.  They are to be met with everywhere,
standing on curbs and corners, and staring into vacancy.  Watch one of
them.  He will stand there, motionless, for hours, and when you go away
you will leave him still staring into vacancy.  It is most absorbing.  He
has no money for beer, and his lair is only for sleeping purposes, so
what else remains for him to do?  He has already solved the mysteries of
girl's love, and wife's love, and child's love, and found them delusions
and shams, vain and fleeting as dew-drops, quick-vanishing before the
ferocious facts of life.

As I say, the young are high-strung, nervous, excitable; the middle-aged
are empty-headed, stolid, and stupid.  It is absurd to think for an
instant that they can compete with the workers of the New World.
Brutalised, degraded, and dull, the Ghetto folk will be unable to render
efficient service to England in the world struggle for industrial
supremacy which economists declare has already begun.  Neither as workers
nor as soldiers can they come up to the mark when England, in her need,
calls upon them, her forgotten ones; and if England be flung out of the
world's industrial orbit, they will perish like flies at the end of
summer.  Or, with England critically situated, and with them made
desperate as wild beasts are made desperate, they may become a menace and
go "swelling" down to the West End to return the "slumming" the West End
has done in the East.  In which case, before rapid-fire guns and the
modern machinery of warfare, they will perish the more swiftly and
easily.




CHAPTER XX--COFFEE-HOUSES AND DOSS-HOUSES


Another phrase gone glimmering, shorn of romance and tradition and all
that goes to make phrases worth keeping!  For me, henceforth, "coffee-
house" will possess anything but an agreeable connotation.  Over on the
other side of the world, the mere mention of the word was sufficient to
conjure up whole crowds of its historic frequenters, and to send trooping
through my imagination endless groups of wits and dandies, pamphleteers
and bravos, and bohemians of Grub Street.

But here, on this side of the world, alas and alack, the very name is a
misnomer.  Coffee-house: a place where people drink coffee.  Not at all.
You cannot obtain coffee in such a place for love or money.  True, you
may call for coffee, and you will have brought you something in a cup
purporting to be coffee, and you will taste it and be disillusioned, for
coffee it certainly is not.

And what is true of the coffee is true of the coffee-house.  Working-men,
in the main, frequent these places, and greasy, dirty places they are,
without one thing about them to cherish decency in a man or put
self-respect into him.  Table-cloths and napkins are unknown.  A man eats
in the midst of the debris left by his predecessor, and dribbles his own
scraps about him and on the floor.  In rush times, in such places, I have
positively waded through the muck and mess that covered the floor, and I
have managed to eat because I was abominably hungry and capable of eating
anything.

This seems to be the normal condition of the working-man, from the zest
with which he addresses himself to the board.  Eating is a necessity, and
there are no frills about it.  He brings in with him a primitive
voraciousness, and, I am confident, carries away with him a fairly
healthy appetite.  When you see such a man, on his way to work in the
morning, order a pint of tea, which is no more tea than it is ambrosia,
pull a hunk of dry bread from his pocket, and wash the one down with the
other, depend upon it, that man has not the right sort of stuff in his
belly, nor enough of the wrong sort of stuff, to fit him for big day's
work.  And further, depend upon it, he and a thousand of his kind will
not turn out the quantity or quality of work that a thousand men will who
have eaten heartily of meat and potatoes, and drunk coffee that is
coffee.

As a vagrant in the "Hobo" of a California jail, I have been served
better food and drink than the London workman receives in his
coffee-houses; while as an American labourer I have eaten a breakfast for
twelvepence such as the British labourer would not dream of eating.  Of
course, he will pay only three or four pence for his; which is, however,
as much as I paid, for I would be earning six shillings to his two or two
and a half.  On the other hand, though, and in return, I would turn out
an amount of work in the course of the day that would put to shame the
amount he turned out.  So there are two sides to it.  The man with the
high standard of living will always do more work and better than the man
with the low standard of living.

There is a comparison which sailormen make between the English and
American merchant services.  In an English ship, they say, it is poor
grub, poor pay, and easy work; in an American ship, good grub, good pay,
and hard work.  And this is applicable to the working populations of both
countries.  The ocean greyhounds have to pay for speed and steam, and so
does the workman.  But if the workman is not able to pay for it, he will
not have the speed and steam, that is all.  The proof of it is when the
English workman comes to America.  He will lay more bricks in New York
than he will in London, still more bricks in St. Louis, and still more
bricks when he gets to San Francisco. {3}  His standard of living has
been rising all the time.

Early in the morning, along the streets frequented by workmen on the way
to work, many women sit on the sidewalk with sacks of bread beside them.
No end of workmen purchase these, and eat them as they walk along.  They
do not even wash the dry bread down with the tea to be obtained for a
penny in the coffee-houses.  It is incontestable that a man is not fit to
begin his day's work on a meal like that; and it is equally incontestable
that the loss will fall upon his employer and upon the nation.  For some
time, now, statesmen have been crying, "Wake up, England!"  It would show
more hard-headed common sense if they changed the tune to "Feed up,
England!"

Not only is the worker poorly fed, but he is filthily fed.  I have stood
outside a butcher-shop and watched a horde of speculative housewives
turning over the trimmings and scraps and shreds of beef and mutton--dog-
meat in the States.  I would not vouch for the clean fingers of these
housewives, no more than I would vouch for the cleanliness of the single
rooms in which many of them and their families lived; yet they raked, and
pawed, and scraped the mess about in their anxiety to get the worth of
their coppers.  I kept my eye on one particularly offensive-looking bit
of meat, and followed it through the clutches of over twenty women, till
it fell to the lot of a timid-appearing little woman whom the butcher
bluffed into taking it.  All day long this heap of scraps was added to
and taken away from, the dust and dirt of the street falling upon it,
flies settling on it, and the dirty fingers turning it over and over.

The costers wheel loads of specked and decaying fruit around in the
barrows all day, and very often store it in their one living and sleeping
room for the night.  There it is exposed to the sickness and disease, the
effluvia and vile exhalations of overcrowded and rotten life, and next
day it is carted about again to be sold.

The poor worker of the East End never knows what it is to eat good,
wholesome meat or fruit--in fact, he rarely eats meat or fruit at all;
while the skilled workman has nothing to boast of in the way of what he
eats.  Judging from the coffee-houses, which is a fair criterion, they
never know in all their lives what tea, coffee, or cocoa tastes like.  The
slops and water-witcheries of the coffee-houses, varying only in
sloppiness and witchery, never even approximate or suggest what you and I
are accustomed to drink as tea and coffee.

A little incident comes to me, connected with a coffee-house not far from
Jubilee Street on the Mile End Road.

"Cawn yer let me 'ave somethin' for this, daughter?  Anythin', Hi don't
mind.  Hi 'aven't 'ad a bite the blessed dy, an' Hi'm that fynt . . . "

She was an old woman, clad in decent black rags, and in her hand she held
a penny.  The one she had addressed as "daughter" was a careworn woman of
forty, proprietress and waitress of the house.

I waited, possibly as anxiously as the old woman, to see how the appeal
would be received.  It was four in the afternoon, and she looked faint
and sick.  The woman hesitated an instant, then brought a large plate of
"stewed lamb and young peas."  I was eating a plate of it myself, and it
is my judgment that the lamb was mutton and that the peas might have been
younger without being youthful.  However, the point is, the dish was sold
at sixpence, and the proprietress gave it for a penny, demonstrating anew
the old truth that the poor are the most charitable.

The old woman, profuse in her gratitude, took a seat on the other side of
the narrow table and ravenously attacked the smoking stew.  We ate
steadily and silently, the pair of us, when suddenly, explosively and
most gleefully, she cried out to me,--

"Hi sold a box o' matches!  Yus," she confirmed, if anything with greater
and more explosive glee.  "Hi sold a box o' matches!  That's 'ow Hi got
the penny."

"You must be getting along in years," I suggested.

"Seventy-four yesterday," she replied, and returned with gusto to her
plate.

"Blimey, I'd like to do something for the old girl, that I would, but
this is the first I've 'ad to-dy," the young fellow alongside volunteered
to me.  "An' I only 'ave this because I 'appened to make an odd shilling
washin' out, Lord lumme! I don't know 'ow many pots."

"No work at my own tryde for six weeks," he said further, in reply to my
questions; "nothin' but odd jobs a blessed long wy between."

* * * * *

One meets with all sorts of adventures in coffee-house, and I shall not
soon forget a Cockney Amazon in a place near Trafalgar Square, to whom I
tendered a sovereign when paying my score.  (By the way, one is supposed
to pay before he begins to eat, and if he be poorly dressed he is
compelled to pay before he eats).

The girl bit the gold piece between her teeth, rang it on the counter,
and then looked me and my rags witheringly up and down.

"Where'd you find it?" she at length demanded.

"Some mug left it on the table when he went out, eh, don't you think?" I
retorted.

"Wot's yer gyme?" she queried, looking me calmly in the eyes.

"I makes 'em," quoth I.

She sniffed superciliously and gave me the change in small silver, and I
had my revenge by biting and ringing every piece of it.

"I'll give you a ha'penny for another lump of sugar in the tea," I said.

"I'll see you in 'ell first," came the retort courteous.  Also, she
amplified the retort courteous in divers vivid and unprintable ways.

I never had much talent for repartee, but she knocked silly what little I
had, and I gulped down my tea a beaten man, while she gloated after me
even as I passed out to the street.

While 300,000 people of London live in one-room tenements, and 900,000
are illegally and viciously housed, 38,000 more are registered as living
in common lodging-houses--known in the vernacular as "doss-houses."  There
are many kinds of doss-houses, but in one thing they are all alike, from
the filthy little ones to the monster big ones paying five per cent. and
blatantly lauded by smug middle-class men who know but one thing about
them, and that one thing is their uninhabitableness.  By this I do not
mean that the roofs leak or the walls are draughty; but what I do mean is
that life in them is degrading and unwholesome.

"The poor man's hotel," they are often called, but the phrase is
caricature.  Not to possess a room to one's self, in which sometimes to
sit alone; to be forced out of bed willy-nilly, the first thing in the
morning; to engage and pay anew for a bed each night; and never to have
any privacy, surely is a mode of existence quite different from that of
hotel life.

This must not be considered a sweeping condemnation of the big private
and municipal lodging-houses and working-men's homes.  Far from it.  They
have remedied many of the atrocities attendant upon the irresponsible
small doss-houses, and they give the workman more for his money than he
ever received before; but that does not make them as habitable or
wholesome as the dwelling-place of a man should be who does his work in
the world.

The little private doss-houses, as a rule, are unmitigated horrors.  I
have slept in them, and I know; but let me pass them by and confine
myself to the bigger and better ones.  Not far from Middlesex Street,
Whitechapel, I entered such a house, a place inhabited almost entirely by
working men.  The entrance was by way of a flight of steps descending
from the sidewalk to what was properly the cellar of the building.  Here
were two large and gloomily lighted rooms, in which men cooked and ate.  I
had intended to do some cooking myself, but the smell of the place stole
away my appetite, or, rather, wrested it from me; so I contented myself
with watching other men cook and eat.

One workman, home from work, sat down opposite me at the rough wooden
table, and began his meal.  A handful of salt on the not over-clean table
constituted his butter.  Into it he dipped his bread, mouthful by
mouthful, and washed it down with tea from a big mug.  A piece of fish
completed his bill of fare.  He ate silently, looking neither to right
nor left nor across at me.  Here and there, at the various tables, other
men were eating, just as silently.  In the whole room there was hardly a
note of conversation.  A feeling of gloom pervaded the ill-lighted place.
Many of them sat and brooded over the crumbs of their repast, and made me
wonder, as Childe Roland wondered, what evil they had done that they
should be punished so.

From the kitchen came the sounds of more genial life, and I ventured into
the range where the men were cooking.  But the smell I had noticed on
entering was stronger here, and a rising nausea drove me into the street
for fresh air.

On my return I paid fivepence for a "cabin," took my receipt for the same
in the form of a huge brass check, and went upstairs to the smoking-room.
Here, a couple of small billiard tables and several checkerboards were
being used by young working-men, who waited in relays for their turn at
the games, while many men were sitting around, smoking, reading, and
mending their clothes.  The young men were hilarious, the old men were
gloomy.  In fact, there were two types of men, the cheerful and the
sodden or blue, and age seemed to determine the classification.

But no more than the two cellar rooms did this room convey the remotest
suggestion of home.  Certainly there could be nothing home-like about it
to you and me, who know what home really is.  On the walls were the most
preposterous and insulting notices regulating the conduct of the guests,
and at ten o'clock the lights were put out, and nothing remained but bed.
This was gained by descending again to the cellar, by surrendering the
brass check to a burly doorkeeper, and by climbing a long flight of
stairs into the upper regions.  I went to the top of the building and
down again, passing several floors filled with sleeping men.  The
"cabins" were the best accommodation, each cabin allowing space for a
tiny bed and room alongside of it in which to undress.  The bedding was
clean, and with neither it nor the bed do I find any fault.  But there
was no privacy about it, no being alone.

To get an adequate idea of a floor filled with cabins, you have merely to
magnify a layer of the pasteboard pigeon-holes of an egg-crate till each
pigeon-hole is seven feet in height and otherwise properly dimensioned,
then place the magnified layer on the floor of a large, barnlike room,
and there you have it.  There are no ceilings to the pigeon-holes, the
walls are thin, and the snores from all the sleepers and every move and
turn of your nearer neighbours come plainly to your ears.  And this cabin
is yours only for a little while.  In the morning out you go.  You cannot
put your trunk in it, or come and go when you like, or lock the door
behind you, or anything of the sort.  In fact, there is no door at all,
only a doorway.  If you care to remain a guest in this poor man's hotel,
you must put up with all this, and with prison regulations which impress
upon you constantly that you are nobody, with little soul of your own and
less to say about it.

Now I contend that the least a man who does his day's work should have is
a room to himself, where he can lock the door and be safe in his
possessions; where he can sit down and read by a window or look out;
where he can come and go whenever he wishes; where he can accumulate a
few personal belongings other than those he carries about with him on his
back and in his pockets; where he can hang up pictures of his mother,
sister, sweet-heart, ballet dancers, or bulldogs, as his heart listeth--in
short, one place of his own on the earth of which he can say: "This is
mine, my castle; the world stops at the threshold; here am I lord and
master."  He will be a better citizen, this man; and he will do a better
day's work.

I stood on one floor of the poor man's hotel and listened.  I went from
bed to bed and looked at the sleepers.  They were young men, from twenty
to forty, most of them.  Old men cannot afford the working-man's home.
They go to the workhouse.  But I looked at the young men, scores of them,
and they were not bad-looking fellows.  Their faces were made for women's
kisses, their necks for women's arms.  They were lovable, as men are
lovable.  They were capable of love.  A woman's touch redeems and
softens, and they needed such redemption and softening instead of each
day growing harsh and harsher.  And I wondered where these women were,
and heard a "harlot's ginny laugh."  Leman Street, Waterloo Road,
Piccadilly, The Strand, answered me, and I knew where they were.




CHAPTER XXI--THE PRECARIOUSNESS OF LIFE


I was talking with a very vindictive man.  In his opinion, his wife had
wronged him and the law had wronged him.  The merits and morals of the
case are immaterial.  The meat of the matter is that she had obtained a
separation, and he was compelled to pay ten shillings each week for the
support of her and the five children.  "But look you," said he to me,
"wot'll 'appen to 'er if I don't py up the ten shillings?  S'posin', now,
just s'posin' a accident 'appens to me, so I cawn't work.  S'posin' I get
a rupture, or the rheumatics, or the cholera.  Wot's she goin' to do, eh?
Wot's she goin' to do?"

He shook his head sadly.  "No 'ope for 'er.  The best she cawn do is the
work'ouse, an' that's 'ell.  An' if she don't go to the work'ouse, it'll
be a worse 'ell.  Come along 'ith me an' I'll show you women sleepin' in
a passage, a dozen of 'em.  An' I'll show you worse, wot she'll come to
if anythin' 'appens to me and the ten shillings."

The certitude of this man's forecast is worthy of consideration.  He knew
conditions sufficiently to know the precariousness of his wife's grasp on
food and shelter.  For her game was up when his working capacity was
impaired or destroyed.  And when this state of affairs is looked at in
its larger aspect, the same will be found true of hundreds of thousands
and even millions of men and women living amicably together and
co-operating in the pursuit of food and shelter.

The figures are appalling: 1,800,000 people in London live on the poverty
line and below it, and 1,000,000 live with one week's wages between them
and pauperism.  In all England and Wales, eighteen per cent. of the whole
population are driven to the parish for relief, and in London, according
to the statistics of the London County Council, twenty-one per cent. of
the whole population are driven to the parish for relief.  Between being
driven to the parish for relief and being an out-and-out pauper there is
a great difference, yet London supports 123,000 paupers, quite a city of
folk in themselves.  One in every four in London dies on public charity,
while 939 out of every 1000 in the United Kingdom die in poverty;
8,000,000 simply struggle on the ragged edge of starvation, and
20,000,000 more are not comfortable in the simple and clean sense of the
word.

It is interesting to go more into detail concerning the London people who
die on charity.

In 1886, and up to 1893, the percentage of pauperism to population was
less in London than in all England; but since 1893, and for every
succeeding year, the percentage of pauperism to population has been
greater in London than in all England.  Yet, from the Registrar-General's
Report for 1886, the following figures are taken:-

Out of 81,951 deaths in London (1884):-

In workhouses            9,909
In hospitals             6,559
In lunatic asylums         278
Total in public refuges 16,746

Commenting on these figures, a Fabian writer says: "Considering that
comparatively few of these are children, it is probable that one in every
three London adults will be driven into one of these refuges to die, and
the proportion in the case of the manual labour class must of course be
still larger."

These figures serve somewhat to indicate the proximity of the average
worker to pauperism.  Various things make pauperism.  An advertisement,
for instance, such as this, appearing in yesterday morning's paper:-

"Clerk wanted, with knowledge of shorthand, typewriting, and invoicing:
wages ten shillings ($2.50) a week.  Apply by letter," &c.

And in to-day's paper I read of a clerk, thirty-five years of age and an
inmate of a London workhouse, brought before a magistrate for
non-performance of task.  He claimed that he had done his various tasks
since he had been an inmate; but when the master set him to breaking
stones, his hands blistered, and he could not finish the task.  He had
never been used to an implement heavier than a pen, he said.  The
magistrate sentenced him and his blistered hands to seven days' hard
labour.

Old age, of course, makes pauperism.  And then there is the accident, the
thing happening, the death or disablement of the husband, father, and
bread-winner.  Here is a man, with a wife and three children, living on
the ticklish security of twenty shillings per week--and there are
hundreds of thousands of such families in London.  Perforce, to even half
exist, they must live up to the last penny of it, so that a week's wages
(one pound) is all that stands between this family and pauperism or
starvation.  The thing happens, the father is struck down, and what then?
A mother with three children can do little or nothing.  Either she must
hand her children over to society as juvenile paupers, in order to be
free to do something adequate for herself, or she must go to the sweat-
shops for work which she can perform in the vile den possible to her
reduced income.  But with the sweat-shops, married women who eke out
their husband's earnings, and single women who have but themselves
miserably to support, determine the scale of wages.  And this scale of
wages, so determined, is so low that the mother and her three children
can live only in positive beastliness and semi-starvation, till decay and
death end their suffering.

To show that this mother, with her three children to support, cannot
compete in the sweating industries, I instance from the current
newspapers the two following cases:-

A father indignantly writes that his daughter and a girl companion
receive 8.5d. per gross for making boxes.  They made each day four gross.
Their expenses were 8d. for car fare, 2d. for stamps, 2.5d. for glue, and
1d. for string, so that all they earned between them was 1s. 9d., or a
daily wage each of 10.5d.

In the second ewe, before the Luton Guardians a few days ago, an old
woman of seventy-two appeared, asking for relief.  "She was a straw-hat
maker, but had been compelled to give up the work owing to the price she
obtained for them--namely, 2.25d. each.  For that price she had to
provide plait trimmings and make and finish the hats."

Yet this mother and her three children we are considering have done no
wrong that they should be so punished.  They have not sinned.  The thing
happened, that is all; the husband, father and bread-winner, was struck
down.  There is no guarding against it.  It is fortuitous.  A family
stands so many chances of escaping the bottom of the Abyss, and so many
chances of falling plump down to it.  The chance is reducible to cold,
pitiless figures, and a few of these figures will not be out of place.

Sir A. Forwood calculates that--

1 of every 1400 workmen is killed annually.
1 of every 2500 workmen is totally disabled.
1 of every 300 workmen is permanently partially disabled.
1 of every 8 workmen is temporarily disabled 3 or 4 weeks.

But these are only the accidents of industry.  The high mortality of the
people who live in the Ghetto plays a terrible part.  The average age at
death among the people of the West End is fifty-five years; the average
age at death among the people of the East End is thirty years.  That is
to say, the person in the West End has twice the chance for life that the
person has in the East End.  Talk of war!  The mortality in South Africa
and the Philippines fades away to insignificance.  Here, in the heart of
peace, is where the blood is being shed; and here not even the civilised
rules of warfare obtain, for the women and children and babes in the arms
are killed just as ferociously as the men are killed.  War!  In England,
every year, 500,000 men, women, and children, engaged in the various
industries, are killed and disabled, or are injured to disablement by
disease.

In the West End eighteen per cent. of the children die before five years
of age; in the East End fifty-five per cent. of the children die before
five years of age.  And there are streets in London where out of every
one hundred children born in a year, fifty die during the next year; and
of the fifty that remain, twenty-five die before they are five years old.
Slaughter!  Herod did not do quite so badly.

That industry causes greater havoc with human life than battle does no
better substantiation can be given than the following extract from a
recent report of the Liverpool Medical Officer, which is not applicable
to Liverpool alone:-

   In many instances little if any sunlight could get to the courts, and
   the atmosphere within the dwellings was always foul, owing largely to
   the saturated condition of the walls and ceilings, which for so many
   years had absorbed the exhalations of the occupants into their porous
   material.  Singular testimony to the absence of sunlight in these
   courts was furnished by the action of the Parks and Gardens Committee,
   who desired to brighten the homes of the poorest class by gifts of
   growing flowers and window-boxes; but these gifts could not be made in
   courts such as these, _as flowers and plants were susceptible to the
   unwholesome surroundings, and would not live_.

Mr. George Haw has compiled the following table on the three St. George's
parishes (London parishes):-

                   Percentage of
                   Population      Death-rate
                   Overcrowded      per 1000
St. George's West  10                 13.2
St. George's South 35                 23.7
St. George's East  40                 26.4

Then there are the "dangerous trades," in which countless workers are
employed.  Their hold on life is indeed precarious--far, far more
precarious than the hold of the twentieth-century soldier on life.  In
the linen trade, in the preparation of the flax, wet feet and wet clothes
cause an unusual amount of bronchitis, pneumonia, and severe rheumatism;
while in the carding and spinning departments the fine dust produces lung
disease in the majority of cases, and the woman who starts carding at
seventeen or eighteen begins to break up and go to pieces at thirty.  The
chemical labourers, picked from the strongest and most splendidly-built
men to be found, live, on an average, less than forty-eight years.

Says Dr. Arlidge, of the potter's trade: "Potter's dust does not kill
suddenly, but settles, year after year, a little more firmly into the
lungs, until at length a case of plaster is formed.  Breathing becomes
more and more difficult and depressed, and finally ceases."

Steel dust, stone dust, clay dust, alkali dust, fluff dust, fibre
dust--all these things kill, and they are more deadly than machine-guns
and pom-poms.  Worst of all is the lead dust in the white-lead trades.
Here is a description of the typical dissolution of a young, healthy,
well-developed girl who goes to work in a white-lead factory:-

   Here, after a varying degree of exposure, she becomes anaemic.  It may
   be that her gums show a very faint blue line, or perchance her teeth
   and gums are perfectly sound, and no blue line is discernible.
   Coincidently with the anaemia she has been getting thinner, but so
   gradually as scarcely to impress itself upon her or her friends.
   Sickness, however, ensues, and headaches, growing in intensity, are
   developed.  These are frequently attended by obscuration of vision or
   temporary blindness.  Such a girl passes into what appears to her
   friends and medical adviser as ordinary hysteria.  This gradually
   deepens without warning, until she is suddenly seized with a
   convulsion, beginning in one half of the face, then involving the arm,
   next the leg of the same side of the body, until the convulsion,
   violent and purely epileptic form in character, becomes universal.
   This is attended by loss of consciousness, out of which she passes
   into a series of convulsions, gradually increasing in severity, in one
   of which she dies--or consciousness, partial or perfect, is regained,
   either, it may be, for a few minutes, a few hours, or days, during
   which violent headache is complained of, or she is delirious and
   excited, as in acute mania, or dull and sullen as in melancholia, and
   requires to be roused, when she is found wandering, and her speech is
   somewhat imperfect.  Without further warning, save that the pulse,
   which has become soft, with nearly the normal number of beats, all at
   once becomes low and hard; she is suddenly seized with another
   convulsion, in which she dies, or passes into a state of coma from
   which she never rallies.  In another case the convulsions will
   gradually subside, the headache disappears and the patient recovers,
   only to find that she has completely lost her eyesight, a loss that
   may be temporary or permanent.

And here are a few specific cases of white-lead poisoning:-

   Charlotte Rafferty, a fine, well-grown young woman with a splendid
   constitution--who had never had a day's illness in her life--became a
   white-lead worker.  Convulsions seized her at the foot of the ladder
   in the works.  Dr. Oliver examined her, found the blue line along her
   gums, which shows that the system is under the influence of the lead.
   He knew that the convulsions would shortly return.  They did so, and
   she died.

   Mary Ann Toler--a girl of seventeen, who had never had a fit in her
   life--three times became ill, and had to leave off work in the
   factory.  Before she was nineteen she showed symptoms of lead
   poisoning--had fits, frothed at the mouth, and died.

   Mary A., an unusually vigorous woman, was able to work in the lead
   factory for _twenty years_, having colic once only during that time.
   Her eight children all died in early infancy from convulsions.  One
   morning, whilst brushing her hair, this woman suddenly lost all power
   in both her wrists.

   Eliza H., aged twenty-five, _after five months_ at lead works, was
   seized with colic.  She entered another factory (after being refused
   by the first one) and worked on uninterruptedly for two years.  Then
   the former symptoms returned, she was seized with convulsions, and
   died in two days of acute lead poisoning.

Mr. Vaughan Nash, speaking of the unborn generation, says: "The children
of the white-lead worker enter the world, as a rule, only to die from the
convulsions of lead poisoning--they are either born prematurely, or die
within the first year."

And, finally, let me instance the case of Harriet A. Walker, a young girl
of seventeen, killed while leading a forlorn hope on the industrial
battlefield.  She was employed as an enamelled ware brusher, wherein lead
poisoning is encountered.  Her father and brother were both out of
employment.  She concealed her illness, walked six miles a day to and
from work, earned her seven or eight shillings per week, and died, at
seventeen.

Depression in trade also plays an important part in hurling the workers
into the Abyss.  With a week's wages between a family and pauperism, a
month's enforced idleness means hardship and misery almost indescribable,
and from the ravages of which the victims do not always recover when work
is to be had again.  Just now the daily papers contain the report of a
meeting of the Carlisle branch of the Dockers' Union, wherein it is
stated that many of the men, for months past, have not averaged a weekly
income of more than from four to five shillings.  The stagnated state of
the shipping industry in the port of London is held accountable for this
condition of affairs.

To the young working-man or working-woman, or married couple, there is no
assurance of happy or healthy middle life, nor of solvent old age.  Work
as they will, they cannot make their future secure.  It is all a matter
of chance.  Everything depends upon the thing happening, the thing with
which they have nothing to do.  Precaution cannot fend it off, nor can
wiles evade it.  If they remain on the industrial battlefield they must
face it and take their chance against heavy odds.  Of course, if they are
favourably made and are not tied by kinship duties, they may run away
from the industrial battlefield.  In which event the safest thing the man
can do is to join the army; and for the woman, possibly, to become a Red
Cross nurse or go into a nunnery.  In either case they must forego home
and children and all that makes life worth living and old age other than
a nightmare.




CHAPTER XXII--SUICIDE


With life so precarious, and opportunity for the happiness of life so
remote, it is inevitable that life shall be cheap and suicide common.  So
common is it, that one cannot pick up a daily paper without running
across it; while an attempt-at-suicide case in a police court excites no
more interest than an ordinary "drunk," and is handled with the same
rapidity and unconcern.

I remember such a case in the Thames Police Court.  I pride myself that I
have good eyes and ears, and a fair working knowledge of men and things;
but I confess, as I stood in that court-room, that I was half bewildered
by the amazing despatch with which drunks, disorderlies, vagrants,
brawlers, wife-beaters, thieves, fences, gamblers, and women of the
street went through the machine of justice.  The dock stood in the centre
of the court (where the light is best), and into it and out again stepped
men, women, and children, in a stream as steady as the stream of
sentences which fell from the magistrate's lips.

I was still pondering over a consumptive "fence" who had pleaded
inability to work and necessity for supporting wife and children, and who
had received a year at hard labour, when a young boy of about twenty
appeared in the dock.  "Alfred Freeman," I caught his name, but failed to
catch the charge.  A stout and motherly-looking woman bobbed up in the
witness-box and began her testimony.  Wife of the Britannia lock-keeper,
I learned she was.  Time, night; a splash; she ran to the lock and found
the prisoner in the water.

I flashed my gaze from her to him.  So that was the charge, self-murder.
He stood there dazed and unheeding, his bonny brown hair rumpled down his
forehead, his face haggard and careworn and boyish still.

"Yes, sir," the lock-keeper's wife was saying.  "As fast as I pulled to
get 'im out, 'e crawled back.  Then I called for 'elp, and some workmen
'appened along, and we got 'im out and turned 'im over to the constable."

The magistrate complimented the woman on her muscular powers, and the
court-room laughed; but all I could see was a boy on the threshold of
life, passionately crawling to muddy death, and there was no laughter in
it.

A man was now in the witness-box, testifying to the boy's good character
and giving extenuating evidence.  He was the boy's foreman, or had been.
Alfred was a good boy, but he had had lots of trouble at home, money
matters.  And then his mother was sick.  He was given to worrying, and he
worried over it till he laid himself out and wasn't fit for work.  He
(the foreman), for the sake of his own reputation, the boy's work being
bad, had been forced to ask him to resign.

"Anything to say?" the magistrate demanded abruptly.

The boy in the dock mumbled something indistinctly.  He was still dazed.

"What does he say, constable?" the magistrate asked impatiently.

The stalwart man in blue bent his ear to the prisoner's lips, and then
replied loudly, "He says he's very sorry, your Worship."

"Remanded," said his Worship; and the next case was under way, the first
witness already engaged in taking the oath.  The boy, dazed and
unheeding, passed out with the jailer.  That was all, five minutes from
start to finish; and two hulking brutes in the dock were trying
strenuously to shift the responsibility of the possession of a stolen
fishing-pole, worth probably ten cents.

The chief trouble with these poor folk is that they do not know how to
commit suicide, and usually have to make two or three attempts before
they succeed.  This, very naturally, is a horrid nuisance to the
constables and magistrates, and gives them no end of trouble.  Sometimes,
however, the magistrates are frankly outspoken about the matter, and
censure the prisoners for the slackness of their attempts.  For instance
Mr. R. S---, chairman of the S--- B--- magistrates, in the case the other
day of Ann Wood, who tried to make away with herself in the canal: "If
you wanted to do it, why didn't you do it and get it done with?" demanded
the indignant Mr. R. S---.  "Why did you not get under the water and make
an end of it, instead of giving us all this trouble and bother?"

Poverty, misery, and fear of the workhouse, are the principal causes of
suicide among the working classes.  "I'll drown myself before I go into
the workhouse," said Ellen Hughes Hunt, aged fifty-two.  Last Wednesday
they held an inquest on her body at Shoreditch.  Her husband came from
the Islington Workhouse to testify.  He had been a cheesemonger, but
failure in business and poverty had driven him into the workhouse,
whither his wife had refused to accompany him.

She was last seen at one in the morning.  Three hours later her hat and
jacket were found on the towing path by the Regent's Canal, and later her
body was fished from the water.  _Verdict: Suicide during temporary
insanity_.

Such verdicts are crimes against truth.  The Law is a lie, and through it
men lie most shamelessly.  For instance, a disgraced woman, forsaken and
spat upon by kith and kin, doses herself and her baby with laudanum.  The
baby dies; but she pulls through after a few weeks in hospital, is
charged with murder, convicted, and sentenced to ten years' penal
servitude.  Recovering, the Law holds her responsible for her actions;
yet, had she died, the same Law would have rendered a verdict of
temporary insanity.

Now, considering the case of Ellen Hughes Hunt, it is as fair and logical
to say that her husband was suffering from temporary insanity when he
went into the Islington Workhouse, as it is to say that she was suffering
from temporary insanity when she went into the Regent's Canal.  As to
which is the preferable sojourning place is a matter of opinion, of
intellectual judgment.  I, for one, from what I know of canals and
workhouses, should choose the canal, were I in a similar position.  And I
make bold to contend that I am no more insane than Ellen Hughes Hunt, her
husband, and the rest of the human herd.

Man no longer follows instinct with the old natural fidelity.  He has
developed into a reasoning creature, and can intellectually cling to life
or discard life just as life happens to promise great pleasure or pain.  I
dare to assert that Ellen Hughes Hunt, defrauded and bilked of all the
joys of life which fifty-two years' service in the world has earned, with
nothing but the horrors of the workhouse before her, was very rational
and level-headed when she elected to jump into the canal.  And I dare to
assert, further, that the jury had done a wiser thing to bring in a
verdict charging society with temporary insanity for allowing Ellen
Hughes Hunt to be defrauded and bilked of all the joys of life which
fifty-two years' service in the world had earned.

Temporary insanity!  Oh, these cursed phrases, these lies of language,
under which people with meat in their bellies and whole shirts on their
backs shelter themselves, and evade the responsibility of their brothers
and sisters, empty of belly and without whole shirts on their backs.

From one issue of the _Observer_, an East End paper, I quote the
following commonplace events:-

   A ship's fireman, named Johnny King, was charged with attempting to
   commit suicide.  On Wednesday defendant went to Bow Police Station and
   stated that he had swallowed a quantity of phosphor paste, as he was
   hard up and unable to obtain work.  King was taken inside and an
   emetic administered, when he vomited up a quantity of the poison.
   Defendant now said he was very sorry.  Although he had sixteen years'
   good character, he was unable to obtain work of any kind.  Mr.
   Dickinson had defendant put back for the court missionary to see him.

   Timothy Warner, thirty-two, was remanded for a similar offence.  He
   jumped off Limehouse Pier, and when rescued, said, "I intended to do
   it."

   A decent-looking young woman, named Ellen Gray, was remanded on a
   charge of attempting to commit suicide.  About half-past eight on
   Sunday morning Constable 834 K found defendant lying in a doorway in
   Benworth Street, and she was in a very drowsy condition.  She was
   holding an empty bottle in one hand, and stated that some two or three
   hours previously she had swallowed a quantity of laudanum.  As she was
   evidently very ill, the divisional surgeon was sent for, and having
   administered some coffee, ordered that she was to be kept awake.  When
   defendant was charged, she stated that the reason why she attempted to
   take her life was she had neither home nor friends.

I do not say that all people who commit suicide are sane, no more than I
say that all people who do not commit suicide are sane.  Insecurity of
food and shelter, by the way, is a great cause of insanity among the
living.  Costermongers, hawkers, and pedlars, a class of workers who live
from hand to mouth more than those of any other class, form the highest
percentage of those in the lunatic asylums.  Among the males each year,
26.9 per 10,000 go insane, and among the women, 36.9.  On the other hand,
of soldiers, who are at least sure of food and shelter, 13 per 10,000 go
insane; and of farmers and graziers, only 5.1.  So a coster is twice as
likely to lose his reason as a soldier, and five times as likely as a
farmer.

Misfortune and misery are very potent in turning people's heads, and
drive one person to the lunatic asylum, and another to the morgue or the
gallows.  When the thing happens, and the father and husband, for all of
his love for wife and children and his willingness to work, can get no
work to do, it is a simple matter for his reason to totter and the light
within his brain go out.  And it is especially simple when it is taken
into consideration that his body is ravaged by innutrition and disease,
in addition to his soul being torn by the sight of his suffering wife and
little ones.

"He is a good-looking man, with a mass of black hair, dark, expressive
eyes, delicately chiselled nose and chin, and wavy, fair moustache."  This
is the reporter's description of Frank Cavilla as he stood in court, this
dreary month of September, "dressed in a much worn grey suit, and wearing
no collar."

Frank Cavilla lived and worked as a house decorator in London.  He is
described as a good workman, a steady fellow, and not given to drink,
while all his neighbours unite in testifying that he was a gentle and
affectionate husband and father.

His wife, Hannah Cavilla, was a big, handsome, light-hearted woman.  She
saw to it that his children were sent neat and clean (the neighbours all
remarked the fact) to the Childeric Road Board School.  And so, with such
a man, so blessed, working steadily and living temperately, all went
well, and the goose hung high.

Then the thing happened.  He worked for a Mr. Beck, builder, and lived in
one of his master's houses in Trundley Road.  Mr. Beck was thrown from
his trap and killed.  The thing was an unruly horse, and, as I say, it
happened.  Cavilla had to seek fresh employment and find another house.

This occurred eighteen months ago.  For eighteen months he fought the big
fight.  He got rooms in a little house in Batavia Road, but could not
make both ends meet.  Steady work could not be obtained.  He struggled
manfully at casual employment of all sorts, his wife and four children
starving before his eyes.  He starved himself, and grew weak, and fell
ill.  This was three months ago, and then there was absolutely no food at
all.  They made no complaint, spoke no word; but poor folk know.  The
housewives of Batavia Road sent them food, but so respectable were the
Cavillas that the food was sent anonymously, mysteriously, so as not to
hurt their pride.

The thing had happened.  He had fought, and starved, and suffered for
eighteen months.  He got up one September morning, early.  He opened his
pocket-knife.  He cut the throat of his wife, Hannah Cavilla, aged thirty-
three.  He cut the throat of his first-born, Frank, aged twelve.  He cut
the throat of his son, Walter, aged eight.  He cut the throat of his
daughter, Nellie, aged four.  He cut the throat of his youngest-born,
Ernest, aged sixteen months.  Then he watched beside the dead all day
until the evening, when the police came, and he told them to put a penny
in the slot of the gas-meter in order that they might have light to see.

Frank Cavilla stood in court, dressed in a much worn grey suit, and
wearing no collar.  He was a good-looking man, with a mass of black hair,
dark, expressive eyes, delicately chiselled nose and chin, and wavy, fair
moustache.




CHAPTER XXIII--THE CHILDREN


   "Where home is a hovel, and dull we grovel,
   Forgetting the world is fair."

There is one beautiful sight in the East End, and only one, and it is the
children dancing in the street when the organ-grinder goes his round.  It
is fascinating to watch them, the new-born, the next generation, swaying
and stepping, with pretty little mimicries and graceful inventions all
their own, with muscles that move swiftly and easily, and bodies that
leap airily, weaving rhythms never taught in dancing school.

I have talked with these children, here, there, and everywhere, and they
struck me as being bright as other children, and in many ways even
brighter.  They have most active little imaginations.  Their capacity for
projecting themselves into the realm of romance and fantasy is
remarkable.  A joyous life is romping in their blood.  They delight in
music, and motion, and colour, and very often they betray a startling
beauty of face and form under their filth and rags.

But there is a Pied Piper of London Town who steals them all away.  They
disappear.  One never sees them again, or anything that suggests them.
You may look for them in vain amongst the generation of grown-ups.  Here
you will find stunted forms, ugly faces, and blunt and stolid minds.
Grace, beauty, imagination, all the resiliency of mind and muscle, are
gone.  Sometimes, however, you may see a woman, not necessarily old, but
twisted and deformed out of all womanhood, bloated and drunken, lift her
draggled skirts and execute a few grotesque and lumbering steps upon the
pavement.  It is a hint that she was once one of those children who
danced to the organ-grinder.  Those grotesque and lumbering steps are all
that is left of the promise of childhood.  In the befogged recesses of
her brain has arisen a fleeting memory that she was once a girl.  The
crowd closes in.  Little girls are dancing beside her, about her, with
all the pretty graces she dimly recollects, but can no more than parody
with her body.  Then she pants for breath, exhausted, and stumbles out
through the circle.  But the little girls dance on.

The children of the Ghetto possess all the qualities which make for noble
manhood and womanhood; but the Ghetto itself, like an infuriated tigress
turning on its young, turns upon and destroys all these qualities, blots
out the light and laughter, and moulds those it does not kill into sodden
and forlorn creatures, uncouth, degraded, and wretched below the beasts
of the field.

As to the manner in which this is done, I have in previous chapters
described it at length; here let Professor Huxley describe it in brief:-

"Any one who is acquainted with the state of the population of all great
industrial centres, whether in this or other countries, is aware that
amidst a large and increasing body of that population there reigns
supreme . . . that condition which the French call _la misere_, a word
for which I do not think there is any exact English equivalent.  It is a
condition in which the food, warmth, and clothing which are necessary for
the mere maintenance of the functions of the body in their normal state
cannot be obtained; in which men, women, and children are forced to crowd
into dens wherein decency is abolished, and the most ordinary conditions
of healthful existence are impossible of attainment; in which the
pleasures within reach are reduced to brutality and drunkenness; in which
the pains accumulate at compound interest in the shape of starvation,
disease, stunted development, and moral degradation; in which the
prospect of even steady and honest industry is a life of unsuccessful
battling with hunger, rounded by a pauper's grave."

In such conditions, the outlook for children is hopeless.  They die like
flies, and those that survive, survive because they possess excessive
vitality and a capacity of adaptation to the degradation with which they
are surrounded.  They have no home life.  In the dens and lairs in which
they live they are exposed to all that is obscene and indecent.  And as
their minds are made rotten, so are their bodies made rotten by bad
sanitation, overcrowding, and underfeeding.  When a father and mother
live with three or four children in a room where the children take turn
about in sitting up to drive the rats away from the sleepers, when those
children never have enough to eat and are preyed upon and made miserable
and weak by swarming vermin, the sort of men and women the survivors will
make can readily be imagined.

   "Dull despair and misery
   Lie about them from their birth;
   Ugly curses, uglier mirth,
   Are their earliest lullaby."

A man and a woman marry and set up housekeeping in one room.  Their
income does not increase with the years, though their family does, and
the man is exceedingly lucky if he can keep his health and his job.  A
baby comes, and then another.  This means that more room should be
obtained; but these little mouths and bodies mean additional expense and
make it absolutely impossible to get more spacious quarters.  More babies
come.  There is not room in which to turn around.  The youngsters run the
streets, and by the time they are twelve or fourteen the room-issue comes
to a head, and out they go on the streets for good.  The boy, if he be
lucky, can manage to make the common lodging-houses, and he may have any
one of several ends.  But the girl of fourteen or fifteen, forced in this
manner to leave the one room called home, and able to earn at the best a
paltry five or six shillings per week, can have but one end.  And the
bitter end of that one end is such as that of the woman whose body the
police found this morning in a doorway in Dorset Street, Whitechapel.
Homeless, shelterless, sick, with no one with her in her last hour, she
had died in the night of exposure.  She was sixty-two years old and a
match vendor.  She died as a wild animal dies.

Fresh in my mind is the picture of a boy in the dock of an East End
police court.  His head was barely visible above the railing.  He was
being proved guilty of stealing two shillings from a woman, which he had
spent, not for candy and cakes and a good time, but for food.

"Why didn't you ask the woman for food?" the magistrate demanded, in a
hurt sort of tone.  "She would surely have given you something to eat."

"If I 'ad arsked 'er, I'd got locked up for beggin'," was the boy's
reply.

The magistrate knitted his brows and accepted the rebuke.  Nobody knew
the boy, nor his father or mother.  He was without beginning or
antecedent, a waif, a stray, a young cub seeking his food in the jungle
of empire, preying upon the weak and being preyed upon by the strong.

The people who try to help, who gather up the Ghetto children and send
them away on a day's outing to the country, believe that not very many
children reach the age of ten without having had at least one day there.
Of this, a writer says: "The mental change caused by one day so spent
must not be undervalued.  Whatever the circumstances, the children learn
the meaning of fields and woods, so that descriptions of country scenery
in the books they read, which before conveyed no impression, become now
intelligible."

One day in the fields and woods, if they are lucky enough to be picked up
by the people who try to help!  And they are being born faster every day
than they can be carted off to the fields and woods for the one day in
their lives.  One day!  In all their lives, one day!  And for the rest of
the days, as the boy told a certain bishop, "At ten we 'ops the wag; at
thirteen we nicks things; an' at sixteen we bashes the copper."  Which is
to say, at ten they play truant, at thirteen steal, and at sixteen are
sufficiently developed hooligans to smash the policemen.

The Rev. J. Cartmel Robinson tells of a boy and girl of his parish who
set out to walk to the forest.  They walked and walked through the never-
ending streets, expecting always to see it by-and-by; until they sat down
at last, faint and despairing, and were rescued by a kind woman who
brought them back.  Evidently they had been overlooked by the people who
try to help.

The same gentleman is authority for the statement that in a street in
Hoxton (a district of the vast East End), over seven hundred children,
between five and thirteen years, live in eighty small houses.  And he
adds: "It is because London has largely shut her children in a maze of
streets and houses and robbed them of their rightful inheritance in sky
and field and brook, that they grow up to be men and women physically
unfit."

He tells of a member of his congregation who let a basement room to a
married couple.  "They said they had two children; when they got
possession it turned out that they had four.  After a while a fifth
appeared, and the landlord gave them notice to quit.  They paid no
attention to it.  Then the sanitary inspector who has to wink at the law
so often, came in and threatened my friend with legal proceedings.  He
pleaded that he could not get them out.  They pleaded that nobody would
have them with so many children at a rental within their means, which is
one of the commonest complaints of the poor, by-the-bye.  What was to be
done?  The landlord was between two millstones.  Finally he applied to
the magistrate, who sent up an officer to inquire into the case.  Since
that time about twenty days have elapsed, and nothing has yet been done.
Is this a singular case?  By no means; it is quite common."

Last week the police raided a disorderly house.  In one room were found
two young children.  They were arrested and charged with being inmates
the same as the women had been.  Their father appeared at the trial.  He
stated that himself and wife and two older children, besides the two in
the dock, occupied that room; he stated also that he occupied it because
he could get no other room for the half-crown a week he paid for it.  The
magistrate discharged the two juvenile offenders and warned the father
that he was bringing his children up unhealthily.

But there is no need further to multiply instances.  In London the
slaughter of the innocents goes on on a scale more stupendous than any
before in the history of the world.  And equally stupendous is the
callousness of the people who believe in Christ, acknowledge God, and go
to church regularly on Sunday.  For the rest of the week they riot about
on the rents and profits which come to them from the East End stained
with the blood of the children.  Also, at times, so peculiarly are they
made, they will take half a million of these rents and profits and send
it away to educate the black boys of the Soudan.




CHAPTER XXIV--A VISION OF THE NIGHT


   All these were years ago little red-coloured, pulpy infants, capable
   of being kneaded, baked, into any social form you chose.--CARLYLE.

Late last night I walked along Commercial Street from Spitalfields to
Whitechapel, and still continuing south, down Leman Street to the docks.
And as I walked I smiled at the East End papers, which, filled with civic
pride, boastfully proclaim that there is nothing the matter with the East
End as a living place for men and women.

It is rather hard to tell a tithe of what I saw.  Much of it is
untenable.  But in a general way I may say that I saw a nightmare, a
fearful slime that quickened the pavement with life, a mess of
unmentionable obscenity that put into eclipse the "nightly horror" of
Piccadilly and the Strand.  It _was_ a menagerie of garmented bipeds that
looked something like humans and more like beasts, and to complete the
picture, brass-buttoned keepers kept order among them when they snarled
too fiercely.

I was glad the keepers were there, for I did not have on my "seafaring"
clothes, and I was what is called a "mark" for the creatures of prey that
prowled up and down.  At times, between keepers, these males looked at me
sharply, hungrily, gutter-wolves that they were, and I was afraid of
their hands, of their naked hands, as one may be afraid of the paws of a
gorilla.  They reminded me of gorillas.  Their bodies were small, ill-
shaped, and squat.  There were no swelling muscles, no abundant thews and
wide-spreading shoulders.  They exhibited, rather, an elemental economy
of nature, such as the cave-men must have exhibited.  But there was
strength in those meagre bodies, the ferocious, primordial strength to
clutch and gripe and tear and rend.  When they spring upon their human
prey they are known even to bend the victim backward and double its body
till the back is broken.  They possess neither conscience nor sentiment,
and they will kill for a half-sovereign, without fear or favour, if they
are given but half a chance.  They are a new species, a breed of city
savages.  The streets and houses, alleys and courts, are their hunting
grounds.  As valley and mountain are to the natural savage, street and
building are valley and mountain to them.  The slum is their jungle, and
they live and prey in the jungle.

The dear soft people of the golden theatres and wonder-mansions of the
West End do not see these creatures, do not dream that they exist.  But
they are here, alive, very much alive in their jungle.  And woe the day,
when England is fighting in her last trench, and her able-bodied men are
on the firing line!  For on that day they will crawl out of their dens
and lairs, and the people of the West End will see them, as the dear soft
aristocrats of Feudal France saw them and asked one another, "Whence came
they?"  "Are they men?"

But they were not the only beasts that ranged the menagerie.  They were
only here and there, lurking in dark courts and passing like grey shadows
along the walls; but the women from whose rotten loins they spring were
everywhere.  They whined insolently, and in maudlin tones begged me for
pennies, and worse.  They held carouse in every boozing ken, slatternly,
unkempt, bleary-eyed, and towsled, leering and gibbering, overspilling
with foulness and corruption, and, gone in debauch, sprawling across
benches and bars, unspeakably repulsive, fearful to look upon.

And there were others, strange, weird faces and forms and twisted
monstrosities that shouldered me on every side, inconceivable types of
sodden ugliness, the wrecks of society, the perambulating carcasses, the
living deaths--women, blasted by disease and drink till their shame
brought not tuppence in the open mart; and men, in fantastic rags,
wrenched by hardship and exposure out of all semblance of men, their
faces in a perpetual writhe of pain, grinning idiotically, shambling like
apes, dying with every step they took and each breath they drew.  And
there were young girls, of eighteen and twenty, with trim bodies and
faces yet untouched with twist and bloat, who had fetched the bottom of
the Abyss plump, in one swift fall.  And I remember a lad of fourteen,
and one of six or seven, white-faced and sickly, homeless, the pair of
them, who sat upon the pavement with their backs against a railing and
watched it all.

The unfit and the unneeded!  Industry does not clamour for them.  There
are no jobs going begging through lack of men and women.  The dockers
crowd at the entrance gate, and curse and turn away when the foreman does
not give them a call.  The engineers who have work pay six shillings a
week to their brother engineers who can find nothing to do; 514,000
textile workers oppose a resolution condemning the employment of children
under fifteen.  Women, and plenty to spare, are found to toil under the
sweat-shop masters for tenpence a day of fourteen hours.  Alfred Freeman
crawls to muddy death because he loses his job.  Ellen Hughes Hunt
prefers Regent's Canal to Islington Workhouse.  Frank Cavilla cuts the
throats of his wife and children because he cannot find work enough to
give them food and shelter.

The unfit and the unneeded!  The miserable and despised and forgotten,
dying in the social shambles.  The progeny of prostitution--of the
prostitution of men and women and children, of flesh and blood, and
sparkle and spirit; in brief, the prostitution of labour.  If this is the
best that civilisation can do for the human, then give us howling and
naked savagery.  Far better to be a people of the wilderness and desert,
of the cave and the squatting-place, than to be a people of the machine
and the Abyss.




CHAPTER XXV--THE HUNGER WAIL


"My father has more stamina than I, for he is country-born."

The speaker, a bright young East Ender, was lamenting his poor physical
development.

"Look at my scrawny arm, will you."  He pulled up his sleeve.  "Not
enough to eat, that's what's the matter with it.  Oh, not now.  I have
what I want to eat these days.  But it's too late.  It can't make up for
what I didn't have to eat when I was a kiddy.  Dad came up to London from
the Fen Country.  Mother died, and there were six of us kiddies and dad
living in two small rooms.

"He had hard times, dad did.  He might have chucked us, but he didn't.  He
slaved all day, and at night he came home and cooked and cared for us.  He
was father and mother, both.  He did his best, but we didn't have enough
to eat.  We rarely saw meat, and then of the worst.  And it is not good
for growing kiddies to sit down to a dinner of bread and a bit of cheese,
and not enough of it.

"And what's the result?  I am undersized, and I haven't the stamina of my
dad.  It was starved out of me.  In a couple of generations there'll be
no more of me here in London.  Yet there's my younger brother; he's
bigger and better developed.  You see, dad and we children held together,
and that accounts for it."

"But I don't see," I objected.  "I should think, under such conditions,
that the vitality should decrease and the younger children be born weaker
and weaker."

"Not when they hold together," he replied.  "Whenever you come along in
the East End and see a child of from eight to twelve, good-sized, well-
developed, and healthy-looking, just you ask and you will find that it is
the youngest in the family, or at least is one of the younger.  The way
of it is this: the older children starve more than the younger ones.  By
the time the younger ones come along, the older ones are starting to
work, and there is more money coming in, and more food to go around."

He pulled down his sleeve, a concrete instance of where chronic
semi-starvation kills not, but stunts.  His voice was but one among the
myriads that raise the cry of the hunger wail in the greatest empire in
the world.  On any one day, over 1,000,000 people are in receipt of poor-
law relief in the United Kingdom.  One in eleven of the whole working-
class receive poor-law relief in the course of the year; 37,500,000
people receive less than 12 pounds per month, per family; and a constant
army of 8,000,000 lives on the border of starvation.

A committee of the London County school board makes this declaration: "At
times, _when there is no special distress_, 55,000 children in a state of
hunger, which makes it useless to attempt to teach them, are in the
schools of London alone."  The italics are mine.  "When there is no
special distress" means good times in England; for the people of England
have come to look upon starvation and suffering, which they call
"distress," as part of the social order.  Chronic starvation is looked
upon as a matter of course.  It is only when acute starvation makes its
appearance on a large scale that they think something is unusual

I shall never forget the bitter wail of a blind man in a little East End
shop at the close of a murky day.  He had been the eldest of five
children, with a mother and no father.  Being the eldest, he had starved
and worked as a child to put bread into the mouths of his little brothers
and sisters.  Not once in three months did he ever taste meat.  He never
knew what it was to have his hunger thoroughly appeased.  And he claimed
that this chronic starvation of his childhood had robbed him of his
sight.  To support the claim, he quoted from the report of the Royal
Commission on the Blind, "Blindness is more prevalent in poor districts,
and poverty accelerates this dreadful affliction."

But he went further, this blind man, and in his voice was the bitterness
of an afflicted man to whom society did not give enough to eat.  He was
one of an enormous army of blind in London, and he said that in the blind
homes they did not receive half enough to eat.  He gave the diet for a
day:-

Breakfast--0.75 pint of skilly and dry bread.
Dinner   --3 oz. meat.
            1 slice of bread.
            0.5 lb. potatoes.
Supper   --0.75 pint of skilly and dry bread.

Oscar Wilde, God rest his soul, voices the cry of the prison child,
which, in varying degree, is the cry of the prison man and woman:-

"The second thing from which a child suffers in prison is hunger.  The
food that is given to it consists of a piece of usually bad-baked prison
bread and a tin of water for breakfast at half-past seven.  At twelve
o'clock it gets dinner, composed of a tin of coarse Indian meal stirabout
(skilly), and at half-past five it gets a piece of dry bread and a tin of
water for its supper.  This diet in the case of a strong grown man is
always productive of illness of some kind, chiefly of course diarrhoea,
with its attendant weakness.  In fact, in a big prison astringent
medicines are served out regularly by the warders as a matter of course.
In the case of a child, the child is, as a rule, incapable of eating the
food at all.  Any one who knows anything about children knows how easily
a child's digestion is upset by a fit of crying, or trouble and mental
distress of any kind.  A child who has been crying all day long, and
perhaps half the night, in a lonely dim-lit cell, and is preyed upon by
terror, simply cannot eat food of this coarse, horrible kind.  In the
case of the little child to whom Warder Martin gave the biscuits, the
child was crying with hunger on Tuesday morning, and utterly unable to
eat the bread and water served to it for its breakfast.  Martin went out
after the breakfasts had been served and bought the few sweet biscuits
for the child rather than see it starving.  It was a beautiful action on
his part, and was so recognised by the child, who, utterly unconscious of
the regulations of the Prison Board, told one of the senior wardens how
kind this junior warden had been to him.  The result was, of course, a
report and a dismissal."

Robert Blatchford compares the workhouse pauper's daily diet with the
soldier's, which, when he was a soldier, was not considered liberal
enough, and yet is twice as liberal as the pauper's.

PAUPER    DIET          SOLDIER
3.25 oz.  Meat          12 oz.
15.5 oz.  Bread         24 oz.
6 oz.     Vegetables     8 oz.

The adult male pauper gets meat (outside of soup) but once a week, and
the paupers "have nearly all that pallid, pasty complexion which is the
sure mark of starvation."

Here is a table, comparing the workhouse officer's weekly allowance:-

OFFICER    DIET          PAUPER
7 lb.      Bread         6.75 lb.
5 lb.      Meat          1 lb. 2 oz.
12 oz.     Bacon         2.5 oz.
8 oz.      Cheese        2 oz.
7 lb.      Potatoes      1.5 lb.
6 lb.      Vegetables    none.
1 lb.      Flour         none.
2 oz.      Lard          none.
12 oz.     Butter        7 oz.
none.      Rice Pudding  1 lb.

And as the same writer remarks: "The officer's diet is still more liberal
than the pauper's; but evidently it is not considered liberal enough, for
a footnote is added to the officer's table saying that 'a cash payment of
two shillings and sixpence a week is also made to each resident officer
and servant.'  If the pauper has ample food, why does the officer have
more?  And if the officer has not too much, can the pauper be properly
fed on less than half the amount?"

But it is not alone the Ghetto-dweller, the prisoner, and the pauper that
starve.  Hodge, of the country, does not know what it is always to have a
full belly.  In truth, it is his empty belly which has driven him to the
city in such great numbers.  Let us investigate the way of living of a
labourer from a parish in the Bradfield Poor Law Union, Berks.  Supposing
him to have two children, steady work, a rent-free cottage, and an
average weekly wage of thirteen shillings, which is equivalent to $3.25,
then here is his weekly budget:-

                                      s.  d.
Bread (5 quarterns)                   1   10
Flour (0.5 gallon)                    0   4
Tea (0.25 lb.)                        0   6
Butter (1 lb.)                        1   3
Lard (1 lb.)                          0   6
Sugar (6 lb.)                         1   0
Bacon or other meat (about 0.25 lb.)  2   8
Cheese (1 lb.)                        0   8
Milk (half-tin condensed)             0   3.25
Coal                                  1   6
Beer                                  none
Tobacco                               none
Insurance ("Prudential")              0   3
Labourers' Union                      0   1
Wood, tools, dispensary, &c.          0   6
Insurance ("Foresters") and margin    1   1.75
        for clothes
Total                                13   0

The guardians of the workhouse in the above Union pride themselves on
their rigid economy.  It costs per pauper per week:-

               s.   d.
Men            6    1.5
Women          5    6.5
Children       5    1.25

If the labourer whose budget has been described should quit his toil and
go into the workhouse, he would cost the guardians for

               s.   d.
Himself        6    1.5
Wife           5    6.5
Two children  10    2.5
Total         21    10.5
Or roughly, $5.46

It would require more than a guinea for the workhouse to care for him and
his family, which he, somehow, manages to do on thirteen shillings.  And
in addition, it is an understood fact that it is cheaper to cater for a
large number of people--buying, cooking, and serving wholesale--than it
is to cater for a small number of people, say a family.

Nevertheless, at the time this budget was compiled, there was in that
parish another family, not of four, but eleven persons, who had to live
on an income, not of thirteen shillings, but of twelve shillings per week
(eleven shillings in winter), and which had, not a rent-free cottage, but
a cottage for which it paid three shillings per week.

This must be understood, and understood clearly: _Whatever is true of
London in the way of poverty and degradation, is true of all England_.
While Paris is not by any means France, the city of London is England.
The frightful conditions which mark London an inferno likewise mark the
United Kingdom an inferno.  The argument that the decentralisation of
London would ameliorate conditions is a vain thing and false.  If the
6,000,000 people of London were separated into one hundred cities each
with a population of 60,000, misery would be decentralised but not
diminished.  The sum of it would remain as large.

In this instance, Mr. B. S. Rowntree, by an exhaustive analysis, has
proved for the country town what Mr. Charles Booth has proved for the
metropolis, that fully one-fourth of the dwellers are condemned to a
poverty which destroys them physically and spiritually; that fully one-
fourth of the dwellers do not have enough to eat, are inadequately
clothed, sheltered, and warmed in a rigorous climate, and are doomed to a
moral degeneracy which puts them lower than the savage in cleanliness and
decency.

After listening to the wail of an old Irish peasant in Kerry, Robert
Blatchford asked him what he wanted.  "The old man leaned upon his spade
and looked out across the black peat fields at the lowering skies.  'What
is it that I'm wantun?' he said; then in a deep plaintive tone he
continued, more to himself than to me, 'All our brave bhoys and dear
gurrls is away an' over the says, an' the agent has taken the pig off me,
an' the wet has spiled the praties, an' I'm an owld man, _an' I want the
Day av Judgment_.'"

The Day of Judgment!  More than he want it.  From all the land rises the
hunger wail, from Ghetto and countryside, from prison and casual ward,
from asylum and workhouse--the cry of the people who have not enough to
eat.  Millions of people, men, women, children, little babes, the blind,
the deaf, the halt, the sick, vagabonds and toilers, prisoners and
paupers, the people of Ireland, England, Scotland, Wales, who have not
enough to eat.  And this, in face of the fact that five men can produce
bread for a thousand; that one workman can produce cotton cloth for 250
people, woollens for 300, and boots and shoes for 1000.  It would seem
that 40,000,000 people are keeping a big house, and that they are keeping
it badly.  The income is all right, but there is something criminally
wrong with the management.  And who dares to say that it is not
criminally mismanaged, this big house, when five men can produce bread
for a thousand, and yet millions have not enough to eat?




CHAPTER XXVI--DRINK, TEMPERANCE, AND THRIFT


The English working classes may be said to be soaked in beer.  They are
made dull and sodden by it.  Their efficiency is sadly impaired, and they
lose whatever imagination, invention, and quickness may be theirs by
right of race.  It may hardly be called an acquired habit, for they are
accustomed to it from their earliest infancy.  Children are begotten in
drunkenness, saturated in drink before they draw their first breath, born
to the smell and taste of it, and brought up in the midst of it.

The public-house is ubiquitous.  It flourishes on every corner and
between corners, and it is frequented almost as much by women as by men.
Children are to be found in it as well, waiting till their fathers and
mothers are ready to go home, sipping from the glasses of their elders,
listening to the coarse language and degrading conversation, catching the
contagion of it, familiarising themselves with licentiousness and
debauchery.

Mrs. Grundy rules as supremely over the workers as she does over the
bourgeoisie; but in the case of the workers, the one thing she does not
frown upon is the public-house.  No disgrace or shame attaches to it, nor
to the young woman or girl who makes a practice of entering it.

I remember a girl in a coffee-house saying, "I never drink spirits when
in a public-'ouse."  She was a young and pretty waitress, and she was
laying down to another waitress her pre-eminent respectability and
discretion.  Mrs. Grundy drew the line at spirits, but allowed that it
was quite proper for a clean young girl to drink beer, and to go into a
public-house to drink it.

Not only is this beer unfit for the people to drink, but too often the
men and women are unfit to drink it.  On the other hand, it is their very
unfitness that drives them to drink it.  Ill-fed, suffering from
innutrition and the evil effects of overcrowding and squalor, their
constitutions develop a morbid craving for the drink, just as the sickly
stomach of the overstrung Manchester factory operative hankers after
excessive quantities of pickles and similar weird foods.  Unhealthy
working and living engenders unhealthy appetites and desires.  Man cannot
be worked worse than a horse is worked, and be housed and fed as a pig is
housed and fed, and at the same time have clean and wholesome ideals and
aspirations.

As home-life vanishes, the public-house appears.  Not only do men and
women abnormally crave drink, who are overworked, exhausted, suffering
from deranged stomachs and bad sanitation, and deadened by the ugliness
and monotony of existence, but the gregarious men and women who have no
home-life flee to the bright and clattering public-house in a vain
attempt to express their gregariousness.  And when a family is housed in
one small room, home-life is impossible.

A brief examination of such a dwelling will serve to bring to light one
important cause of drunkenness.  Here the family arises in the morning,
dresses, and makes its toilet, father, mother, sons, and daughters, and
in the same room, shoulder to shoulder (for the room is small), the wife
and mother cooks the breakfast.  And in the same room, heavy and
sickening with the exhalations of their packed bodies throughout the
night, that breakfast is eaten.  The father goes to work, the elder
children go to school or into the street, and the mother remains with her
crawling, toddling youngsters to do her housework--still in the same
room.  Here she washes the clothes, filling the pent space with soapsuds
and the smell of dirty clothes, and overhead she hangs the wet linen to
dry.

Here, in the evening, amid the manifold smells of the day, the family
goes to its virtuous couch.  That is to say, as many as possible pile
into the one bed (if bed they have), and the surplus turns in on the
floor.  And this is the round of their existence, month after month, year
after year, for they never get a vacation save when they are evicted.
When a child dies, and some are always bound to die, since fifty-five per
cent. of the East End children die before they are five years old, the
body is laid out in the same room.  And if they are very poor, it is kept
for some time until they can bury it.  During the day it lies on the bed;
during the night, when the living take the bed, the dead occupies the
table, from which, in the morning, when the dead is put back into the
bed, they eat their breakfast.  Sometimes the body is placed on the shelf
which serves as a pantry for their food.  Only a couple of weeks ago, an
East End woman was in trouble, because, in this fashion, being unable to
bury it, she had kept her dead child three weeks.

Now such a room as I have described is not home but horror; and the men
and women who flee away from it to the public-house are to be pitied, not
blamed.  There are 300,000 people, in London, divided into families that
live in single rooms, while there are 900,000 who are illegally housed
according to the Public Health Act of 1891--a respectable
recruiting-ground for the drink traffic.

Then there are the insecurity of happiness, the precariousness of
existence, the well-founded fear of the future--potent factors in driving
people to drink.  Wretchedness squirms for alleviation, and in the public-
house its pain is eased and forgetfulness is obtained.  It is unhealthy.
Certainly it is, but everything else about their lives is unhealthy,
while this brings the oblivion that nothing else in their lives can
bring.  It even exalts them, and makes them feel that they are finer and
better, though at the same time it drags them down and makes them more
beastly than ever.  For the unfortunate man or woman, it is a race
between miseries that ends with death.

It is of no avail to preach temperance and teetotalism to these people.
The drink habit may be the cause of many miseries; but it is, in turn,
the effect of other and prior miseries.  The temperance advocates may
preach their hearts out over the evils of drink, but until the evils that
cause people to drink are abolished, drink and its evils will remain.

Until the people who try to help realise this, their well-intentioned
efforts will be futile, and they will present a spectacle fit only to set
Olympus laughing.  I have gone through an exhibition of Japanese art, got
up for the poor of Whitechapel with the idea of elevating them, of
begetting in them yearnings for the Beautiful and True and Good.  Granting
(what is not so) that the poor folk are thus taught to know and yearn
after the Beautiful and True and Good, the foul facts of their existence
and the social law that dooms one in three to a public-charity death,
demonstrate that this knowledge and yearning will be only so much of an
added curse to them.  They will have so much more to forget than if they
had never known and yearned.  Did Destiny to-day bind me down to the life
of an East End slave for the rest of my years, and did Destiny grant me
but one wish, I should ask that I might forget all about the Beautiful
and True and Good; that I might forget all I had learned from the open
books, and forget the people I had known, the things I had heard, and the
lands I had seen.  And if Destiny didn't grant it, I am pretty confident
that I should get drunk and forget it as often as possible.

These people who try to help!  Their college settlements, missions,
charities, and what not, are failures.  In the nature of things they
cannot but be failures.  They are wrongly, though sincerely, conceived.
They approach life through a misunderstanding of life, these good folk.
They do not understand the West End, yet they come down to the East End
as teachers and savants.  They do not understand the simple sociology of
Christ, yet they come to the miserable and the despised with the pomp of
social redeemers.  They have worked faithfully, but beyond relieving an
infinitesimal fraction of misery and collecting a certain amount of data
which might otherwise have been more scientifically and less expensively
collected, they have achieved nothing.

As some one has said, they do everything for the poor except get off
their backs.  The very money they dribble out in their child's schemes
has been wrung from the poor.  They come from a race of successful and
predatory bipeds who stand between the worker and his wages, and they try
to tell the worker what he shall do with the pitiful balance left to him.
Of what use, in the name of God, is it to establish nurseries for women
workers, in which, for instance, a child is taken while the mother makes
violets in Islington at three farthings a gross, when more children and
violet-makers than they can cope with are being born right along?  This
violet-maker handles each flower four times, 576 handlings for three
farthings, and in the day she handles the flowers 6912 times for a wage
of ninepence.  She is being robbed.  Somebody is on her back, and a
yearning for the Beautiful and True and Good will not lighten her burden.
They do nothing for her, these dabblers; and what they do not do for the
mother, undoes at night, when the child comes home, all that they have
done for the child in the day.

And one and all, they join in teaching a fundamental lie.  They do not
know it is a lie, but their ignorance does not make it more of a truth.
And the lie they preach is "thrift."  An instant will demonstrate it.  In
overcrowded London, the struggle for a chance to work is keen, and
because of this struggle wages sink to the lowest means of subsistence.
To be thrifty means for a worker to spend less than his income--in other
words, to live on less.  This is equivalent to a lowering of the standard
of living.  In the competition for a chance to work, the man with a lower
standard of living will underbid the man with a higher standard.  And a
small group of such thrifty workers in any overcrowded industry will
permanently lower the wages of that industry.  And the thrifty ones will
no longer be thrifty, for their income will have been reduced till it
balances their expenditure.

In short, thrift negates thrift.  If every worker in England should heed
the preachers of thrift and cut expenditure in half, the condition of
there being more men to work than there is work to do would swiftly cut
wages in half.  And then none of the workers of England would be thrifty,
for they would be living up to their diminished incomes.  The
short-sighted thrift-preachers would naturally be astounded at the
outcome.  The measure of their failure would be precisely the measure of
the success of their propaganda.  And, anyway, it is sheer bosh and
nonsense to preach thrift to the 1,800,000 London workers who are divided
into families which have a total income of less than 21s. per week, one
quarter to one half of which must be paid for rent.

Concerning the futility of the people who try to help, I wish to make one
notable, noble exception, namely, the Dr. Barnardo Homes.  Dr. Barnardo
is a child-catcher.  First, he catches them when they are young, before
they are set, hardened, in the vicious social mould; and then he sends
them away to grow up and be formed in another and better social mould.  Up
to date he has sent out of the country 13,340 boys, most of them to
Canada, and not one in fifty has failed.  A splendid record, when it is
considered that these lads are waifs and strays, homeless and parentless,
jerked out from the very bottom of the Abyss, and forty-nine out of fifty
of them made into men.

Every twenty-four hours in the year Dr. Barnardo snatches nine waifs from
the streets; so the enormous field he has to work in may be comprehended.
The people who try to help have something to learn from him.  He does not
play with palliatives.  He traces social viciousness and misery to their
sources.  He removes the progeny of the gutter-folk from their
pestilential environment, and gives them a healthy, wholesome environment
in which to be pressed and prodded and moulded into men.

When the people who try to help cease their playing and dabbling with day
nurseries and Japanese art exhibits and go back and learn their West End
and the sociology of Christ, they will be in better shape to buckle down
to the work they ought to be doing in the world.  And if they do buckle
down to the work, they will follow Dr. Barnardo's lead, only on a scale
as large as the nation is large.  They won't cram yearnings for the
Beautiful, and True, and Good down the throat of the woman making violets
for three farthings a gross, but they will make somebody get off her back
and quit cramming himself till, like the Romans, he must go to a bath and
sweat it out.  And to their consternation, they will find that they will
have to get off that woman's back themselves, as well as the backs of a
few other women and children they did not dream they were riding upon.




CHAPTER XXVII--THE MANAGEMENT


In this final chapter it were well to look at the Social Abyss in its
widest aspect, and to put certain questions to Civilisation, by the
answers to which Civilisation must stand or fall.  For instance, has
Civilisation bettered the lot of man?  "Man," I use in its democratic
sense, meaning the average man.  So the question re-shapes itself: _Has
Civilisation bettered the lot of the average man_?

Let us see.  In Alaska, along the banks of the Yukon River, near its
mouth, live the Innuit folk.  They are a very primitive people,
manifesting but mere glimmering adumbrations of that tremendous artifice,
Civilisation.  Their capital amounts possibly to 2 pounds per head.  They
hunt and fish for their food with bone-headed spews and arrows.  They
never suffer from lack of shelter.  Their clothes, largely made from the
skins of animals, are warm.  They always have fuel for their fires,
likewise timber for their houses, which they build partly underground,
and in which they lie snugly during the periods of intense cold.  In the
summer they live in tents, open to every breeze and cool.  They are
healthy, and strong, and happy.  Their one problem is food.  They have
their times of plenty and times of famine.  In good times they feast; in
bad times they die of starvation.  But starvation, as a chronic
condition, present with a large number of them all the time, is a thing
unknown.  Further, they have no debts.

In the United Kingdom, on the rim of the Western Ocean, live the English
folk.  They are a consummately civilised people.  Their capital amounts
to at least 300 pounds per head.  They gain their food, not by hunting
and fishing, but by toil at colossal artifices.  For the most part, they
suffer from lack of shelter.  The greater number of them are vilely
housed, do not have enough fuel to keep them warm, and are insufficiently
clothed.  A constant number never have any houses at all, and sleep
shelterless under the stars.  Many are to be found, winter and summer,
shivering on the streets in their rags.  They have good times and bad.  In
good times most of them manage to get enough to eat, in bad times they
die of starvation.  They are dying now, they were dying yesterday and
last year, they will die to-morrow and next year, of starvation; for
they, unlike the Innuit, suffer from a chronic condition of starvation.
There are 40,000,000 of the English folk, and 939 out of every 1000 of
them die in poverty, while a constant army of 8,000,000 struggles on the
ragged edge of starvation.  Further, each babe that is born, is born in
debt to the sum of 22 pounds.  This is because of an artifice called the
National Debt.

In a fair comparison of the average Innuit and the average Englishman, it
will be seen that life is less rigorous for the Innuit; that while the
Innuit suffers only during bad times from starvation, the Englishman
suffers during good times as well; that no Innuit lacks fuel, clothing,
or housing, while the Englishman is in perpetual lack of these three
essentials.  In this connection it is well to instance the judgment of a
man such as Huxley.  From the knowledge gained as a medical officer in
the East End of London, and as a scientist pursuing investigations among
the most elemental savages, he concludes, "Were the alternative presented
to me, I would deliberately prefer the life of the savage to that of
those people of Christian London."

The creature comforts man enjoys are the products of man's labour.  Since
Civilisation has failed to give the average Englishman food and shelter
equal to that enjoyed by the Innuit, the question arises: _Has
Civilisation increased the producing power of the average man_?  If it
has not increased man's producing power, then Civilisation cannot stand.

But, it will be instantly admitted, Civilisation has increased man's
producing power.  Five men can produce bread for a thousand.  One man can
produce cotton cloth for 250 people, woollens for 300, and boots and
shoes for 1000.  Yet it has been shown throughout the pages of this book
that English folk by the millions do not receive enough food, clothes,
and boots.  Then arises the third and inexorable question: _If
Civilisation has increased the producing power of the average man, why
has it not bettered the lot of the average man_?

There can be one answer only--MISMANAGEMENT.  Civilisation has made
possible all manner of creature comforts and heart's delights.  In these
the average Englishman does not participate.  If he shall be forever
unable to participate, then Civilisation falls.  There is no reason for
the continued existence of an artifice so avowed a failure.  But it is
impossible that men should have reared this tremendous artifice in vain.
It stuns the intellect.  To acknowledge so crushing a defeat is to give
the death-blow to striving and progress.

One other alternative, and one other only, presents itself.  _Civilisation
must be compelled to better the lot of the average men_.  This accepted,
it becomes at once a question of business management.  Things profitable
must be continued; things unprofitable must be eliminated.  Either the
Empire is a profit to England, or it is a loss.  If it is a loss, it must
be done away with.  If it is a profit, it must be managed so that the
average man comes in for a share of the profit.

If the struggle for commercial supremacy is profitable, continue it.  If
it is not, if it hurts the worker and makes his lot worse than the lot of
a savage, then fling foreign markets and industrial empire overboard.  For
it is a patent fact that if 40,000,000 people, aided by Civilisation,
possess a greater individual producing power than the Innuit, then those
40,000,000 people should enjoy more creature comforts and heart's
delights than the Innuits enjoy.

If the 400,000 English gentlemen, "of no occupation," according to their
own statement in the Census of 1881, are unprofitable, do away with them.
Set them to work ploughing game preserves and planting potatoes.  If they
are profitable, continue them by all means, but let it be seen to that
the average Englishman shares somewhat in the profits they produce by
working at no occupation.

In short, society must be reorganised, and a capable management put at
the head.  That the present management is incapable, there can be no
discussion.  It has drained the United Kingdom of its life-blood.  It has
enfeebled the stay-at-home folk till they are unable longer to struggle
in the van of the competing nations.  It has built up a West End and an
East End as large as the Kingdom is large, in which one end is riotous
and rotten, the other end sickly and underfed.

A vast empire is foundering on the hands of this incapable management.
And by empire is meant the political machinery which holds together the
English-speaking people of the world outside of the United States.  Nor
is this charged in a pessimistic spirit.  Blood empire is greater than
political empire, and the English of the New World and the Antipodes are
strong and vigorous as ever.  But the political empire under which they
are nominally assembled is perishing.  The political machine known as the
British Empire is running down.  In the hands of its management it is
losing momentum every day.

It is inevitable that this management, which has grossly and criminally
mismanaged, shall be swept away.  Not only has it been wasteful and
inefficient, but it has misappropriated the funds.  Every worn-out, pasty-
faced pauper, every blind man, every prison babe, every man, woman, and
child whose belly is gnawing with hunger pangs, is hungry because the
funds have been misappropriated by the management.

Nor can one member of this managing class plead not guilty before the
judgment bar of Man.  "The living in their houses, and in their graves
the dead," are challenged by every babe that dies of innutrition, by
every girl that flees the sweater's den to the nightly promenade of
Piccadilly, by every worked-out toiler that plunges into the canal.  The
food this managing class eats, the wine it drinks, the shows it makes,
and the fine clothes it wears, are challenged by eight million mouths
which have never had enough to fill them, and by twice eight million
bodies which have never been sufficiently clothed and housed.

There can be no mistake.  Civilisation has increased man's producing
power an hundred-fold, and through mismanagement the men of Civilisation
live worse than the beasts, and have less to eat and wear and protect
them from the elements than the savage Innuit in a frigid climate who
lives to-day as he lived in the stone age ten thousand years ago.




CHALLENGE


I have a vague remembrance
   Of a story that is told
In some ancient Spanish legend
   Or chronicle of old.

It was when brave King Sanche
   Was before Zamora slain,
And his great besieging army
   Lay encamped upon the plain.

Don Diego de Ordenez
   Sallied forth in front of all,
And shouted loud his challenge
   To the warders on the wall.

All the people of Zamora,
   Both the born and the unborn,
As traitors did he challenge
   With taunting words of scorn.

The living in their houses,
   And in their graves the dead,
And the waters in their rivers,
   And their wine, and oil, and bread.

There is a greater army
   That besets us round with strife,
A starving, numberless army
   At all the gates of life.

The poverty-stricken millions
   Who challenge our wine and bread,
And impeach us all as traitors,
   Both the living and the dead.

And whenever I sit at the banquet,
   Where the feast and song are high,
Amid the mirth and music
   I can hear that fearful cry.

And hollow and haggard faces
   Look into the lighted hall,
And wasted hands are extended
   To catch the crumbs that fall

And within there is light and plenty,
   And odours fill the air;
But without there is cold and darkness,
   And hunger and despair.

And there in the camp of famine,
   In wind, and cold, and rain,
Christ, the great Lord of the Army,
   Lies dead upon the plain.

LONGFELLOW




Footnotes:


{1}  This in the Klondike.--J. L.

{2}  "Runt" in America is the equivalent of the English "crowl," the
dwarf of a litter.

{3}  The San Francisco bricklayer receives twenty shillings per day, and
at present is on strike for twenty-four shillings.


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FILE: episodes/data/books/isles.txt
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A JOURNEY TO THE WESTERN ISLANDS OF SCOTLAND


INCH KEITH


I had desired to visit the Hebrides, or Western Islands of Scotland, so
long, that I scarcely remember how the wish was originally excited; and
was in the Autumn of the year 1773 induced to undertake the journey, by
finding in Mr. Boswell a companion, whose acuteness would help my
inquiry, and whose gaiety of conversation and civility of manners are
sufficient to counteract the inconveniences of travel, in countries less
hospitable than we have passed.

On the eighteenth of August we left Edinburgh, a city too well known to
admit description, and directed our course northward, along the eastern
coast of Scotland, accompanied the first day by another gentleman, who
could stay with us only long enough to shew us how much we lost at
separation.

As we crossed the Frith of Forth, our curiosity was attracted by Inch
Keith, a small island, which neither of my companions had ever visited,
though, lying within their view, it had all their lives solicited their
notice.  Here, by climbing with some difficulty over shattered crags, we
made the first experiment of unfrequented coasts.  Inch Keith is nothing
more than a rock covered with a thin layer of earth, not wholly bare of
grass, and very fertile of thistles.  A small herd of cows grazes
annually upon it in the summer.  It seems never to have afforded to man
or beast a permanent habitation.

We found only the ruins of a small fort, not so injured by time but that
it might be easily restored to its former state.  It seems never to have
been intended as a place of strength, nor was built to endure a siege,
but merely to afford cover to a few soldiers, who perhaps had the charge
of a battery, or were stationed to give signals of approaching danger.
There is therefore no provision of water within the walls, though the
spring is so near, that it might have been easily enclosed.  One of the
stones had this inscription: 'Maria Reg. 1564.'  It has probably been
neglected from the time that the whole island had the same king.

We left this little island with our thoughts employed awhile on the
different appearance that it would have made, if it had been placed at
the same distance from London, with the same facility of approach; with
what emulation of price a few rocky acres would have been purchased, and
with what expensive industry they would have been cultivated and adorned.

When we landed, we found our chaise ready, and passed through Kinghorn,
Kirkaldy, and Cowpar, places not unlike the small or straggling market-
towns in those parts of England where commerce and manufactures have not
yet produced opulence.

Though we were yet in the most populous part of Scotland, and at so small
a distance from the capital, we met few passengers.

The roads are neither rough nor dirty; and it affords a southern stranger
a new kind of pleasure to travel so commodiously without the interruption
of toll-gates.  Where the bottom is rocky, as it seems commonly to be in
Scotland, a smooth way is made indeed with great labour, but it never
wants repairs; and in those parts where adventitious materials are
necessary, the ground once consolidated is rarely broken; for the inland
commerce is not great, nor are heavy commodities often transported
otherwise than by water.  The carriages in common use are small carts,
drawn each by one little horse; and a man seems to derive some degree of
dignity and importance from the reputation of possessing a two-horse
cart.




ST. ANDREWS


At an hour somewhat late we came to St. Andrews, a city once
archiepiscopal; where that university still subsists in which philosophy
was formerly taught by Buchanan, whose name has as fair a claim to
immortality as can be conferred by modern latinity, and perhaps a fairer
than the instability of vernacular languages admits.

We found, that by the interposition of some invisible friend, lodgings
had been provided for us at the house of one of the professors, whose
easy civility quickly made us forget that we were strangers; and in the
whole time of our stay we were gratified by every mode of kindness, and
entertained with all the elegance of lettered hospitality.

In the morning we rose to perambulate a city, which only history shews to
have once flourished, and surveyed the ruins of ancient magnificence, of
which even the ruins cannot long be visible, unless some care be taken to
preserve them; and where is the pleasure of preserving such mournful
memorials?  They have been till very lately so much neglected, that every
man carried away the stones who fancied that he wanted them.

The cathedral, of which the foundations may be still traced, and a small
part of the wall is standing, appears to have been a spacious and
majestick building, not unsuitable to the primacy of the kingdom.  Of the
architecture, the poor remains can hardly exhibit, even to an artist, a
sufficient specimen.  It was demolished, as is well known, in the tumult
and violence of Knox's reformation.

Not far from the cathedral, on the margin of the water, stands a fragment
of the castle, in which the archbishop anciently resided.  It was never
very large, and was built with more attention to security than pleasure.
Cardinal Beatoun is said to have had workmen employed in improving its
fortifications at the time when he was murdered by the ruffians of
reformation, in the manner of which Knox has given what he himself calls
a merry narrative.

The change of religion in Scotland, eager and vehement as it was, raised
an epidemical enthusiasm, compounded of sullen scrupulousness and warlike
ferocity, which, in a people whom idleness resigned to their own
thoughts, and who, conversing only with each other, suffered no dilution
of their zeal from the gradual influx of new opinions, was long
transmitted in its full strength from the old to the young, but by trade
and intercourse with England, is now visibly abating, and giving way too
fast to that laxity of practice and indifference of opinion, in which
men, not sufficiently instructed to find the middle point, too easily
shelter themselves from rigour and constraint.

The city of St. Andrews, when it had lost its archiepiscopal
pre-eminence, gradually decayed: One of its streets is now lost; and in
those that remain, there is silence and solitude of inactive indigence
and gloomy depopulation.

The university, within a few years, consisted of three colleges, but is
now reduced to two; the college of St. Leonard being lately dissolved by
the sale of its buildings and the appropriation of its revenues to the
professors of the two others.  The chapel of the alienated college is yet
standing, a fabrick not inelegant of external structure; but I was
always, by some civil excuse, hindred from entering it.  A decent
attempt, as I was since told, has been made to convert it into a kind of
green-house, by planting its area with shrubs.  This new method of
gardening is unsuccessful; the plants do not hitherto prosper.  To what
use it will next be put I have no pleasure in conjecturing.  It is
something that its present state is at least not ostentatiously
displayed.  Where there is yet shame, there may in time be virtue.

The dissolution of St. Leonard's college was doubtless necessary; but of
that necessity there is reason to complain.  It is surely not without
just reproach, that a nation, of which the commerce is hourly extending,
and the wealth encreasing, denies any participation of its prosperity to
its literary societies; and while its merchants or its nobles are raising
palaces, suffers its universities to moulder into dust.

Of the two colleges yet standing, one is by the institution of its
founder appropriated to Divinity.  It is said to be capable of containing
fifty students; but more than one must occupy a chamber.  The library,
which is of late erection, is not very spacious, but elegant and
luminous.

The doctor, by whom it was shewn, hoped to irritate or subdue my English
vanity by telling me, that we had no such repository of books in England.

Saint Andrews seems to be a place eminently adapted to study and
education, being situated in a populous, yet a cheap country, and
exposing the minds and manners of young men neither to the levity and
dissoluteness of a capital city, nor to the gross luxury of a town of
commerce, places naturally unpropitious to learning; in one the desire of
knowledge easily gives way to the love of pleasure, and in the other, is
in danger of yielding to the love of money.

The students however are represented as at this time not exceeding a
hundred.  Perhaps it may be some obstruction to their increase that there
is no episcopal chapel in the place.  I saw no reason for imputing their
paucity to the present professors; nor can the expence of an academical
education be very reasonably objected.  A student of the highest class
may keep his annual session, or as the English call it, his term, which
lasts seven months, for about fifteen pounds, and one of lower rank for
less than ten; in which board, lodging, and instruction are all included.

The chief magistrate resident in the university, answering to our vice-
chancellor, and to the _rector magnificus_ on the continent, had commonly
the title of Lord Rector; but being addressed only as Mr. Rector in an
inauguratory speech by the present chancellor, he has fallen from his
former dignity of style.  Lordship was very liberally annexed by our
ancestors to any station or character of dignity: They said, the Lord
General, and Lord Ambassador; so we still say, my Lord, to the judge upon
the circuit, and yet retain in our Liturgy the Lords of the Council.

In walking among the ruins of religious buildings, we came to two vaults
over which had formerly stood the house of the sub-prior.  One of the
vaults was inhabited by an old woman, who claimed the right of abode
there, as the widow of a man whose ancestors had possessed the same
gloomy mansion for no less than four generations.  The right, however it
began, was considered as established by legal prescription, and the old
woman lives undisturbed.  She thinks however that she has a claim to
something more than sufferance; for as her husband's name was Bruce, she
is allied to royalty, and told Mr. Boswell that when there were persons
of quality in the place, she was distinguished by some notice; that
indeed she is now neglected, but she spins a thread, has the company of
her cat, and is troublesome to nobody.

Having now seen whatever this ancient city offered to our curiosity, we
left it with good wishes, having reason to be highly pleased with the
attention that was paid us.  But whoever surveys the world must see many
things that give him pain.  The kindness of the professors did not
contribute to abate the uneasy remembrance of an university declining, a
college alienated, and a church profaned and hastening to the ground.

St. Andrews indeed has formerly suffered more atrocious ravages and more
extensive destruction, but recent evils affect with greater force.  We
were reconciled to the sight of archiepiscopal ruins.  The distance of a
calamity from the present time seems to preclude the mind from contact or
sympathy.  Events long past are barely known; they are not considered.  We
read with as little emotion the violence of Knox and his followers, as
the irruptions of Alaric and the Goths.  Had the university been
destroyed two centuries ago, we should not have regretted it; but to see
it pining in decay and struggling for life, fills the mind with mournful
images and ineffectual wishes.




ABERBROTHICK


As we knew sorrow and wishes to be vain, it was now our business to mind
our way.  The roads of Scotland afford little diversion to the traveller,
who seldom sees himself either encountered or overtaken, and who has
nothing to contemplate but grounds that have no visible boundaries, or
are separated by walls of loose stone.  From the bank of the Tweed to St.
Andrews I had never seen a single tree, which I did not believe to have
grown up far within the present century.  Now and then about a
gentleman's house stands a small plantation, which in Scotch is called a
policy, but of these there are few, and those few all very young.  The
variety of sun and shade is here utterly unknown.  There is no tree for
either shelter or timber.  The oak and the thorn is equally a stranger,
and the whole country is extended in uniform nakedness, except that in
the road between Kirkaldy and Cowpar, I passed for a few yards between
two hedges.  A tree might be a show in Scotland as a horse in Venice.  At
St. Andrews Mr. Boswell found only one, and recommended it to my notice;
I told him that it was rough and low, or looked as if I thought so.  This,
said he, is nothing to another a few miles off.  I was still less
delighted to hear that another tree was not to be seen nearer.  Nay, said
a gentleman that stood by, I know but of this and that tree in the
county.

The Lowlands of Scotland had once undoubtedly an equal portion of woods
with other countries.  Forests are every where gradually diminished, as
architecture and cultivation prevail by the increase of people and the
introduction of arts.  But I believe few regions have been denuded like
this, where many centuries must have passed in waste without the least
thought of future supply.  Davies observes in his account of Ireland,
that no Irishman had ever planted an orchard.  For that negligence some
excuse might be drawn from an unsettled state of life, and the
instability of property; but in Scotland possession has long been secure,
and inheritance regular, yet it may be doubted whether before the Union
any man between Edinburgh and England had ever set a tree.

Of this improvidence no other account can be given than that it probably
began in times of tumult, and continued because it had begun.  Established
custom is not easily broken, till some great event shakes the whole
system of things, and life seems to recommence upon new principles.  That
before the Union the Scots had little trade and little money, is no valid
apology; for plantation is the least expensive of all methods of
improvement.  To drop a seed into the ground can cost nothing, and the
trouble is not great of protecting the young plant, till it is out of
danger; though it must be allowed to have some difficulty in places like
these, where they have neither wood for palisades, nor thorns for hedges.

Our way was over the Firth of Tay, where, though the water was not wide,
we paid four shillings for ferrying the chaise.  In Scotland the
necessaries of life are easily procured, but superfluities and elegancies
are of the same price at least as in England, and therefore may be
considered as much dearer.

We stopped a while at Dundee, where I remember nothing remarkable, and
mounting our chaise again, came about the close of the day to
Aberbrothick.

The monastery of Aberbrothick is of great renown in the history of
Scotland.  Its ruins afford ample testimony of its ancient magnificence:
Its extent might, I suppose, easily be found by following the walls among
the grass and weeds, and its height is known by some parts yet standing.
The arch of one of the gates is entire, and of another only so far
dilapidated as to diversify the appearance.  A square apartment of great
loftiness is yet standing; its use I could not conjecture, as its
elevation was very disproportionate to its area.  Two corner towers,
particularly attracted our attention.  Mr. Boswell, whose inquisitiveness
is seconded by great activity, scrambled in at a high window, but found
the stairs within broken, and could not reach the top.  Of the other
tower we were told that the inhabitants sometimes climbed it, but we did
not immediately discern the entrance, and as the night was gathering upon
us, thought proper to desist.  Men skilled in architecture might do what
we did not attempt: They might probably form an exact ground-plot of this
venerable edifice.  They may from some parts yet standing conjecture its
general form, and perhaps by comparing it with other buildings of the
same kind and the same age, attain an idea very near to truth.  I should
scarcely have regretted my journey, had it afforded nothing more than the
sight of Aberbrothick.




MONTROSE


Leaving these fragments of magnificence, we travelled on to Montrose,
which we surveyed in the morning, and found it well built, airy, and
clean.  The townhouse is a handsome fabrick with a portico.  We then went
to view the English chapel, and found a small church, clean to a degree
unknown in any other part of Scotland, with commodious galleries, and
what was yet less expected, with an organ.

At our inn we did not find a reception such as we thought proportionate
to the commercial opulence of the place; but Mr. Boswell desired me to
observe that the innkeeper was an Englishman, and I then defended him as
well as I could.

When I had proceeded thus far, I had opportunities of observing what I
had never heard, that there are many beggars in Scotland.  In Edinburgh
the proportion is, I think, not less than in London, and in the smaller
places it is far greater than in English towns of the same extent.  It
must, however, be allowed that they are not importunate, nor clamorous.
They solicit silently, or very modestly, and therefore though their
behaviour may strike with more force the heart of a stranger, they are
certainly in danger of missing the attention of their countrymen.  Novelty
has always some power, an unaccustomed mode of begging excites an
unaccustomed degree of pity.  But the force of novelty is by its own
nature soon at an end; the efficacy of outcry and perseverance is
permanent and certain.

The road from Montrose exhibited a continuation of the same appearances.
The country is still naked, the hedges are of stone, and the fields so
generally plowed that it is hard to imagine where grass is found for the
horses that till them.  The harvest, which was almost ripe, appeared very
plentiful.

Early in the afternoon Mr. Boswell observed that we were at no great
distance from the house of lord Monboddo.  The magnetism of his
conversation easily drew us out of our way, and the entertainment which
we received would have been a sufficient recompense for a much greater
deviation.

The roads beyond Edinburgh, as they are less frequented, must be expected
to grow gradually rougher; but they were hitherto by no means
incommodious.  We travelled on with the gentle pace of a Scotch driver,
who having no rivals in expedition, neither gives himself nor his horses
unnecessary trouble.  We did not affect the impatience we did not feel,
but were satisfied with the company of each other as well riding in the
chaise, as sitting at an inn.  The night and the day are equally solitary
and equally safe; for where there are so few travellers, why should there
be robbers.




ABERDEEN


We came somewhat late to Aberdeen, and found the inn so full, that we had
some difficulty in obtaining admission, till Mr. Boswell made himself
known: His name overpowered all objection, and we found a very good house
and civil treatment.

I received the next day a very kind letter from Sir Alexander Gordon,
whom I had formerly known in London, and after a cessation of all
intercourse for near twenty years met here professor of physic in the
King's College.  Such unexpected renewals of acquaintance may be numbered
among the most pleasing incidents of life.

The knowledge of one professor soon procured me the notice of the rest,
and I did not want any token of regard, being conducted wherever there
was any thing which I desired to see, and entertained at once with the
novelty of the place, and the kindness of communication.

To write of the cities of our own island with the solemnity of
geographical description, as if we had been cast upon a newly discovered
coast, has the appearance of very frivolous ostentation; yet as Scotland
is little known to the greater part of those who may read these
observations, it is not superfluous to relate, that under the name of
Aberdeen are comprised two towns standing about a mile distant from each
other, but governed, I think, by the same magistrates.

Old Aberdeen is the ancient episcopal city, in which are still to be seen
the remains of the cathedral.  It has the appearance of a town in decay,
having been situated in times when commerce was yet unstudied, with very
little attention to the commodities of the harbour.

New Aberdeen has all the bustle of prosperous trade, and all the shew of
increasing opulence.  It is built by the water-side.  The houses are
large and lofty, and the streets spacious and clean.  They build almost
wholly with the granite used in the new pavement of the streets of
London, which is well known not to want hardness, yet they shape it
easily.  It is beautiful and must be very lasting.

What particular parts of commerce are chiefly exercised by the merchants
of Aberdeen, I have not inquired.  The manufacture which forces itself
upon a stranger's eye is that of knit-stockings, on which the women of
the lower class are visibly employed.

In each of these towns there is a college, or in stricter language, an
university; for in both there are professors of the same parts of
learning, and the colleges hold their sessions and confer degrees
separately, with total independence of one on the other.

In old Aberdeen stands the King's College, of which the first president
was Hector Boece, or Boethius, who may be justly reverenced as one of the
revivers of elegant learning.  When he studied at Paris, he was
acquainted with Erasmus, who afterwards gave him a public testimony of
his esteem, by inscribing to him a catalogue of his works.  The stile of
Boethius, though, perhaps, not always rigorously pure, is formed with
great diligence upon ancient models, and wholly uninfected with monastic
barbarity.  His history is written with elegance and vigour, but his
fabulousness and credulity are justly blamed.  His fabulousness, if he
was the author of the fictions, is a fault for which no apology can be
made; but his credulity may be excused in an age, when all men were
credulous.  Learning was then rising on the world; but ages so long
accustomed to darkness, were too much dazzled with its light to see any
thing distinctly.  The first race of scholars, in the fifteenth century,
and some time after, were, for the most part, learning to speak, rather
than to think, and were therefore more studious of elegance than of
truth.  The contemporaries of Boethius thought it sufficient to know what
the ancients had delivered.  The examination of tenets and of facts was
reserved for another generation.

* * * * *

Boethius, as president of the university, enjoyed a revenue of forty
Scottish marks, about two pounds four shillings and sixpence of sterling
money.  In the present age of trade and taxes, it is difficult even for
the imagination so to raise the value of money, or so to diminish the
demands of life, as to suppose four and forty shillings a year, an
honourable stipend; yet it was probably equal, not only to the needs, but
to the rank of Boethius.  The wealth of England was undoubtedly to that
of Scotland more than five to one, and it is known that Henry the eighth,
among whose faults avarice was never reckoned, granted to Roger Ascham,
as a reward of his learning, a pension of ten pounds a year.

The other, called the Marischal College, is in the new town.  The hall is
large and well lighted.  One of its ornaments is the picture of Arthur
Johnston, who was principal of the college, and who holds among the Latin
poets of Scotland the next place to the elegant Buchanan.

In the library I was shewn some curiosities; a Hebrew manuscript of
exquisite penmanship, and a Latin translation of Aristotle's Politicks by
Leonardus Aretinus, written in the Roman character with nicety and
beauty, which, as the art of printing has made them no longer necessary,
are not now to be found.  This was one of the latest performances of the
transcribers, for Aretinus died but about twenty years before typography
was invented.  This version has been printed, and may be found in
libraries, but is little read; for the same books have been since
translated both by Victorius and Lambinus, who lived in an age more
cultivated, but perhaps owed in part to Aretinus that they were able to
excel him.  Much is due to those who first broke the way to knowledge,
and left only to their successors the task of smoothing it.

In both these colleges the methods of instruction are nearly the same;
the lectures differing only by the accidental difference of diligence, or
ability in the professors.  The students wear scarlet gowns and the
professors black, which is, I believe, the academical dress in all the
Scottish universities, except that of Edinburgh, where the scholars are
not distinguished by any particular habit.  In the King's College there
is kept a public table, but the scholars of the Marischal College are
boarded in the town.  The expence of living is here, according to the
information that I could obtain, somewhat more than at St. Andrews.

The course of education is extended to four years, at the end of which
those who take a degree, who are not many, become masters of arts, and
whoever is a master may, if he pleases, immediately commence doctor.  The
title of doctor, however, was for a considerable time bestowed only on
physicians.  The advocates are examined and approved by their own body;
the ministers were not ambitious of titles, or were afraid of being
censured for ambition; and the doctorate in every faculty was commonly
given or sold into other countries.  The ministers are now reconciled to
distinction, and as it must always happen that some will excel others,
have thought graduation a proper testimony of uncommon abilities or
acquisitions.

The indiscriminate collation of degrees has justly taken away that
respect which they originally claimed as stamps, by which the literary
value of men so distinguished was authoritatively denoted.  That
academical honours, or any others should be conferred with exact
proportion to merit, is more than human judgment or human integrity have
given reason to expect.  Perhaps degrees in universities cannot be better
adjusted by any general rule than by the length of time passed in the
public profession of learning.  An English or Irish doctorate cannot be
obtained by a very young man, and it is reasonable to suppose, what is
likewise by experience commonly found true, that he who is by age
qualified to be a doctor, has in so much time gained learning sufficient
not to disgrace the title, or wit sufficient not to desire it.

The Scotch universities hold but one term or session in the year.  That
of St. Andrews continues eight months, that of Aberdeen only five, from
the first of November to the first of April.

In Aberdeen there is an English Chapel, in which the congregation was
numerous and splendid.  The form of public worship used by the church of
England is in Scotland legally practised in licensed chapels served by
clergymen of English or Irish ordination, and by tacit connivance quietly
permitted in separate congregations supplied with ministers by the
successors of the bishops who were deprived at the Revolution.

We came to Aberdeen on Saturday August 21.  On Monday we were invited
into the town-hall, where I had the freedom of the city given me by the
Lord Provost.  The honour conferred had all the decorations that
politeness could add, and what I am afraid I should not have had to say
of any city south of the Tweed, I found no petty officer bowing for a
fee.

The parchment containing the record of admission is, with the seal
appending, fastened to a riband and worn for one day by the new citizen
in his hat.

By a lady who saw us at the chapel, the Earl of Errol was informed of our
arrival, and we had the honour of an invitation to his seat, called
Slanes Castle, as I am told, improperly, from the castle of that name,
which once stood at a place not far distant.

The road beyond Aberdeen grew more stony, and continued equally naked of
all vegetable decoration.  We travelled over a tract of ground near the
sea, which, not long ago, suffered a very uncommon, and unexpected
calamity.  The sand of the shore was raised by a tempest in such
quantities, and carried to such a distance, that an estate was
overwhelmed and lost.  Such and so hopeless was the barrenness
superinduced, that the owner, when he was required to pay the usual tax,
desired rather to resign the ground.




SLANES CASTLE, THE BULLER OF BUCHAN


We came in the afternoon to Slanes Castle, built upon the margin of the
sea, so that the walls of one of the towers seem only a continuation of a
perpendicular rock, the foot of which is beaten by the waves.  To walk
round the house seemed impracticable.  From the windows the eye wanders
over the sea that separates Scotland from Norway, and when the winds beat
with violence must enjoy all the terrifick grandeur of the tempestuous
ocean.  I would not for my amusement wish for a storm; but as storms,
whether wished or not, will sometimes happen, I may say, without
violation of humanity, that I should willingly look out upon them from
Slanes Castle.

When we were about to take our leave, our departure was prohibited by the
countess till we should have seen two places upon the coast, which she
rightly considered as worthy of curiosity, Dun Buy, and the Buller of
Buchan, to which Mr. Boyd very kindly conducted us.

Dun Buy, which in Erse is said to signify the Yellow Rock, is a double
protuberance of stone, open to the main sea on one side, and parted from
the land by a very narrow channel on the other.  It has its name and its
colour from the dung of innumerable sea-fowls, which in the Spring chuse
this place as convenient for incubation, and have their eggs and their
young taken in great abundance.  One of the birds that frequent this rock
has, as we were told, its body not larger than a duck's, and yet lays
eggs as large as those of a goose.  This bird is by the inhabitants named
a Coot.  That which is called Coot in England, is here a Cooter.

Upon these rocks there was nothing that could long detain attention, and
we soon turned our eyes to the Buller, or Bouilloir of Buchan, which no
man can see with indifference, who has either sense of danger or delight
in rarity.  It is a rock perpendicularly tubulated, united on one side
with a high shore, and on the other rising steep to a great height, above
the main sea.  The top is open, from which may be seen a dark gulf of
water which flows into the cavity, through a breach made in the lower
part of the inclosing rock.  It has the appearance of a vast well
bordered with a wall.  The edge of the Buller is not wide, and to those
that walk round, appears very narrow.  He that ventures to look downward
sees, that if his foot should slip, he must fall from his dreadful
elevation upon stones on one side, or into water on the other.  We
however went round, and were glad when the circuit was completed.

When we came down to the sea, we saw some boats, and rowers, and resolved
to explore the Buller at the bottom.  We entered the arch, which the
water had made, and found ourselves in a place, which, though we could
not think ourselves in danger, we could scarcely survey without some
recoil of the mind.  The bason in which we floated was nearly circular,
perhaps thirty yards in diameter.  We were inclosed by a natural wall,
rising steep on every side to a height which produced the idea of
insurmountable confinement.  The interception of all lateral light caused
a dismal gloom.  Round us was a perpendicular rock, above us the distant
sky, and below an unknown profundity of water.  If I had any malice
against a walking spirit, instead of laying him in the Red-sea, I would
condemn him to reside in the Buller of Buchan.

But terrour without danger is only one of the sports of fancy, a
voluntary agitation of the mind that is permitted no longer than it
pleases.  We were soon at leisure to examine the place with minute
inspection, and found many cavities which, as the waterman told us, went
backward to a depth which they had never explored.  Their extent we had
not time to try; they are said to serve different purposes.  Ladies come
hither sometimes in the summer with collations, and smugglers make them
storehouses for clandestine merchandise.  It is hardly to be doubted but
the pirates of ancient times often used them as magazines of arms, or
repositories of plunder.

To the little vessels used by the northern rovers, the Buller may have
served as a shelter from storms, and perhaps as a retreat from enemies;
the entrance might have been stopped, or guarded with little difficulty,
and though the vessels that were stationed within would have been
battered with stones showered on them from above, yet the crews would
have lain safe in the caverns.

Next morning we continued our journey, pleased with our reception at
Slanes Castle, of which we had now leisure to recount the grandeur and
the elegance; for our way afforded us few topics of conversation.  The
ground was neither uncultivated nor unfruitful; but it was still all
arable.  Of flocks or herds there was no appearance.  I had now travelled
two hundred miles in Scotland, and seen only one tree not younger than
myself.




BAMFF


We dined this day at the house of Mr. Frazer of Streichton, who shewed us
in his grounds some stones yet standing of a druidical circle, and what I
began to think more worthy of notice, some forest trees of full growth.

At night we came to Bamff, where I remember nothing that particularly
claimed my attention.  The ancient towns of Scotland have generally an
appearance unusual to Englishmen.  The houses, whether great or small,
are for the most part built of stones.  Their ends are now and then next
the streets, and the entrance into them is very often by a flight of
steps, which reaches up to the second story, the floor which is level
with the ground being entered only by stairs descending within the house.

The art of joining squares of glass with lead is little used in Scotland,
and in some places is totally forgotten.  The frames of their windows are
all of wood.  They are more frugal of their glass than the English, and
will often, in houses not otherwise mean, compose a square of two pieces,
not joining like cracked glass, but with one edge laid perhaps half an
inch over the other.  Their windows do not move upon hinges, but are
pushed up and drawn down in grooves, yet they are seldom accommodated
with weights and pullies.  He that would have his window open must hold
it with his hand, unless what may be sometimes found among good
contrivers, there be a nail which he may stick into a hole, to keep it
from falling.

What cannot be done without some uncommon trouble or particular
expedient, will not often be done at all.  The incommodiousness of the
Scotch windows keeps them very closely shut.  The necessity of
ventilating human habitations has not yet been found by our northern
neighbours; and even in houses well built and elegantly furnished, a
stranger may be sometimes forgiven, if he allows himself to wish for
fresher air.

These diminutive observations seem to take away something from the
dignity of writing, and therefore are never communicated but with
hesitation, and a little fear of abasement and contempt.  But it must be
remembered, that life consists not of a series of illustrious actions, or
elegant enjoyments; the greater part of our time passes in compliance
with necessities, in the performance of daily duties, in the removal of
small inconveniences, in the procurement of petty pleasures; and we are
well or ill at ease, as the main stream of life glides on smoothly, or is
ruffled by small obstacles and frequent interruption.  The true state of
every nation is the state of common life.  The manners of a people are
not to be found in the schools of learning, or the palaces of greatness,
where the national character is obscured or obliterated by travel or
instruction, by philosophy or vanity; nor is public happiness to be
estimated by the assemblies of the gay, or the banquets of the rich.  The
great mass of nations is neither rich nor gay: they whose aggregate
constitutes the people, are found in the streets, and the villages, in
the shops and farms; and from them collectively considered, must the
measure of general prosperity be taken.  As they approach to delicacy a
nation is refined, as their conveniences are multiplied, a nation, at
least a commercial nation, must be denominated wealthy.




ELGIN


Finding nothing to detain us at Bamff, we set out in the morning, and
having breakfasted at Cullen, about noon came to Elgin, where in the inn,
that we supposed the best, a dinner was set before us, which we could not
eat.  This was the first time, and except one, the last, that I found any
reason to complain of a Scotish table; and such disappointments, I
suppose, must be expected in every country, where there is no great
frequency of travellers.

The ruins of the cathedral of Elgin afforded us another proof of the
waste of reformation.  There is enough yet remaining to shew, that it was
once magnificent.  Its whole plot is easily traced.  On the north side of
the choir, the chapter-house, which is roofed with an arch of stone,
remains entire; and on the south side, another mass of building, which we
could not enter, is preserved by the care of the family of Gordon; but
the body of the church is a mass of fragments.

A paper was here put into our hands, which deduced from sufficient
authorities the history of this venerable ruin.  The church of Elgin had,
in the intestine tumults of the barbarous ages, been laid waste by the
irruption of a highland chief, whom the bishop had offended; but it was
gradually restored to the state, of which the traces may be now
discerned, and was at last not destroyed by the tumultuous violence of
Knox, but more shamefully suffered to dilapidate by deliberate robbery
and frigid indifference.  There is still extant, in the books of the
council, an order, of which I cannot remember the date, but which was
doubtless issued after the Reformation, directing that the lead, which
covers the two cathedrals of Elgin and Aberdeen, shall be taken away, and
converted into money for the support of the army.  A Scotch army was in
those times very cheaply kept; yet the lead of two churches must have
born so small a proportion to any military expence, that it is hard not
to believe the reason alleged to be merely popular, and the money
intended for some private purse.  The order however was obeyed; the two
churches were stripped, and the lead was shipped to be sold in Holland.  I
hope every reader will rejoice that this cargo of sacrilege was lost at
sea.

Let us not however make too much haste to despise our neighbours.  Our
own cathedrals are mouldering by unregarded dilapidation.  It seems to be
part of the despicable philosophy of the time to despise monuments of
sacred magnificence, and we are in danger of doing that deliberately,
which the Scots did not do but in the unsettled state of an imperfect
constitution.

Those who had once uncovered the cathedrals never wished to cover them
again; and being thus made useless, they were, first neglected, and
perhaps, as the stone was wanted, afterwards demolished.

Elgin seems a place of little trade, and thinly inhabited.  The episcopal
cities of Scotland, I believe, generally fell with their churches, though
some of them have since recovered by a situation convenient for commerce.
Thus Glasgow, though it has no longer an archbishop, has risen beyond its
original state by the opulence of its traders; and Aberdeen, though its
ancient stock had decayed, flourishes by a new shoot in another place.

In the chief street of Elgin, the houses jut over the lowest story, like
the old buildings of timber in London, but with greater prominence; so
that there is sometimes a walk for a considerable length under a
cloister, or portico, which is now indeed frequently broken, because the
new houses have another form, but seems to have been uniformly continued
in the old city.




FORES.  CALDER.  FORT GEORGE


We went forwards the same day to Fores, the town to which Macbeth was
travelling, when he met the weird sisters in his way.  This to an
Englishman is classic ground.  Our imaginations were heated, and our
thoughts recalled to their old amusements.

We had now a prelude to the Highlands.  We began to leave fertility and
culture behind us, and saw for a great length of road nothing but heath;
yet at Fochabars, a seat belonging to the duke of Gordon, there is an
orchard, which in Scotland I had never seen before, with some timber
trees, and a plantation of oaks.

At Fores we found good accommodation, but nothing worthy of particular
remark, and next morning entered upon the road, on which Macbeth heard
the fatal prediction; but we travelled on not interrupted by promises of
kingdoms, and came to Nairn, a royal burgh, which, if once it flourished,
is now in a state of miserable decay; but I know not whether its chief
annual magistrate has not still the title of Lord Provost.

At Nairn we may fix the verge of the Highlands; for here I first saw peat
fires, and first heard the Erse language.  We had no motive to stay
longer than to breakfast, and went forward to the house of Mr. Macaulay,
the minister who published an account of St. Kilda, and by his direction
visited Calder Castle, from which Macbeth drew his second title.  It has
been formerly a place of strength.  The drawbridge is still to be seen,
but the moat is now dry.  The tower is very ancient: Its walls are of
great thickness, arched on the top with stone, and surrounded with
battlements.  The rest of the house is later, though far from modern.

We were favoured by a gentleman, who lives in the castle, with a letter
to one of the officers at Fort George, which being the most regular
fortification in the island, well deserves the notice of a traveller, who
has never travelled before.  We went thither next day, found a very kind
reception, were led round the works by a gentleman, who explained the use
of every part, and entertained by Sir Eyre Coote, the governour, with
such elegance of conversation as left us no attention to the delicacies
of his table.

Of Fort George I shall not attempt to give any account.  I cannot
delineate it scientifically, and a loose and popular description is of
use only when the imagination is to be amused.  There was every where an
appearance of the utmost neatness and regularity.  But my suffrage is of
little value, because this and Fort Augustus are the only garrisons that
I ever saw.

We did not regret the time spent at the fort, though in consequence of
our delay we came somewhat late to Inverness, the town which may properly
be called the capital of the Highlands.  Hither the inhabitants of the
inland parts come to be supplied with what they cannot make for
themselves: Hither the young nymphs of the mountains and valleys are sent
for education, and as far as my observation has reached, are not sent in
vain.




INVERNESS


Inverness was the last place which had a regular communication by high
roads with the southern counties.  All the ways beyond it have, I
believe, been made by the soldiers in this century.  At Inverness
therefore Cromwell, when he subdued Scotland, stationed a garrison, as at
the boundary of the Highlands.  The soldiers seem to have incorporated
afterwards with the inhabitants, and to have peopled the place with an
English race; for the language of this town has been long considered as
peculiarly elegant.

Here is a castle, called the castle of Macbeth, the walls of which are
yet standing.  It was no very capacious edifice, but stands upon a rock
so high and steep, that I think it was once not accessible, but by the
help of ladders, or a bridge.  Over against it, on another hill, was a
fort built by Cromwell, now totally demolished; for no faction of
Scotland loved the name of Cromwell, or had any desire to continue his
memory.

Yet what the Romans did to other nations, was in a great degree done by
Cromwell to the Scots; he civilized them by conquest, and introduced by
useful violence the arts of peace.  I was told at Aberdeen that the
people learned from Cromwell's soldiers to make shoes and to plant kail.

How they lived without kail, it is not easy to guess: They cultivate
hardly any other plant for common tables, and when they had not kail they
probably had nothing.  The numbers that go barefoot are still sufficient
to shew that shoes may be spared: They are not yet considered as
necessaries of life; for tall boys, not otherwise meanly dressed, run
without them in the streets; and in the islands the sons of gentlemen
pass several of their first years with naked feet.

I know not whether it be not peculiar to the Scots to have attained the
liberal, without the manual arts, to have excelled in ornamental
knowledge, and to have wanted not only the elegancies, but the
conveniences of common life.  Literature soon after its revival found its
way to Scotland, and from the middle of the sixteenth century, almost to
the middle of the seventeenth, the politer studies were very diligently
pursued.  The Latin poetry of _Deliciae Poetarum Scotorum_ would have
done honour to any nation, at least till the publication of _May's
Supplement_ the English had very little to oppose.

Yet men thus ingenious and inquisitive were content to live in total
ignorance of the trades by which human wants are supplied, and to supply
them by the grossest means.  Till the Union made them acquainted with
English manners, the culture of their lands was unskilful, and their
domestick life unformed; their tables were coarse as the feasts of
Eskimeaux, and their houses filthy as the cottages of Hottentots.

Since they have known that their condition was capable of improvement,
their progress in useful knowledge has been rapid and uniform.  What
remains to be done they will quickly do, and then wonder, like me, why
that which was so necessary and so easy was so long delayed.  But they
must be for ever content to owe to the English that elegance and culture,
which, if they had been vigilant and active, perhaps the English might
have owed to them.

Here the appearance of life began to alter.  I had seen a few women with
plaids at Aberdeen; but at Inverness the Highland manners are common.
There is I think a kirk, in which only the Erse language is used.  There
is likewise an English chapel, but meanly built, where on Sunday we saw a
very decent congregation.

We were now to bid farewel to the luxury of travelling, and to enter a
country upon which perhaps no wheel has ever rolled.  We could indeed
have used our post-chaise one day longer, along the military road to Fort
Augustus, but we could have hired no horses beyond Inverness, and we were
not so sparing of ourselves, as to lead them, merely that we might have
one day longer the indulgence of a carriage.

At Inverness therefore we procured three horses for ourselves and a
servant, and one more for our baggage, which was no very heavy load.  We
found in the course of our journey the convenience of having
disencumbered ourselves, by laying aside whatever we could spare; for it
is not to be imagined without experience, how in climbing crags, and
treading bogs, and winding through narrow and obstructed passages, a
little bulk will hinder, and a little weight will burthen; or how often a
man that has pleased himself at home with his own resolution, will, in
the hour of darkness and fatigue, be content to leave behind him every
thing but himself.




LOUGH NESS


We took two Highlanders to run beside us, partly to shew us the way, and
partly to take back from the sea-side the horses, of which they were the
owners.  One of them was a man of great liveliness and activity, of whom
his companion said, that he would tire any horse in Inverness.  Both of
them were civil and ready-handed.  Civility seems part of the national
character of Highlanders.  Every chieftain is a monarch, and politeness,
the natural product of royal government, is diffused from the laird
through the whole clan.  But they are not commonly dexterous: their
narrowness of life confines them to a few operations, and they are
accustomed to endure little wants more than to remove them.

We mounted our steeds on the thirtieth of August, and directed our guides
to conduct us to Fort Augustus.  It is built at the head of Lough Ness,
of which Inverness stands at the outlet.  The way between them has been
cut by the soldiers, and the greater part of it runs along a rock,
levelled with great labour and exactness, near the water-side.

Most of this day's journey was very pleasant.  The day, though bright,
was not hot; and the appearance of the country, if I had not seen the
Peak, would have been wholly new.  We went upon a surface so hard and
level, that we had little care to hold the bridle, and were therefore at
full leisure for contemplation.  On the left were high and steep rocks
shaded with birch, the hardy native of the North, and covered with fern
or heath.  On the right the limpid waters of Lough Ness were beating
their bank, and waving their surface by a gentle agitation.  Beyond them
were rocks sometimes covered with verdure, and sometimes towering in
horrid nakedness.  Now and then we espied a little cornfield, which
served to impress more strongly the general barrenness.

Lough Ness is about twenty-four miles long, and from one mile to two
miles broad.  It is remarkable that Boethius, in his description of
Scotland, gives it twelve miles of breadth.  When historians or
geographers exhibit false accounts of places far distant, they may be
forgiven, because they can tell but what they are told; and that their
accounts exceed the truth may be justly supposed, because most men
exaggerate to others, if not to themselves: but Boethius lived at no
great distance; if he never saw the lake, he must have been very
incurious, and if he had seen it, his veracity yielded to very slight
temptations.

Lough Ness, though not twelve miles broad, is a very remarkable diffusion
of water without islands.  It fills a large hollow between two ridges of
high rocks, being supplied partly by the torrents which fall into it on
either side, and partly, as is supposed, by springs at the bottom.  Its
water is remarkably clear and pleasant, and is imagined by the natives to
be medicinal.  We were told, that it is in some places a hundred and
forty fathoms deep, a profundity scarcely credible, and which probably
those that relate it have never sounded.  Its fish are salmon, trout, and
pike.

It was said at fort Augustus, that Lough Ness is open in the hardest
winters, though a lake not far from it is covered with ice.  In
discussing these exceptions from the course of nature, the first question
is, whether the fact be justly stated.  That which is strange is
delightful, and a pleasing error is not willingly detected.  Accuracy of
narration is not very common, and there are few so rigidly philosophical,
as not to represent as perpetual, what is only frequent, or as constant,
what is really casual.  If it be true that Lough Ness never freezes, it
is either sheltered by its high banks from the cold blasts, and exposed
only to those winds which have more power to agitate than congeal; or it
is kept in perpetual motion by the rush of streams from the rocks that
inclose it.  Its profundity though it should be such as is represented
can have little part in this exemption; for though deep wells are not
frozen, because their water is secluded from the external air, yet where
a wide surface is exposed to the full influence of a freezing atmosphere,
I know not why the depth should keep it open.  Natural philosophy is now
one of the favourite studies of the Scottish nation, and Lough Ness well
deserves to be diligently examined.

The road on which we travelled, and which was itself a source of
entertainment, is made along the rock, in the direction of the lough,
sometimes by breaking off protuberances, and sometimes by cutting the
great mass of stone to a considerable depth.  The fragments are piled in
a loose wall on either side, with apertures left at very short spaces, to
give a passage to the wintry currents.  Part of it is bordered with low
trees, from which our guides gathered nuts, and would have had the
appearance of an English lane, except that an English lane is almost
always dirty.  It has been made with great labour, but has this
advantage, that it cannot, without equal labour, be broken up.

Within our sight there were goats feeding or playing.  The mountains have
red deer, but they came not within view; and if what is said of their
vigilance and subtlety be true, they have some claim to that palm of
wisdom, which the eastern philosopher, whom Alexander interrogated, gave
to those beasts which live furthest from men.

Near the way, by the water side, we espied a cottage.  This was the first
Highland Hut that I had seen; and as our business was with life and
manners, we were willing to visit it.  To enter a habitation without
leave, seems to be not considered here as rudeness or intrusion.  The old
laws of hospitality still give this licence to a stranger.

A hut is constructed with loose stones, ranged for the most part with
some tendency to circularity.  It must be placed where the wind cannot
act upon it with violence, because it has no cement; and where the water
will run easily away, because it has no floor but the naked ground.  The
wall, which is commonly about six feet high, declines from the
perpendicular a little inward.  Such rafters as can be procured are then
raised for a roof, and covered with heath, which makes a strong and warm
thatch, kept from flying off by ropes of twisted heath, of which the
ends, reaching from the center of the thatch to the top of the wall, are
held firm by the weight of a large stone.  No light is admitted but at
the entrance, and through a hole in the thatch, which gives vent to the
smoke.  This hole is not directly over the fire, lest the rain should
extinguish it; and the smoke therefore naturally fills the place before
it escapes.  Such is the general structure of the houses in which one of
the nations of this opulent and powerful island has been hitherto content
to live.  Huts however are not more uniform than palaces; and this which
we were inspecting was very far from one of the meanest, for it was
divided into several apartments; and its inhabitants possessed such
property as a pastoral poet might exalt into riches.

When we entered, we found an old woman boiling goats-flesh in a kettle.
She spoke little English, but we had interpreters at hand; and she was
willing enough to display her whole system of economy.  She has five
children, of which none are yet gone from her.  The eldest, a boy of
thirteen, and her husband, who is eighty years old, were at work in the
wood.  Her two next sons were gone to Inverness to buy meal, by which
oatmeal is always meant.  Meal she considered as expensive food, and told
us, that in Spring, when the goats gave milk, the children could live
without it.  She is mistress of sixty goats, and I saw many kids in an
enclosure at the end of her house.  She had also some poultry.  By the
lake we saw a potatoe-garden, and a small spot of ground on which stood
four shucks, containing each twelve sheaves of barley.  She has all this
from the labour of their own hands, and for what is necessary to be
bought, her kids and her chickens are sent to market.

With the true pastoral hospitality, she asked us to sit down and drink
whisky.  She is religious, and though the kirk is four miles off,
probably eight English miles, she goes thither every Sunday.  We gave her
a shilling, and she begged snuff; for snuff is the luxury of a Highland
cottage.

Soon afterwards we came to the General's Hut, so called because it was
the temporary abode of Wade, while he superintended the works upon the
road.  It is now a house of entertainment for passengers, and we found it
not ill stocked with provisions.




FALL OF FIERS


Towards evening we crossed, by a bridge, the river which makes the
celebrated fall of Fiers.  The country at the bridge strikes the
imagination with all the gloom and grandeur of Siberian solitude.  The
way makes a flexure, and the mountains, covered with trees, rise at once
on the left hand and in the front.  We desired our guides to shew us the
fall, and dismounting, clambered over very rugged crags, till I began to
wish that our curiosity might have been gratified with less trouble and
danger.  We came at last to a place where we could overlook the river,
and saw a channel torn, as it seems, through black piles of stone, by
which the stream is obstructed and broken, till it comes to a very steep
descent, of such dreadful depth, that we were naturally inclined to turn
aside our eyes.

But we visited the place at an unseasonable time, and found it divested
of its dignity and terror.  Nature never gives every thing at once.  A
long continuance of dry weather, which made the rest of the way easy and
delightful, deprived us of the pleasure expected from the fall of Fiers.
The river having now no water but what the springs supply, showed us only
a swift current, clear and shallow, fretting over the asperities of the
rocky bottom, and we were left to exercise our thoughts, by endeavouring
to conceive the effect of a thousand streams poured from the mountains
into one channel, struggling for expansion in a narrow passage,
exasperated by rocks rising in their way, and at last discharging all
their violence of waters by a sudden fall through the horrid chasm.

The way now grew less easy, descending by an uneven declivity, but
without either dirt or danger.  We did not arrive at Fort Augustus till
it was late.  Mr. Boswell, who, between his father's merit and his own,
is sure of reception wherever he comes, sent a servant before to beg
admission and entertainment for that night.  Mr. Trapaud, the governor,
treated us with that courtesy which is so closely connected with the
military character.  He came out to meet us beyond the gates, and
apologized that, at so late an hour, the rules of a garrison suffered him
to give us entrance only at the postern.




FORT AUGUSTUS


In the morning we viewed the fort, which is much less than that of St.
George, and is said to be commanded by the neighbouring hills.  It was
not long ago taken by the Highlanders.  But its situation seems well
chosen for pleasure, if not for strength; it stands at the head of the
lake, and, by a sloop of sixty tuns, is supplied from Inverness with
great convenience.

We were now to cross the Highlands towards the western coast, and to
content ourselves with such accommodations, as a way so little frequented
could afford.  The journey was not formidable, for it was but of two
days, very unequally divided, because the only house, where we could be
entertained, was not further off than a third of the way.  We soon came
to a high hill, which we mounted by a military road, cut in traverses, so
that as we went upon a higher stage, we saw the baggage following us
below in a contrary direction.  To make this way, the rock has been hewn
to a level with labour that might have broken the perseverance of a Roman
legion.

The country is totally denuded of its wood, but the stumps both of oaks
and firs, which are still found, shew that it has been once a forest of
large timber.  I do not remember that we saw any animals, but we were
told that, in the mountains, there are stags, roebucks, goats and
rabbits.

We did not perceive that this tract was possessed by human beings, except
that once we saw a corn field, in which a lady was walking with some
gentlemen.  Their house was certainly at no great distance, but so
situated that we could not descry it.

Passing on through the dreariness of solitude, we found a party of
soldiers from the fort, working on the road, under the superintendence of
a serjeant.  We told them how kindly we had been treated at the garrison,
and as we were enjoying the benefit of their labours, begged leave to
shew our gratitude by a small present.




ANOCH


Early in the afternoon we came to Anoch, a village in Glenmollison of
three huts, one of which is distinguished by a chimney.  Here we were to
dine and lodge, and were conducted through the first room, that had the
chimney, into another lighted by a small glass window.  The landlord
attended us with great civility, and told us what he could give us to eat
and drink.  I found some books on a shelf, among which were a volume or
more of Prideaux's Connection.

This I mentioned as something unexpected, and perceived that I did not
please him.  I praised the propriety of his language, and was answered
that I need not wonder, for he had learned it by grammar.

By subsequent opportunities of observation, I found that my host's
diction had nothing peculiar.  Those Highlanders that can speak English,
commonly speak it well, with few of the words, and little of the tone by
which a Scotchman is distinguished.  Their language seems to have been
learned in the army or the navy, or by some communication with those who
could give them good examples of accent and pronunciation.  By their
Lowland neighbours they would not willingly be taught; for they have long
considered them as a mean and degenerate race.  These prejudices are
wearing fast away; but so much of them still remains, that when I asked a
very learned minister in the islands, which they considered as their most
savage clans: 'Those,' said he, 'that live next the Lowlands.'

As we came hither early in the day, we had time sufficient to survey the
place.  The house was built like other huts of loose stones, but the part
in which we dined and slept was lined with turf and wattled with twigs,
which kept the earth from falling.  Near it was a garden of turnips and a
field of potatoes.  It stands in a glen, or valley, pleasantly watered by
a winding river.  But this country, however it may delight the gazer or
amuse the naturalist, is of no great advantage to its owners.  Our
landlord told us of a gentleman, who possesses lands, eighteen Scotch
miles in length, and three in breadth; a space containing at least a
hundred square English miles.  He has raised his rents, to the danger of
depopulating his farms, and he fells his timber, and by exerting every
art of augmentation, has obtained an yearly revenue of four hundred
pounds, which for a hundred square miles is three halfpence an acre.

Some time after dinner we were surprised by the entrance of a young
woman, not inelegant either in mien or dress, who asked us whether we
would have tea.  We found that she was the daughter of our host, and
desired her to make it.  Her conversation, like her appearance, was
gentle and pleasing.  We knew that the girls of the Highlands are all
gentlewomen, and treated her with great respect, which she received as
customary and due, and was neither elated by it, nor confused, but repaid
my civilities without embarassment, and told me how much I honoured her
country by coming to survey it.

She had been at Inverness to gain the common female qualifications, and
had, like her father, the English pronunciation.  I presented her with a
book, which I happened to have about me, and should not be pleased to
think that she forgets me.

In the evening the soldiers, whom we had passed on the road, came to
spend at our inn the little money that we had given them.  They had the
true military impatience of coin in their pockets, and had marched at
least six miles to find the first place where liquor could be bought.
Having never been before in a place so wild and unfrequented, I was glad
of their arrival, because I knew that we had made them friends, and to
gain still more of their good will, we went to them, where they were
carousing in the barn, and added something to our former gift.  All that
we gave was not much, but it detained them in the barn, either merry or
quarrelling, the whole night, and in the morning they went back to their
work, with great indignation at the bad qualities of whisky.

We had gained so much the favour of our host, that, when we left his
house in the morning, he walked by us a great way, and entertained us
with conversation both on his own condition, and that of the country.  His
life seemed to be merely pastoral, except that he differed from some of
the ancient Nomades in having a settled dwelling.  His wealth consists of
one hundred sheep, as many goats, twelve milk-cows, and twenty-eight
beeves ready for the drover.

From him we first heard of the general dissatisfaction, which is now
driving the Highlanders into the other hemisphere; and when I asked him
whether they would stay at home, if they were well treated, he answered
with indignation, that no man willingly left his native country.  Of the
farm, which he himself occupied, the rent had, in twenty-five years, been
advanced from five to twenty pounds, which he found himself so little
able to pay, that he would be glad to try his fortune in some other
place.  Yet he owned the reasonableness of raising the Highland rents in
a certain degree, and declared himself willing to pay ten pounds for the
ground which he had formerly had for five.

Our host having amused us for a time, resigned us to our guides.  The
journey of this day was long, not that the distance was great, but that
the way was difficult.  We were now in the bosom of the Highlands, with
full leisure to contemplate the appearance and properties of mountainous
regions, such as have been, in many countries, the last shelters of
national distress, and are every where the scenes of adventures,
stratagems, surprises and escapes.

Mountainous countries are not passed but with difficulty, not merely from
the labour of climbing; for to climb is not always necessary: but because
that which is not mountain is commonly bog, through which the way must be
picked with caution.  Where there are hills, there is much rain, and the
torrents pouring down into the intermediate spaces, seldom find so ready
an outlet, as not to stagnate, till they have broken the texture of the
ground.

Of the hills, which our journey offered to the view on either side, we
did not take the height, nor did we see any that astonished us with their
loftiness.  Towards the summit of one, there was a white spot, which I
should have called a naked rock, but the guides, who had better eyes, and
were acquainted with the phenomena of the country, declared it to be
snow.  It had already lasted to the end of August, and was likely to
maintain its contest with the sun, till it should be reinforced by
winter.

The height of mountains philosophically considered is properly computed
from the surface of the next sea; but as it affects the eye or
imagination of the passenger, as it makes either a spectacle or an
obstruction, it must be reckoned from the place where the rise begins to
make a considerable angle with the plain.  In extensive continents the
land may, by gradual elevation, attain great height, without any other
appearance than that of a plane gently inclined, and if a hill placed
upon such raised ground be described, as having its altitude equal to the
whole space above the sea, the representation will be fallacious.

These mountains may be properly enough measured from the inland base; for
it is not much above the sea.  As we advanced at evening towards the
western coast, I did not observe the declivity to be greater than is
necessary for the discharge of the inland waters.

We passed many rivers and rivulets, which commonly ran with a clear
shallow stream over a hard pebbly bottom.  These channels, which seem so
much wider than the water that they convey would naturally require, are
formed by the violence of wintry floods, produced by the accumulation of
innumerable streams that fall in rainy weather from the hills, and
bursting away with resistless impetuosity, make themselves a passage
proportionate to their mass.

Such capricious and temporary waters cannot be expected to produce many
fish.  The rapidity of the wintry deluge sweeps them away, and the
scantiness of the summer stream would hardly sustain them above the
ground.  This is the reason why in fording the northern rivers, no fishes
are seen, as in England, wandering in the water.

Of the hills many may be called with Homer's Ida 'abundant in springs',
but few can deserve the epithet which he bestows upon Pelion by 'waving
their leaves.'  They exhibit very little variety; being almost wholly
covered with dark heath, and even that seems to be checked in its growth.
What is not heath is nakedness, a little diversified by now and then a
stream rushing down the steep.  An eye accustomed to flowery pastures and
waving harvests is astonished and repelled by this wide extent of
hopeless sterility.  The appearance is that of matter incapable of form
or usefulness, dismissed by nature from her care and disinherited of her
favours, left in its original elemental state, or quickened only with one
sullen power of useless vegetation.

It will very readily occur, that this uniformity of barrenness can afford
very little amusement to the traveller; that it is easy to sit at home
and conceive rocks and heath, and waterfalls; and that these journeys are
useless labours, which neither impregnate the imagination, nor enlarge
the understanding.  It is true that of far the greater part of things, we
must content ourselves with such knowledge as description may exhibit, or
analogy supply; but it is true likewise, that these ideas are always
incomplete, and that at least, till we have compared them with realities,
we do not know them to be just.  As we see more, we become possessed of
more certainties, and consequently gain more principles of reasoning, and
found a wider basis of analogy.

Regions mountainous and wild, thinly inhabited, and little cultivated,
make a great part of the earth, and he that has never seen them, must
live unacquainted with much of the face of nature, and with one of the
great scenes of human existence.

As the day advanced towards noon, we entered a narrow valley not very
flowery, but sufficiently verdant.  Our guides told us, that the horses
could not travel all day without rest or meat, and intreated us to stop
here, because no grass would be found in any other place.  The request
was reasonable and the argument cogent.  We therefore willingly
dismounted and diverted ourselves as the place gave us opportunity.

I sat down on a bank, such as a writer of Romance might have delighted to
feign.  I had indeed no trees to whisper over my head, but a clear
rivulet streamed at my feet.  The day was calm, the air soft, and all was
rudeness, silence, and solitude.  Before me, and on either side, were
high hills, which by hindering the eye from ranging, forced the mind to
find entertainment for itself.  Whether I spent the hour well I know not;
for here I first conceived the thought of this narration.

We were in this place at ease and by choice, and had no evils to suffer
or to fear; yet the imaginations excited by the view of an unknown and
untravelled wilderness are not such as arise in the artificial solitude
of parks and gardens, a flattering notion of self-sufficiency, a placid
indulgence of voluntary delusions, a secure expansion of the fancy, or a
cool concentration of the mental powers.  The phantoms which haunt a
desert are want, and misery, and danger; the evils of dereliction rush
upon the thoughts; man is made unwillingly acquainted with his own
weakness, and meditation shows him only how little he can sustain, and
how little he can perform.  There were no traces of inhabitants, except
perhaps a rude pile of clods called a summer hut, in which a herdsman had
rested in the favourable seasons.  Whoever had been in the place where I
then sat, unprovided with provisions and ignorant of the country, might,
at least before the roads were made, have wandered among the rocks, till
he had perished with hardship, before he could have found either food or
shelter.  Yet what are these hillocks to the ridges of Taurus, or these
spots of wildness to the desarts of America?

It was not long before we were invited to mount, and continued our
journey along the side of a lough, kept full by many streams, which with
more or less rapidity and noise, crossed the road from the hills on the
other hand.  These currents, in their diminished state, after several dry
months, afford, to one who has always lived in level countries, an
unusual and delightful spectacle; but in the rainy season, such as every
winter may be expected to bring, must precipitate an impetuous and
tremendous flood.  I suppose the way by which we went, is at that time
impassable.




GLENSHEALS


The lough at last ended in a river broad and shallow like the rest, but
that it may be passed when it is deeper, there is a bridge over it.
Beyond it is a valley called Glensheals, inhabited by the clan of Macrae.
Here we found a village called Auknasheals, consisting of many huts,
perhaps twenty, built all of dry-stone, that is, stones piled up without
mortar.

We had, by the direction of the officers at Fort Augustus, taken bread
for ourselves, and tobacco for those Highlanders who might show us any
kindness.  We were now at a place where we could obtain milk, but we must
have wanted bread if we had not brought it.  The people of this valley
did not appear to know any English, and our guides now became doubly
necessary as interpreters.  A woman, whose hut was distinguished by
greater spaciousness and better architecture, brought out some pails of
milk.  The villagers gathered about us in considerable numbers, I believe
without any evil intention, but with a very savage wildness of aspect and
manner.  When our meal was over, Mr. Boswell sliced the bread, and
divided it amongst them, as he supposed them never to have tasted a
wheaten loaf before.  He then gave them little pieces of twisted tobacco,
and among the children we distributed a small handful of halfpence, which
they received with great eagerness.  Yet I have been since told, that the
people of that valley are not indigent; and when we mentioned them
afterwards as needy and pitiable, a Highland lady let us know, that we
might spare our commiseration; for the dame whose milk we drank had
probably more than a dozen milk-cows.  She seemed unwilling to take any
price, but being pressed to make a demand, at last named a shilling.
Honesty is not greater where elegance is less.  One of the bystanders, as
we were told afterwards, advised her to ask for more, but she said a
shilling was enough.  We gave her half a crown, and I hope got some
credit for our behaviour; for the company said, if our interpreters did
not flatter us, that they had not seen such a day since the old laird of
Macleod passed through their country.

The Macraes, as we heard afterwards in the Hebrides, were originally an
indigent and subordinate clan, and having no farms nor stock, were in
great numbers servants to the Maclellans, who, in the war of Charles the
First, took arms at the call of the heroic Montrose, and were, in one of
his battles, almost all destroyed.  The women that were left at home,
being thus deprived of their husbands, like the Scythian ladies of old,
married their servants, and the Macraes became a considerable race.




THE HIGHLANDS


As we continued our journey, we were at leisure to extend our
speculations, and to investigate the reason of those peculiarities by
which such rugged regions as these before us are generally distinguished.

Mountainous countries commonly contain the original, at least the oldest
race of inhabitants, for they are not easily conquered, because they must
be entered by narrow ways, exposed to every power of mischief from those
that occupy the heights; and every new ridge is a new fortress, where the
defendants have again the same advantages.  If the assailants either
force the strait, or storm the summit, they gain only so much ground;
their enemies are fled to take possession of the next rock, and the
pursuers stand at gaze, knowing neither where the ways of escape wind
among the steeps, nor where the bog has firmness to sustain them: besides
that, mountaineers have an agility in climbing and descending distinct
from strength or courage, and attainable only by use.

If the war be not soon concluded, the invaders are dislodged by hunger;
for in those anxious and toilsome marches, provisions cannot easily be
carried, and are never to be found.  The wealth of mountains is cattle,
which, while the men stand in the passes, the women drive away.  Such
lands at last cannot repay the expence of conquest, and therefore perhaps
have not been so often invaded by the mere ambition of dominion; as by
resentment of robberies and insults, or the desire of enjoying in
security the more fruitful provinces.

As mountains are long before they are conquered, they are likewise long
before they are civilized.  Men are softened by intercourse mutually
profitable, and instructed by comparing their own notions with those of
others.  Thus Caesar found the maritime parts of Britain made less
barbarous by their commerce with the Gauls.  Into a barren and rough
tract no stranger is brought either by the hope of gain or of pleasure.
The inhabitants having neither commodities for sale, nor money for
purchase, seldom visit more polished places, or if they do visit them,
seldom return.

It sometimes happens that by conquest, intermixture, or gradual
refinement, the cultivated parts of a country change their language.  The
mountaineers then become a distinct nation, cut off by dissimilitude of
speech from conversation with their neighbours.  Thus in Biscay, the
original Cantabrian, and in Dalecarlia, the old Swedish still subsists.
Thus Wales and the Highlands speak the tongue of the first inhabitants of
Britain, while the other parts have received first the Saxon, and in some
degree afterwards the French, and then formed a third language between
them.

That the primitive manners are continued where the primitive language is
spoken, no nation will desire me to suppose, for the manners of
mountaineers are commonly savage, but they are rather produced by their
situation than derived from their ancestors.

Such seems to be the disposition of man, that whatever makes a
distinction produces rivalry.  England, before other causes of enmity
were found, was disturbed for some centuries by the contests of the
northern and southern counties; so that at Oxford, the peace of study
could for a long time be preserved only by chusing annually one of the
Proctors from each side of the Trent.  A tract intersected by many ridges
of mountains, naturally divides its inhabitants into petty nations, which
are made by a thousand causes enemies to each other.  Each will exalt its
own chiefs, each will boast the valour of its men, or the beauty of its
women, and every claim of superiority irritates competition; injuries
will sometimes be done, and be more injuriously defended; retaliation
will sometimes be attempted, and the debt exacted with too much interest.

In the Highlands it was a law, that if a robber was sheltered from
justice, any man of the same clan might be taken in his place.  This was
a kind of irregular justice, which, though necessary in savage times,
could hardly fail to end in a feud, and a feud once kindled among an idle
people with no variety of pursuits to divert their thoughts, burnt on for
ages either sullenly glowing in secret mischief, or openly blazing into
public violence.  Of the effects of this violent judicature, there are
not wanting memorials.  The cave is now to be seen to which one of the
Campbells, who had injured the Macdonalds, retired with a body of his own
clan.  The Macdonalds required the offender, and being refused, made a
fire at the mouth of the cave, by which he and his adherents were
suffocated together.

Mountaineers are warlike, because by their feuds and competitions they
consider themselves as surrounded with enemies, and are always prepared
to repel incursions, or to make them.  Like the Greeks in their
unpolished state, described by Thucydides, the Highlanders, till lately,
went always armed, and carried their weapons to visits, and to church.

Mountaineers are thievish, because they are poor, and having neither
manufactures nor commerce, can grow richer only by robbery.  They
regularly plunder their neighbours, for their neighbours are commonly
their enemies; and having lost that reverence for property, by which the
order of civil life is preserved, soon consider all as enemies, whom they
do not reckon as friends, and think themselves licensed to invade
whatever they are not obliged to protect.

By a strict administration of the laws, since the laws have been
introduced into the Highlands, this disposition to thievery is very much
represt.  Thirty years ago no herd had ever been conducted through the
mountains, without paying tribute in the night, to some of the clans; but
cattle are now driven, and passengers travel without danger, fear, or
molestation.

Among a warlike people, the quality of highest esteem is personal
courage, and with the ostentatious display of courage are closely
connected promptitude of offence and quickness of resentment.  The
Highlanders, before they were disarmed, were so addicted to quarrels,
that the boys used to follow any publick procession or ceremony, however
festive, or however solemn, in expectation of the battle, which was sure
to happen before the company dispersed.

Mountainous regions are sometimes so remote from the seat of government,
and so difficult of access, that they are very little under the influence
of the sovereign, or within the reach of national justice.  Law is
nothing without power; and the sentence of a distant court could not be
easily executed, nor perhaps very safely promulgated, among men
ignorantly proud and habitually violent, unconnected with the general
system, and accustomed to reverence only their own lords.  It has
therefore been necessary to erect many particular jurisdictions, and
commit the punishment of crimes, and the decision of right to the
proprietors of the country who could enforce their own decrees.  It
immediately appears that such judges will be often ignorant, and often
partial; but in the immaturity of political establishments no better
expedient could be found.  As government advances towards perfection,
provincial judicature is perhaps in every empire gradually abolished.

Those who had thus the dispensation of law, were by consequence
themselves lawless.  Their vassals had no shelter from outrages and
oppressions; but were condemned to endure, without resistance, the
caprices of wantonness, and the rage of cruelty.

In the Highlands, some great lords had an hereditary jurisdiction over
counties; and some chieftains over their own lands; till the final
conquest of the Highlands afforded an opportunity of crushing all the
local courts, and of extending the general benefits of equal law to the
low and the high, in the deepest recesses and obscurest corners.

While the chiefs had this resemblance of royalty, they had little
inclination to appeal, on any question, to superior judicatures.  A claim
of lands between two powerful lairds was decided like a contest for
dominion between sovereign powers.  They drew their forces into the
field, and right attended on the strongest.  This was, in ruder times,
the common practice, which the kings of Scotland could seldom control.

Even so lately as in the last years of King William, a battle was fought
at Mull Roy, on a plain a few miles to the south of Inverness, between
the clans of Mackintosh and Macdonald of Keppoch.  Col.  Macdonald, the
head of a small clan, refused to pay the dues demanded from him by
Mackintosh, as his superior lord.  They disdained the interposition of
judges and laws, and calling each his followers to maintain the dignity
of the clan, fought a formal battle, in which several considerable men
fell on the side of Mackintosh, without a complete victory to either.
This is said to have been the last open war made between the clans by
their own authority.

The Highland lords made treaties, and formed alliances, of which some
traces may still be found, and some consequences still remain as lasting
evidences of petty regality.  The terms of one of these confederacies
were, that each should support the other in the right, or in the wrong,
except against the king.

The inhabitants of mountains form distinct races, and are careful to
preserve their genealogies.  Men in a small district necessarily mingle
blood by intermarriages, and combine at last into one family, with a
common interest in the honour and disgrace of every individual.  Then
begins that union of affections, and co-operation of endeavours, that
constitute a clan.  They who consider themselves as ennobled by their
family, will think highly of their progenitors, and they who through
successive generations live always together in the same place, will
preserve local stories and hereditary prejudices.  Thus every Highlander
can talk of his ancestors, and recount the outrages which they suffered
from the wicked inhabitants of the next valley.

Such are the effects of habitation among mountains, and such were the
qualities of the Highlanders, while their rocks secluded them from the
rest of mankind, and kept them an unaltered and discriminated race.  They
are now losing their distinction, and hastening to mingle with the
general community.




GLENELG


We left Auknasheals and the Macraes its the afternoon, and in the evening
came to Ratiken, a high hill on which a road is cut, but so steep and
narrow, that it is very difficult.  There is now a design of making
another way round the bottom.  Upon one of the precipices, my horse,
weary with the steepness of the rise, staggered a little, and I called in
haste to the Highlander to hold him.  This was the only moment of my
journey, in which I thought myself endangered.

Having surmounted the hill at last, we were told that at Glenelg, on the
sea-side, we should come to a house of lime and slate and glass.  This
image of magnificence raised our expectation.  At last we came to our inn
weary and peevish, and began to inquire for meat and beds.

Of the provisions the negative catalogue was very copious.  Here was no
meat, no milk, no bread, no eggs, no wine.  We did not express much
satisfaction.  Here however we were to stay.  Whisky we might have, and I
believe at last they caught a fowl and killed it.  We had some bread, and
with that we prepared ourselves to be contented, when we had a very
eminent proof of Highland hospitality.  Along some miles of the way, in
the evening, a gentleman's servant had kept us company on foot with very
little notice on our part.  He left us near Glenelg, and we thought on
him no more till he came to us again, in about two hours, with a present
from his master of rum and sugar.  The man had mentioned his company, and
the gentleman, whose name, I think, is Gordon, well knowing the penury of
the place, had this attention to two men, whose names perhaps he had not
heard, by whom his kindness was not likely to be ever repaid, and who
could be recommended to him only by their necessities.

We were now to examine our lodging.  Out of one of the beds, on which we
were to repose, started up, at our entrance, a man black as a Cyclops
from the forge.  Other circumstances of no elegant recital concurred to
disgust us.  We had been frighted by a lady at Edinburgh, with
discouraging representations of Highland lodgings.  Sleep, however, was
necessary.  Our Highlanders had at last found some hay, with which the
inn could not supply them.  I directed them to bring a bundle into the
room, and slept upon it in my riding coat.  Mr. Boswell being more
delicate, laid himself sheets with hay over and under him, and lay in
linen like a gentleman.




SKY.  ARMIDEL


In the morning, September the second, we found ourselves on the edge of
the sea.  Having procured a boat, we dismissed our Highlanders, whom I
would recommend to the service of any future travellers, and were ferried
over to the Isle of Sky.  We landed at Armidel, where we were met on the
sands by Sir Alexander Macdonald, who was at that time there with his
lady, preparing to leave the island and reside at Edinburgh.

Armidel is a neat house, built where the Macdonalds had once a seat,
which was burnt in the commotions that followed the Revolution.  The
walled orchard, which belonged to the former house, still remains.  It is
well shaded by tall ash trees, of a species, as Mr. Janes the fossilist
informed me, uncommonly valuable.  This plantation is very properly
mentioned by Dr. Campbell, in his new account of the state of Britain,
and deserves attention; because it proves that the present nakedness of
the Hebrides is not wholly the fault of Nature.

As we sat at Sir Alexander's table, we were entertained, according to the
ancient usage of the North, with the melody of the bagpipe.  Everything
in those countries has its history.  As the bagpiper was playing, an
elderly Gentleman informed us, that in some remote time, the Macdonalds
of Glengary having been injured, or offended by the inhabitants of
Culloden, and resolving to have justice or vengeance, came to Culloden on
a Sunday, where finding their enemies at worship, they shut them up in
the church, which they set on fire; and this, said he, is the tune that
the piper played while they were burning.

Narrations like this, however uncertain, deserve the notice of the
traveller, because they are the only records of a nation that has no
historians, and afford the most genuine representation of the life and
character of the ancient Highlanders.

Under the denomination of Highlander are comprehended in Scotland all
that now speak the Erse language, or retain the primitive manners,
whether they live among the mountains or in the islands; and in that
sense I use the name, when there is not some apparent reason for making a
distinction.

In Sky I first observed the use of Brogues, a kind of artless shoes,
stitched with thongs so loosely, that though they defend the foot from
stones, they do not exclude water.  Brogues were formerly made of raw
hides, with the hair inwards, and such are perhaps still used in rude and
remote parts; but they are said not to last above two days.  Where life
is somewhat improved, they are now made of leather tanned with oak bark,
as in other places, or with the bark of birch, or roots of tormentil, a
substance recommended in defect of bark, about forty years ago, to the
Irish tanners, by one to whom the parliament of that kingdom voted a
reward.  The leather of Sky is not completely penetrated by vegetable
matter, and therefore cannot be very durable.

My inquiries about brogues, gave me an early specimen of Highland
information.  One day I was told, that to make brogues was a domestick
art, which every man practised for himself, and that a pair of brogues
was the work of an hour.  I supposed that the husband made brogues as the
wife made an apron, till next day it was told me, that a brogue-maker was
a trade, and that a pair would cost half a crown.  It will easily occur
that these representations may both be true, and that, in some places,
men may buy them, and in others, make them for themselves; but I had both
the accounts in the same house within two days.

Many of my subsequent inquiries upon more interesting topicks ended in
the like uncertainty.  He that travels in the Highlands may easily
saturate his soul with intelligence, if he will acquiesce in the first
account.  The Highlander gives to every question an answer so prompt and
peremptory, that skepticism itself is dared into silence, and the mind
sinks before the bold reporter in unresisting credulity; but, if a second
question be ventured, it breaks the enchantment; for it is immediately
discovered, that what was told so confidently was told at hazard, and
that such fearlessness of assertion was either the sport of negligence,
or the refuge of ignorance.

If individuals are thus at variance with themselves, it can be no wonder
that the accounts of different men are contradictory.  The traditions of
an ignorant and savage people have been for ages negligently heard, and
unskilfully related.  Distant events must have been mingled together, and
the actions of one man given to another.  These, however, are
deficiencies in story, for which no man is now to be censured.  It were
enough, if what there is yet opportunity of examining were accurately
inspected, and justly represented; but such is the laxity of Highland
conversation, that the inquirer is kept in continual suspense, and by a
kind of intellectual retrogradation, knows less as he hears more.

In the islands the plaid is rarely worn.  The law by which the
Highlanders have been obliged to change the form of their dress, has, in
all the places that we have visited, been universally obeyed.  I have
seen only one gentleman completely clothed in the ancient habit, and by
him it was worn only occasionally and wantonly.  The common people do not
think themselves under any legal necessity of having coats; for they say
that the law against plaids was made by Lord Hardwicke, and was in force
only for his life: but the same poverty that made it then difficult for
them to change their clothing, hinders them now from changing it again.

The fillibeg, or lower garment, is still very common, and the bonnet
almost universal; but their attire is such as produces, in a sufficient
degree, the effect intended by the law, of abolishing the dissimilitude
of appearance between the Highlanders and the other inhabitants of
Britain; and, if dress be supposed to have much influence, facilitates
their coalition with their fellow-subjects.

What we have long used we naturally like, and therefore the Highlanders
were unwilling to lay aside their plaid, which yet to an unprejudiced
spectator must appear an incommodious and cumbersome dress; for hanging
loose upon the body, it must flutter in a quick motion, or require one of
the hands to keep it close.  The Romans always laid aside the gown when
they had anything to do.  It was a dress so unsuitable to war, that the
same word which signified a gown signified peace.  The chief use of a
plaid seems to be this, that they could commodiously wrap themselves in
it, when they were obliged to sleep without a better cover.

In our passage from Scotland to Sky, we were wet for the first time with
a shower.  This was the beginning of the Highland winter, after which we
were told that a succession of three dry days was not to be expected for
many months.  The winter of the Hebrides consists of little more than
rain and wind.  As they are surrounded by an ocean never frozen, the
blasts that come to them over the water are too much softened to have the
power of congelation.  The salt loughs, or inlets of the sea, which shoot
very far into the island, never have any ice upon them, and the pools of
fresh water will never bear the walker.  The snow that sometimes falls,
is soon dissolved by the air, or the rain.

This is not the description of a cruel climate, yet the dark months are
here a time of great distress; because the summer can do little more than
feed itself, and winter comes with its cold and its scarcity upon
families very slenderly provided.




CORIATACHAN IN SKY


The third or fourth day after our arrival at Armidel, brought us an
invitation to the isle of Raasay, which lies east of Sky.  It is
incredible how soon the account of any event is propagated in these
narrow countries by the love of talk, which much leisure produces, and
the relief given to the mind in the penury of insular conversation by a
new topick.  The arrival of strangers at a place so rarely visited,
excites rumour, and quickens curiosity.  I know not whether we touched at
any corner, where Fame had not already prepared us a reception.

To gain a commodious passage to Raasay, it was necessary to pass over a
large part of Sky.  We were furnished therefore with horses and a guide.
In the Islands there are no roads, nor any marks by which a stranger may
find his way.  The horseman has always at his side a native of the place,
who, by pursuing game, or tending cattle, or being often employed in
messages or conduct, has learned where the ridge of the hill has breadth
sufficient to allow a horse and his rider a passage, and where the moss
or bog is hard enough to bear them.  The bogs are avoided as toilsome at
least, if not unsafe, and therefore the journey is made generally from
precipice to precipice; from which if the eye ventures to look down, it
sees below a gloomy cavity, whence the rush of water is sometimes heard.

But there seems to be in all this more alarm than danger.  The Highlander
walks carefully before, and the horse, accustomed to the ground, follows
him with little deviation.  Sometimes the hill is too steep for the
horseman to keep his seat, and sometimes the moss is too tremulous to
bear the double weight of horse and man.  The rider then dismounts, and
all shift as they can.

Journies made in this manner are rather tedious than long.  A very few
miles require several hours.  From Armidel we came at night to
Coriatachan, a house very pleasantly situated between two brooks, with
one of the highest hills of the island behind it.  It is the residence of
Mr. Mackinnon, by whom we were treated with very liberal hospitality,
among a more numerous and elegant company than it could have been
supposed easy to collect.

The hill behind the house we did not climb.  The weather was rough, and
the height and steepness discouraged us.  We were told that there is a
cairne upon it.  A cairne is a heap of stones thrown upon the grave of
one eminent for dignity of birth, or splendour of atchievements.  It is
said that by digging, an urn is always found under these cairnes: they
must therefore have been thus piled by a people whose custom was to burn
the dead.  To pile stones is, I believe, a northern custom, and to burn
the body was the Roman practice; nor do I know when it was that these two
acts of sepulture were united.

The weather was next day too violent for the continuation of our journey;
but we had no reason to complain of the interruption.  We saw in every
place, what we chiefly desired to know, the manners of the people.  We
had company, and, if we had chosen retirement, we might have had books.

I never was in any house of the Islands, where I did not find books in
more languages than one, if I staid long enough to want them, except one
from which the family was removed.  Literature is not neglected by the
higher rank of the Hebridians.

It need not, I suppose, be mentioned, that in countries so little
frequented as the Islands, there are no houses where travellers are
entertained for money.  He that wanders about these wilds, either
procures recommendations to those whose habitations lie near his way, or,
when night and weariness come upon him, takes the chance of general
hospitality.  If he finds only a cottage, he can expect little more than
shelter; for the cottagers have little more for themselves: but if his
good fortune brings him to the residence of a gentleman, he will be glad
of a storm to prolong his stay.  There is, however, one inn by the sea-
side at Sconsor, in Sky, where the post-office is kept.

At the tables where a stranger is received, neither plenty nor delicacy
is wanting.  A tract of land so thinly inhabited, must have much wild-
fowl; and I scarcely remember to have seen a dinner without them.  The
moorgame is every where to be had.  That the sea abounds with fish, needs
not be told, for it supplies a great part of Europe.  The Isle of Sky has
stags and roebucks, but no hares.  They sell very numerous droves of oxen
yearly to England, and therefore cannot be supposed to want beef at home.
Sheep and goats are in great numbers, and they have the common domestick
fowls.

But as here is nothing to be bought, every family must kill its own meat,
and roast part of it somewhat sooner than Apicius would prescribe.  Every
kind of flesh is undoubtedly excelled by the variety and emulation of
English markets; but that which is not best may be yet very far from bad,
and he that shall complain of his fare in the Hebrides, has improved his
delicacy more than his manhood.

Their fowls are not like those plumped for sale by the poulterers of
London, but they are as good as other places commonly afford, except that
the geese, by feeding in the sea, have universally a fishy rankness.

These geese seem to be of a middle race, between the wild and domestick
kinds.  They are so tame as to own a home, and so wild as sometimes to
fly quite away.

Their native bread is made of oats, or barley.  Of oatmeal they spread
very thin cakes, coarse and hard, to which unaccustomed palates are not
easily reconciled.  The barley cakes are thicker and softer; I began to
eat them without unwillingness; the blackness of their colour raises some
dislike, but the taste is not disagreeable.  In most houses there is
wheat flower, with which we were sure to be treated, if we staid long
enough to have it kneaded and baked.  As neither yeast nor leaven are
used among them, their bread of every kind is unfermented.  They make
only cakes, and never mould a loaf.

A man of the Hebrides, for of the women's diet I can give no account, as
soon as he appears in the morning, swallows a glass of whisky; yet they
are not a drunken race, at least I never was present at much
intemperance; but no man is so abstemious as to refuse the morning dram,
which they call a skalk.

The word whisky signifies water, and is applied by way of eminence to
strong water, or distilled liquor.  The spirit drunk in the North is
drawn from barley.  I never tasted it, except once for experiment at the
inn in Inverary, when I thought it preferable to any English malt brandy.
It was strong, but not pungent, and was free from the empyreumatick taste
or smell.  What was the process I had no opportunity of inquiring, nor do
I wish to improve the art of making poison pleasant.

Not long after the dram, may be expected the breakfast, a meal in which
the Scots, whether of the lowlands or mountains, must be confessed to
excel us.  The tea and coffee are accompanied not only with butter, but
with honey, conserves, and marmalades.  If an epicure could remove by a
wish, in quest of sensual gratifications, wherever he had supped he would
breakfast in Scotland.

In the islands however, they do what I found it not very easy to endure.
They pollute the tea-table by plates piled with large slices of cheshire
cheese, which mingles its less grateful odours with the fragrance of the
tea.

Where many questions are to be asked, some will be omitted.  I forgot to
inquire how they were supplied with so much exotic luxury.  Perhaps the
French may bring them wine for wool, and the Dutch give them tea and
coffee at the fishing season, in exchange for fresh provision.  Their
trade is unconstrained; they pay no customs, for there is no officer to
demand them; whatever therefore is made dear only by impost, is obtained
here at an easy rate.

A dinner in the Western Islands differs very little from a dinner in
England, except that in the place of tarts, there are always set
different preparations of milk.  This part of their diet will admit some
improvement.  Though they have milk, and eggs, and sugar, few of them
know how to compound them in a custard.  Their gardens afford them no
great variety, but they have always some vegetables on the table.
Potatoes at least are never wanting, which, though they have not known
them long, are now one of the principal parts of their food.  They are
not of the mealy, but the viscous kind.

Their more elaborate cookery, or made dishes, an Englishman at the first
taste is not likely to approve, but the culinary compositions of every
country are often such as become grateful to other nations only by
degrees; though I have read a French author, who, in the elation of his
heart, says, that French cookery pleases all foreigners, but foreign
cookery never satisfies a Frenchman.

Their suppers are, like their dinners, various and plentiful.  The table
is always covered with elegant linen.  Their plates for common use are
often of that kind of manufacture which is called cream coloured, or
queen's ware.  They use silver on all occasions where it is common in
England, nor did I ever find the spoon of horn, but in one house.

The knives are not often either very bright, or very sharp.  They are
indeed instruments of which the Highlanders have not been long acquainted
with the general use.  They were not regularly laid on the table, before
the prohibition of arms, and the change of dress.  Thirty years ago the
Highlander wore his knife as a companion to his dirk or dagger, and when
the company sat down to meat, the men who had knives, cut the flesh into
small pieces for the women, who with their fingers conveyed it to their
mouths.

There was perhaps never any change of national manners so quick, so
great, and so general, as that which has operated in the Highlands, by
the last conquest, and the subsequent laws.  We came thither too late to
see what we expected, a people of peculiar appearance, and a system of
antiquated life.  The clans retain little now of their original
character, their ferocity of temper is softened, their military ardour is
extinguished, their dignity of independence is depressed, their contempt
of government subdued, and the reverence for their chiefs abated.  Of
what they had before the late conquest of their country, there remain
only their language and their poverty.  Their language is attacked on
every side.  Schools are erected, in which English only is taught, and
there were lately some who thought it reasonable to refuse them a version
of the holy scriptures, that they might have no monument of their mother-
tongue.

That their poverty is gradually abated, cannot be mentioned among the
unpleasing consequences of subjection.  They are now acquainted with
money, and the possibility of gain will by degrees make them industrious.
Such is the effect of the late regulations, that a longer journey than to
the Highlands must be taken by him whose curiosity pants for savage
virtues and barbarous grandeur.




RAASAY


At the first intermission of the stormy weather we were informed, that
the boat, which was to convey us to Raasay, attended us on the coast.  We
had from this time our intelligence facilitated, and our conversation
enlarged, by the company of Mr. Macqueen, minister of a parish in Sky,
whose knowledge and politeness give him a title equally to kindness and
respect, and who, from this time, never forsook us till we were preparing
to leave Sky, and the adjacent places.

The boat was under the direction of Mr. Malcolm Macleod, a gentleman of
Raasay.  The water was calm, and the rowers were vigorous; so that our
passage was quick and pleasant.  When we came near the island, we saw the
laird's house, a neat modern fabrick, and found Mr. Macleod, the
proprietor of the Island, with many gentlemen, expecting us on the beach.
We had, as at all other places, some difficulty in landing.  The craggs
were irregularly broken, and a false step would have been very
mischievous.

It seemed that the rocks might, with no great labour, have been hewn
almost into a regular flight of steps; and as there are no other landing
places, I considered this rugged ascent as the consequence of a form of
life inured to hardships, and therefore not studious of nice
accommodations.  But I know not whether, for many ages, it was not
considered as a part of military policy, to keep the country not easily
accessible.  The rocks are natural fortifications, and an enemy climbing
with difficulty, was easily destroyed by those who stood high above him.

Our reception exceeded our expectations.  We found nothing but civility,
elegance, and plenty.  After the usual refreshments, and the usual
conversation, the evening came upon us.  The carpet was then rolled off
the floor; the musician was called, and the whole company was invited to
dance, nor did ever fairies trip with greater alacrity.  The general air
of festivity, which predominated in this place, so far remote from all
those regions which the mind has been used to contemplate as the mansions
of pleasure, struck the imagination with a delightful surprise, analogous
to that which is felt at an unexpected emersion from darkness into light.

When it was time to sup, the dance ceased, and six and thirty persons sat
down to two tables in the same room.  After supper the ladies sung Erse
songs, to which I listened as an English audience to an Italian opera,
delighted with the sound of words which I did not understand.

I inquired the subjects of the songs, and was told of one, that it was a
love song, and of another, that it was a farewell composed by one of the
Islanders that was going, in this epidemical fury of emigration, to seek
his fortune in America.  What sentiments would arise, on such an
occasion, in the heart of one who had not been taught to lament by
precedent, I should gladly have known; but the lady, by whom I sat,
thought herself not equal to the work of translating.

Mr. Macleod is the proprietor of the islands of Raasay, Rona, and Fladda,
and possesses an extensive district in Sky.  The estate has not, during
four hundred years, gained or lost a single acre.  He acknowledges
Macleod of Dunvegan as his chief, though his ancestors have formerly
disputed the pre-eminence.

One of the old Highland alliances has continued for two hundred years,
and is still subsisting between Macleod of Raasay and Macdonald of Sky,
in consequence of which, the survivor always inherits the arms of the
deceased; a natural memorial of military friendship.  At the death of the
late Sir James Macdonald, his sword was delivered to the present laird of
Raasay.

The family of Raasay consists of the laird, the lady, three sons and ten
daughters.  For the sons there is a tutor in the house, and the lady is
said to be very skilful and diligent in the education of her girls.  More
gentleness of manners, or a more pleasing appearance of domestick
society, is not found in the most polished countries.

Raasay is the only inhabited island in Mr. Macleod's possession.  Rona
and Fladda afford only pasture for cattle, of which one hundred and sixty
winter in Rona, under the superintendence of a solitary herdsman.

The length of Raasay is, by computation, fifteen miles, and the breadth
two.  These countries have never been measured, and the computation by
miles is negligent and arbitrary.  We observed in travelling, that the
nominal and real distance of places had very little relation to each
other.  Raasay probably contains near a hundred square miles.  It affords
not much ground, notwithstanding its extent, either for tillage, or
pasture; for it is rough, rocky, and barren.  The cattle often perish by
falling from the precipices.  It is like the other islands, I think,
generally naked of shade, but it is naked by neglect; for the laird has
an orchard, and very large forest trees grow about his house.  Like other
hilly countries it has many rivulets.  One of the brooks turns a corn-
mill, and at least one produces trouts.

In the streams or fresh lakes of the Islands, I have never heard of any
other fish than trouts and eels.  The trouts, which I have seen, are not
large; the colour of their flesh is tinged as in England.  Of their eels
I can give no account, having never tasted them; for I believe they are
not considered as wholesome food.

It is not very easy to fix the principles upon which mankind have agreed
to eat some animals, and reject others; and as the principle is not
evident, it is not uniform.  That which is selected as delicate in one
country, is by its neighbours abhorred as loathsome.  The Neapolitans
lately refused to eat potatoes in a famine.  An Englishman is not easily
persuaded to dine on snails with an Italian, on frogs with a Frenchman,
or on horseflesh with a Tartar.  The vulgar inhabitants of Sky, I know
not whether of the other islands, have not only eels, but pork and bacon
in abhorrence, and accordingly I never saw a hog in the Hebrides, except
one at Dunvegan.

Raasay has wild fowl in abundance, but neither deer, hares, nor rabbits.
Why it has them not, might be asked, but that of such questions there is
no end.  Why does any nation want what it might have?  Why are not spices
transplanted to America?  Why does tea continue to be brought from China?
Life improves but by slow degrees, and much in every place is yet to do.
Attempts have been made to raise roebucks in Raasay, but without effect.
The young ones it is extremely difficult to rear, and the old can very
seldom be taken alive.

Hares and rabbits might be more easily obtained.  That they have few or
none of either in Sky, they impute to the ravage of the foxes, and have
therefore set, for some years past, a price upon their heads, which, as
the number was diminished, has been gradually raised, from three
shillings and sixpence to a guinea, a sum so great in this part of the
world, that, in a short time, Sky may be as free from foxes, as England
from wolves.  The fund for these rewards is a tax of sixpence in the
pound, imposed by the farmers on themselves, and said to be paid with
great willingness.

The beasts of prey in the Islands are foxes, otters, and weasels.  The
foxes are bigger than those of England; but the otters exceed ours in a
far greater proportion.  I saw one at Armidel, of a size much beyond that
which I supposed them ever to attain; and Mr. Maclean, the heir of Col, a
man of middle stature, informed me that he once shot an otter, of which
the tail reached the ground, when he held up the head to a level with his
own.  I expected the otter to have a foot particularly formed for the art
of swimming; but upon examination, I did not find it differing much from
that of a spaniel.  As he preys in the sea, he does little visible
mischief, and is killed only for his fur.  White otters are sometimes
seen.

In Raasay they might have hares and rabbits, for they have no foxes.  Some
depredations, such as were never made before, have caused a suspicion
that a fox has been lately landed in the Island by spite or wantonness.
This imaginary stranger has never yet been seen, and therefore, perhaps,
the mischief was done by some other animal.  It is not likely that a
creature so ungentle, whose head could have been sold in Sky for a
guinea, should be kept alive only to gratify the malice of sending him to
prey upon a neighbour: and the passage from Sky is wider than a fox would
venture to swim, unless he were chased by dogs into the sea, and perhaps
than his strength would enable him to cross.  How beasts of prey came
into any islands is not easy to guess.  In cold countries they take
advantage of hard winters, and travel over the ice: but this is a very
scanty solution; for they are found where they have no discoverable means
of coming.

The corn of this island is but little.  I saw the harvest of a small
field.  The women reaped the Corn, and the men bound up the sheaves.  The
strokes of the sickle were timed by the modulation of the harvest song,
in which all their voices were united.  They accompany in the Highlands
every action, which can be done in equal time, with an appropriated
strain, which has, they say, not much meaning; but its effects are
regularity and cheerfulness.  The ancient proceleusmatick song, by which
the rowers of gallies were animated, may be supposed to have been of this
kind.  There is now an oar-song used by the Hebridians.

The ground of Raasay seems fitter for cattle than for corn, and of black
cattle I suppose the number is very great.  The Laird himself keeps a
herd of four hundred, one hundred of which are annually sold.  Of an
extensive domain, which he holds in his own hands, he considers the sale
of cattle as repaying him the rent, and supports the plenty of a very
liberal table with the remaining product.

Raasay is supposed to have been very long inhabited.  On one side of it
they show caves, into which the rude nations of the first ages retreated
from the weather.  These dreary vaults might have had other uses.  There
is still a cavity near the house called the oar-cave, in which the
seamen, after one of those piratical expeditions, which in rougher times
were very frequent, used, as tradition tells, to hide their oars.  This
hollow was near the sea, that nothing so necessary might be far to be
fetched; and it was secret, that enemies, if they landed, could find
nothing.  Yet it is not very evident of what use it was to hide their
oars from those, who, if they were masters of the coast, could take away
their boats.

A proof much stronger of the distance at which the first possessors of
this island lived from the present time, is afforded by the stone heads
of arrows which are very frequently picked up.  The people call them Elf-
bolts, and believe that the fairies shoot them at the cattle.  They
nearly resemble those which Mr. Banks has lately brought from the savage
countries in the Pacifick Ocean, and must have been made by a nation to
which the use of metals was unknown.

The number of this little community has never been counted by its ruler,
nor have I obtained any positive account, consistent with the result of
political computation.  Not many years ago, the late Laird led out one
hundred men upon a military expedition.  The sixth part of a people is
supposed capable of bearing arms: Raasay had therefore six hundred
inhabitants.  But because it is not likely, that every man able to serve
in the field would follow the summons, or that the chief would leave his
lands totally defenceless, or take away all the hands qualified for
labour, let it be supposed, that half as many might be permitted to stay
at home.  The whole number will then be nine hundred, or nine to a square
mile; a degree of populousness greater than those tracts of desolation
can often show.  They are content with their country, and faithful to
their chiefs, and yet uninfected with the fever of migration.

Near the house, at Raasay, is a chapel unroofed and ruinous, which has
long been used only as a place of burial.  About the churches, in the
Islands, are small squares inclosed with stone, which belong to
particular families, as repositories for the dead.  At Raasay there is
one, I think, for the proprietor, and one for some collateral house.

It is told by Martin, that at the death of the Lady of the Island, it has
been here the custom to erect a cross.  This we found not to be true.  The
stones that stand about the chapel at a small distance, some of which
perhaps have crosses cut upon them, are believed to have been not funeral
monuments, but the ancient boundaries of the sanctuary or consecrated
ground.

Martin was a man not illiterate: he was an inhabitant of Sky, and
therefore was within reach of intelligence, and with no great difficulty
might have visited the places which he undertakes to describe; yet with
all his opportunities, he has often suffered himself to be deceived.  He
lived in the last century, when the chiefs of the clans had lost little
of their original influence.  The mountains were yet unpenetrated, no
inlet was opened to foreign novelties, and the feudal institution
operated upon life with their full force.  He might therefore have
displayed a series of subordination and a form of government, which, in
more luminous and improved regions, have been long forgotten, and have
delighted his readers with many uncouth customs that are now disused, and
wild opinions that prevail no longer.  But he probably had not knowledge
of the world sufficient to qualify him for judging what would deserve or
gain the attention of mankind.  The mode of life which was familiar to
himself, he did not suppose unknown to others, nor imagined that he could
give pleasure by telling that of which it was, in his little country,
impossible to be ignorant.

What he has neglected cannot now be performed.  In nations, where there
is hardly the use of letters, what is once out of sight is lost for ever.
They think but little, and of their few thoughts, none are wasted on the
past, in which they are neither interested by fear nor hope.  Their only
registers are stated observances and practical representations.  For this
reason an age of ignorance is an age of ceremony.  Pageants, and
processions, and commemorations, gradually shrink away, as better methods
come into use of recording events, and preserving rights.

It is not only in Raasay that the chapel is unroofed and useless; through
the few islands which we visited, we neither saw nor heard of any house
of prayer, except in Sky, that was not in ruins.  The malignant influence
of Calvinism has blasted ceremony and decency together; and if the
remembrance of papal superstition is obliterated, the monuments of papal
piety are likewise effaced.

It has been, for many years, popular to talk of the lazy devotion of the
Romish clergy; over the sleepy laziness of men that erected churches, we
may indulge our superiority with a new triumph, by comparing it with the
fervid activity of those who suffer them to fall.

Of the destruction of churches, the decay of religion must in time be the
consequence; for while the publick acts of the ministry are now performed
in houses, a very small number can be present; and as the greater part of
the Islanders make no use of books, all must necessarily live in total
ignorance who want the opportunity of vocal instruction.

From these remains of ancient sanctity, which are every where to be
found, it has been conjectured, that, for the last two centuries, the
inhabitants of the Islands have decreased in number.  This argument,
which supposes that the churches have been suffered to fall, only because
they were no longer necessary, would have some force, if the houses of
worship still remaining were sufficient for the people.  But since they
have now no churches at all, these venerable fragments do not prove the
people of former times to have been more numerous, but to have been more
devout.  If the inhabitants were doubled with their present principles,
it appears not that any provision for publick worship would be made.
Where the religion of a country enforces consecrated buildings, the
number of those buildings may be supposed to afford some indication,
however uncertain, of the populousness of the place; but where by a
change of manners a nation is contented to live without them, their decay
implies no diminution of inhabitants.

Some of these dilapidations are said to be found in islands now
uninhabited; but I doubt whether we can thence infer that they were ever
peopled.  The religion of the middle age, is well known to have placed
too much hope in lonely austerities.  Voluntary solitude was the great
act of propitiation, by which crimes were effaced, and conscience was
appeased; it is therefore not unlikely, that oratories were often built
in places where retirement was sure to have no disturbance.

Raasay has little that can detain a traveller, except the Laird and his
family; but their power wants no auxiliaries.  Such a seat of
hospitality, amidst the winds and waters, fills the imagination with a
delightful contrariety of images.  Without is the rough ocean and the
rocky land, the beating billows and the howling storm: within is plenty
and elegance, beauty and gaiety, the song and the dance.  In Raasay, if I
could have found an Ulysses, I had fancied a Phoeacia.




DUNVEGAN


At Raasay, by good fortune, Macleod, so the chief of the clan is called,
was paying a visit, and by him we were invited to his seat at Dunvegan.
Raasay has a stout boat, built in Norway, in which, with six oars, he
conveyed us back to Sky.  We landed at Port Re, so called, because James
the Fifth of Scotland, who had curiosity to visit the Islands, came into
it.  The port is made by an inlet of the sea, deep and narrow, where a
ship lay waiting to dispeople Sky, by carrying the natives away to
America.

In coasting Sky, we passed by the cavern in which it was the custom, as
Martin relates, to catch birds in the night, by making a fire at the
entrance.  This practice is disused; for the birds, as is known often to
happen, have changed their haunts.

Here we dined at a publick house, I believe the only inn of the island,
and having mounted our horses, travelled in the manner already described,
till we came to Kingsborough, a place distinguished by that name, because
the King lodged here when he landed at Port Re.  We were entertained with
the usual hospitality by Mr. Macdonald and his lady, Flora Macdonald, a
name that will be mentioned in history, and if courage and fidelity be
virtues, mentioned with honour.  She is a woman of middle stature, soft
features, gentle manners, and elegant presence.

In the morning we sent our horses round a promontory to meet us, and
spared ourselves part of the day's fatigue, by crossing an arm of the
sea.  We had at last some difficulty in coming to Dunvegan; for our way
led over an extensive moor, where every step was to be taken with
caution, and we were often obliged to alight, because the ground could
not be trusted.  In travelling this watery flat, I perceived that it had
a visible declivity, and might without much expence or difficulty be
drained.  But difficulty and expence are relative terms, which have
different meanings in different places.

To Dunvegan we came, very willing to be at rest, and found our fatigue
amply recompensed by our reception.  Lady Macleod, who had lived many
years in England, was newly come hither with her son and four daughters,
who knew all the arts of southern elegance, and all the modes of English
economy.  Here therefore we settled, and did not spoil the present hour
with thoughts of departure.

Dunvegan is a rocky prominence, that juts out into a bay, on the west
side of Sky.  The house, which is the principal seat of Macleod, is
partly old and partly modern; it is built upon the rock, and looks upon
the water.  It forms two sides of a small square: on the third side is
the skeleton of a castle of unknown antiquity, supposed to have been a
Norwegian fortress, when the Danes were masters of the Islands.  It is so
nearly entire, that it might have easily been made habitable, were there
not an ominous tradition in the family, that the owner shall not long
outlive the reparation.  The grandfather of the present Laird, in
defiance of prediction, began the work, but desisted in a little time,
and applied his money to worse uses.

As the inhabitants of the Hebrides lived, for many ages, in continual
expectation of hostilities, the chief of every clan resided in a
fortress.  This house was accessible only from the water, till the last
possessor opened an entrance by stairs upon the land.

They had formerly reason to be afraid, not only of declared wars and
authorized invaders, or of roving pirates, which, in the northern seas,
must have been very common; but of inroads and insults from rival clans,
who, in the plenitude of feudal independence, asked no leave of their
Sovereign to make war on one another.  Sky has been ravaged by a feud
between the two mighty powers of Macdonald and Macleod.  Macdonald having
married a Macleod upon some discontent dismissed her, perhaps because she
had brought him no children.  Before the reign of James the Fifth, a
Highland Laird made a trial of his wife for a certain time, and if she
did not please him, he was then at liberty to send her away.  This
however must always have offended, and Macleod resenting the injury,
whatever were its circumstances, declared, that the wedding had been
solemnized without a bonfire, but that the separation should be better
illuminated; and raising a little army, set fire to the territories of
Macdonald, who returned the visit, and prevailed.

Another story may show the disorderly state of insular neighbourhood.  The
inhabitants of the Isle of Egg, meeting a boat manned by Macleods, tied
the crew hand and foot, and set them a-drift.  Macleod landed upon Egg,
and demanded the offenders; but the inhabitants refusing to surrender
them, retreated to a cavern, into which they thought their enemies
unlikely to follow them.  Macleod choked them with smoke, and left them
lying dead by families as they stood.

Here the violence of the weather confined us for some time, not at all to
our discontent or inconvenience.  We would indeed very willingly have
visited the Islands, which might be seen from the house scattered in the
sea, and I was particularly desirous to have viewed Isay; but the storms
did not permit us to launch a boat, and we were condemned to listen in
idleness to the wind, except when we were better engaged by listening to
the ladies.

We had here more wind than waves, and suffered the severity of a tempest,
without enjoying its magnificence.  The sea being broken by the multitude
of islands, does not roar with so much noise, nor beat the shore with
such foamy violence, as I have remarked on the coast of Sussex.  Though,
while I was in the Hebrides, the wind was extremely turbulent, I never
saw very high billows.

The country about Dunvegan is rough and barren.  There are no trees,
except in the orchard, which is a low sheltered spot surrounded with a
wall.

When this house was intended to sustain a siege, a well was made in the
court, by boring the rock downwards, till water was found, which though
so near to the sea, I have not heard mentioned as brackish, though it has
some hardness, or other qualities, which make it less fit for use; and
the family is now better supplied from a stream, which runs by the rock,
from two pleasing waterfalls.

Here we saw some traces of former manners, and heard some standing
traditions.  In the house is kept an ox's horn, hollowed so as to hold
perhaps two quarts, which the heir of Macleod was expected to swallow at
one draught, as a test of his manhood, before he was permitted to bear
arms, or could claim a seat among the men.  It is held that the return of
the Laird to Dunvegan, after any considerable absence, produces a
plentiful capture of herrings; and that, if any woman crosses the water
to the opposite Island, the herrings will desert the coast.  Boetius
tells the same of some other place.  This tradition is not uniform.  Some
hold that no woman may pass, and others that none may pass but a Macleod.

Among other guests, which the hospitality of Dunvegan brought to the
table, a visit was paid by the Laird and Lady of a small island south of
Sky, of which the proper name is Muack, which signifies swine.  It is
commonly called Muck, which the proprietor not liking, has endeavoured,
without effect, to change to Monk.  It is usual to call gentlemen in
Scotland by the name of their possessions, as Raasay, Bernera, Loch Buy,
a practice necessary in countries inhabited by clans, where all that live
in the same territory have one name, and must be therefore discriminated
by some addition.  This gentleman, whose name, I think, is Maclean,
should be regularly called Muck; but the appellation, which he thinks too
coarse for his Island, he would like still less for himself, and he is
therefore addressed by the title of, Isle of Muck.

This little Island, however it be named, is of considerable value.  It is
two English miles long, and three quarters of a mile broad, and
consequently contains only nine hundred and sixty English acres.  It is
chiefly arable.  Half of this little dominion the Laird retains in his
own hand, and on the other half, live one hundred and sixty persons, who
pay their rent by exported corn.  What rent they pay, we were not told,
and could not decently inquire.  The proportion of the people to the land
is such, as the most fertile countries do not commonly maintain.

The Laird having all his people under his immediate view, seems to be
very attentive to their happiness.  The devastation of the small-pox,
when it visits places where it comes seldom, is well known.  He has
disarmed it of its terrour at Muack, by inoculating eighty of his people.
The expence was two shillings and sixpence a head.  Many trades they
cannot have among them, but upon occasion, he fetches a smith from the
Isle of Egg, and has a tailor from the main land, six times a year.  This
island well deserved to be seen, but the Laird's absence left us no
opportunity.

Every inhabited island has its appendant and subordinate islets.  Muck,
however small, has yet others smaller about it, one of which has only
ground sufficient to afford pasture for three wethers.

At Dunvegan I had tasted lotus, and was in danger of forgetting that I
was ever to depart, till Mr. Boswell sagely reproached me with my
sluggishness and softness.  I had no very forcible defence to make; and
we agreed to pursue our journey.  Macleod accompanied us to Ulinish,
where we were entertained by the sheriff of the Island.




ULINISH


Mr. Macqueen travelled with us, and directed our attention to all that
was worthy of observation.  With him we went to see an ancient building,
called a dun or borough.  It was a circular inclosure, about forty-two
feet in diameter, walled round with loose stones, perhaps to the height
of nine feet.  The walls were very thick, diminishing a little toward the
top, and though in these countries, stone is not brought far, must have
been raised with much labour.  Within the great circle were several
smaller rounds of wall, which formed distinct apartments.  Its date, and
its use are unknown.  Some suppose it the original seat of the chiefs of
the Macleods.  Mr. Macqueen thought it a Danish fort.

The entrance is covered with flat stones, and is narrow, because it was
necessary that the stones which lie over it, should reach from one wall
to the other; yet, strait as the passage is, they seem heavier than could
have been placed where they now lie, by the naked strength of as many men
as might stand about them.  They were probably raised by putting long
pieces of wood under them, to which the action of a long line of lifters
might be applied.  Savages, in all countries, have patience proportionate
to their unskilfulness, and are content to attain their end by very
tedious methods.

If it was ever roofed, it might once have been a dwelling, but as there
is no provision for water, it could not have been a fortress.  In Sky, as
in every other place, there is an ambition of exalting whatever has
survived memory, to some important use, and referring it to very remote
ages.  I am inclined to suspect, that in lawless times, when the
inhabitants of every mountain stole the cattle of their neighbour, these
inclosures were used to secure the herds and flocks in the night.  When
they were driven within the wall, they might be easily watched, and
defended as long as could be needful; for the robbers durst not wait till
the injured clan should find them in the morning.

The interior inclosures, if the whole building were once a house, were
the chambers of the chief inhabitants.  If it was a place of security for
cattle, they were probably the shelters of the keepers.

From the Dun we were conducted to another place of security, a cave
carried a great way under ground, which had been discovered by digging
after a fox.  These caves, of which many have been found, and many
probably remain concealed, are formed, I believe, commonly by taking
advantage of a hollow, where banks or rocks rise on either side.  If no
such place can be found, the ground must be cut away.  The walls are made
by piling stones against the earth, on either side.  It is then roofed by
larger stones laid across the cavern, which therefore cannot be wide.
Over the roof, turfs were placed, and grass was suffered to grow; and the
mouth was concealed by bushes, or some other cover.

These caves were represented to us as the cabins of the first rude
inhabitants, of which, however, I am by no means persuaded.  This was so
low, that no man could stand upright in it.  By their construction they
are all so narrow, that two can never pass along them together, and being
subterraneous, they must be always damp.  They are not the work of an age
much ruder than the present; for they are formed with as much art as the
construction of a common hut requires.  I imagine them to have been
places only of occasional use, in which the Islander, upon a sudden
alarm, hid his utensils, or his cloaths, and perhaps sometimes his wife
and children.

This cave we entered, but could not proceed the whole length, and went
away without knowing how far it was carried.  For this omission we shall
be blamed, as we perhaps have blamed other travellers; but the day was
rainy, and the ground was damp.  We had with us neither spades nor
pickaxes, and if love of ease surmounted our desire of knowledge, the
offence has not the invidiousness of singularity.

Edifices, either standing or ruined, are the chief records of an
illiterate nation.  In some part of this journey, at no great distance
from our way, stood a shattered fortress, of which the learned minister,
to whose communication we are much indebted, gave us an account.

Those, said he, are the walls of a place of refuge, built in the time of
James the Sixth, by Hugh Macdonald, who was next heir to the dignity and
fortune of his chief.  Hugh, being so near his wish, was impatient of
delay; and had art and influence sufficient to engage several gentlemen
in a plot against the Laird's life.  Something must be stipulated on both
sides; for they would not dip their hands in blood merely for Hugh's
advancement.  The compact was formerly written, signed by the
conspirators, and placed in the hands of one Macleod.

It happened that Macleod had sold some cattle to a drover, who, not
having ready money, gave him a bond for payment.  The debt was
discharged, and the bond re-demanded; which Macleod, who could not read,
intending to put into his hands, gave him the conspiracy.  The drover,
when he had read the paper, delivered it privately to Macdonald; who,
being thus informed of his danger, called his friends together, and
provided for his safety.  He made a public feast, and inviting Hugh
Macdonald and his confederates, placed each of them at the table between
two men of known fidelity.  The compact of conspiracy was then shewn, and
every man confronted with his own name.  Macdonald acted with great
moderation.  He upbraided Hugh, both with disloyalty and ingratitude; but
told the rest, that he considered them as men deluded and misinformed.
Hugh was sworn to fidelity, and dismissed with his companions; but he was
not generous enough to be reclaimed by lenity; and finding no longer any
countenance among the gentlemen, endeavoured to execute the same design
by meaner hands.  In this practice he was detected, taken to Macdonald's
castle, and imprisoned in the dungeon.  When he was hungry, they let down
a plentiful meal of salted meat; and when, after his repast, he called
for drink, conveyed to him a covered cup, which, when he lifted the lid,
he found empty.  From that time they visited him no more, but left him to
perish in solitude and darkness.

We were then told of a cavern by the sea-side, remarkable for the
powerful reverberation of sounds.  After dinner we took a boat, to
explore this curious cavity.  The boatmen, who seemed to be of a rank
above that of common drudges, inquired who the strangers were, and being
told we came one from Scotland, and the other from England, asked if the
Englishman could recount a long genealogy.  What answer was given them,
the conversation being in Erse, I was not much inclined to examine.

They expected no good event of the voyage; for one of them declared that
he heard the cry of an English ghost.  This omen I was not told till
after our return, and therefore cannot claim the dignity of despising it.

The sea was smooth.  We never left the shore, and came without any
disaster to the cavern, which we found rugged and misshapen, about one
hundred and eighty feet long, thirty wide in the broadest part, and in
the loftiest, as we guessed, about thirty high.  It was now dry, but at
high water the sea rises in it near six feet.  Here I saw what I had
never seen before, limpets and mussels in their natural state.  But, as a
new testimony to the veracity of common fame, here was no echo to be
heard.

We then walked through a natural arch in the rock, which might have
pleased us by its novelty, had the stones, which incumbered our feet,
given us leisure to consider it.  We were shown the gummy seed of the
kelp, that fastens itself to a stone, from which it grows into a strong
stalk.

In our return, we found a little boy upon the point of rock, catching
with his angle, a supper for the family.  We rowed up to him, and
borrowed his rod, with which Mr. Boswell caught a cuddy.

The cuddy is a fish of which I know not the philosophical name.  It is
not much bigger than a gudgeon, but is of great use in these Islands, as
it affords the lower people both food, and oil for their lamps.  Cuddies
are so abundant, at sometimes of the year, that they are caught like
whitebait in the Thames, only by dipping a basket and drawing it back.

If it were always practicable to fish, these Islands could never be in
much danger from famine; but unhappily in the winter, when other
provision fails, the seas are commonly too rough for nets, or boats.




TALISKER IN SKY


From Ulinish, our next stage was to Talisker, the house of colonel
Macleod, an officer in the Dutch service, who, in this time of universal
peace, has for several years been permitted to be absent from his
regiment.  Having been bred to physick, he is consequently a scholar, and
his lady, by accompanying him in his different places of residence, is
become skilful in several languages.  Talisker is the place beyond all
that I have seen, from which the gay and the jovial seem utterly
excluded; and where the hermit might expect to grow old in meditation,
without possibility of disturbance or interruption.  It is situated very
near the sea, but upon a coast where no vessel lands but when it is
driven by a tempest on the rocks.  Towards the land are lofty hills
streaming with waterfalls.  The garden is sheltered by firs or pines,
which grow there so prosperously, that some, which the present inhabitant
planted, are very high and thick.

At this place we very happily met Mr. Donald Maclean, a young gentleman,
the eldest son of the Laird of Col, heir to a very great extent of land,
and so desirous of improving his inheritance, that he spent a
considerable time among the farmers of Hertfordshire, and Hampshire, to
learn their practice.  He worked with his own hands at the principal
operations of agriculture, that he might not deceive himself by a false
opinion of skill, which, if he should find it deficient at home, he had
no means of completing.  If the world has agreed to praise the travels
and manual labours of the Czar of Muscovy, let Col have his share of the
like applause, in the proportion of his dominions to the empire of
Russia.

This young gentleman was sporting in the mountains of Sky, and when he
was weary with following his game, repaired for lodging to Talisker.  At
night he missed one of his dogs, and when he went to seek him in the
morning, found two eagles feeding on his carcass.

Col, for he must be named by his possessions, hearing that our intention
was to visit Jona, offered to conduct us to his chief, Sir Allan Maclean,
who lived in the isle of Inch Kenneth, and would readily find us a
convenient passage.  From this time was formed an acquaintance, which
being begun by kindness, was accidentally continued by constraint; we
derived much pleasure from it, and I hope have given him no reason to
repent it.

The weather was now almost one continued storm, and we were to snatch
some happy intermission to be conveyed to Mull, the third Island of the
Hebrides, lying about a degree south of Sky, whence we might easily find
our way to Inch Kenneth, where Sir Allan Maclean resided, and afterward
to Jona.

For this purpose, the most commodious station that we could take was
Armidel, which Sir Alexander Macdonald had now left to a gentleman, who
lived there as his factor or steward.

In our way to Armidel was Coriatachan, where we had already been, and to
which therefore we were very willing to return.  We staid however so long
at Talisker, that a great part of our journey was performed in the gloom
of the evening.  In travelling even thus almost without light thro' naked
solitude, when there is a guide whose conduct may be trusted, a mind not
naturally too much disposed to fear, may preserve some degree of
cheerfulness; but what must be the solicitude of him who should be
wandering, among the craggs and hollows, benighted, ignorant, and alone?

The fictions of the Gothick romances were not so remote from credibility
as they are now thought.  In the full prevalence of the feudal
institution, when violence desolated the world, and every baron lived in
a fortress, forests and castles were regularly succeeded by each other,
and the adventurer might very suddenly pass from the gloom of woods, or
the ruggedness of moors, to seats of plenty, gaiety, and magnificence.
Whatever is imaged in the wildest tale, if giants, dragons, and
enchantment be excepted, would be felt by him, who, wandering in the
mountains without a guide, or upon the sea without a pilot, should be
carried amidst his terror and uncertainty, to the hospitality and
elegance of Raasay or Dunvegan.

To Coriatachan at last we came, and found ourselves welcomed as before.
Here we staid two days, and made such inquiries as curiosity suggested.
The house was filled with company, among whom Mr. Macpherson and his
sister distinguished themselves by their politeness and accomplishments.
By him we were invited to Ostig, a house not far from Armidel, where we
might easily hear of a boat, when the weather would suffer us to leave
the Island.




OSTIG IN SKY


At Ostig, of which Mr. Macpherson is minister, we were entertained for
some days, then removed to Armidel, where we finished our observations on
the island of Sky.

As this Island lies in the fifty-seventh degree, the air cannot be
supposed to have much warmth.  The long continuance of the sun above the
horizon, does indeed sometimes produce great heat in northern latitudes;
but this can only happen in sheltered places, where the atmosphere is to
a certain degree stagnant, and the same mass of air continues to receive
for many hours the rays of the sun, and the vapours of the earth.  Sky
lies open on the west and north to a vast extent of ocean, and is cooled
in the summer by perpetual ventilation, but by the same blasts is kept
warm in winter.  Their weather is not pleasing.  Half the year is deluged
with rain.  From the autumnal to the vernal equinox, a dry day is hardly
known, except when the showers are suspended by a tempest.  Under such
skies can be expected no great exuberance of vegetation.  Their winter
overtakes their summer, and their harvest lies upon the ground drenched
with rain.  The autumn struggles hard to produce some of our early
fruits.  I gathered gooseberries in September; but they were small, and
the husk was thick.

Their winter is seldom such as puts a full stop to the growth of plants,
or reduces the cattle to live wholly on the surplusage of the summer.  In
the year Seventy-one they had a severe season, remembered by the name of
the Black Spring, from which the island has not yet recovered.  The snow
lay long upon the ground, a calamity hardly known before.  Part of their
cattle died for want, part were unseasonably sold to buy sustenance for
the owners; and, what I have not read or heard of before, the kine that
survived were so emaciated and dispirited, that they did not require the
male at the usual time.  Many of the roebucks perished.

The soil, as in other countries, has its diversities.  In some parts
there is only a thin layer of earth spread upon a rock, which bears
nothing but short brown heath, and perhaps is not generally capable of
any better product.  There are many bogs or mosses of greater or less
extent, where the soil cannot be supposed to want depth, though it is too
wet for the plow.  But we did not observe in these any aquatick plants.
The vallies and the mountains are alike darkened with heath.  Some grass,
however, grows here and there, and some happier spots of earth are
capable of tillage.

Their agriculture is laborious, and perhaps rather feeble than unskilful.
Their chief manure is seaweed, which, when they lay it to rot upon the
field, gives them a better crop than those of the Highlands.  They heap
sea shells upon the dunghill, which in time moulder into a fertilising
substance.  When they find a vein of earth where they cannot use it, they
dig it up, and add it to the mould of a more commodious place.

Their corn grounds often lie in such intricacies among the craggs, that
there is no room for the action of a team and plow.  The soil is then
turned up by manual labour, with an instrument called a crooked spade, of
a form and weight which to me appeared very incommodious, and would
perhaps be soon improved in a country where workmen could be easily found
and easily paid.  It has a narrow blade of iron fixed to a long and heavy
piece of wood, which must have, about a foot and a half above the iron, a
knee or flexure with the angle downwards.  When the farmer encounters a
stone which is the great impediment of his operations, he drives the
blade under it, and bringing the knee or angle to the ground, has in the
long handle a very forcible lever.

According to the different mode of tillage, farms are distinguished into
long land and short land.  Long land is that which affords room for a
plow, and short land is turned up by the spade.

The grain which they commit to the furrows thus tediously formed, is
either oats or barley.  They do not sow barley without very copious
manure, and then they expect from it ten for one, an increase equal to
that of better countries; but the culture is so operose that they content
themselves commonly with oats; and who can relate without compassion,
that after all their diligence they are to expect only a triple increase?
It is in vain to hope for plenty, when a third part of the harvest must
be reserved for seed.

When their grain is arrived at the state which they must consider as
ripeness, they do not cut, but pull the barley: to the oats they apply
the sickle.  Wheel carriages they have none, but make a frame of timber,
which is drawn by one horse with the two points behind pressing on the
ground.  On this they sometimes drag home their sheaves, but often convey
them home in a kind of open panier, or frame of sticks upon the horse's
back.

Of that which is obtained with so much difficulty, nothing surely ought
to be wasted; yet their method of clearing their oats from the husk is by
parching them in the straw.  Thus with the genuine improvidence of
savages, they destroy that fodder for want of which their cattle may
perish.  From this practice they have two petty conveniences.  They dry
the grain so that it is easily reduced to meal, and they escape the theft
of the thresher.  The taste contracted from the fire by the oats, as by
every other scorched substance, use must long ago have made grateful.  The
oats that are not parched must be dried in a kiln.

The barns of Sky I never saw.  That which Macleod of Raasay had erected
near his house was so contrived, because the harvest is seldom brought
home dry, as by perpetual perflation to prevent the mow from heating.

Of their gardens I can judge only from their tables.  I did not observe
that the common greens were wanting, and suppose, that by choosing an
advantageous exposition, they can raise all the more hardy esculent
plants.  Of vegetable fragrance or beauty they are not yet studious.  Few
vows are made to Flora in the Hebrides.

They gather a little hay, but the grass is mown late; and is so often
almost dry and again very wet, before it is housed, that it becomes a
collection of withered stalks without taste or fragrance; it must be
eaten by cattle that have nothing else, but by most English farmers would
be thrown away.

In the Islands I have not heard that any subterraneous treasures have
been discovered, though where there are mountains, there are commonly
minerals.  One of the rocks in Col has a black vein, imagined to consist
of the ore of lead; but it was never yet opened or essayed.  In Sky a
black mass was accidentally picked up, and brought into the house of the
owner of the land, who found himself strongly inclined to think it a
coal, but unhappily it did not burn in the chimney.  Common ores would be
here of no great value; for what requires to be separated by fire, must,
if it were found, be carried away in its mineral state, here being no
fewel for the smelting-house or forge.  Perhaps by diligent search in
this world of stone, some valuable species of marble might be discovered.
But neither philosophical curiosity, nor commercial industry, have yet
fixed their abode here, where the importunity of immediate want supplied
but for the day, and craving on the morrow, has left little room for
excursive knowledge or the pleasing fancies of distant profit.

They have lately found a manufacture considerably lucrative.  Their rocks
abound with kelp, a sea-plant, of which the ashes are melted into glass.
They burn kelp in great quantities, and then send it away in ships, which
come regularly to purchase them.  This new source of riches has raised
the rents of many maritime farms; but the tenants pay, like all other
tenants, the additional rent with great unwillingness; because they
consider the profits of the kelp as the mere product of personal labour,
to which the landlord contributes nothing.  However, as any man may be
said to give, what he gives the power of gaining, he has certainly as
much right to profit from the price of kelp as of any thing else found or
raised upon his ground.

This new trade has excited a long and eager litigation between Macdonald
and Macleod, for a ledge of rocks, which, till the value of kelp was
known, neither of them desired the reputation of possessing.

The cattle of Sky are not so small as is commonly believed.  Since they
have sent their beeves in great numbers to southern marts, they have
probably taken more care of their breed.  At stated times the annual
growth of cattle is driven to a fair, by a general drover, and with the
money, which he returns to the farmer, the rents are paid.

The price regularly expected, is from two to three pounds a head: there
was once one sold for five pounds.  They go from the Islands very lean,
and are not offered to the butcher, till they have been long fatted in
English pastures.

Of their black cattle, some are without horns, called by the Scots humble
cows, as we call a bee an humble bee, that wants a sting.  Whether this
difference be specifick, or accidental, though we inquired with great
diligence, we could not be informed.  We are not very sure that the bull
is ever without horns, though we have been told, that such bulls there
are.  What is produced by putting a horned and unhorned male and female
together, no man has ever tried, that thought the result worthy of
observation.

Their horses are, like their cows, of a moderate size.  I had no
difficulty to mount myself commodiously by the favour of the gentlemen.  I
heard of very little cows in Barra, and very little horses in Rum, where
perhaps no care is taken to prevent that diminution of size, which must
always happen, where the greater and the less copulate promiscuously, and
the young animal is restrained from growth by penury of sustenance.

The goat is the general inhabitant of the earth, complying with every
difference of climate, and of soil.  The goats of the Hebrides are like
others: nor did I hear any thing of their sheep, to be particularly
remarked.

In the penury of these malignant regions, nothing is left that can be
converted to food.  The goats and the sheep are milked like the cows.  A
single meal of a goat is a quart, and of a sheep a pint.  Such at least
was the account, which I could extract from those of whom I am not sure
that they ever had inquired.

The milk of goats is much thinner than that of cows, and that of sheep is
much thicker.  Sheeps milk is never eaten before it is boiled: as it is
thick, it must be very liberal of curd, and the people of St. Kilda form
it into small cheeses.

The stags of the mountains are less than those of our parks, or forests,
perhaps not bigger than our fallow deer.  Their flesh has no rankness,
nor is inferiour in flavour to our common venison.  The roebuck I neither
saw nor tasted.  These are not countries for a regular chase.  The deer
are not driven with horns and hounds.  A sportsman, with his gun in his
hand, watches the animal, and when he has wounded him, traces him by the
blood.

They have a race of brinded greyhounds, larger and stronger than those
with which we course hares, and those are the only dogs used by them for
the chase.

Man is by the use of fire-arms made so much an overmatch for other
animals, that in all countries, where they are in use, the wild part of
the creation sensibly diminishes.  There will probably not be long,
either stags or roebucks in the Islands.  All the beasts of chase would
have been lost long ago in countries well inhabited, had they not been
preserved by laws for the pleasure of the rich.

There are in Sky neither rats nor mice, but the weasel is so frequent,
that he is heard in houses rattling behind chests or beds, as rats in
England.  They probably owe to his predominance that they have no other
vermin; for since the great rat took possession of this part of the
world, scarce a ship can touch at any port, but some of his race are left
behind.  They have within these few years began to infest the isle of
Col, where being left by some trading vessel, they have increased for
want of weasels to oppose them.

The inhabitants of Sky, and of the other Islands, which I have seen, are
commonly of the middle stature, with fewer among them very tall or very
short, than are seen in England, or perhaps, as their numbers are small,
the chances of any deviation from the common measure are necessarily few.
The tallest men that I saw are among those of higher rank.  In regions of
barrenness and scarcity, the human race is hindered in its growth by the
same causes as other animals.

The ladies have as much beauty here as in other places, but bloom and
softness are not to be expected among the lower classes, whose faces are
exposed to the rudeness of the climate, and whose features are sometimes
contracted by want, and sometimes hardened by the blasts.  Supreme beauty
is seldom found in cottages or work-shops, even where no real hardships
are suffered.  To expand the human face to its full perfection, it seems
necessary that the mind should co-operate by placidness of content, or
consciousness of superiority.

Their strength is proportionate to their size, but they are accustomed to
run upon rough ground, and therefore can with great agility skip over the
bog, or clamber the mountain.  For a campaign in the wastes of America,
soldiers better qualified could not have been found.  Having little work
to do, they are not willing, nor perhaps able to endure a long
continuance of manual labour, and are therefore considered as habitually
idle.

Having never been supplied with those accommodations, which life
extensively diversified with trades affords, they supply their wants by
very insufficient shifts, and endure many inconveniences, which a little
attention would easily relieve.  I have seen a horse carrying home the
harvest on a crate.  Under his tail was a stick for a crupper, held at
the two ends by twists of straw.  Hemp will grow in their islands, and
therefore ropes may be had.  If they wanted hemp, they might make better
cordage of rushes, or perhaps of nettles, than of straw.

Their method of life neither secures them perpetual health, nor exposes
them to any particular diseases.  There are physicians in the Islands,
who, I believe, all practise chirurgery, and all compound their own
medicines.

It is generally supposed, that life is longer in places where there are
few opportunities of luxury; but I found no instance here of
extraordinary longevity.  A cottager grows old over his oaten cakes, like
a citizen at a turtle feast.  He is indeed seldom incommoded by
corpulence.  Poverty preserves him from sinking under the burden of
himself, but he escapes no other injury of time.  Instances of long life
are often related, which those who hear them are more willing to credit
than examine.  To be told that any man has attained a hundred years,
gives hope and comfort to him who stands trembling on the brink of his
own climacterick.

Length of life is distributed impartially to very different modes of life
in very different climates; and the mountains have no greater examples of
age and health than the low lands, where I was introduced to two ladies
of high quality; one of whom, in her ninety-fourth year, presided at her
table with the full exercise of all her powers; and the other has
attained her eighty-fourth, without any diminution of her vivacity, and
with little reason to accuse time of depredations on her beauty.

In the Islands, as in most other places, the inhabitants are of different
rank, and one does not encroach here upon another.  Where there is no
commerce nor manufacture, he that is born poor can scarcely become rich;
and if none are able to buy estates, he that is born to land cannot
annihilate his family by selling it.  This was once the state of these
countries.  Perhaps there is no example, till within a century and half,
of any family whose estate was alienated otherwise than by violence or
forfeiture.  Since money has been brought amongst them, they have found,
like others, the art of spending more than they receive; and I saw with
grief the chief of a very ancient clan, whose Island was condemned by law
to be sold for the satisfaction of his creditors.

The name of highest dignity is Laird, of which there are in the extensive
Isle of Sky only three, Macdonald, Macleod, and Mackinnon.  The Laird is
the original owner of the land, whose natural power must be very great,
where no man lives but by agriculture; and where the produce of the land
is not conveyed through the labyrinths of traffick, but passes directly
from the hand that gathers it to the mouth that eats it.  The Laird has
all those in his power that live upon his farms.  Kings can, for the most
part, only exalt or degrade.  The Laird at pleasure can feed or starve,
can give bread, or withold it.  This inherent power was yet strengthened
by the kindness of consanguinity, and the reverence of patriarchal
authority.  The Laird was the father of the Clan, and his tenants
commonly bore his name.  And to these principles of original command was
added, for many ages, an exclusive right of legal jurisdiction.

This multifarious, and extensive obligation operated with force scarcely
credible.  Every duty, moral or political, was absorbed in affection and
adherence to the Chief.  Not many years have passed since the clans knew
no law but the Laird's will.  He told them to whom they should be friends
or enemies, what King they should obey, and what religion they should
profess.

When the Scots first rose in arms against the succession of the house of
Hanover, Lovat, the Chief of the Frasers, was in exile for a rape.  The
Frasers were very numerous, and very zealous against the government.  A
pardon was sent to Lovat.  He came to the English camp, and the clan
immediately deserted to him.

Next in dignity to the Laird is the Tacksman; a large taker or
lease-holder of land, of which he keeps part, as a domain, in his own
hand, and lets part to under tenants.  The Tacksman is necessarily a man
capable of securing to the Laird the whole rent, and is commonly a
collateral relation.  These tacks, or subordinate possessions, were long
considered as hereditary, and the occupant was distinguished by the name
of the place at which he resided.  He held a middle station, by which the
highest and the lowest orders were connected.  He paid rent and reverence
to the Laird, and received them from the tenants.  This tenure still
subsists, with its original operation, but not with the primitive
stability.  Since the islanders, no longer content to live, have learned
the desire of growing rich, an ancient dependent is in danger of giving
way to a higher bidder, at the expense of domestick dignity and
hereditary power.  The stranger, whose money buys him preference,
considers himself as paying for all that he has, and is indifferent about
the Laird's honour or safety.  The commodiousness of money is indeed
great; but there are some advantages which money cannot buy, and which
therefore no wise man will by the love of money be tempted to forego.

I have found in the hither parts of Scotland, men not defective in
judgment or general experience, who consider the Tacksman as a useless
burden of the ground, as a drone who lives upon the product of an estate,
without the right of property, or the merit of labour, and who
impoverishes at once the landlord and the tenant.  The land, say they, is
let to the Tacksman at sixpence an acre, and by him to the tenant at ten-
pence.  Let the owner be the immediate landlord to all the tenants; if he
sets the ground at eight-pence, he will increase his revenue by a fourth
part, and the tenant's burthen will be diminished by a fifth.

Those who pursue this train of reasoning, seem not sufficiently to
inquire whither it will lead them, nor to know that it will equally shew
the propriety of suppressing all wholesale trade, of shutting up the
shops of every man who sells what he does not make, and of extruding all
whose agency and profit intervene between the manufacturer and the
consumer.  They may, by stretching their understandings a little wider,
comprehend, that all those who by undertaking large quantities of
manufacture, and affording employment to many labourers, make themselves
considered as benefactors to the publick, have only been robbing their
workmen with one hand, and their customers with the other.  If Crowley
had sold only what he could make, and all his smiths had wrought their
own iron with their own hammers, he would have lived on less, and they
would have sold their work for more.  The salaries of superintendents and
clerks would have been partly saved, and partly shared, and nails been
sometimes cheaper by a farthing in a hundred.  But then if the smith
could not have found an immediate purchaser, he must have deserted his
anvil; if there had by accident at any time been more sellers than
buyers, the workmen must have reduced their profit to nothing, by
underselling one another; and as no great stock could have been in any
hand, no sudden demand of large quantities could have been answered and
the builder must have stood still till the nailer could supply him.

According to these schemes, universal plenty is to begin and end in
universal misery.  Hope and emulation will be utterly extinguished; and
as all must obey the call of immediate necessity, nothing that requires
extensive views, or provides for distant consequences will ever be
performed.

To the southern inhabitants of Scotland, the state of the mountains and
the islands is equally unknown with that of Borneo or Sumatra: Of both
they have only heard a little, and guess the rest.  They are strangers to
the language and the manners, to the advantages and wants of the people,
whose life they would model, and whose evils they would remedy.

Nothing is less difficult than to procure one convenience by the
forfeiture of another.  A soldier may expedite his march by throwing away
his arms.  To banish the Tacksman is easy, to make a country plentiful by
diminishing the people, is an expeditious mode of husbandry; but little
abundance, which there is nobody to enjoy, contributes little to human
happiness.

As the mind must govern the hands, so in every society the man of
intelligence must direct the man of labour.  If the Tacksmen be taken
away, the Hebrides must in their present state be given up to grossness
and ignorance; the tenant, for want of instruction, will be unskilful,
and for want of admonition will be negligent.  The Laird in these wide
estates, which often consist of islands remote from one another, cannot
extend his personal influence to all his tenants; and the steward having
no dignity annexed to his character, can have little authority among men
taught to pay reverence only to birth, and who regard the Tacksman as
their hereditary superior; nor can the steward have equal zeal for the
prosperity of an estate profitable only to the Laird, with the Tacksman,
who has the Laird's income involved in his own.

The only gentlemen in the Islands are the Lairds, the Tacksmen, and the
Ministers, who frequently improve their livings by becoming farmers.  If
the Tacksmen be banished, who will be left to impart knowledge, or
impress civility?  The Laird must always be at a distance from the
greater part of his lands; and if he resides at all upon them, must drag
his days in solitude, having no longer either a friend or a companion; he
will therefore depart to some more comfortable residence, and leave the
tenants to the wisdom and mercy of a factor.

Of tenants there are different orders, as they have greater or less
stock.  Land is sometimes leased to a small fellowship, who live in a
cluster of huts, called a Tenants Town, and are bound jointly and
separately for the payment of their rent.  These, I believe, employ in
the care of their cattle, and the labour of tillage, a kind of tenants
yet lower; who having a hut with grass for a certain number of cows and
sheep, pay their rent by a stipulated quantity of labour.

The condition of domestick servants, or the price of occasional labour, I
do not know with certainty.  I was told that the maids have sheep, and
are allowed to spin for their own clothing; perhaps they have no
pecuniary wages, or none but in very wealthy families.  The state of
life, which has hitherto been purely pastoral, begins now to be a little
variegated with commerce; but novelties enter by degrees, and till one
mode has fully prevailed over the other, no settled notion can be formed.

Such is the system of insular subordination, which, having little
variety, cannot afford much delight in the view, nor long detain the mind
in contemplation.  The inhabitants were for a long time perhaps not
unhappy; but their content was a muddy mixture of pride and ignorance, an
indifference for pleasures which they did not know, a blind veneration
for their chiefs, and a strong conviction of their own importance.

Their pride has been crushed by the heavy hand of a vindictive conqueror,
whose seventies have been followed by laws, which, though they cannot be
called cruel, have produced much discontent, because they operate upon
the surface of life, and make every eye bear witness to subjection.  To
be compelled to a new dress has always been found painful.

Their Chiefs being now deprived of their jurisdiction, have already lost
much of their influence; and as they gradually degenerate from
patriarchal rulers to rapacious landlords, they will divest themselves of
the little that remains.

That dignity which they derived from an opinion of their military
importance, the law, which disarmed them, has abated.  An old gentleman,
delighting himself with the recollection of better days, related, that
forty years ago, a Chieftain walked out attended by ten or twelve
followers, with their arms rattling.  That animating rabble has now
ceased.  The Chief has lost his formidable retinue; and the Highlander
walks his heath unarmed and defenceless, with the peaceable submission of
a French peasant or English cottager.

Their ignorance grows every day less, but their knowledge is yet of
little other use than to shew them their wants.  They are now in the
period of education, and feel the uneasiness of discipline, without yet
perceiving the benefit of instruction.

The last law, by which the Highlanders are deprived of their arms, has
operated with efficacy beyond expectation.  Of former statutes made with
the same design, the execution had been feeble, and the effect
inconsiderable.  Concealment was undoubtedly practised, and perhaps often
with connivance.  There was tenderness, or partiality, on one side, and
obstinacy on the other.  But the law, which followed the victory of
Culloden, found the whole nation dejected and intimidated; informations
were given without danger, and without fear, and the arms were collected
with such rigour, that every house was despoiled of its defence.

To disarm part of the Highlands, could give no reasonable occasion of
complaint.  Every government must be allowed the power of taking away the
weapon that is lifted against it.  But the loyal clans murmured, with
some appearance of justice, that after having defended the King, they
were forbidden for the future to defend themselves; and that the sword
should be forfeited, which had been legally employed.  Their case is
undoubtedly hard, but in political regulations, good cannot be complete,
it can only be predominant.

Whether by disarming a people thus broken into several tribes, and thus
remote from the seat of power, more good than evil has been produced, may
deserve inquiry.  The supreme power in every community has the right of
debarring every individual, and every subordinate society from
self-defence, only because the supreme power is able to defend them; and
therefore where the governor cannot act, he must trust the subject to act
for himself.  These Islands might be wasted with fire and sword before
their sovereign would know their distress.  A gang of robbers, such as
has been lately found confederating themselves in the Highlands, might
lay a wide region under contribution.  The crew of a petty privateer
might land on the largest and most wealthy of the Islands, and riot
without control in cruelty and waste.  It was observed by one of the
Chiefs of Sky, that fifty armed men might, without resistance ravage the
country.  Laws that place the subjects in such a state, contravene the
first principles of the compact of authority: they exact obedience, and
yield no protection.

It affords a generous and manly pleasure to conceive a little nation
gathering its fruits and tending its herds with fearless confidence,
though it lies open on every side to invasion, where, in contempt of
walls and trenches, every man sleeps securely with his sword beside him;
where all on the first approach of hostility came together at the call to
battle, as at a summons to a festal show; and committing their cattle to
the care of those whom age or nature has disabled, engage the enemy with
that competition for hazard and for glory, which operate in men that
fight under the eye of those, whose dislike or kindness they have always
considered as the greatest evil or the greatest good.

This was, in the beginning of the present century, the state of the
Highlands.  Every man was a soldier, who partook of national confidence,
and interested himself in national honour.  To lose this spirit, is to
lose what no small advantage will compensate.

It may likewise deserve to be inquired, whether a great nation ought to
be totally commercial? whether amidst the uncertainty of human affairs,
too much attention to one mode of happiness may not endanger others?
whether the pride of riches must not sometimes have recourse to the
protection of courage? and whether, if it be necessary to preserve in
some part of the empire the military spirit, it can subsist more
commodiously in any place, than in remote and unprofitable provinces,
where it can commonly do little harm, and whence it may be called forth
at any sudden exigence?

It must however be confessed, that a man, who places honour only in
successful violence, is a very troublesome and pernicious animal in time
of peace; and that the martial character cannot prevail in a whole
people, but by the diminution of all other virtues.  He that is
accustomed to resolve all right into conquest, will have very little
tenderness or equity.  All the friendship in such a life can be only a
confederacy of invasion, or alliance of defence.  The strong must
flourish by force, and the weak subsist by stratagem.

Till the Highlanders lost their ferocity, with their arms, they suffered
from each other all that malignity could dictate, or precipitance could
act.  Every provocation was revenged with blood, and no man that ventured
into a numerous company, by whatever occasion brought together, was sure
of returning without a wound.  If they are now exposed to foreign
hostilities, they may talk of the danger, but can seldom feel it.  If
they are no longer martial, they are no longer quarrelsome.  Misery is
caused for the most part, not by a heavy crush of disaster, but by the
corrosion of less visible evils, which canker enjoyment, and undermine
security.  The visit of an invader is necessarily rare, but domestick
animosities allow no cessation.

The abolition of the local jurisdictions, which had for so many ages been
exercised by the chiefs, has likewise its evil and its good.  The feudal
constitution naturally diffused itself into long ramifications of
subordinate authority.  To this general temper of the government was
added the peculiar form of the country, broken by mountains into many
subdivisions scarcely accessible but to the natives, and guarded by
passes, or perplexed with intricacies, through which national justice
could not find its way.

The power of deciding controversies, and of punishing offences, as some
such power there must always be, was intrusted to the Lairds of the
country, to those whom the people considered as their natural judges.  It
cannot be supposed that a rugged proprietor of the rocks, unprincipled
and unenlightened, was a nice resolver of entangled claims, or very exact
in proportioning punishment to offences.  But the more he indulged his
own will, the more he held his vassals in dependence.  Prudence and
innocence, without the favour of the Chief, conferred no security; and
crimes involved no danger, when the judge was resolute to acquit.

When the chiefs were men of knowledge and virtue, the convenience of a
domestick judicature was great.  No long journies were necessary, nor
artificial delays could be practised; the character, the alliances, and
interests of the litigants were known to the court, and all false
pretences were easily detected.  The sentence, when it was past, could
not be evaded; the power of the Laird superseded formalities, and justice
could not be defeated by interest or stratagem.

I doubt not but that since the regular judges have made their circuits
through the whole country, right has been every where more wisely, and
more equally distributed; the complaint is, that litigation is grown
troublesome, and that the magistrates are too few, and therefore often
too remote for general convenience.

Many of the smaller Islands have no legal officer within them.  I once
asked, If a crime should be committed, by what authority the offender
could be seized? and was told, that the Laird would exert his right; a
right which he must now usurp, but which surely necessity must vindicate,
and which is therefore yet exercised in lower degrees, by some of the
proprietors, when legal processes cannot be obtained.

In all greater questions, however, there is now happily an end to all
fear or hope from malice or from favour.  The roads are secure in those
places through which, forty years ago, no traveller could pass without a
convoy.  All trials of right by the sword are forgotten, and the mean are
in as little danger from the powerful as in other places.  No scheme of
policy has, in any country, yet brought the rich and poor on equal terms
into courts of judicature.  Perhaps experience, improving on experience,
may in time effect it.

Those who have long enjoyed dignity and power, ought not to lose it
without some equivalent.  There was paid to the Chiefs by the publick, in
exchange for their privileges, perhaps a sum greater than most of them
had ever possessed, which excited a thirst for riches, of which it shewed
them the use.  When the power of birth and station ceases, no hope
remains but from the prevalence of money.  Power and wealth supply the
place of each other.  Power confers the ability of gratifying our desire
without the consent of others.  Wealth enables us to obtain the consent
of others to our gratification.  Power, simply considered, whatever it
confers on one, must take from another.  Wealth enables its owner to give
to others, by taking only from himself.  Power pleases the violent and
proud: wealth delights the placid and the timorous.  Youth therefore
flies at power, and age grovels after riches.

The Chiefs, divested of their prerogatives, necessarily turned their
thoughts to the improvement of their revenues, and expect more rent, as
they have less homage.  The tenant, who is far from perceiving that his
condition is made better in the same proportion, as that of his landlord
is made worse, does not immediately see why his industry is to be taxed
more heavily than before.  He refuses to pay the demand, and is ejected;
the ground is then let to a stranger, who perhaps brings a larger stock,
but who, taking the land at its full price, treats with the Laird upon
equal terms, and considers him not as a Chief, but as a trafficker in
land.  Thus the estate perhaps is improved, but the clan is broken.

It seems to be the general opinion, that the rents have been raised with
too much eagerness.  Some regard must be paid to prejudice.  Those who
have hitherto paid but little, will not suddenly be persuaded to pay
much, though they can afford it.  As ground is gradually improved, and
the value of money decreases, the rent may be raised without any
diminution of the farmer's profits: yet it is necessary in these
countries, where the ejection of a tenant is a greater evil, than in more
populous places, to consider not merely what the land will produce, but
with what ability the inhabitant can cultivate it.  A certain stock can
allow but a certain payment; for if the land be doubled, and the stock
remains the same, the tenant becomes no richer.  The proprietors of the
Highlands might perhaps often increase their income, by subdividing the
farms, and allotting to every occupier only so many acres as he can
profitably employ, but that they want people.

There seems now, whatever be the cause, to be through a great part of the
Highlands a general discontent.  That adherence, which was lately
professed by every man to the chief of his name, has now little
prevalence; and he that cannot live as he desires at home, listens to the
tale of fortunate islands, and happy regions, where every man may have
land of his own, and eat the product of his labour without a superior.

Those who have obtained grants of American lands, have, as is well known,
invited settlers from all quarters of the globe; and among other places,
where oppression might produce a wish for new habitations, their
emissaries would not fail to try their persuasions in the Isles of
Scotland, where at the time when the clans were newly disunited from
their Chiefs, and exasperated by unprecedented exactions, it is no wonder
that they prevailed.

Whether the mischiefs of emigration were immediately perceived, may be
justly questioned.  They who went first, were probably such as could best
be spared; but the accounts sent by the earliest adventurers, whether
true or false, inclined many to follow them; and whole neighbourhoods
formed parties for removal; so that departure from their native country
is no longer exile.  He that goes thus accompanied, carries with him all
that makes life pleasant.  He sits down in a better climate, surrounded
by his kindred and his friends: they carry with them their language,
their opinions, their popular songs, and hereditary merriment: they
change nothing but the place of their abode; and of that change they
perceive the benefit.

This is the real effect of emigration, if those that go away together
settle on the same spot, and preserve their ancient union.  But some
relate that these adventurous visitants of unknown regions, after a
voyage passed in dreams of plenty and felicity, are dispersed at last
upon a Sylvan wilderness, where their first years must be spent in toil,
to clear the ground which is afterwards to be tilled, and that the whole
effect of their undertakings is only more fatigue and equal scarcity.

Both accounts may be suspected.  Those who are gone will endeavour by
every art to draw others after them; for as their numbers are greater,
they will provide better for themselves.  When Nova Scotia was first
peopled, I remember a letter, published under the character of a New
Planter, who related how much the climate put him in mind of Italy.  Such
intelligence the Hebridians probably receive from their transmarine
correspondents.  But with equal temptations of interest, and perhaps with
no greater niceness of veracity, the owners of the Islands spread stories
of American hardships to keep their people content at home.

Some method to stop this epidemick desire of wandering, which spreads its
contagion from valley to valley, deserves to be sought with great
diligence.  In more fruitful countries, the removal of one only makes
room for the succession of another: but in the Hebrides, the loss of an
inhabitant leaves a lasting vacuity; for nobody born in any other parts
of the world will choose this country for his residence, and an Island
once depopulated will remain a desert, as long as the present facility of
travel gives every one, who is discontented and unsettled, the choice of
his abode.

Let it be inquired, whether the first intention of those who are
fluttering on the wing, and collecting a flock that they may take their
flight, be to attain good, or to avoid evil.  If they are dissatisfied
with that part of the globe, which their birth has allotted them, and
resolve not to live without the pleasures of happier climates; if they
long for bright suns, and calm skies, and flowery fields, and fragrant
gardens, I know not by what eloquence they can be persuaded, or by what
offers they can be hired to stay.

But if they are driven from their native country by positive evils, and
disgusted by ill-treatment, real or imaginary, it were fit to remove
their grievances, and quiet their resentment; since, if they have been
hitherto undutiful subjects, they will not much mend their principles by
American conversation.

To allure them into the army, it was thought proper to indulge them in
the continuance of their national dress.  If this concession could have
any effect, it might easily be made.  That dissimilitude of appearance,
which was supposed to keep them distinct from the rest of the nation,
might disincline them from coalescing with the Pensylvanians, or people
of Connecticut.  If the restitution of their arms will reconcile them to
their country, let them have again those weapons, which will not be more
mischievous at home than in the Colonies.  That they may not fly from the
increase of rent, I know not whether the general good does not require
that the landlords be, for a time, restrained in their demands, and kept
quiet by pensions proportionate to their loss.

To hinder insurrection, by driving away the people, and to govern
peaceably, by having no subjects, is an expedient that argues no great
profundity of politicks.  To soften the obdurate, to convince the
mistaken, to mollify the resentful, are worthy of a statesman; but it
affords a legislator little self-applause to consider, that where there
was formerly an insurrection, there is now a wilderness.

It has been a question often agitated without solution, why those
northern regions are now so thinly peopled, which formerly overwhelmed
with their armies the Roman empire.  The question supposes what I believe
is not true, that they had once more inhabitants than they could
maintain, and overflowed only because they were full.

This is to estimate the manners of all countries and ages by our own.
Migration, while the state of life was unsettled, and there was little
communication of intelligence between distant places, was among the
wilder nations of Europe, capricious and casual.  An adventurous
projector heard of a fertile coast unoccupied, and led out a colony; a
chief of renown for bravery, called the young men together, and led them
out to try what fortune would present.  When Caesar was in Gaul, he found
the Helvetians preparing to go they knew not whither, and put a stop to
their motions.  They settled again in their own country, where they were
so far from wanting room, that they had accumulated three years provision
for their march.

The religion of the North was military; if they could not find enemies,
it was their duty to make them: they travelled in quest of danger, and
willingly took the chance of Empire or Death.  If their troops were
numerous, the countries from which they were collected are of vast
extent, and without much exuberance of people great armies may be raised
where every man is a soldier.  But their true numbers were never known.
Those who were conquered by them are their historians, and shame may have
excited them to say, that they were overwhelmed with multitudes.  To
count is a modern practice, the ancient method was to guess; and when
numbers are guessed they are always magnified.

Thus England has for several years been filled with the atchievements of
seventy thousand Highlanders employed in America.  I have heard from an
English officer, not much inclined to favour them, that their behaviour
deserved a very high degree of military praise; but their number has been
much exaggerated.  One of the ministers told me, that seventy thousand
men could not have been found in all the Highlands, and that more than
twelve thousand never took the field.  Those that went to the American
war, went to destruction.  Of the old Highland regiment, consisting of
twelve hundred, only seventy-six survived to see their country again.

The Gothick swarms have at least been multiplied with equal liberality.
That they bore no great proportion to the inhabitants, in whose countries
they settled, is plain from the paucity of northern words now found in
the provincial languages.  Their country was not deserted for want of
room, because it was covered with forests of vast extent; and the first
effect of plenitude of inhabitants is the destruction of wood.  As the
Europeans spread over America the lands are gradually laid naked.

I would not be understood to say, that necessity had never any part in
their expeditions.  A nation, whose agriculture is scanty or unskilful,
may be driven out by famine.  A nation of hunters may have exhausted
their game.  I only affirm that the northern regions were not, when their
irruptions subdued the Romans, overpeopled with regard to their real
extent of territory, and power of fertility.  In a country fully
inhabited, however afterward laid waste, evident marks will remain of its
former populousness.  But of Scandinavia and Germany, nothing is known
but that as we trace their state upwards into antiquity, their woods were
greater, and their cultivated ground was less.

That causes were different from want of room may produce a general
disposition to seek another country is apparent from the present conduct
of the Highlanders, who are in some places ready to threaten a total
secession.  The numbers which have already gone, though like other
numbers they may be magnified, are very great, and such as if they had
gone together and agreed upon any certain settlement, might have founded
an independent government in the depths of the western continent.  Nor
are they only the lowest and most indigent; many men of considerable
wealth have taken with them their train of labourers and dependants; and
if they continue the feudal scheme of polity, may establish new clans in
the other hemisphere.

That the immediate motives of their desertion must be imputed to their
landlords, may be reasonably concluded, because some Lairds of more
prudence and less rapacity have kept their vassals undiminished.  From
Raasa only one man had been seduced, and at Col there was no wish to go
away.

The traveller who comes hither from more opulent countries, to speculate
upon the remains of pastoral life, will not much wonder that a common
Highlander has no strong adherence to his native soil; for of animal
enjoyments, or of physical good, he leaves nothing that he may not find
again wheresoever he may be thrown.

The habitations of men in the Hebrides may be distinguished into huts and
houses.  By a house, I mean a building with one story over another; by a
hut, a dwelling with only one floor.  The Laird, who formerly lived in a
castle, now lives in a house; sometimes sufficiently neat, but seldom
very spacious or splendid.  The Tacksmen and the Ministers have commonly
houses.  Wherever there is a house, the stranger finds a welcome, and to
the other evils of exterminating Tacksmen may be added the unavoidable
cessation of hospitality, or the devolution of too heavy a burden on the
Ministers.

Of the houses little can be said.  They are small, and by the necessity
of accumulating stores, where there are so few opportunities of purchase,
the rooms are very heterogeneously filled.  With want of cleanliness it
were ingratitude to reproach them.  The servants having been bred upon
the naked earth, think every floor clean, and the quick succession of
guests, perhaps not always over-elegant, does not allow much time for
adjusting their apartments.

Huts are of many gradations; from murky dens, to commodious dwellings.

The wall of a common hut is always built without mortar, by a skilful
adaptation of loose stones.  Sometimes perhaps a double wall of stones is
raised, and the intermediate space filled with earth.  The air is thus
completely excluded.  Some walls are, I think, formed of turfs, held
together by a wattle, or texture of twigs.  Of the meanest huts, the
first room is lighted by the entrance, and the second by the smoke hole.
The fire is usually made in the middle.  But there are huts, or dwellings
of only one story, inhabited by gentlemen, which have walls cemented with
mortar, glass windows, and boarded floors.  Of these all have chimneys,
and some chimneys have grates.

The house and the furniture are not always nicely suited.  We were driven
once, by missing a passage, to the hut of a gentleman, where, after a
very liberal supper, when I was conducted to my chamber, I found an
elegant bed of Indian cotton, spread with fine sheets.  The accommodation
was flattering; I undressed myself, and felt my feet in the mire.  The
bed stood upon the bare earth, which a long course of rain had softened
to a puddle.

In pastoral countries the condition of the lowest rank of people is
sufficiently wretched.  Among manufacturers, men that have no property
may have art and industry, which make them necessary, and therefore
valuable.  But where flocks and corn are the only wealth, there are
always more hands than work, and of that work there is little in which
skill and dexterity can be much distinguished.  He therefore who is born
poor never can be rich.  The son merely occupies the place of the father,
and life knows nothing of progression or advancement.

The petty tenants, and labouring peasants, live in miserable cabins,
which afford them little more than shelter from the storms.  The Boor of
Norway is said to make all his own utensils.  In the Hebrides, whatever
might be their ingenuity, the want of wood leaves them no materials.  They
are probably content with such accommodations as stones of different
forms and sizes can afford them.

Their food is not better than their lodging.  They seldom taste the flesh
of land animals; for here are no markets.  What each man eats is from his
own stock.  The great effect of money is to break property into small
parts.  In towns, he that has a shilling may have a piece of meat; but
where there is no commerce, no man can eat mutton but by killing a sheep.

Fish in fair weather they need not want; but, I believe, man never lives
long on fish, but by constraint; he will rather feed upon roots and
berries.

The only fewel of the Islands is peat.  Their wood is all consumed, and
coal they have not yet found.  Peat is dug out of the marshes, from the
depth of one foot to that of six.  That is accounted the best which is
nearest the surface.  It appears to be a mass of black earth held
together by vegetable fibres.  I know not whether the earth be
bituminous, or whether the fibres be not the only combustible part;
which, by heating the interposed earth red hot, make a burning mass.  The
heat is not very strong nor lasting.  The ashes are yellowish, and in a
large quantity.  When they dig peat, they cut it into square pieces, and
pile it up to dry beside the house.  In some places it has an offensive
smell.  It is like wood charked for the smith.  The common method of
making peat fires, is by heaping it on the hearth; but it burns well in
grates, and in the best houses is so used.

The common opinion is, that peat grows again where it has been cut;
which, as it seems to be chiefly a vegetable substance, is not unlikely
to be true, whether known or not to those who relate it.

There are water mills in Sky and Raasa; but where they are too far
distant, the house-wives grind their oats with a quern, or hand-mill,
which consists of two stones, about a foot and a half in diameter; the
lower is a little convex, to which the concavity of the upper must be
fitted.  In the middle of the upper stone is a round hole, and on one
side is a long handle.  The grinder sheds the corn gradually into the
hole with one hand, and works the handle round with the other.  The corn
slides down the convexity of the lower stone, and by the motion of the
upper is ground in its passage.  These stones are found in Lochabar.

The Islands afford few pleasures, except to the hardy sportsman, who can
tread the moor and climb the mountain.  The distance of one family from
another, in a country where travelling has so much difficulty, makes
frequent intercourse impracticable.  Visits last several days, and are
commonly paid by water; yet I never saw a boat furnished with benches, or
made commodious by any addition to the first fabric.  Conveniences are
not missed where they never were enjoyed.

The solace which the bagpipe can give, they have long enjoyed; but among
other changes, which the last Revolution introduced, the use of the
bagpipe begins to be forgotten.  Some of the chief families still
entertain a piper, whose office was anciently hereditary.  Macrimmon was
piper to Macleod, and Rankin to Maclean of Col.

The tunes of the bagpipe are traditional.  There has been in Sky, beyond
all time of memory, a college of pipers, under the direction of
Macrimmon, which is not quite extinct.  There was another in Mull,
superintended by Rankin, which expired about sixteen years ago.  To these
colleges, while the pipe retained its honour, the students of musick
repaired for education.  I have had my dinner exhilarated by the bagpipe,
at Armidale, at Dunvegan, and in Col.

The general conversation of the Islanders has nothing particular.  I did
not meet with the inquisitiveness of which I have read, and suspect the
judgment to have been rashly made.  A stranger of curiosity comes into a
place where a stranger is seldom seen: he importunes the people with
questions, of which they cannot guess the motive, and gazes with surprise
on things which they, having had them always before their eyes, do not
suspect of any thing wonderful.  He appears to them like some being of
another world, and then thinks it peculiar that they take their turn to
inquire whence he comes, and whither he is going.

The Islands were long unfurnished with instruction for youth, and none
but the sons of gentlemen could have any literature.  There are now
parochial schools, to which the lord of every manor pays a certain
stipend.  Here the children are taught to read; but by the rule of their
institution, they teach only English, so that the natives read a language
which they may never use or understand.  If a parish, which often
happens, contains several Islands, the school being but in one, cannot
assist the rest.  This is the state of Col, which, however, is more
enlightened than some other places; for the deficiency is supplied by a
young gentleman, who, for his own improvement, travels every year on foot
over the Highlands to the session at Aberdeen; and at his return, during
the vacation, teaches to read and write in his native Island.

In Sky there are two grammar schools, where boarders are taken to be
regularly educated.  The price of board is from three pounds, to four
pounds ten shillings a year, and that of instruction is half a crown a
quarter.  But the scholars are birds of passage, who live at school only
in the summer; for in winter provisions cannot be made for any
considerable number in one place.  This periodical dispersion impresses
strongly the scarcity of these countries.

Having heard of no boarding-school for ladies nearer than Inverness, I
suppose their education is generally domestick.  The elder daughters of
the higher families are sent into the world, and may contribute by their
acquisitions to the improvement of the rest.

Women must here study to be either pleasing or useful.  Their
deficiencies are seldom supplied by very liberal fortunes.  A hundred
pounds is a portion beyond the hope of any but the Laird's daughter.  They
do not indeed often give money with their daughters; the question is, How
many cows a young lady will bring her husband.  A rich maiden has from
ten to forty; but two cows are a decent fortune for one who pretends to
no distinction.

The religion of the Islands is that of the Kirk of Scotland.  The
gentlemen with whom I conversed are all inclined to the English liturgy;
but they are obliged to maintain the established Minister, and the
country is too poor to afford payment to another, who must live wholly on
the contribution of his audience.

They therefore all attend the worship of the Kirk, as often as a visit
from their Minister, or the practicability of travelling gives them
opportunity; nor have they any reason to complain of insufficient
pastors; for I saw not one in the Islands, whom I had reason to think
either deficient in learning, or irregular in life: but found several
with whom I could not converse without wishing, as my respect increased,
that they had not been Presbyterians.

The ancient rigour of puritanism is now very much relaxed, though all are
not yet equally enlightened.  I sometimes met with prejudices
sufficiently malignant, but they were prejudices of ignorance.  The
Ministers in the Islands had attained such knowledge as may justly be
admired in men, who have no motive to study, but generous curiosity, or,
what is still better, desire of usefulness; with such politeness as so
narrow a circle of converse could not have supplied, but to minds
naturally disposed to elegance.

Reason and truth will prevail at last.  The most learned of the Scottish
Doctors would now gladly admit a form of prayer, if the people would
endure it.  The zeal or rage of congregations has its different degrees.
In some parishes the Lord's Prayer is suffered: in others it is still
rejected as a form; and he that should make it part of his supplication
would be suspected of heretical pravity.

The principle upon which extemporary prayer was originally introduced, is
no longer admitted.  The Minister formerly, in the effusion of his
prayer, expected immediate, and perhaps perceptible inspiration, and
therefore thought it his duty not to think before what he should say.  It
is now universally confessed, that men pray as they speak on other
occasions, according to the general measure of their abilities and
attainments.  Whatever each may think of a form prescribed by another, he
cannot but believe that he can himself compose by study and meditation a
better prayer than will rise in his mind at a sudden call; and if he has
any hope of supernatural help, why may he not as well receive it when he
writes as when he speaks?

In the variety of mental powers, some must perform extemporary prayer
with much imperfection; and in the eagerness and rashness of
contradictory opinions, if publick liturgy be left to the private
judgment of every Minister, the congregation may often be offended or
misled.

There is in Scotland, as among ourselves, a restless suspicion of popish
machinations, and a clamour of numerous converts to the Romish religion.
The report is, I believe, in both parts of the Island equally false.  The
Romish religion is professed only in Egg and Canna, two small islands,
into which the Reformation never made its way.  If any missionaries are
busy in the Highlands, their zeal entitles them to respect, even from
those who cannot think favourably of their doctrine.

The political tenets of the Islanders I was not curious to investigate,
and they were not eager to obtrude.  Their conversation is decent and
inoffensive.  They disdain to drink for their principles, and there is no
disaffection at their tables.  I never heard a health offered by a
Highlander that might not have circulated with propriety within the
precincts of the King's palace.

Legal government has yet something of novelty to which they cannot
perfectly conform.  The ancient spirit, that appealed only to the sword,
is yet among them.  The tenant of Scalpa, an island belonging to
Macdonald, took no care to bring his rent; when the landlord talked of
exacting payment, he declared his resolution to keep his ground, and
drive all intruders from the Island, and continued to feed his cattle as
on his own land, till it became necessary for the Sheriff to dislodge him
by violence.

The various kinds of superstition which prevailed here, as in all other
regions of ignorance, are by the diligence of the Ministers almost
extirpated.

Of Browny, mentioned by Martin, nothing has been heard for many years.
Browny was a sturdy Fairy; who, if he was fed, and kindly treated, would,
as they said, do a great deal of work.  They now pay him no wages, and
are content to labour for themselves.

In Troda, within these three-and-thirty years, milk was put every
Saturday for Greogach, or 'the Old Man with the Long Beard.'  Whether
Greogach was courted as kind, or dreaded as terrible, whether they meant,
by giving him the milk, to obtain good, or avert evil, I was not
informed.  The Minister is now living by whom the practice was abolished.

They have still among them a great number of charms for the cure of
different diseases; they are all invocations, perhaps transmitted to them
from the times of popery, which increasing knowledge will bring into
disuse.

They have opinions, which cannot be ranked with superstition, because
they regard only natural effects.  They expect better crops of grain, by
sowing their seed in the moon's increase.  The moon has great influence
in vulgar philosophy.  In my memory it was a precept annually given in
one of the English Almanacks, 'to kill hogs when the moon was increasing,
and the bacon would prove the better in boiling.'

We should have had little claim to the praise of curiosity, if we had not
endeavoured with particular attention to examine the question of the
Second Sight.  Of an opinion received for centuries by a whole nation,
and supposed to be confirmed through its whole descent, by a series of
successive facts, it is desirable that the truth should be established,
or the fallacy detected.

The Second Sight is an impression made either by the mind upon the eye,
or by the eye upon the mind, by which things distant or future are
perceived, and seen as if they were present.  A man on a journey far from
home falls from his horse, another, who is perhaps at work about the
house, sees him bleeding on the ground, commonly with a landscape of the
place where the accident befalls him.  Another seer, driving home his
cattle, or wandering in idleness, or musing in the sunshine, is suddenly
surprised by the appearance of a bridal ceremony, or funeral procession,
and counts the mourners or attendants, of whom, if he knows them, he
relates the names, if he knows them not, he can describe the dresses.
Things distant are seen at the instant when they happen.  Of things
future I know not that there is any rule for determining the time between
the Sight and the event.

This receptive faculty, for power it cannot be called, is neither
voluntary nor constant.  The appearances have no dependence upon choice:
they cannot be summoned, detained, or recalled.  The impression is
sudden, and the effect often painful.

By the term Second Sight, seems to be meant a mode of seeing, superadded
to that which Nature generally bestows.  In the Earse it is called
Taisch; which signifies likewise a spectre, or a vision.  I know not, nor
is it likely that the Highlanders ever examined, whether by Taisch, used
for Second Sight, they mean the power of seeing, or the thing seen.

I do not find it to be true, as it is reported, that to the Second Sight
nothing is presented but phantoms of evil.  Good seems to have the same
proportions in those visionary scenes, as it obtains in real life: almost
all remarkable events have evil for their basis; and are either miseries
incurred, or miseries escaped.  Our sense is so much stronger of what we
suffer, than of what we enjoy, that the ideas of pain predominate in
almost every mind.  What is recollection but a revival of vexations, or
history but a record of wars, treasons, and calamities?  Death, which is
considered as the greatest evil, happens to all.  The greatest good, be
it what it will, is the lot but of a part.

That they should often see death is to be expected; because death is an
event frequent and important.  But they see likewise more pleasing
incidents.  A gentleman told me, that when he had once gone far from his
own Island, one of his labouring servants predicted his return, and
described the livery of his attendant, which he had never worn at home;
and which had been, without any previous design, occasionally given him.

Our desire of information was keen, and our inquiry frequent.  Mr.
Boswell's frankness and gaiety made every body communicative; and we
heard many tales of these airy shows, with more or less evidence and
distinctness.

It is the common talk of the Lowland Scots, that the notion of the Second
Sight is wearing away with other superstitions; and that its reality is
no longer supposed, but by the grossest people.  How far its prevalence
ever extended, or what ground it has lost, I know not.  The Islanders of
all degrees, whether of rank or understanding, universally admit it,
except the Ministers, who universally deny it, and are suspected to deny
it, in consequence of a system, against conviction.  One of them honestly
told me, that he came to Sky with a resolution not to believe it.

Strong reasons for incredulity will readily occur.  This faculty of
seeing things out of sight is local, and commonly useless.  It is a
breach of the common order of things, without any visible reason or
perceptible benefit.  It is ascribed only to a people very little
enlightened; and among them, for the most part, to the mean and the
ignorant.

To the confidence of these objections it may be replied, that by
presuming to determine what is fit, and what is beneficial, they
presuppose more knowledge of the universal system than man has attained;
and therefore depend upon principles too complicated and extensive for
our comprehension; and that there can be no security in the consequence,
when the premises are not understood; that the Second Sight is only
wonderful because it is rare, for, considered in itself, it involves no
more difficulty than dreams, or perhaps than the regular exercise of the
cogitative faculty; that a general opinion of communicative impulses, or
visionary representations, has prevailed in all ages and all nations;
that particular instances have been given, with such evidence, as neither
Bacon nor Bayle has been able to resist; that sudden impressions, which
the event has verified, have been felt by more than own or publish them;
that the Second Sight of the Hebrides implies only the local frequency of
a power, which is nowhere totally unknown; and that where we are unable
to decide by antecedent reason, we must be content to yield to the force
of testimony.

By pretension to Second Sight, no profit was ever sought or gained.  It
is an involuntary affection, in which neither hope nor fear are known to
have any part.  Those who profess to feel it, do not boast of it as a
privilege, nor are considered by others as advantageously distinguished.
They have no temptation to feign; and their hearers have no motive to
encourage the imposture.

To talk with any of these seers is not easy.  There is one living in Sky,
with whom we would have gladly conversed; but he was very gross and
ignorant, and knew no English.  The proportion in these countries of the
poor to the rich is such, that if we suppose the quality to be
accidental, it can very rarely happen to a man of education; and yet on
such men it has sometimes fallen.  There is now a Second Sighted
gentleman in the Highlands, who complains of the terrors to which he is
exposed.

The foresight of the Seers is not always prescience; they are impressed
with images, of which the event only shews them the meaning.  They tell
what they have seen to others, who are at that time not more knowing than
themselves, but may become at last very adequate witnesses, by comparing
the narrative with its verification.

To collect sufficient testimonies for the satisfaction of the publick, or
of ourselves, would have required more time than we could bestow.  There
is, against it, the seeming analogy of things confusedly seen, and little
understood, and for it, the indistinct cry of national persuasion, which
may be perhaps resolved at last into prejudice and tradition.  I never
could advance my curiosity to conviction; but came away at last only
willing to believe.

As there subsists no longer in the Islands much of that peculiar and
discriminative form of life, of which the idea had delighted our
imagination, we were willing to listen to such accounts of past times as
would be given us.  But we soon found what memorials were to be expected
from an illiterate people, whose whole time is a series of distress;
where every morning is labouring with expedients for the evening; and
where all mental pains or pleasure arose from the dread of winter, the
expectation of spring, the caprices of their Chiefs, and the motions of
the neighbouring clans; where there was neither shame from ignorance, nor
pride in knowledge; neither curiosity to inquire, nor vanity to
communicate.

The Chiefs indeed were exempt from urgent penury, and daily difficulties;
and in their houses were preserved what accounts remained of past ages.
But the Chiefs were sometimes ignorant and careless, and sometimes kept
busy by turbulence and contention; and one generation of ignorance
effaces the whole series of unwritten history.  Books are faithful
repositories, which may be a while neglected or forgotten; but when they
are opened again, will again impart their instruction: memory, once
interrupted, is not to be recalled.  Written learning is a fixed
luminary, which, after the cloud that had hidden it has past away, is
again bright in its proper station.  Tradition is but a meteor, which, if
once it falls, cannot be rekindled.

It seems to be universally supposed, that much of the local history was
preserved by the Bards, of whom one is said to have been retained by
every great family.  After these Bards were some of my first inquiries;
and I received such answers as, for a while, made me please myself with
my increase of knowledge; for I had not then learned how to estimate the
narration of a Highlander.

They said that a great family had a Bard and a Senachi, who were the poet
and historian of the house; and an old gentleman told me that he
remembered one of each.  Here was a dawn of intelligence.  Of men that
had lived within memory, some certain knowledge might be attained.  Though
the office had ceased, its effects might continue; the poems might be
found, though there was no poet.

Another conversation indeed informed me, that the same man was both Bard
and Senachi.  This variation discouraged me; but as the practice might be
different in different times, or at the same time in different families,
there was yet no reason for supposing that I must necessarily sit down in
total ignorance.

Soon after I was told by a gentleman, who is generally acknowledged the
greatest master of Hebridian antiquities, that there had indeed once been
both Bards and Senachies; and that Senachi signified 'the man of talk,'
or of conversation; but that neither Bard nor Senachi had existed for
some centuries.  I have no reason to suppose it exactly known at what
time the custom ceased, nor did it probably cease in all houses at once.
But whenever the practice of recitation was disused, the works, whether
poetical or historical, perished with the authors; for in those times
nothing had been written in the Earse language.

Whether the 'Man of talk' was a historian, whose office was to tell
truth, or a story-teller, like those which were in the last century, and
perhaps are now among the Irish, whose trade was only to amuse, it now
would be vain to inquire.

Most of the domestick offices were, I believe, hereditary; and probably
the laureat of a clan was always the son of the last laureat.  The
history of the race could no otherwise be communicated, or retained; but
what genius could be expected in a poet by inheritance?

The nation was wholly illiterate.  Neither bards nor Senachies could
write or read; but if they were ignorant, there was no danger of
detection; they were believed by those whose vanity they flattered.

The recital of genealogies, which has been considered as very efficacious
to the preservation of a true series of ancestry, was anciently made,
when the heir of the family came to manly age.  This practice has never
subsisted within time of memory, nor was much credit due to such
rehearsers, who might obtrude fictitious pedigrees, either to please
their masters, or to hide the deficiency of their own memories.

Where the Chiefs of the Highlands have found the histories of their
descent is difficult to tell; for no Earse genealogy was ever written.  In
general this only is evident, that the principal house of a clan must be
very ancient, and that those must have lived long in a place, of whom it
is not known when they came thither.

Thus hopeless are all attempts to find any traces of Highland learning.
Nor are their primitive customs and ancient manner of life otherwise than
very faintly and uncertainly remembered by the present race.

The peculiarities which strike the native of a commercial country,
proceeded in a great measure from the want of money.  To the servants and
dependents that were not domesticks, and if an estimate be made from the
capacity of any of their old houses which I have seen, their domesticks
could have been but few, were appropriated certain portions of land for
their support.  Macdonald has a piece of ground yet, called the Bards or
Senachies field.  When a beef was killed for the house, particular parts
were claimed as fees by the several officers, or workmen.  What was the
right of each I have not learned.  The head belonged to the smith, and
the udder of a cow to the piper: the weaver had likewise his particular
part; and so many pieces followed these prescriptive claims, that the
Laird's was at last but little.

The payment of rent in kind has been so long disused in England, that it
is totally forgotten.  It was practised very lately in the Hebrides, and
probably still continues, not only in St. Kilda, where money is not yet
known, but in others of the smaller and remoter Islands.  It were perhaps
to be desired, that no change in this particular should have been made.
When the Laird could only eat the produce of his lands, he was under the
necessity of residing upon them; and when the tenant could not convert
his stock into more portable riches, he could never be tempted away from
his farm, from the only place where he could be wealthy.  Money confounds
subordination, by overpowering the distinctions of rank and birth, and
weakens authority by supplying power of resistance, or expedients for
escape.  The feudal system is formed for a nation employed in
agriculture, and has never long kept its hold where gold and silver have
become common.

Their arms were anciently the Glaymore, or great two-handed sword, and
afterwards the two-edged sword and target, or buckler, which was
sustained on the left arm.  In the midst of the target, which was made of
wood, covered with leather, and studded with nails, a slender lance,
about two feet long, was sometimes fixed; it was heavy and cumberous, and
accordingly has for some time past been gradually laid aside.  Very few
targets were at Culloden.  The dirk, or broad dagger, I am afraid, was of
more use in private quarrels than in battles.  The Lochaber-ax is only a
slight alteration of the old English bill.

After all that has been said of the force and terrour of the Highland
sword, I could not find that the art of defence was any part of common
education.  The gentlemen were perhaps sometimes skilful gladiators, but
the common men had no other powers than those of violence and courage.
Yet it is well known, that the onset of the Highlanders was very
formidable.  As an army cannot consist of philosophers, a panick is
easily excited by any unwonted mode of annoyance.  New dangers are
naturally magnified; and men accustomed only to exchange bullets at a
distance, and rather to hear their enemies than see them, are discouraged
and amazed when they find themselves encountered hand to hand, and catch
the gleam of steel flashing in their faces.

The Highland weapons gave opportunity for many exertions of personal
courage, and sometimes for single combats in the field; like those which
occur so frequently in fabulous wars.  At Falkirk, a gentleman now
living, was, I suppose after the retreat of the King's troops, engaged at
a distance from the rest with an Irish dragoon.  They were both skilful
swordsmen, and the contest was not easily decided: the dragoon at last
had the advantage, and the Highlander called for quarter; but quarter was
refused him, and the fight continued till he was reduced to defend
himself upon his knee.  At that instant one of the Macleods came to his
rescue; who, as it is said, offered quarter to the dragoon, but he
thought himself obliged to reject what he had before refused, and, as
battle gives little time to deliberate, was immediately killed.

Funerals were formerly solemnized by calling multitudes together, and
entertaining them at great expence.  This emulation of useless cost has
been for some time discouraged, and at last in the Isle of Sky is almost
suppressed.

Of the Earse language, as I understand nothing, I cannot say more than I
have been told.  It is the rude speech of a barbarous people, who had few
thoughts to express, and were content, as they conceived grossly, to be
grossly understood.  After what has been lately talked of Highland Bards,
and Highland genius, many will startle when they are told, that the Earse
never was a written language; that there is not in the world an Earse
manuscript a hundred years old; and that the sounds of the Highlanders
were never expressed by letters, till some little books of piety were
translated, and a metrical version of the Psalms was made by the Synod of
Argyle.  Whoever therefore now writes in this language, spells according
to his own perception of the sound, and his own idea of the power of the
letters.  The Welsh and the Irish are cultivated tongues.  The Welsh, two
hundred years ago, insulted their English neighbours for the instability
of their Orthography; while the Earse merely floated in the breath of the
people, and could therefore receive little improvement.

When a language begins to teem with books, it is tending to refinement;
as those who undertake to teach others must have undergone some labour in
improving themselves, they set a proportionate value on their own
thoughts, and wish to enforce them by efficacious expressions; speech
becomes embodied and permanent; different modes and phrases are compared,
and the best obtains an establishment.  By degrees one age improves upon
another.  Exactness is first obtained, and afterwards elegance.  But
diction, merely vocal, is always in its childhood.  As no man leaves his
eloquence behind him, the new generations have all to learn.  There may
possibly be books without a polished language, but there can be no
polished language without books.

That the Bards could not read more than the rest of their countrymen, it
is reasonable to suppose; because, if they had read, they could probably
have written; and how high their compositions may reasonably be rated, an
inquirer may best judge by considering what stores of imagery, what
principles of ratiocination, what comprehension of knowledge, and what
delicacy of elocution he has known any man attain who cannot read.  The
state of the Bards was yet more hopeless.  He that cannot read, may now
converse with those that can; but the Bard was a barbarian among
barbarians, who, knowing nothing himself, lived with others that knew no
more.

There has lately been in the Islands one of these illiterate poets, who
hearing the Bible read at church, is said to have turned the sacred
history into verse.  I heard part of a dialogue, composed by him,
translated by a young lady in Mull, and thought it had more meaning than
I expected from a man totally uneducated; but he had some opportunities
of knowledge; he lived among a learned people.  After all that has been
done for the instruction of the Highlanders, the antipathy between their
language and literature still continues; and no man that has learned only
Earse is, at this time, able to read.

The Earse has many dialects, and the words used in some Islands are not
always known in others.  In literate nations, though the pronunciation,
and sometimes the words of common speech may differ, as now in England,
compared with the South of Scotland, yet there is a written diction,
which pervades all dialects, and is understood in every province.  But
where the whole language is colloquial, he that has only one part, never
gets the rest, as he cannot get it but by change of residence.

In an unwritten speech, nothing that is not very short is transmitted
from one generation to another.  Few have opportunities of hearing a long
composition often enough to learn it, or have inclination to repeat it so
often as is necessary to retain it; and what is once forgotten is lost
for ever.  I believe there cannot be recovered, in the whole Earse
language, five hundred lines of which there is any evidence to prove them
a hundred years old.  Yet I hear that the father of Ossian boasts of two
chests more of ancient poetry, which he suppresses, because they are too
good for the English.

He that goes into the Highlands with a mind naturally acquiescent, and a
credulity eager for wonders, may come back with an opinion very different
from mine; for the inhabitants knowing the ignorance of all strangers in
their language and antiquities, perhaps are not very scrupulous adherents
to truth; yet I do not say that they deliberately speak studied
falsehood, or have a settled purpose to deceive.  They have inquired and
considered little, and do not always feel their own ignorance.  They are
not much accustomed to be interrogated by others; and seem never to have
thought upon interrogating themselves; so that if they do not know what
they tell to be true, they likewise do not distinctly perceive it to be
false.

Mr. Boswell was very diligent in his inquiries; and the result of his
investigations was, that the answer to the second question was commonly
such as nullified the answer to the first.

We were a while told, that they had an old translation of the scriptures;
and told it till it would appear obstinacy to inquire again.  Yet by
continued accumulation of questions we found, that the translation meant,
if any meaning there were, was nothing else than the Irish Bible.

We heard of manuscripts that were, or that had been in the hands of
somebody's father, or grandfather; but at last we had no reason to
believe they were other than Irish.  Martin mentions Irish, but never any
Earse manuscripts, to be found in the Islands in his time.

I suppose my opinion of the poems of Ossian is already discovered.  I
believe they never existed in any other form than that which we have
seen.  The editor, or author, never could shew the original; nor can it
be shewn by any other; to revenge reasonable incredulity, by refusing
evidence, is a degree of insolence, with which the world is not yet
acquainted; and stubborn audacity is the last refuge of guilt.  It would
be easy to shew it if he had it; but whence could it be had?  It is too
long to be remembered, and the language formerly had nothing written.  He
has doubtless inserted names that circulate in popular stories, and may
have translated some wandering ballads, if any can be found; and the
names, and some of the images being recollected, make an inaccurate
auditor imagine, by the help of Caledonian bigotry, that he has formerly
heard the whole.

I asked a very learned Minister in Sky, who had used all arts to make me
believe the genuineness of the book, whether at last he believed it
himself? but he would not answer.  He wished me to be deceived, for the
honour of his country; but would not directly and formally deceive me.
Yet has this man's testimony been publickly produced, as of one that held
Fingal to be the work of Ossian.

It is said, that some men of integrity profess to have heard parts of it,
but they all heard them when they were boys; and it was never said that
any of them could recite six lines.  They remember names, and perhaps
some proverbial sentiments; and, having no distinct ideas, coin a
resemblance without an original.  The persuasion of the Scots, however,
is far from universal; and in a question so capable of proof, why should
doubt be suffered to continue?  The editor has been heard to say, that
part of the poem was received by him, in the Saxon character.  He has
then found, by some peculiar fortune, an unwritten language, written in a
character which the natives probably never beheld.

I have yet supposed no imposture but in the publisher, yet I am far from
certainty, that some translations have not been lately made, that may now
be obtruded as parts of the original work.  Credulity on one part is a
strong temptation to deceit on the other, especially to deceit of which
no personal injury is the consequence, and which flatters the author with
his own ingenuity.  The Scots have something to plead for their easy
reception of an improbable fiction; they are seduced by their fondness
for their supposed ancestors.  A Scotchman must be a very sturdy
moralist, who does not love Scotland better than truth: he will always
love it better than inquiry; and if falsehood flatters his vanity, will
not be very diligent to detect it.  Neither ought the English to be much
influenced by Scotch authority; for of the past and present state of the
whole Earse nation, the Lowlanders are at least as ignorant as ourselves.
To be ignorant is painful; but it is dangerous to quiet our uneasiness by
the delusive opiate of hasty persuasion.

But this is the age, in which those who could not read, have been
supposed to write; in which the giants of antiquated romance have been
exhibited as realities.  If we know little of the ancient Highlanders,
let us not fill the vacuity with Ossian.  If we had not searched the
Magellanick regions, let us however forbear to people them with Patagons.

Having waited some days at Armidel, we were flattered at last with a wind
that promised to convey us to Mull.  We went on board a boat that was
taking in kelp, and left the Isle of Sky behind us.  We were doomed to
experience, like others, the danger of trusting to the wind, which blew
against us, in a short time, with such violence, that we, being no
seasoned sailors, were willing to call it a tempest.  I was sea-sick and
lay down.  Mr. Boswell kept the deck.  The master knew not well whither
to go; and our difficulties might perhaps have filled a very pathetick
page, had not Mr. Maclean of Col, who, with every other qualification
which insular life requires, is a very active and skilful mariner,
piloted us safe into his own harbour.




COL


In the morning we found ourselves under the Isle of Col, where we landed;
and passed the first day and night with Captain Maclean, a gentleman who
has lived some time in the East Indies; but having dethroned no Nabob, is
not too rich to settle in own country.

Next day the wind was fair, and we might have had an easy passage to
Mull; but having, contrarily to our own intention, landed upon a new
Island, we would not leave it wholly unexamined.  We therefore suffered
the vessel to depart without us, and trusted the skies for another wind.

Mr. Maclean of Col, having a very numerous family, has, for some time
past, resided at Aberdeen, that he may superintend their education, and
leaves the young gentleman, our friend, to govern his dominions, with the
full power of a Highland Chief.  By the absence of the Laird's family,
our entertainment was made more difficult, because the house was in a
great degree disfurnished; but young Col's kindness and activity supplied
all defects, and procured us more than sufficient accommodation.

Here I first mounted a little Highland steed; and if there had been many
spectators, should have been somewhat ashamed of my figure in the march.
The horses of the Islands, as of other barren countries, are very low:
they are indeed musculous and strong, beyond what their size gives reason
for expecting; but a bulky man upon one of their backs makes a very
disproportionate appearance.

From the habitation of Captain Maclean, we went to Grissipol, but called
by the way on Mr. Hector Maclean, the Minister of Col, whom we found in a
hut, that is, a house of only one floor, but with windows and chimney,
and not inelegantly furnished.  Mr. Maclean has the reputation of great
learning: he is seventy-seven years old, but not infirm, with a look of
venerable dignity, excelling what I remember in any other man.

His conversation was not unsuitable to his appearance.  I lost some of
his good-will, by treating a heretical writer with more regard than, in
his opinion, a heretick could deserve.  I honoured his orthodoxy, and did
not much censure his asperity.  A man who has settled his opinions, does
not love to have the tranquillity of his conviction disturbed; and at
seventy-seven it is time to be in earnest.

Mention was made of the Earse translation of the New Testament, which has
been lately published, and of which the learned Mr. Macqueen of Sky spoke
with commendation; but Mr. Maclean said he did not use it, because he
could make the text more intelligible to his auditors by an extemporary
version.  From this I inferred, that the language of the translation was
not the language of the Isle of Col.

He has no publick edifice for the exercise of his ministry; and can
officiate to no greater number, than a room can contain; and the room of
a hut is not very large.  This is all the opportunity of worship that is
now granted to the inhabitants of the Island, some of whom must travel
thither perhaps ten miles.  Two chapels were erected by their ancestors,
of which I saw the skeletons, which now stand faithful witnesses of the
triumph of the Reformation.

The want of churches is not the only impediment to piety: there is
likewise a want of Ministers.  A parish often contains more Islands than
one; and each Island can have the Minister only in its own turn.  At
Raasa they had, I think, a right to service only every third Sunday.  All
the provision made by the present ecclesiastical constitution, for the
inhabitants of about a hundred square miles, is a prayer and sermon in a
little room, once in three weeks: and even this parsimonious distribution
is at the mercy of the weather; and in those Islands where the Minister
does not reside, it is impossible to tell how many weeks or months may
pass without any publick exercise of religion.




GRISSIPOL IN COL


After a short conversation with Mr. Maclean, we went on to Grissipol, a
house and farm tenanted by Mr. Macsweyn, where I saw more of the ancient
life of a Highlander, than I had yet found.  Mrs. Macsweyn could speak no
English, and had never seen any other places than the Islands of Sky,
Mull, and Col: but she was hospitable and good-humoured, and spread her
table with sufficient liberality.  We found tea here, as in every other
place, but our spoons were of horn.

The house of Grissipol stands by a brook very clear and quick; which is,
I suppose, one of the most copious streams in the Island.  This place was
the scene of an action, much celebrated in the traditional history of
Col, but which probably no two relaters will tell alike.

Some time, in the obscure ages, Macneil of Barra married the Lady
Maclean, who had the Isle of Col for her jointure.  Whether Macneil
detained Col, when the widow was dead, or whether she lived so long as to
make her heirs impatient, is perhaps not now known.  The younger son,
called John Gerves, or John the Giant, a man of great strength who was
then in Ireland, either for safety, or for education, dreamed of
recovering his inheritance; and getting some adventurers together, which,
in those unsettled times, was not hard to do, invaded Col.  He was driven
away, but was not discouraged, and collecting new followers, in three
years came again with fifty men.  In his way he stopped at Artorinish in
Morvern, where his uncle was prisoner to Macleod, and was then with his
enemies in a tent.  Maclean took with him only one servant, whom he
ordered to stay at the outside; and where he should see the tent pressed
outwards, to strike with his dirk, it being the intention of Maclean, as
any man provoked him, to lay hands upon him, and push him back.  He
entered the tent alone, with his Lochabar-axe in his hand, and struck
such terror into the whole assembly, that they dismissed his uncle.

When he landed at Col, he saw the sentinel, who kept watch towards the
sea, running off to Grissipol, to give Macneil, who was there with a
hundred and twenty men, an account of the invasion.  He told Macgill, one
of his followers, that if he intercepted that dangerous intelligence, by
catching the courier, he would give him certain lands in Mull.  Upon this
promise, Macgill pursued the messenger, and either killed, or stopped
him; and his posterity, till very lately, held the lands in Mull.

The alarm being thus prevented, he came unexpectedly upon Macneil.  Chiefs
were in those days never wholly unprovided for an enemy.  A fight ensued,
in which one of their followers is said to have given an extraordinary
proof of activity, by bounding backwards over the brook of Grissipol.
Macneil being killed, and many of his clan destroyed, Maclean took
possession of the Island, which the Macneils attempted to conquer by
another invasion, but were defeated and repulsed.

Maclean, in his turn, invaded the estate of the Macneils, took the castle
of Brecacig, and conquered the Isle of Barra, which he held for seven
years, and then restored it to the heirs.




CASTLE OF COL


From Grissipol, Mr. Maclean conducted us to his father's seat; a neat new
house, erected near the old castle, I think, by the last proprietor.  Here
we were allowed to take our station, and lived very commodiously, while
we waited for moderate weather and a fair wind, which we did not so soon
obtain, but we had time to get some information of the present state of
Col, partly by inquiry, and partly by occasional excursions.

Col is computed to be thirteen miles in length, and three in breadth.
Both the ends are the property of the Duke of Argyle, but the middle
belongs to Maclean, who is called Col, as the only Laird.

Col is not properly rocky; it is rather one continued rock, of a surface
much diversified with protuberances, and covered with a thin layer of
earth, which is often broken, and discovers the stone.  Such a soil is
not for plants that strike deep roots; and perhaps in the whole Island
nothing has ever yet grown to the height of a table.  The uncultivated
parts are clothed with heath, among which industry has interspersed spots
of grass and corn; but no attempt has yet been made to raise a tree.
Young Col, who has a very laudable desire of improving his patrimony,
purposes some time to plant an orchard; which, if it be sheltered by a
wall, may perhaps succeed.  He has introduced the culture of turnips, of
which he has a field, where the whole work was performed by his own hand.
His intention is to provide food for his cattle in the winter.  This
innovation was considered by Mr. Macsweyn as the idle project of a young
head, heated with English fancies; but he has now found that turnips will
really grow, and that hungry sheep and cows will really eat them.

By such acquisitions as these, the Hebrides may in time rise above their
annual distress.  Wherever heath will grow, there is reason to think
something better may draw nourishment; and by trying the production of
other places, plants will be found suitable to every soil.

Col has many lochs, some of which have trouts and eels, and others have
never yet been stocked; another proof of the negligence of the Islanders,
who might take fish in the inland waters, when they cannot go to sea.

Their quadrupeds are horses, cows, sheep, and goats.  They have neither
deer, hares, nor rabbits.  They have no vermin, except rats, which have
been lately brought thither by sea, as to other places; and are free from
serpents, frogs, and toads.

The harvest in Col, and in Lewis, is ripe sooner than in Sky; and the
winter in Col is never cold, but very tempestuous.  I know not that I
ever heard the wind so loud in any other place; and Mr. Boswell observed,
that its noise was all its own, for there were no trees to increase it.

Noise is not the worst effect of the tempests; for they have thrown the
sand from the shore over a considerable part of the land; and it is said
still to encroach and destroy more and more pasture; but I am not of
opinion, that by any surveys or landmarks, its limits have been ever
fixed, or its progression ascertained.  If one man has confidence enough
to say, that it advances, nobody can bring any proof to support him in
denying it.  The reason why it is not spread to a greater extent, seems
to be, that the wind and rain come almost together, and that it is made
close and heavy by the wet before the storms can put it in motion.  So
thick is the bed, and so small the particles, that if a traveller should
be caught by a sudden gust in dry weather, he would find it very
difficult to escape with life.

For natural curiosities, I was shown only two great masses of stone,
which lie loose upon the ground; one on the top of a hill, and the other
at a small distance from the bottom.  They certainly were never put into
their present places by human strength or skill; and though an earthquake
might have broken off the lower stone, and rolled it into the valley, no
account can be given of the other, which lies on the hill, unless, which
I forgot to examine, there be still near it some higher rock, from which
it might be torn.  All nations have a tradition, that their earliest
ancestors were giants, and these stones are said to have been thrown up
and down by a giant and his mistress.  There are so many more important
things, of which human knowledge can give no account, that it may be
forgiven us, if we speculate no longer on two stones in Col.

This Island is very populous.  About nine-and-twenty years ago, the
fencible men of Col were reckoned one hundred and forty, which is the
sixth of eight hundred and forty; and probably some contrived to be left
out of the list.  The Minister told us, that a few years ago the
inhabitants were eight hundred, between the ages of seven and of seventy.
Round numbers are seldom exact.  But in this case the authority is good,
and the errour likely to be little.  If to the eight hundred be added
what the laws of computation require, they will be increased to at least
a thousand; and if the dimensions of the country have been accurately
related, every mile maintains more than twenty-five.

This proportion of habitation is greater than the appearance of the
country seems to admit; for wherever the eye wanders, it sees much waste
and little cultivation.  I am more inclined to extend the land, of which
no measure has ever been taken, than to diminish the people, who have
been really numbered.  Let it be supposed, that a computed mile contains
a mile and a half, as was commonly found true in the mensuration of the
English roads, and we shall then allot nearly twelve to a mile, which
agrees much better with ocular observation.

Here, as in Sky, and other Islands, are the Laird, the Tacksmen, and the
under tenants.

Mr. Maclean, the Laird, has very extensive possessions, being proprietor,
not only of far the greater part of Col, but of the extensive Island of
Rum, and a very considerable territory in Mull.

Rum is one of the larger Islands, almost square, and therefore of great
capacity in proportion to its sides.  By the usual method of estimating
computed extent, it may contain more than a hundred and twenty square
miles.

It originally belonged to Clanronald, and was purchased by Col; who, in
some dispute about the bargain, made Clanronald prisoner, and kept him
nine months in confinement.  Its owner represents it as mountainous,
rugged, and barren.  In the hills there are red deer.  The horses are
very small, but of a breed eminent for beauty.  Col, not long ago, bought
one of them from a tenant; who told him, that as he was of a shape
uncommonly elegant, he could not sell him but at a high price; and that
whoever had him should pay a guinea and a half.

There are said to be in Barra a race of horses yet smaller, of which the
highest is not above thirty-six inches.

The rent of Rum is not great.  Mr. Maclean declared, that he should be
very rich, if he could set his land at two-pence halfpenny an acre.  The
inhabitants are fifty-eight families, who continued Papists for some time
after the Laird became a Protestant.  Their adherence to their old
religion was strengthened by the countenance of the Laird's sister, a
zealous Romanist, till one Sunday, as they were going to mass under the
conduct of their patroness, Maclean met them on the way, gave one of them
a blow on the head with a yellow stick, I suppose a cane, for which the
Earse had no name, and drove them to the kirk, from which they have never
since departed.  Since the use of this method of conversion, the
inhabitants of Egg and Canna, who continue Papists, call the
Protestantism of Rum, the religion of the Yellow Stick.

The only Popish Islands are Egg and Canna.  Egg is the principal Island
of a parish, in which, though he has no congregation, the Protestant
Minister resides.  I have heard of nothing curious in it, but the cave in
which a former generation of the Islanders were smothered by Macleod.

If we had travelled with more leisure, it had not been fit to have
neglected the Popish Islands.  Popery is favourable to ceremony; and
among ignorant nations, ceremony is the only preservative of tradition.
Since protestantism was extended to the savage parts of Scotland, it has
perhaps been one of the chief labours of the Ministers to abolish stated
observances, because they continued the remembrance of the former
religion.  We therefore who came to hear old traditions, and see
antiquated manners, should probably have found them amongst the Papists.

Canna, the other Popish Island, belongs to Clanronald.  It is said not to
comprise more than twelve miles of land, and yet maintains as many
inhabitants as Rum.

We were at Col under the protection of the young Laird, without any of
the distresses, which Mr. Pennant, in a fit of simple credulity, seems to
think almost worthy of an elegy by Ossian.  Wherever we roved, we were
pleased to see the reverence with which his subjects regarded him.  He
did not endeavour to dazzle them by any magnificence of dress: his only
distinction was a feather in his bonnet; but as soon as he appeared, they
forsook their work and clustered about him: he took them by the hand, and
they seemed mutually delighted.  He has the proper disposition of a
Chieftain, and seems desirous to continue the customs of his house.  The
bagpiper played regularly, when dinner was served, whose person and dress
made a good appearance; and he brought no disgrace upon the family of
Rankin, which has long supplied the Lairds of Col with hereditary musick.

The Tacksmen of Col seem to live with less dignity and convenience than
those of Sky; where they had good houses, and tables not only plentiful,
but delicate.  In Col only two houses pay the window tax; for only two
have six windows, which, I suppose, are the Laird's and Mr. Macsweyn's.

The rents have, till within seven years, been paid in kind, but the
tenants finding that cattle and corn varied in their price, desired for
the future to give their landlord money; which, not having yet arrived at
the philosophy of commerce, they consider as being every year of the same
value.

We were told of a particular mode of under-tenure.  The Tacksman admits
some of his inferior neighbours to the cultivation of his grounds, on
condition that performing all the work, and giving a third part of the
seed, they shall keep a certain number of cows, sheep, and goats, and
reap a third part of the harvest.  Thus by less than the tillage of two
acres they pay the rent of one.

There are tenants below the rank of Tacksmen, that have got smaller
tenants under them; for in every place, where money is not the general
equivalent, there must be some whose labour is immediately paid by daily
food.

A country that has no money, is by no means convenient for beggars, both
because such countries are commonly poor, and because charity requires
some trouble and some thought.  A penny is easily given upon the first
impulse of compassion, or impatience of importunity; but few will
deliberately search their cupboards or their granaries to find out
something to give.  A penny is likewise easily spent, but victuals, if
they are unprepared, require houseroom, and fire, and utensils, which the
beggar knows not where to find.

Yet beggars there sometimes are, who wander from Island to Island.  We
had, in our passage to Mull, the company of a woman and her child, who
had exhausted the charity of Col.  The arrival of a beggar on an Island
is accounted a sinistrous event.  Every body considers that he shall have
the less for what he gives away.  Their alms, I believe, is generally
oatmeal.

Near to Col is another Island called Tireye, eminent for its fertility.
Though it has but half the extent of Rum, it is so well peopled, that
there have appeared, not long ago, nine hundred and fourteen at a
funeral.  The plenty of this Island enticed beggars to it, who seemed so
burdensome to the inhabitants, that a formal compact was drawn up, by
which they obliged themselves to grant no more relief to casual
wanderers, because they had among them an indigent woman of high birth,
whom they considered as entitled to all that they could spare.  I have
read the stipulation, which was indited with juridical formality, but was
never made valid by regular subscription.

If the inhabitants of Col have nothing to give, it is not that they are
oppressed by their landlord: their leases seem to be very profitable.  One
farmer, who pays only seven pounds a year, has maintained seven daughters
and three sons, of whom the eldest is educated at Aberdeen for the
ministry; and now, at every vacation, opens a school in Col.

Life is here, in some respects, improved beyond the condition of some
other Islands.  In Sky what is wanted can only be bought, as the arrival
of some wandering pedlar may afford an opportunity; but in Col there is a
standing shop, and in Mull there are two.  A shop in the Islands, as in
other places of little frequentation, is a repository of every thing
requisite for common use.  Mr. Boswell's journal was filled, and he
bought some paper in Col.  To a man that ranges the streets of London,
where he is tempted to contrive wants, for the pleasure of supplying
them, a shop affords no image worthy of attention; but in an Island, it
turns the balance of existence between good and evil.  To live in
perpetual want of little things, is a state not indeed of torture, but of
constant vexation.  I have in Sky had some difficulty to find ink for a
letter; and if a woman breaks her needle, the work is at a stop.

As it is, the Islanders are obliged to content themselves with
succedaneous means for many common purposes.  I have seen the chief man
of a very wide district riding with a halter for a bridle, and governing
his hobby with a wooden curb.

The people of Col, however, do not want dexterity to supply some of their
necessities.  Several arts which make trades, and demand apprenticeships
in great cities, are here the practices of daily economy.  In every house
candles are made, both moulded and dipped.  Their wicks are small shreds
of linen cloth.  They all know how to extract from the Cuddy, oil for
their lamps.  They all tan skins, and make brogues.

As we travelled through Sky, we saw many cottages, but they very
frequently stood single on the naked ground.  In Col, where the hills
opened a place convenient for habitation, we found a petty village, of
which every hut had a little garden adjoining; thus they made an
appearance of social commerce and mutual offices, and of some attention
to convenience and future supply.  There is not in the Western Islands
any collection of buildings that can make pretensions to be called a
town, except in the Isle of Lewis, which I have not seen.

If Lewis is distinguished by a town, Col has also something peculiar.  The
young Laird has attempted what no Islander perhaps ever thought on.  He
has begun a road capable of a wheel-carriage.  He has carried it about a
mile, and will continue it by annual elongation from his house to the
harbour.

Of taxes here is no reason for complaining; they are paid by a very easy
composition.  The malt-tax for Col is twenty shillings.  Whisky is very
plentiful: there are several stills in the Island, and more is made than
the inhabitants consume.

The great business of insular policy is now to keep the people in their
own country.  As the world has been let in upon them, they have heard of
happier climates, and less arbitrary government; and if they are
disgusted, have emissaries among them ready to offer them land and
houses, as a reward for deserting their Chief and clan.  Many have
departed both from the main of Scotland, and from the Islands; and all
that go may be considered as subjects lost to the British crown; for a
nation scattered in the boundless regions of America resembles rays
diverging from a focus.  All the rays remain, but the heat is gone.  Their
power consisted in their concentration: when they are dispersed, they
have no effect.

It may be thought that they are happier by the change; but they are not
happy as a nation, for they are a nation no longer.  As they contribute
not to the prosperity of any community, they must want that security,
that dignity, that happiness, whatever it be, which a prosperous
community throws back upon individuals.

The inhabitants of Col have not yet learned to be weary of their heath
and rocks, but attend their agriculture and their dairies, without
listening to American seducements.

There are some however who think that this emigration has raised terrour
disproportionate to its real evil; and that it is only a new mode of
doing what was always done.  The Highlands, they say, never maintained
their natural inhabitants; but the people, when they found themselves too
numerous, instead of extending cultivation, provided for themselves by a
more compendious method, and sought better fortune in other countries.
They did not indeed go away in collective bodies, but withdrew invisibly,
a few at a time; but the whole number of fugitives was not less, and the
difference between other times and this, is only the same as between
evaporation and effusion.

This is plausible, but I am afraid it is not true.  Those who went
before, if they were not sensibly missed, as the argument supposes, must
have gone either in less number, or in a manner less detrimental, than at
present; because formerly there was no complaint.  Those who then left
the country were generally the idle dependants on overburdened families,
or men who had no property; and therefore carried away only themselves.
In the present eagerness of emigration, families, and almost communities,
go away together.  Those who were considered as prosperous and wealthy
sell their stock and carry away the money.  Once none went away but the
useless and poor; in some parts there is now reason to fear, that none
will stay but those who are too poor to remove themselves, and too
useless to be removed at the cost of others.

Of antiquity there is not more knowledge in Col than in other places; but
every where something may be gleaned.

How ladies were portioned, when there was no money, it would be difficult
for an Englishman to guess.  In 1649, Maclean of Dronart in Mull married
his sister Fingala to Maclean of Coll, with a hundred and eighty kine;
and stipulated, that if she became a widow, her jointure should be three
hundred and sixty.  I suppose some proportionate tract of land was
appropriated to their pasturage.

The disposition to pompous and expensive funerals, which has at one time
or other prevailed in most parts of the civilized world, is not yet
suppressed in the Islands, though some of the ancient solemnities are
worn away, and singers are no longer hired to attend the procession.
Nineteen years ago, at the burial of the Laird of Col, were killed thirty
cows, and about fifty sheep.  The number of the cows is positively told,
and we must suppose other victuals in like proportion.

Mr. Maclean informed us of an odd game, of which he did not tell the
original, but which may perhaps be used in other places, where the reason
of it is not yet forgot.  At New-year's eve, in the hall or castle of the
Laird, where, at festal seasons, there may be supposed a very numerous
company, one man dresses himself in a cow's hide, upon which other men
beat with sticks.  He runs with all this noise round the house, which all
the company quits in a counterfeited fright: the door is then shut.  At
New-year's eve there is no great pleasure to be had out of doors in the
Hebrides.  They are sure soon to recover from their terrour enough to
solicit for re-admission; which, for the honour of poetry, is not to be
obtained but by repeating a verse, with which those that are knowing and
provident take care to be furnished.

Very near the house of Maclean stands the castle of Col, which was the
mansion of the Laird, till the house was built.  It is built upon a rock,
as Mr. Boswell remarked, that it might not be mined.  It is very strong,
and having been not long uninhabited, is yet in repair.  On the wall was,
not long ago, a stone with an inscription, importing, that 'if any man of
the clan of Maclonich shall appear before this castle, though he come at
midnight, with a man's head in his hand, he shall there find safety and
protection against all but the King.'

This is an old Highland treaty made upon a very memorable occasion.
Maclean, the son of John Gerves, who recovered Col, and conquered Barra,
had obtained, it is said, from James the Second, a grant of the lands of
Lochiel, forfeited, I suppose, by some offence against the state.

Forfeited estates were not in those days quietly resigned; Maclean,
therefore, went with an armed force to seize his new possessions, and, I
know not for what reason, took his wife with him.  The Camerons rose in
defence of their Chief, and a battle was fought at the head of Loch Ness,
near the place where Fort Augustus now stands, in which Lochiel obtained
the victory, and Maclean, with his followers, was defeated and destroyed.

The lady fell into the hands of the conquerours, and being found pregnant
was placed in the custody of Maclonich, one of a tribe or family branched
from Cameron, with orders, if she brought a boy, to destroy him, if a
girl, to spare her.

Maclonich's wife, who was with child likewise, had a girl about the same
time at which lady Maclean brought a boy, and Maclonich with more
generosity to his captive, than fidelity to his trust, contrived that the
children should be changed.

Maclean being thus preserved from death, in time recovered his original
patrimony; and in gratitude to his friend, made his castle a place of
refuge to any of the clan that should think himself in danger; and, as a
proof of reciprocal confidence, Maclean took upon himself and his
posterity the care of educating the heir of Maclonich.

This story, like all other traditions of the Highlands, is variously
related, but though some circumstances are uncertain, the principal fact
is true.  Maclean undoubtedly owed his preservation to Maclonich; for the
treaty between the two families has been strictly observed: it did not
sink into disuse and oblivion, but continued in its full force while the
chieftains retained their power.  I have read a demand of protection,
made not more than thirty-seven years ago, for one of the Maclonichs,
named Ewen Cameron, who had been accessory to the death of Macmartin, and
had been banished by Lochiel, his lord, for a certain term; at the
expiration of which he returned married from France, but the Macmartins,
not satisfied with the punishment, when he attempted to settle, still
threatened him with vengeance.  He therefore asked, and obtained shelter
in the Isle of Col.

The power of protection subsists no longer, but what the law permits is
yet continued, and Maclean of Col now educates the heir of Maclonich.

There still remains in the Islands, though it is passing fast away, the
custom of fosterage.  A Laird, a man of wealth and eminence, sends his
child, either male or female, to a tacksman, or tenant, to be fostered.
It is not always his own tenant, but some distant friend that obtains
this honour; for an honour such a trust is very reasonably thought.  The
terms of fosterage seem to vary in different islands.  In Mull, the
father sends with his child a certain number of cows, to which the same
number is added by the fosterer.  The father appropriates a
proportionable extent of ground, without rent, for their pasturage.  If
every cow brings a calf, half belongs to the fosterer, and half to the
child; but if there be only one calf between two cows, it is the child's,
and when the child returns to the parent, it is accompanied by all the
cows given, both by the father and by the fosterer, with half of the
increase of the stock by propagation.  These beasts are considered as a
portion, and called Macalive cattle, of which the father has the produce,
but is supposed not to have the full property, but to owe the same number
to the child, as a portion to the daughter, or a stock for the son.

Children continue with the fosterer perhaps six years, and cannot, where
this is the practice, be considered as burdensome.  The fosterer, if he
gives four cows, receives likewise four, and has, while the child
continues with him, grass for eight without rent, with half the calves,
and all the milk, for which he pays only four cows when he dismisses his
Dalt, for that is the name for a foster child.

Fosterage is, I believe, sometimes performed upon more liberal terms.  Our
friend, the young Laird of Col, was fostered by Macsweyn of Grissipol.
Macsweyn then lived a tenant to Sir James Macdonald in the Isle of Sky;
and therefore Col, whether he sent him cattle or not, could grant him no
land.  The Dalt, however, at his return, brought back a considerable
number of Macalive cattle, and of the friendship so formed there have
been good effects.  When Macdonald raised his rents, Macsweyn was, like
other tenants, discontented, and, resigning his farm, removed from Sky to
Col, and was established at Grissipol.

These observations we made by favour of the contrary wind that drove us
to Col, an Island not often visited; for there is not much to amuse
curiosity, or to attract avarice.

The ground has been hitherto, I believe, used chiefly for pasturage.  In
a district, such as the eye can command, there is a general herdsman, who
knows all the cattle of the neighbourhood, and whose station is upon a
hill, from which he surveys the lower grounds; and if one man's cattle
invade another's grass, drives them back to their own borders.  But other
means of profit begin to be found; kelp is gathered and burnt, and sloops
are loaded with the concreted ashes.  Cultivation is likely to be
improved by the skill and encouragement of the present heir, and the
inhabitants of those obscure vallies will partake of the general progress
of life.

The rents of the parts which belong to the Duke of Argyle, have been
raised from fifty-five to one hundred and five pounds, whether from the
land or the sea I cannot tell.  The bounties of the sea have lately been
so great, that a farm in Southuist has risen in ten years from a rent of
thirty pounds to one hundred and eighty.

He who lives in Col, and finds himself condemned to solitary meals, and
incommunicable reflection, will find the usefulness of that middle order
of Tacksmen, which some who applaud their own wisdom are wishing to
destroy.  Without intelligence man is not social, he is only gregarious;
and little intelligence will there be, where all are constrained to daily
labour, and every mind must wait upon the hand.

After having listened for some days to the tempest, and wandered about
the Island till our curiosity was satisfied, we began to think about our
departure.  To leave Col in October was not very easy.  We however found
a sloop which lay on the coast to carry kelp; and for a price which we
thought levied upon our necessities, the master agreed to carry us to
Mull, whence we might readily pass back to Scotland.




MULL


As we were to catch the first favourable breath, we spent the night not
very elegantly nor pleasantly in the vessel, and were landed next day at
Tobor Morar, a port in Mull, which appears to an unexperienced eye formed
for the security of ships; for its mouth is closed by a small island,
which admits them through narrow channels into a bason sufficiently
capacious.  They are indeed safe from the sea, but there is a hollow
between the mountains, through which the wind issues from the land with
very mischievous violence.

There was no danger while we were there, and we found several other
vessels at anchor; so that the port had a very commercial appearance.

The young Laird of Col, who had determined not to let us lose his
company, while there was any difficulty remaining, came over with us.  His
influence soon appeared; for he procured us horses, and conducted us to
the house of Doctor Maclean, where we found very kind entertainment, and
very pleasing conversation.  Miss Maclean, who was born, and had been
bred at Glasgow, having removed with her father to Mull, added to other
qualifications, a great knowledge of the Earse language, which she had
not learned in her childhood, but gained by study, and was the only
interpreter of Earse poetry that I could ever find.

The Isle of Mull is perhaps in extent the third of the Hebrides.  It is
not broken by waters, nor shot into promontories, but is a solid and
compact mass, of breadth nearly equal to its length.  Of the dimensions
of the larger Islands, there is no knowledge approaching to exactness.  I
am willing to estimate it as containing about three hundred square miles.

Mull had suffered like Sky by the black winter of seventy-one, in which,
contrary to all experience, a continued frost detained the snow eight
weeks upon the ground.  Against a calamity never known, no provision had
been made, and the people could only pine in helpless misery.  One tenant
was mentioned, whose cattle perished to the value of three hundred
pounds; a loss which probably more than the life of man is necessary to
repair.  In countries like these, the descriptions of famine become
intelligible.  Where by vigorous and artful cultivation of a soil
naturally fertile, there is commonly a superfluous growth both of grain
and grass; where the fields are crowded with cattle; and where every hand
is able to attract wealth from a distance, by making something that
promotes ease, or gratifies vanity, a dear year produces only a
comparative want, which is rather seen than felt, and which terminates
commonly in no worse effect, than that of condemning the lower orders of
the community to sacrifice a little luxury to convenience, or at most a
little convenience to necessity.

But where the climate is unkind, and the ground penurious, so that the
most fruitful years will produce only enough to maintain themselves;
where life unimproved, and unadorned, fades into something little more
than naked existence, and every one is busy for himself, without any arts
by which the pleasure of others may be increased; if to the daily burden
of distress any additional weight be added, nothing remains but to
despair and die.  In Mull the disappointment of a harvest, or a murrain
among the cattle, cuts off the regular provision; and they who have no
manufactures can purchase no part of the superfluities of other
countries.  The consequence of a bad season is here not scarcity, but
emptiness; and they whose plenty, was barely a supply of natural and
present need, when that slender stock fails, must perish with hunger.

All travel has its advantages.  If the passenger visits better countries,
he may learn to improve his own, and if fortune carries him to worse, he
may learn to enjoy it.

Mr. Boswell's curiosity strongly impelled him to survey Iona, or
Icolmkil, which was to the early ages the great school of Theology, and
is supposed to have been the place of sepulture for the ancient kings.  I,
though less eager, did not oppose him.

That we might perform this expedition, it was necessary to traverse a
great part of Mull.  We passed a day at Dr. Maclean's, and could have
been well contented to stay longer.  But Col provided us horses, and we
pursued our journey.  This was a day of inconvenience, for the country is
very rough, and my horse was but little.  We travelled many hours through
a tract, black and barren, in which, however, there were the reliques of
humanity; for we found a ruined chapel in our way.

It is natural, in traversing this gloom of desolation, to inquire,
whether something may not be done to give nature a more cheerful face,
and whether those hills and moors that afford heath cannot with a little
care and labour bear something better?  The first thought that occurs is
to cover them with trees, for that in many of these naked regions trees
will grow, is evident, because stumps and roots are yet remaining; and
the speculatist hastily proceeds to censure that negligence and laziness
that has omitted for so long a time so easy an improvement.

To drop seeds into the ground, and attend their growth, requires little
labour and no skill.  He who remembers that all the woods, by which the
wants of man have been supplied from the Deluge till now, were self-sown,
will not easily be persuaded to think all the art and preparation
necessary, which the Georgick writers prescribe to planters.  Trees
certainly have covered the earth with very little culture.  They wave
their tops among the rocks of Norway, and might thrive as well in the
Highlands and Hebrides.

But there is a frightful interval between the seed and timber.  He that
calculates the growth of trees, has the unwelcome remembrance of the
shortness of life driven hard upon him.  He knows that he is doing what
will never benefit himself; and when he rejoices to see the stem rise, is
disposed to repine that another shall cut it down.

Plantation is naturally the employment of a mind unburdened with care,
and vacant to futurity, saturated with present good, and at leisure to
derive gratification from the prospect of posterity.  He that pines with
hunger, is in little care how others shall be fed.  The poor man is
seldom studious to make his grandson rich.  It may be soon discovered,
why in a place, which hardly supplies the cravings of necessity, there
has been little attention to the delights of fancy, and why distant
convenience is unregarded, where the thoughts are turned with incessant
solicitude upon every possibility of immediate advantage.

Neither is it quite so easy to raise large woods, as may be conceived.
Trees intended to produce timber must be sown where they are to grow; and
ground sown with trees must be kept useless for a long time, inclosed at
an expence from which many will be discouraged by the remoteness of the
profit, and watched with that attention, which, in places where it is
most needed, will neither be given nor bought.  That it cannot be plowed
is evident; and if cattle be suffered to graze upon it, they will devour
the plants as fast as they rise.  Even in coarser countries, where herds
and flocks are not fed, not only the deer and the wild goats will browse
upon them, but the hare and rabbit will nibble them.  It is therefore
reasonable to believe, what I do not remember any naturalist to have
remarked, that there was a time when the world was very thinly inhabited
by beasts, as well as men, and that the woods had leisure to rise high
before animals had bred numbers sufficient to intercept them.

Sir James Macdonald, in part of the wastes of his territory, set or sowed
trees, to the number, as I have been told, of several millions,
expecting, doubtless, that they would grow up into future navies and
cities; but for want of inclosure, and of that care which is always
necessary, and will hardly ever be taken, all his cost and labour have
been lost, and the ground is likely to continue an useless heath.

Having not any experience of a journey in Mull, we had no doubt of
reaching the sea by day-light, and therefore had not left Dr. Maclean's
very early.  We travelled diligently enough, but found the country, for
road there was none, very difficult to pass.  We were always struggling
with some obstruction or other, and our vexation was not balanced by any
gratification of the eye or mind.  We were now long enough acquainted
with hills and heath to have lost the emotion that they once raised,
whether pleasing or painful, and had our mind employed only on our own
fatigue.  We were however sure, under Col's protection, of escaping all
real evils.  There was no house in Mull to which he could not introduce
us.  He had intended to lodge us, for that night, with a gentleman that
lived upon the coast, but discovered on the way, that he then lay in bed
without hope of life.

We resolved not to embarrass a family, in a time of so much sorrow, if
any other expedient could he found; and as the Island of Ulva was over-
against us, it was determined that we should pass the strait and have
recourse to the Laird, who, like the other gentlemen of the Islands, was
known to Col.  We expected to find a ferry-boat, but when at last we came
to the water, the boat was gone.

We were now again at a stop.  It was the sixteenth of October, a time
when it is not convenient to sleep in the Hebrides without a cover, and
there was no house within our reach, but that which we had already
declined.




ULVA


While we stood deliberating, we were happily espied from an Irish ship,
that lay at anchor in the strait.  The master saw that we wanted a
passage, and with great civility sent us his boat, which quickly conveyed
us to Ulva, where we were very liberally entertained by Mr. Macquarry.

To Ulva we came in the dark, and left it before noon the next day.  A
very exact description therefore will not be expected.  We were told,
that it is an Island of no great extent, rough and barren, inhabited by
the Macquarrys; a clan not powerful nor numerous, but of antiquity, which
most other families are content to reverence.  The name is supposed to be
a depravation of some other; for the Earse language does not afford it
any etymology.  Macquarry is proprietor both of Ulva and some adjacent
Islands, among which is Staffa, so lately raised to renown by Mr. Banks.

When the Islanders were reproached with their ignorance, or insensibility
of the wonders of Staffa, they had not much to reply.  They had indeed
considered it little, because they had always seen it; and none but
philosophers, nor they always, are struck with wonder, otherwise than by
novelty.  How would it surprise an unenlightened ploughman, to hear a
company of sober men, inquiring by what power the hand tosses a stone, or
why the stone, when it is tossed, falls to the ground!

Of the ancestors of Macquarry, who thus lies hid in his unfrequented
Island, I have found memorials in all places where they could be
expected.

Inquiring after the reliques of former manners, I found that in Ulva,
and, I think, no where else, is continued the payment of the Mercheta
Mulierum; a fine in old times due to the Laird at the marriage of a
virgin.  The original of this claim, as of our tenure of Borough English,
is variously delivered.  It is pleasant to find ancient customs in old
families.  This payment, like others, was, for want of money, made
anciently in the produce of the land.  Macquarry was used to demand a
sheep, for which he now takes a crown, by that inattention to the
uncertain proportion between the value and the denomination of money,
which has brought much disorder into Europe.  A sheep has always the same
power of supplying human wants, but a crown will bring at one time more,
at another less.

Ulva was not neglected by the piety of ardent times: it has still to show
what was once a church.




INCH KENNETH


In the morning we went again into the boat, and were landed on Inch
Kenneth, an Island about a mile long, and perhaps half a mile broad,
remarkable for pleasantness and fertility.  It is verdant and grassy, and
fit both for pasture and tillage; but it has no trees.  Its only
inhabitants were Sir Allan Maclean and two young ladies, his daughters,
with their servants.

Romance does not often exhibit a scene that strikes the imagination more
than this little desert in these depths of Western obscurity, occupied
not by a gross herdsman, or amphibious fisherman, but by a gentleman and
two ladies, of high birth, polished manners and elegant conversation,
who, in a habitation raised not very far above the ground, but furnished
with unexpected neatness and convenience, practised all the kindness of
hospitality, and refinement of courtesy.

Sir Allan is the Chieftain of the great clan of Maclean, which is said to
claim the second place among the Highland families, yielding only to
Macdonald.  Though by the misconduct of his ancestors, most of the
extensive territory, which would have descended to him, has been
alienated, he still retains much of the dignity and authority of his
birth.  When soldiers were lately wanting for the American war,
application was made to Sir Allan, and he nominated a hundred men for the
service, who obeyed the summons, and bore arms under his command.

He had then, for some time, resided with the young ladies in Inch
Kenneth, where he lives not only with plenty, but with elegance, having
conveyed to his cottage a collection of books, and what else is necessary
to make his hours pleasant.

When we landed, we were met by Sir Allan and the Ladies, accompanied by
Miss Macquarry, who had passed some time with them, and now returned to
Ulva with her father.

We all walked together to the mansion, where we found one cottage for Sir
Allan, and I think two more for the domesticks and the offices.  We
entered, and wanted little that palaces afford.  Our room was neatly
floored, and well lighted; and our dinner, which was dressed in one of
the other huts, was plentiful and delicate.

In the afternoon Sir Allan reminded us, that the day was Sunday, which he
never suffered to pass without some religious distinction, and invited us
to partake in his acts of domestick worship; which I hope neither Mr.
Boswell nor myself will be suspected of a disposition to refuse.  The
elder of the Ladies read the English service.

Inch Kenneth was once a seminary of ecclesiasticks, subordinate, I
suppose, to Icolmkill.  Sir Allan had a mind to trace the foundations of
the college, but neither I nor Mr. Boswell, who bends a keener eye on
vacancy, were able to perceive them.

Our attention, however, was sufficiently engaged by a venerable chapel,
which stands yet entire, except that the roof is gone.  It is about sixty
feet in length, and thirty in breadth.  On one side of the altar is a bas
relief of the blessed Virgin, and by it lies a little bell; which, though
cracked, and without a clapper, has remained there for ages, guarded only
by the venerableness of the place.  The ground round the chapel is
covered with gravestones of Chiefs and ladies; and still continues to be
a place of sepulture.

Inch Kenneth is a proper prelude to Icolmkill.  It was not without some
mournful emotion that we contemplated the ruins of religious structures
and the monuments of the dead.

On the next day we took a more distinct view of the place, and went with
the boat to see oysters in the bed, out of which the boatmen forced up as
many as were wanted.  Even Inch Kenneth has a subordinate Island, named
Sandiland, I suppose in contempt, where we landed, and found a rock, with
a surface of perhaps four acres, of which one is naked stone, another
spread with sand and shells, some of which I picked up for their glossy
beauty, and two covered with a little earth and grass, on which Sir Allan
has a few sheep.  I doubt not but when there was a college at Inch
Kenneth, there was a hermitage upon Sandiland.

Having wandered over those extensive plains, we committed ourselves again
to the winds and waters; and after a voyage of about ten minutes, in
which we met with nothing very observable, were again safe upon dry
ground.

We told Sir Allan our desire of visiting Icolmkill, and entreated him to
give us his protection, and his company.  He thought proper to hesitate a
little, but the Ladies hinted, that as they knew he would not finally
refuse, he would do better if he preserved the grace of ready compliance.
He took their advice, and promised to carry us on the morrow in his boat.

We passed the remaining part of the day in such amusements as were in our
power.  Sir Allan related the American campaign, and at evening one of
the Ladies played on her harpsichord, while Col and Mr. Boswell danced a
Scottish reel with the other.

We could have been easily persuaded to a longer stay upon Inch Kenneth,
but life will not be all passed in delight.  The session at Edinburgh was
approaching, from which Mr. Boswell could not be absent.

In the morning our boat was ready: it was high and strong.  Sir Allan
victualled it for the day, and provided able rowers.  We now parted from
the young Laird of Col, who had treated us with so much kindness, and
concluded his favours by consigning us to Sir Allan.  Here we had the
last embrace of this amiable man, who, while these pages were preparing
to attest his virtues, perished in the passage between Ulva and Inch
Kenneth.

Sir Allan, to whom the whole region was well known, told us of a very
remarkable cave, to which he would show us the way.  We had been
disappointed already by one cave, and were not much elevated by the
expectation of another.

It was yet better to see it, and we stopped at some rocks on the coast of
Mull.  The mouth is fortified by vast fragments of stone, over which we
made our way, neither very nimbly, nor very securely.  The place,
however, well repaid our trouble.  The bottom, as far as the flood rushes
in, was encumbered with large pebbles, but as we advanced was spread over
with smooth sand.  The breadth is about forty-five feet: the roof rises
in an arch, almost regular, to a height which we could not measure; but I
think it about thirty feet.

This part of our curiosity was nearly frustrated; for though we went to
see a cave, and knew that caves are dark, we forgot to carry tapers, and
did not discover our omission till we were wakened by our wants.  Sir
Allan then sent one of the boatmen into the country, who soon returned
with one little candle.  We were thus enabled to go forward, but could
not venture far.  Having passed inward from the sea to a great depth, we
found on the right hand a narrow passage, perhaps not more than six feet
wide, obstructed by great stones, over which we climbed and came into a
second cave, in breadth twenty-five feet.  The air in this apartment was
very warm, but not oppressive, nor loaded with vapours.  Our light showed
no tokens of a feculent or corrupted atmosphere.  Here was a square
stone, called, as we are told, Fingal's Table.

If we had been provided with torches, we should have proceeded in our
search, though we had already gone as far as any former adventurer,
except some who are reported never to have returned; and, measuring our
way back, we found it more than a hundred and sixty yards, the eleventh
part of a mile.

Our measures were not critically exact, having been made with a walking
pole, such as it is convenient to carry in these rocky countries, of
which I guessed the length by standing against it.  In this there could
be no great errour, nor do I much doubt but the Highlander, whom we
employed, reported the number right.  More nicety however is better, and
no man should travel unprovided with instruments for taking heights and
distances.

There is yet another cause of errour not always easily surmounted, though
more dangerous to the veracity of itinerary narratives, than imperfect
mensuration.  An observer deeply impressed by any remarkable spectacle,
does not suppose, that the traces will soon vanish from his mind, and
having commonly no great convenience for writing, defers the description
to a time of more leisure, and better accommodation.

He who has not made the experiment, or who is not accustomed to require
rigorous accuracy from himself, will scarcely believe how much a few
hours take from certainty of knowledge, and distinctness of imagery; how
the succession of objects will be broken, how separate parts will be
confused, and how many particular features and discriminations will be
compressed and conglobated into one gross and general idea.

To this dilatory notation must be imputed the false relations of
travellers, where there is no imaginable motive to deceive.  They trusted
to memory, what cannot be trusted safely but to the eye, and told by
guess what a few hours before they had known with certainty.  Thus it was
that Wheeler and Spon described with irreconcilable contrariety things
which they surveyed together, and which both undoubtedly designed to show
as they saw them.

When we had satisfied our curiosity in the cave, so far as our penury of
light permitted us, we clambered again to our boat, and proceeded along
the coast of Mull to a headland, called Atun, remarkable for the columnar
form of the rocks, which rise in a series of pilasters, with a degree of
regularity, which Sir Allan thinks not less worthy of curiosity than the
shore of Staffa.

Not long after we came to another range of black rocks, which had the
appearance of broken pilasters, set one behind another to a great depth.
This place was chosen by Sir Allan for our dinner.  We were easily
accommodated with seats, for the stones were of all heights, and
refreshed ourselves and our boatmen, who could have no other rest till we
were at Icolmkill.

The evening was now approaching, and we were yet at a considerable
distance from the end of our expedition.  We could therefore stop no more
to make remarks in the way, but set forward with some degree of
eagerness.  The day soon failed us, and the moon presented a very solemn
and pleasing scene.  The sky was clear, so that the eye commanded a wide
circle: the sea was neither still nor turbulent: the wind neither silent
nor loud.  We were never far from one coast or another, on which, if the
weather had become violent, we could have found shelter, and therefore
contemplated at ease the region through which we glided in the
tranquillity of the night, and saw now a rock and now an island grow
gradually conspicuous and gradually obscure.  I committed the fault which
I have just been censuring, in neglecting, as we passed, to note the
series of this placid navigation.

We were very near an Island, called Nun's Island, perhaps from an ancient
convent.  Here is said to have been dug the stone that was used in the
buildings of Icolmkill.  Whether it is now inhabited we could not stay to
inquire.

At last we came to Icolmkill, but found no convenience for landing.  Our
boat could not be forced very near the dry ground, and our Highlanders
carried us over the water.

We were now treading that illustrious Island, which was once the luminary
of the Caledonian regions, whence savage clans and roving barbarians
derived the benefits of knowledge, and the blessings of religion.  To
abstract the mind from all local emotion would be impossible, if it were
endeavoured, and would be foolish, if it were possible.  Whatever
withdraws us from the power of our senses; whatever makes the past, the
distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the
dignity of thinking beings.  Far from me and from my friends, be such
frigid philosophy as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over any
ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue.  That man
is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the
plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins
of Iona!

We came too late to visit monuments: some care was necessary for
ourselves.  Whatever was in the Island, Sir Allan could command, for the
inhabitants were Macleans; but having little they could not give us much.
He went to the headman of the Island, whom Fame, but Fame delights in
amplifying, represents as worth no less than fifty pounds.  He was
perhaps proud enough of his guests, but ill prepared for our
entertainment; however, he soon produced more provision than men not
luxurious require.  Our lodging was next to be provided.  We found a barn
well stocked with hay, and made our beds as soft as we could.

In the morning we rose and surveyed the place.  The churches of the two
convents are both standing, though unroofed.  They were built of unhewn
stone, but solid, and not inelegant.  I brought away rude measures of the
buildings, such as I cannot much trust myself, inaccurately taken, and
obscurely noted.  Mr. Pennant's delineations, which are doubtless exact,
have made my unskilful description less necessary.

The episcopal church consists of two parts, separated by the belfry, and
built at different times.  The original church had, like others, the
altar at one end, and tower at the other: but as it grew too small,
another building of equal dimension was added, and the tower then was
necessarily in the middle.

That these edifices are of different ages seems evident.  The arch of the
first church is Roman, being part of a circle; that of the additional
building is pointed, and therefore Gothick, or Saracenical; the tower is
firm, and wants only to be floored and covered.

Of the chambers or cells belonging to the monks, there are some walls
remaining, but nothing approaching to a complete apartment.

The bottom of the church is so incumbered with mud and rubbish, that we
could make no discoveries of curious inscriptions, and what there are
have been already published.  The place is said to be known where the
black stones lie concealed, on which the old Highland Chiefs, when they
made contracts and alliances, used to take the oath, which was considered
as more sacred than any other obligation, and which could not be violated
without the blackest infamy.  In those days of violence and rapine, it
was of great importance to impress upon savage minds the sanctity of an
oath, by some particular and extraordinary circumstances.  They would not
have recourse to the black stones, upon small or common occasions, and
when they had established their faith by this tremendous sanction,
inconstancy and treachery were no longer feared.

The chapel of the nunnery is now used by the inhabitants as a kind of
general cow-house, and the bottom is consequently too miry for
examination.  Some of the stones which covered the later abbesses have
inscriptions, which might yet be read, if the chapel were cleansed.  The
roof of this, as of all the other buildings, is totally destroyed, not
only because timber quickly decays when it is neglected, but because in
an island utterly destitute of wood, it was wanted for use, and was
consequently the first plunder of needy rapacity.

The chancel of the nuns' chapel is covered with an arch of stone, to
which time has done no injury; and a small apartment communicating with
the choir, on the north side, like the chapter-house in cathedrals,
roofed with stone in the same manner, is likewise entire.

In one of the churches was a marble altar, which the superstition of the
inhabitants has destroyed.  Their opinion was, that a fragment of this
stone was a defence against shipwrecks, fire, and miscarriages.  In one
corner of the church the bason for holy water is yet unbroken.

The cemetery of the nunnery was, till very lately, regarded with such
reverence, that only women were buried in it.  These reliques of
veneration always produce some mournful pleasure.  I could have forgiven
a great injury more easily than the violation of this imaginary sanctity.

South of the chapel stand the walls of a large room, which was probably
the hall, or refectory of the nunnery.  This apartment is capable of
repair.  Of the rest of the convent there are only fragments.

Besides the two principal churches, there are, I think, five chapels yet
standing, and three more remembered.  There are also crosses, of which
two bear the names of St. John and St. Matthew.

A large space of ground about these consecrated edifices is covered with
gravestones, few of which have any inscription.  He that surveys it,
attended by an insular antiquary, may be told where the Kings of many
nations are buried, and if he loves to sooth his imagination with the
thoughts that naturally rise in places where the great and the powerful
lie mingled with the dust, let him listen in submissive silence; for if
he asks any questions, his delight is at an end.

Iona has long enjoyed, without any very credible attestation, the honour
of being reputed the cemetery of the Scottish Kings.  It is not unlikely,
that, when the opinion of local sanctity was prevalent, the Chieftains of
the Isles, and perhaps some of the Norwegian or Irish princes were
reposited in this venerable enclosure.  But by whom the subterraneous
vaults are peopled is now utterly unknown.  The graves are very numerous,
and some of them undoubtedly contain the remains of men, who did not
expect to be so soon forgotten.

Not far from this awful ground, may be traced the garden of the
monastery: the fishponds are yet discernible, and the aqueduct, which
supplied them, is still in use.

There remains a broken building, which is called the Bishop's house, I
know not by what authority.  It was once the residence of some man above
the common rank, for it has two stories and a chimney.  We were shewn a
chimney at the other end, which was only a nich, without perforation, but
so much does antiquarian credulity, or patriotick vanity prevail, that it
was not much more safe to trust the eye of our instructor than the
memory.

There is in the Island one house more, and only one, that has a chimney:
we entered it, and found it neither wanting repair nor inhabitants; but
to the farmers, who now possess it, the chimney is of no great value; for
their fire was made on the floor, in the middle of the room, and
notwithstanding the dignity of their mansion, they rejoiced, like their
neighbours, in the comforts of smoke.

It is observed, that ecclesiastical colleges are always in the most
pleasant and fruitful places.  While the world allowed the monks their
choice, it is surely no dishonour that they chose well.  This Island is
remarkably fruitful.  The village near the churches is said to contain
seventy families, which, at five in a family, is more than a hundred
inhabitants to a mile.  There are perhaps other villages: yet both corn
and cattle are annually exported.

But the fruitfulness of Iona is now its whole prosperity.  The
inhabitants are remarkably gross, and remarkably neglected: I know not if
they are visited by any Minister.  The Island, which was once the
metropolis of learning and piety, has now no school for education, nor
temple for worship, only two inhabitants that can speak English, and not
one that can write or read.

The people are of the clan of Maclean; and though Sir Allan had not been
in the place for many years, he was received with all the reverence due
to their Chieftain.  One of them being sharply reprehended by him, for
not sending him some rum, declared after his departure, in Mr. Boswell's
presence, that he had no design of disappointing him, 'for,' said he, 'I
would cut my bones for him; and if he had sent his dog for it, he should
have had it.'

When we were to depart, our boat was left by the ebb at a great distance
from the water, but no sooner did we wish it afloat, than the islanders
gathered round it, and, by the union of many hands, pushed it down the
beach; every man who could contribute his help seemed to think himself
happy in the opportunity of being, for a moment, useful to his Chief.

We now left those illustrious ruins, by which Mr. Boswell was much
affected, nor would I willingly be thought to have looked upon them
without some emotion.  Perhaps, in the revolutions of the world, Iona may
be sometime again the instructress of the Western Regions.

It was no long voyage to Mull, where, under Sir Allan's protection, we
landed in the evening, and were entertained for the night by Mr. Maclean,
a Minister that lives upon the coast, whose elegance of conversation, and
strength of judgment, would make him conspicuous in places of greater
celebrity.  Next day we dined with Dr. Maclean, another physician, and
then travelled on to the house of a very powerful Laird, Maclean of
Lochbuy; for in this country every man's name is Maclean.

Where races are thus numerous, and thus combined, none but the Chief of a
clan is addressed by his name.  The Laird of Dunvegan is called Macleod,
but other gentlemen of the same family are denominated by the places
where they reside, as Raasa, or Talisker.  The distinction of the meaner
people is made by their Christian names.  In consequence of this
practice, the late Laird of Macfarlane, an eminent genealogist,
considered himself as disrespectfully treated, if the common addition was
applied to him.  Mr. Macfarlane, said he, may with equal propriety be
said to many; but I, and I only, am Macfarlane.

Our afternoon journey was through a country of such gloomy desolation,
that Mr. Boswell thought no part of the Highlands equally terrifick, yet
we came without any difficulty, at evening, to Lochbuy, where we found a
true Highland Laird, rough and haughty, and tenacious of his dignity;
who, hearing my name, inquired whether I was of the Johnstons of
Glencroe, or of Ardnamurchan.

Lochbuy has, like the other insular Chieftains, quitted the castle that
sheltered his ancestors, and lives near it, in a mansion not very
spacious or splendid.  I have seen no houses in the Islands much to be
envied for convenience or magnificence, yet they bare testimony to the
progress of arts and civility, as they shew that rapine and surprise are
no longer dreaded, and are much more commodious than the ancient
fortresses.

The castles of the Hebrides, many of which are standing, and many ruined,
were always built upon points of land, on the margin of the sea.  For the
choice of this situation there must have been some general reason, which
the change of manners has left in obscurity.  They were of no use in the
days of piracy, as defences of the coast; for it was equally accessible
in other places.  Had they been sea-marks or light-houses, they would
have been of more use to the invader than the natives, who could want no
such directions of their own waters: for a watch-tower, a cottage on a
hill would have been better, as it would have commanded a wider view.

If they be considered merely as places of retreat, the situation seems
not well chosen; for the Laird of an Island is safest from foreign
enemies in the center; on the coast he might be more suddenly surprised
than in the inland parts; and the invaders, if their enterprise
miscarried, might more easily retreat.  Some convenience, however,
whatever it was, their position on the shore afforded; for uniformity of
practice seldom continues long without good reason.

A castle in the Islands is only a single tower of three or four stories,
of which the walls are sometimes eight or nine feet thick, with narrow
windows, and close winding stairs of stone.  The top rises in a cone, or
pyramid of stone, encompassed by battlements.  The intermediate floors
are sometimes frames of timber, as in common houses, and sometimes arches
of stone, or alternately stone and timber; so that there was very little
danger from fire.  In the center of every floor, from top to bottom, is
the chief room, of no great extent, round which there are narrow
cavities, or recesses, formed by small vacuities, or by a double wall.  I
know not whether there be ever more than one fire-place.  They had not
capacity to contain many people, or much provision; but their enemies
could seldom stay to blockade them; for if they failed in the first
attack, their next care was to escape.

The walls were always too strong to be shaken by such desultory
hostilities; the windows were too narrow to be entered, and the
battlements too high to be scaled.  The only danger was at the gates,
over which the wall was built with a square cavity, not unlike a chimney,
continued to the top.  Through this hollow the defendants let fall stones
upon those who attempted to break the gate, and poured down water,
perhaps scalding water, if the attack was made with fire.  The castle of
Lochbuy was secured by double doors, of which the outer was an iron
grate.

In every castle is a well and a dungeon.  The use of the well is evident.
The dungeon is a deep subterraneous cavity, walled on the sides, and
arched on the top, into which the descent is through a narrow door, by a
ladder or a rope, so that it seems impossible to escape, when the rope or
ladder is drawn up.  The dungeon was, I suppose, in war, a prison for
such captives as were treated with severity, and, in peace, for such
delinquents as had committed crimes within the Laird's jurisdiction; for
the mansions of many Lairds were, till the late privation of their
privileges, the halls of justice to their own tenants.

As these fortifications were the productions of mere necessity, they are
built only for safety, with little regard to convenience, and with none
to elegance or pleasure.  It was sufficient for a Laird of the Hebrides,
if he had a strong house, in which he could hide his wife and children
from the next clan.  That they are not large nor splendid is no wonder.
It is not easy to find how they were raised, such as they are, by men who
had no money, in countries where the labourers and artificers could
scarcely be fed.  The buildings in different parts of the Island shew
their degrees of wealth and power.  I believe that for all the castles
which I have seen beyond the Tweed, the ruins yet remaining of some one
of those which the English built in Wales, would supply materials.

These castles afford another evidence that the fictions of romantick
chivalry had for their basis the real manners of the feudal times, when
every Lord of a seignory lived in his hold lawless and unaccountable,
with all the licentiousness and insolence of uncontested superiority and
unprincipled power.  The traveller, whoever he might be, coming to the
fortified habitation of a Chieftain, would, probably, have been
interrogated from the battlements, admitted with caution at the gate,
introduced to a petty Monarch, fierce with habitual hostility, and
vigilant with ignorant suspicion; who, according to his general temper,
or accidental humour, would have seated a stranger as his guest at the
table, or as a spy confined him in the dungeon.

Lochbuy means the Yellow Lake, which is the name given to an inlet of the
sea, upon which the castle of Mr. Maclean stands.  The reason of the
appellation we did not learn.

We were now to leave the Hebrides, where we had spent some weeks with
sufficient amusement, and where we had amplified our thoughts with new
scenes of nature, and new modes of life.  More time would have given us a
more distinct view, but it was necessary that Mr. Boswell should return
before the courts of justice were opened; and it was not proper to live
too long upon hospitality, however liberally imparted.

Of these Islands it must be confessed, that they have not many
allurements, but to the mere lover of naked nature.  The inhabitants are
thin, provisions are scarce, and desolation and penury give little
pleasure.

The people collectively considered are not few, though their numbers are
small in proportion to the space which they occupy.  Mull is said to
contain six thousand, and Sky fifteen thousand.  Of the computation
respecting Mull, I can give no account; but when I doubted the truth of
the numbers attributed to Sky, one of the Ministers exhibited such facts
as conquered my incredulity.

Of the proportion, which the product of any region bears to the people,
an estimate is commonly made according to the pecuniary price of the
necessaries of life; a principle of judgment which is never certain,
because it supposes what is far from truth, that the value of money is
always the same, and so measures an unknown quantity by an uncertain
standard.  It is competent enough when the markets of the same country,
at different times, and those times not too distant, are to be compared;
but of very little use for the purpose of making one nation acquainted
with the state of another.  Provisions, though plentiful, are sold in
places of great pecuniary opulence for nominal prices, to which, however
scarce, where gold and silver are yet scarcer, they can never be raised.

In the Western Islands there is so little internal commerce, that hardly
any thing has a known or settled rate.  The price of things brought in,
or carried out, is to be considered as that of a foreign market; and even
this there is some difficulty in discovering, because their denominations
of quantity are different from ours; and when there is ignorance on both
sides, no appeal can be made to a common measure.

This, however, is not the only impediment.  The Scots, with a vigilance
of jealousy which never goes to sleep, always suspect that an Englishman
despises them for their poverty, and to convince him that they are not
less rich than their neighbours, are sure to tell him a price higher than
the true.  When Lesley, two hundred years ago, related so punctiliously,
that a hundred hen eggs, new laid, were sold in the Islands for a peny,
he supposed that no inference could possibly follow, but that eggs were
in great abundance.  Posterity has since grown wiser; and having learned,
that nominal and real value may differ, they now tell no such stories,
lest the foreigner should happen to collect, not that eggs are many, but
that pence are few.

Money and wealth have by the use of commercial language been so long
confounded, that they are commonly supposed to be the same; and this
prejudice has spread so widely in Scotland, that I know not whether I
found man or woman, whom I interrogated concerning payments of money,
that could surmount the illiberal desire of deceiving me, by representing
every thing as dearer than it is.

From Lochbuy we rode a very few miles to the side of Mull, which faces
Scotland, where, having taken leave of our kind protector, Sir Allan, we
embarked in a boat, in which the seat provided for our accommodation was
a heap of rough brushwood; and on the twenty-second of October reposed at
a tolerable inn on the main land.

On the next day we began our journey southwards.  The weather was
tempestuous.  For half the day the ground was rough, and our horses were
still small.  Had they required much restraint, we might have been
reduced to difficulties; for I think we had amongst us but one bridle.  We
fed the poor animals liberally, and they performed their journey well.  In
the latter part of the day, we came to a firm and smooth road, made by
the soldiers, on which we travelled with great security, busied with
contemplating the scene about us.  The night came on while we had yet a
great part of the way to go, though not so dark, but that we could
discern the cataracts which poured down the hills, on one side, and fell
into one general channel that ran with great violence on the other.  The
wind was loud, the rain was heavy, and the whistling of the blast, the
fall of the shower, the rush of the cataracts, and the roar of the
torrent, made a nobler chorus of the rough musick of nature than it had
ever been my chance to hear before.  The streams, which ran cross the way
from the hills to the main current, were so frequent, that after a while
I began to count them; and, in ten miles, reckoned fifty-five, probably
missing some, and having let some pass before they forced themselves upon
my notice.  At last we came to Inverary, where we found an inn, not only
commodious, but magnificent.

The difficulties of peregrination were now at an end.  Mr. Boswell had
the honour of being known to the Duke of Argyle, by whom we were very
kindly entertained at his splendid seat, and supplied with conveniences
for surveying his spacious park and rising forests.

After two days stay at Inverary we proceeded Southward over Glencroe, a
black and dreary region, now made easily passable by a military road,
which rises from either end of the glen by an acclivity not dangerously
steep, but sufficiently laborious.  In the middle, at the top of the
hill, is a seat with this inscription, 'Rest, and be thankful.'  Stones
were placed to mark the distances, which the inhabitants have taken away,
resolved, they said, 'to have no new miles.'

In this rainy season the hills streamed with waterfalls, which, crossing
the way, formed currents on the other side, that ran in contrary
directions as they fell to the north or south of the summit.  Being, by
the favour of the Duke, well mounted, I went up and down the hill with
great convenience.

From Glencroe we passed through a pleasant country to the banks of Loch
Lomond, and were received at the house of Sir James Colquhoun, who is
owner of almost all the thirty islands of the Loch, which we went in a
boat next morning to survey.  The heaviness of the rain shortened our
voyage, but we landed on one island planted with yew, and stocked with
deer, and on another containing perhaps not more than half an acre,
remarkable for the ruins of an old castle, on which the osprey builds her
annual nest.  Had Loch Lomond been in a happier climate, it would have
been the boast of wealth and vanity to own one of the little spots which
it incloses, and to have employed upon it all the arts of embellishment.
But as it is, the islets, which court the gazer at a distance, disgust
him at his approach, when he finds, instead of soft lawns; and shady
thickets, nothing more than uncultivated ruggedness.

Where the Loch discharges itself into a river, called the Leven, we
passed a night with Mr. Smollet, a relation of Doctor Smollet, to whose
memory he has raised an obelisk on the bank near the house in which he
was born.  The civility and respect which we found at every place, it is
ungrateful to omit, and tedious to repeat.  Here we were met by a post-
chaise, that conveyed us to Glasgow.

To describe a city so much frequented as Glasgow, is unnecessary.  The
prosperity of its commerce appears by the greatness of many private
houses, and a general appearance of wealth.  It is the only episcopal
city whose cathedral was left standing in the rage of Reformation.  It is
now divided into many separate places of worship, which, taken all
together, compose a great pile, that had been some centuries in building,
but was never finished; for the change of religion intercepted its
progress, before the cross isle was added, which seems essential to a
Gothick cathedral.

The college has not had a sufficient share of the increasing magnificence
of the place.  The session was begun; for it commences on the tenth of
October and continues to the tenth of June, but the students appeared not
numerous, being, I suppose, not yet returned from their several homes.
The division of the academical year into one session, and one recess,
seems to me better accommodated to the present state of life, than that
variegation of time by terms and vacations derived from distant
centuries, in which it was probably convenient, and still continued in
the English universities.  So many solid months as the Scotch scheme of
education joins together, allow and encourage a plan for each part of the
year; but with us, he that has settled himself to study in the college is
soon tempted into the country, and he that has adjusted his life in the
country, is summoned back to his college.

Yet when I have allowed to the universities of Scotland a more rational
distribution of time, I have given them, so far as my inquiries have
informed me, all that they can claim.  The students, for the most part,
go thither boys, and depart before they are men; they carry with them
little fundamental knowledge, and therefore the superstructure cannot be
lofty.  The grammar schools are not generally well supplied; for the
character of a school-master being there less honourable than in England,
is seldom accepted by men who are capable to adorn it, and where the
school has been deficient, the college can effect little.

Men bred in the universities of Scotland cannot be expected to be often
decorated with the splendours of ornamental erudition, but they obtain a
mediocrity of knowledge, between learning and ignorance, not inadequate
to the purposes of common life, which is, I believe, very widely diffused
among them, and which countenanced in general by a national combination
so invidious, that their friends cannot defend it, and actuated in
particulars by a spirit of enterprise, so vigorous, that their enemies
are constrained to praise it, enables them to find, or to make their way
to employment, riches, and distinction.

From Glasgow we directed our course to Auchinleck, an estate devolved,
through a long series of ancestors, to Mr. Boswell's father, the present
possessor.  In our way we found several places remarkable enough in
themselves, but already described by those who viewed them at more
leisure, or with much more skill; and stopped two days at Mr. Campbell's,
a gentleman married to Mr. Boswell's sister.

Auchinleck, which signifies a stony field, seems not now to have any
particular claim to its denomination.  It is a district generally level,
and sufficiently fertile, but like all the Western side of Scotland,
incommoded by very frequent rain.  It was, with the rest of the country,
generally naked, till the present possessor finding, by the growth of
some stately trees near his old castle, that the ground was favourable
enough to timber, adorned it very diligently with annual plantations.

Lord Auchinleck, who is one of the Judges of Scotland, and therefore not
wholly at leisure for domestick business or pleasure, has yet found time
to make improvements in his patrimony.  He has built a house of hewn
stone, very stately, and durable, and has advanced the value of his lands
with great tenderness to his tenants.

I was, however, less delighted with the elegance of the modern mansion,
than with the sullen dignity of the old castle.  I clambered with Mr.
Boswell among the ruins, which afford striking images of ancient life.  It
is, like other castles, built upon a point of rock, and was, I believe,
anciently surrounded with a moat.  There is another rock near it, to
which the drawbridge, when it was let down, is said to have reached.
Here, in the ages of tumult and rapine, the Laird was surprised and
killed by the neighbouring Chief, who perhaps might have extinguished the
family, had he not in a few days been seized and hanged, together with
his sons, by Douglas, who came with his forces to the relief of
Auchinleck.

At no great distance from the house runs a pleasing brook, by a red rock,
out of which has been hewn a very agreeable and commodious summer-house,
at less expence, as Lord Auchinleck told me, than would have been
required to build a room of the same dimensions.  The rock seems to have
no more dampness than any other wall.  Such opportunities of variety it
is judicious not to neglect.

We now returned to Edinburgh, where I passed some days with men of
learning, whose names want no advancement from my commemoration, or with
women of elegance, which perhaps disclaims a pedant's praise.

The conversation of the Scots grows every day less unpleasing to the
English; their peculiarities wear fast away; their dialect is likely to
become in half a century provincial and rustick, even to themselves.  The
great, the learned, the ambitious, and the vain, all cultivate the
English phrase, and the English pronunciation, and in splendid companies
Scotch is not much heard, except now and then from an old Lady.

There is one subject of philosophical curiosity to be found in Edinburgh,
which no other city has to shew; a college of the deaf and dumb, who are
taught to speak, to read, to write, and to practice arithmetick, by a
gentleman, whose name is Braidwood.  The number which attends him is, I
think, about twelve, which he brings together into a little school, and
instructs according to their several degrees of proficiency.

I do not mean to mention the instruction of the deaf as new.  Having been
first practised upon the son of a constable of Spain, it was afterwards
cultivated with much emulation in England, by Wallis and Holder, and was
lately professed by Mr. Baker, who once flattered me with hopes of seeing
his method published.  How far any former teachers have succeeded, it is
not easy to know; the improvement of Mr. Braidwood's pupils is wonderful.
They not only speak, write, and understand what is written, but if he
that speaks looks towards them, and modifies his organs by distinct and
full utterance, they know so well what is spoken, that it is an
expression scarcely figurative to say, they hear with the eye.  That any
have attained to the power mentioned by Burnet, of feeling sounds, by
laying a hand on the speaker's mouth, I know not; but I have seen so
much, that I can believe more; a single word, or a short sentence, I
think, may possibly be so distinguished.

It will readily be supposed by those that consider this subject, that Mr.
Braidwood's scholars spell accurately.  Orthography is vitiated among
such as learn first to speak, and then to write, by imperfect notions of
the relation between letters and vocal utterance; but to those students
every character is of equal importance; for letters are to them not
symbols of names, but of things; when they write they do not represent a
sound, but delineate a form.

This school I visited, and found some of the scholars waiting for their
master, whom they are said to receive at his entrance with smiling
countenances and sparkling eyes, delighted with the hope of new ideas.
One of the young Ladies had her slate before her, on which I wrote a
question consisting of three figures, to be multiplied by two figures.
She looked upon it, and quivering her fingers in a manner which I thought
very pretty, but of which I know not whether it was art or play,
multiplied the sum regularly in two lines, observing the decimal place;
but did not add the two lines together, probably disdaining so easy an
operation.  I pointed at the place where the sum total should stand, and
she noted it with such expedition as seemed to shew that she had it only
to write.

It was pleasing to see one of the most desperate of human calamities
capable of so much help; whatever enlarges hope, will exalt courage;
after having seen the deaf taught arithmetick, who would be afraid to
cultivate the Hebrides?

Such are the things which this journey has given me an opportunity of
seeing, and such are the reflections which that sight has raised.  Having
passed my time almost wholly in cities, I may have been surprised by
modes of life and appearances of nature, that are familiar to men of
wider survey and more varied conversation.  Novelty and ignorance must
always be reciprocal, and I cannot but be conscious that my thoughts on
national manners, are the thoughts of one who has seen but little.


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FILE: episodes/data/books/last.txt
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                        SCOTT'S LAST EXPEDITION

                             IN TWO VOLUMES

                     VOL. I. BEING THE JOURNALS OF

                   CAPTAIN R. F. SCOTT, R.N., C.V.O.

   VOL. II. BEING THE REPORTS OF THE JOURNEYS AND THE SCIENTIFIC WORK
    UNDERTAKEN BY DR. E. A. WILSON AND THE SURVIVING MEMBERS OF THE
                               EXPEDITION

                              ARRANGED BY

                             LEONARD HUXLEY

                           WITH A PREFACE BY

                SIR CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM, K.C.B., F.R.S.

WITH PHOTOGRAVURE FRONTISPIECES, 6 ORIGINAL SKETCHES IN PHOTOGRAVURE BY
 DR. E. A. WILSON, 18 COLOURED PLATES (10 FROM DRAWINGS BY DR. WILSON),
   260 FULL PAGE AND SMALLER ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS TAKEN BY
   HERBERT G. PONTING AND OTHER MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION, PANORAMAS
                                AND MAPS

                                VOLUME I

                                NEW YORK

                                  1913



PREFACE

Fourteen years ago Robert Falcon Scott was a rising naval officer,
able, accomplished, popular, highly thought of by his superiors,
and devoted to his noble profession. It was a serious responsibility
to induce him to take up the work of an explorer; yet no man living
could be found who was so well fitted to command a great Antarctic
Expedition. The undertaking was new and unprecedented. The object was
to explore the unknown Antarctic Continent by land. Captain Scott
entered upon the enterprise with enthusiasm tempered by prudence
and sound sense. All had to be learnt by a thorough study of the
history of Arctic travelling, combined with experience of different
conditions in the Antarctic Regions. Scott was the initiator and
founder of Antarctic sledge travelling.

His discoveries were of great importance. The survey and soundings
along the barrier cliffs, the discovery of King Edward Land, the
discovery of Ross Island and the other volcanic islets, the examination
of the Barrier surface, the discovery of the Victoria Mountains--a
range of great height and many hundreds of miles in length, which had
only before been seen from a distance out at sea--and above all the
discovery of the great ice cap on which the South Pole is situated,
by one of the most remarkable polar journeys on record. His small but
excellent scientific staff worked hard and with trained intelligence,
their results being recorded in twelve large quarto volumes.

The great discoverer had no intention of losing touch with his
beloved profession though resolved to complete his Antarctic
work. The exigencies of the naval service called him to the command
of battleships and to confidential work of the Admiralty; so that
five years elapsed before he could resume his Antarctic labours.

The object of Captain Scott's second expedition was mainly scientific,
to complete and extend his former work in all branches of science. It
was his ambition that in his ship there should be the most completely
equipped expedition for scientific purposes connected with the polar
regions, both as regards men and material, that ever left these
shores. In this he succeeded. He had on board a fuller complement
of geologists, one of them especially trained for the study of
physiography, biologists, physicists, and surveyors than ever before
composed the staff of a polar expedition. Thus Captain Scott's objects
were strictly scientific, including the completion and extension
of his former discoveries. The results will be explained in the
second volume of this work. They will be found to be extensive and
important. Never before, in the polar regions, have meteorological,
magnetic and tidal observations been taken, in one locality, during
five years. It was also part of Captain Scott's plan to reach the
South Pole by a long and most arduous journey, but here again his
intention was, if possible, to achieve scientific results on the
way, especially hoping to discover fossils which would throw light
on the former history of the great range of mountains which he had
made known to science.

The principal aim of this great man, for he rightly has his niche
among the polar Dii Majores, was the advancement of knowledge. From
all aspects Scott was among the most remarkable men of our time, and
the vast number of readers of his journal will be deeply impressed
with the beauty of his character. The chief traits which shone forth
through his life were conspicuous in the hour of death. There are few
events in history to be compared, for grandeur and pathos, with the
last closing scene in that silent wilderness of snow. The great leader,
with the bodies of his dearest friends beside him, wrote and wrote
until the pencil dropped from his dying grasp. There was no thought
of himself, only the earnest desire to give comfort and consolation
to others in their sorrow. His very last lines were written lest he
who induced him to enter upon Antarctic work should now feel regret
for what he had done.

'If I cannot write to Sir Clements, tell him I thought much of him,
and never regretted his putting me in command of the _Discovery_.'

CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM.

Sept. 1913.



Contents of the First Volume



CONTENTS


CHAPTER I

THROUGH STORMY SEAS

General Stowage--A Last Scene in New Zealand--Departure--On Deck with
the Dogs--The Storm--The Engine-room Flooded--Clearing the Pumps--Cape
Crozier as a Station--Birds of the South--A Pony's Memory--Tabular
Bergs--An Incomparable Scene--Formation of the Pack--Movements of
the Floes ... 1


CHAPTER II

IN THE PACK

A Reported Island--Incessant Changes--The Imprisoning Ice--Ski-ing
and Sledging on the Floes--Movement of Bergs--Opening of the
Pack--A Damaged Rudder--To Stop or not to Stop--Nicknames--Ski
Exercise--Penguins and Music--Composite Floes--Banked Fires--Christmas
in the Ice--The Penguins and the Skua--Ice Movements--State of the
Ice-house--Still in the Ice--Life in the Pack--Escape from the Pack--A
Calm--The Pack far to the North--Science in the Ice ... 20


CHAPTER III

LAND

Land at Last--Reach Cape Crozier--Cliffs of Cape Crozier--Landing
Impossible--Penguins and Killers--Cape Evans as Winter Station--The
Ponies Landed--Penguins' Fatuous Conduct--Adventure with Killer
Whales--Habits of the Killer Whale--Landing Stores--The Skuas
Nesting--Ponies and their Ways--Dangers of the Rotting Ice ... 53


CHAPTER IV

SETTLING IN

Loss of a Motor--A Dog Dies--Result of Six Days' Work--Restive
Ponies--An Ice Cave--Loading Ballast--Pony Prospects--First Trip
to Hut Point--Return: Prospects of Sea Ice--A Secure Berth--The
Hut--Home Fittings and Autumn Plans--The Pianola--Seal Rissoles--The
Ship Stranded--Ice begins to go. ... 73


CHAPTER V

DEPOT LAYING TO ONE TON CAMP

Dogs and Ponies at Work--Stores for Depots--Old Stores at Discovery
Hut--To Encourage the Pony--Depôt Plans--Pony Snowshoes--Impressions
on the March--Further Impressions--Sledging Necessities and
Luxuries--A Better Surface--Chaos Without; Comfort Within--After the
Blizzard--Marching Routine--The Weakest Ponies Return--Bowers and
Cherry-Garrard--Snow Crusts and Blizzards--A Resented Frostbite--One
Ton Camp. ... 96


CHAPTER VI

ADVENTURE AND PERIL

Dogs' and Ponies' Ways--The Dogs in a Crevasse--Rescue Work--Chances
of a Snow Bridge--The Dog Rations--A Startling Mail--Cross the Other
Party--The End of Weary Willy--The Ice Breaks--The Ponies on the
Floe--Safely Back. ... 122


CHAPTER VII

AT DISCOVERY HUT

Fitting up the Old Hut--A Possible Land Route--The Geological Party
Arrives--Clothing--Exceptional Gales--Geology at Hut Point--An Ice
Foot Exposed--Stabling at Hut Point--Waiting for the Ice--A Clear
Day--Pancake Ice--Life at Hut Point--From Hut Point to Cape Evans--A
Blizzard on the Sea Ice--Dates of the Sea Freezing. ... 138


CHAPTER VIII

HOME IMPRESSIONS AND AN EXCURSION

Baseless Fears about the Hut--The Death of 'Hackenschmidt'--The Dark
Room--The Biologists' Cubicle--An Artificer Cook--A Satisfactory
Organisation--Up an Ice Face--An Icy Run--On getting Hot ... 158


CHAPTER IX

THE WORK AND THE WORKERS

Balloons--Occupations--Many Talents--The Young Ice goes out--Football:
Inverted Temperatures--Of Rainbows--Football: New Ice--Individual
Scientific Work--Individuals at Work--Thermometers on the Floe--Floe
Temperatures--A Bacterium in the Snow--Return of the Hut Point
Party--Personal Harmony ... 171


CHAPTER X

IN WINTER QUARTERS: MODERN STYLE

On Penguins--The Electrical Instruments--On Horse Management--On
Ice Problems--The Aurora--The Nimrod Hut--Continued Winds--Modern
Interests--The Sense of Cold--On the Floes--A Tribute to Wilson ... 190


CHAPTER XI

TO MIDWINTER DAY

Ventilation--On the Meteorological Instruments--Magnesium
Flashlight--On the Beardmore Glacier--Lively Discussions--Action of
Sea Water on Ice--A Theory of Blizzards--On Arctic Surveying--Ice
Structure--Ocean Life--On Volcanoes--Daily Routine--On Motor
Sledging--Crozier Party's Experiments--Midwinter Day Dinner--A
Christmas Tree--An Ethereal Glory ... 205


CHAPTER XII

AWAITING THE CROZIER PARTY

Threats of a Blizzard--Start of the Crozier Party--Strange Winds--A
Current Vane--Pendulum Observations--Lost on the Floe--The Wanderer
Returns--Pony Parasites--A Great Gale--The Ways of Storekeepers--A
Sick Pony--A Sudden Recovery--Effects of Lack of Light--Winds of
Hurricane Force--Unexpected Ice Conditions--Telephones at Work--The
Cold on the Winter Journey--Shelterless in a Blizzard--A Most Gallant
Story--Winter Clothing Nearly Perfect. 228


CHAPTER XIII

THE RETURN OF THE SUN

The Indomitable Bowers--A Theory of Blizzards--Ponies' Tricks--On
Horse Management--The Two Esquimaux Dogs--Balloon Records--On
Scurvy--From Tent Island--On India--Storms and Acclimatisation--On
Physiography--Another Lost Dog Returns--The Debris Cones--On Chinese
Adventures--Inverted Temperature. ... 255


CHAPTER XIV

PREPARATIONS: THE SPRING JOURNEY

On Polar Clothing--Prospects of the Motor Sledges--South Polar Times,
II--The Spring Western Journey--The Broken Glacier Tongue--Marching
Against a Blizzard--The Value of Experience--General Activity--Final
Instructions ... 276


CHAPTER XV

THE LAST WEEKS AT CAPE EVANS

Clissold's Accident--Various Invalids--Christopher's Capers--A Motor
Mishap--Dog Sickness--Some Personal Sketches--A Pony Accident--A
Football Knee--Value of the Motors--The Balance of Heat and Cold--The
First Motor on the Barrier--Last Days at Cape Evans. ... 290


CHAPTER XVI

SOUTHERN JOURNEY: THE BARRIER STAGE

Midnight Lunches--A Motor Breaks Down--The Second Motor Fails--Curious
Features of the Blizzard--Ponies Suffer in a Blizzard--Ponies go
Well--A Head Wind--Bad Conditions Continue--At One Ton Camp--Winter
Minimum Temperature--Daily Rest in the Sun--Steady Plodding--The First
Pony Shot--A Trying March--The Second Pony Shot--Dogs, Ponies, and
Driving--The Southern Mountains Appear--The Third Blizzard--A Fourth
Blizzard--The Fifth and Long Blizzard--Patience and Resolution--Still
Held Up--The End of the Barrier Journey. ... 308


CHAPTER XVII

ON THE BEARDMORE GLACIER

Difficulties with Deep Snow--With Full Loads--After-Effects of the
Great Storm--A Fearful Struggle--Less Snow and Better Going--The Valley
of the Beardmore--Wilson Snow Blind--The Upper Glacier Basin--Return
of the First Party--Upper Glacier Depot. ... 340


CHAPTER XVIII

THE SUMMIT JOURNEY TO THE POLE

Pressures Under Mount Darwin--A Change for the Better--Running of a
Sledge--Lost Time Made Up--Comfort of Double Tent--Last Supporting
Party Returns--Hard Work on the Summit--Accident to Evans--The Members
of the Party--Mishap to a Watch--A Chill in the Air--A Critical
Time--Forestalled--At the Pole. ... 354


CHAPTER XIX

THE RETURN FROM THE POLE

A Hard Time on the Summit--First Signs of Weakening--Difficulty in
Following Tracks--Getting Hungrier--Accidents Multiply--Accident
to Scott--The Ice-fall--End of the Summit Journey--Happy Moments on
Firm Land--In a Maze of Crevasses--Mid-Glacier Depôt Reached--A Sick
Comrade--Death of P.O. Evans. ... 377


CHAPTER XX

THE LAST MARCH

Snow Like Desert Sand--A Gloomy Prospect--No Help from the Wind--The
Grip of Cold--Three Blows of Misfortune--From Bad to Worse--A
Sick Comrade--Oates' Case Hopeless--The Death of Oates--Scott
Frostbitten--The Last Camp--Farewell Letters--The Last Message. ... 396


APPENDIX ... 419



ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE FIRST VOLUME


Photogravure Plates


Portrait of Captain Robert F. Scott, R.N., C.V.O.   _Frontispiece_
From a Painting by Harrington Mann


From Sketches by Dr. Edward A. Wilson


A Lead in the Pack  26
On the Way to the Pole  364
'Black Flag Camp'--Amundsen's Black Flag within a Few Miles of the
South Pole   367
Amundsen's Tent at the South Pole   371
Cairn left by the Norwegians S.S.W. from Black Flag Camp and Amundsen's
South Pole Mark 376
Mount Buckley, One of the Last of Many Pencil Sketches made on the
Return Journey from the Pole 386


Coloured Plates

From Water-colour Drawings by Dr. Edward A. Wilson


The Great Ice Barrier, looking east from Cape Crozier   _Facing p_. 51
Hut Point, Midnight, March 27, 1911 138
A Sunset from Hut Point, April 2, 1911  150
Mount Erebus    169
Lunar Corona    176
Paraselene, June 15, 1911   178
'Birdie' Bowers reading the Thermometer on the Ramp, June 6,
1911       214
Iridescent Clouds. Looking North from Cape Evans    257
Exercising the Ponies   288
Mr. Ponting Lecturing on Japan  202


Panoramas

From Photographs by Herbert G. Ponting


The Western Mountains as seen from Captain Scott's Winter Quarters
at Cape Evans        _Facing p._ 126
Mount Terror and its Glaciers   126
The Royal Society Mountains of Victoria Land--Telephoto Study from
Cape Evans   284
Mount Erebus and Glaciers to the Turk's Head    284


Full Page Plates

The Full Page Plates are from photographs by Herbert G. Ponting,
except where otherwise stated


The Crew of the 'Terra Nova'    _Facing p._ 2
Captain Oates and Ponies on the 'Terra Nova'    6
'Vaida' 8
'Krisravitsa'   8
'Stareek' Malingering   8
Manning the Pumps   10
The First Iceberg   10
Albatross Soaring   12
Albatrosses Foraging in the Wake of the 'Terra Nova'    12
Dr. Wilson and Dr. Atkinson loading the Harpoon Gun 14
A. B. Cheetham--the Boatswain of the 'Terra Nova'   14
Evening Scene in the Pack   17
Lieut. Evans in the Crow's Nest 20
Furling Sail in the Pack    20
A Berg breaking up in the Pack  23
Moonlight in the Pack   29
Christmas Eve (1910) in the Pack    36
'I don't care what becomes of Me'   44
An Adelie about to Dive 44
Open Water in the Ross Sea  46
In the Pack--a Lead opening up  48
Cape Crozier: the End of the Great Ice Barrier  54
Ice-Blink over the Barrier  56
The Barrier and Mount Terror    56
The Midnight Sun in McMurdo Sound   58
Entering McMurdo Sound--Cape Bird and Mount Erebus  60
Surf breaking against Stranded Ice at Cape Evans    60
The 'Terra Nova' in McMurdo Sound   62
Disembarking the Ponies 64
Ponies tethered out on the Sea Ice  Facing p. 64
Lieut. H. E. de P. Rennick  66
Lieut. Rennick and a Friendly Penguin   66
The Arch Berg from Within   68
Something of a Phenomenon--A Fresh Water Cascade    71
The Arch Berg from Without  74
Ponting Cinematographs the Bow of the 'Terra Nova' Breaking through
the Ice-floes       76
Landing a Motor-Sledge  76
Lieut. Evans and Nelson Cutting a Cave for Cold Storage 78
The Condition of Affairs a Week after Landing   78
Killer Whales Rising to Blow    82
Hut Point and Observation Hill  82
The Tenements   84
Plan of Hut Page 85
The Point of the Barne Glacier  Facing p. 90
Winter Quarters at Cape Evans   94
Lillie and Dr. Levick Sorting a Trawl Catch 101
Seals Basking on Newly-formed Pancake Ice off Cape Evans    106
Lieut. Tryggve Gran 112
Captain Scott on Skis   118
Summer Time: the Ice opening up 133
Spray Ridges of Ice after a Blizzard    145
A Berg Drifting in McMurdo Sound    155
Pancake Ice Forming into Floes off Cape Evans   155
Ponting Developing a Plate in the Dark Room 160
The Falling of the Long Polar Night 164
Depot Laying and Western Parties on their Return to Cape Evans  166
A Blizzard Approaching across the Sea Ice   171
The Barne Glacier: a Crevasse with a Thin Snow Bridge   174
Dr. Wilson Working up the Sketch which is given at p. 178   180
Dr. Simpson at the Unifilar Magnetometer    182
Dr. Atkinson in his Laboratory  182
Winter Work 184
Dr. Atkinson and Clissold hauling up the Fish Trap  186
The Freezing up of the Sea  188
Whale-back Clouds over Mount Erebus 190
    (Photo by F. Debenham)
The Hut and the Western Mountains from the Top of the Ramp  194
Cape Royds, looking North   199
The Castle Berg Facing p. 205
Captain Scott's Last Birthday Dinner    210
Captain Scott in his 'Den'  218
Dr. Wilson and Lieut Bowers reading the Ramp Thermometer in the Winter
Night, -40° Fahrenheit--a Flashlight Photograph  221
Finnesko    228
Ski-shoes for use with Finnesko 228
Finnesko fitted with the Ski-shoes  228
Finnesko with Crampons  228
Dr. Atkinson's Frostbitten Hand 232
Petty Officer Evans Binding up Dr. Atkinson's Hand  232
Pony takes Whisky   234
The Stables in Winter   234
Oates and Meares at the Blubber Stove in the Stables    238
Petty Officers Crean and Evans Exercising their Ponies in the
Winter    240
Oates and Meares out Skiing in the Night    240
Remarkable Cirrus Clouds over the Barne Glacier 244
Lieut. Evans Observing an Occultation of Jupiter    247
Dr. Simpson in the Hut at the Other End of the Telephone Timing the
Observation 247
'Birdie' (Lieut. H. R. Bowers)  252
The Summit of Mount Erebus  254
Capt. L. E. G. Oates by the Stable Door 260
Debenham, Gran, and Taylor in their Cubicle 264
Nelson and his Gear 264
Dr. Simpson sending up a Balloon    266
The Polar Party's Sledging Ration   266
An Ice Grotto--Tent Island in Distance  269
Dr. Wilson Watching the First Rays of Sunlight being Recorded after
the long Winter Night       271
The Return of the Sun   271
C. H. Meares and 'Osman,' the Leader of the Dogs    274
Meares and Demetri at 'Discovery' Hut   277
The Main Party at Cape Evans after the Winter, 1911 280
The Castle Berg at the End of the Winter    282
Mount Erebus over a Water-worn Iceberg  290
On the Summit of an Iceberg 290
Dr. Wilson and Pony 'Nobby' 292
Cherry-Garrard giving his Pony 'Michael' a roll in the Snow 292
Surveying Party's Tent after a Blizzard Facing p 294
    (Photo by Lieut T Gran)
Dogs with Stores about to leave Hut Point   296
Dogs Galloping towards the Barrier  296
Meares and Demetri with their Dog-teams leaving Hut Point   296
Dr. Wilson  298
Preparing Sledges for Polar Journey 300
Day's Motor under Way   302
One of the Motor Sledges    302
Meares and Demetri at the Blubber Stove in the 'Discovery' Hut  305
The Motor Party 308
H. G. Ponting and one of his Cinematograph Cameras  311
Members of the Polar Party having a Meal in Camp    316
    (Enlarged from a cinematograph film)
Members of the Polar Party getting into their Sleeping-bags 322
    (Enlarged from a cinematograph film)
Ponies behind their Shelter in Camp on the Barrier  328
    (Photo by Capt. R. F. Scott)
Ponies on the March 334
    (Photo by F. Debenham)
Captain Scott wearing the Wallet in which he carried his Sledging
Journals      338
Pressure on the Beardmore below the Cloudmaker Mountain 340
    (Photo by C. S. Wright)
Mount Kyffin    342
    (Photo by Lieut. H. R. Bowers)
Camp under the Wild Range   345
    (Photo by Capt. R. F. Scott)
Dr. Wilson Sketching on the Beardmore   348
    (Photo by Capt. R. F. Scott)
Some Members of the Supporting Parties as they appeared on their
Return from the Polar Journey  350
Camp at Three Degree Depot  352
    (Photo by Lieut. H. R. Bowers)
Chief Stoker Lashly 355
Petty Officer Crean 355
Pitching the Double Tent on the Summit  358
    (Photo by Lieut H R Bowers)
The Polar Party on the Trail    360
    (Photo by Lieut. H. R. Bowers)
At the South Pole   374
    (Photo by Lieut. H. R. Bowers)
Amundsen's Tent at the South Pole   Facing p. 380
    (Photo by Lieut. H. R. Bowers)
Sastrugi    382
The Cloudmaker Mountain 390
    (Photo by Lieut. H. R. Bowers)
Petty Officer Edgar Evans, R.N. 392
Facsimile of the Last Words of the Journal  403
Facsimile of Message to the Public  414



Map


British Antarctic Expedition, 1910-1913--Track Chart of Main Southern
Journey   At end of text



British Antarctic Expedition, 1910


Shore Parties


Officers

Name.                       Rank, &c.
Robert Falcon Scott         Captain, R.N., C.V.O.
Edward R. G. R. Evans       Commander, R.N.
Victor L. A. Campbell       Lieutenant, R.N. (Emergency List).
Henry R. Bowers             Lieutenant, R.N.
Lawrence E. G. Oates        Captain 6th Inniskilling Dragoons.
G. Murray Levick            Surgeon, R.N.
Edward L. Atkinson          Surgeon, R.N., Parasitologist.


Scientific Staff

Edward Adrian Wilson        M.A., M.B., Chief of the Scientific
                            Staff, and Zoologist.
George C. Simpson           D.Sc., Meteorologist.
T. Griffith Taylor          B.A., B.Sc., B.E., Geologist.
Edward W. Nelson            Biologist.
Frank Debenham              B.A., B.Sc., Geologist.
Charles S. Wright           B.A., Physicist.
Raymond E. Priestley        Geologist.
Herbert G. Ponting          F.R.G.S., Camera Artist.
Cecil H. Meares             In Charge of Dogs.
Bernard C. Day              Motor Engineer.
Apsley Cherry-Garrard       B.A., Asst. Zoologist.
Tryggve Gran                Sub-Lieutenant, Norwegian N.R.,
                            Ski Expert.


Men

W. Lashly                   Chief Stoker.
W. W. Archer                Chief Steward.
Thomas Clissold             Cook, late R.N.
Edgar Evans                 Petty Officer, R.N.
Robert Forde                Petty Officer, R.N.
Thomas Crean                Petty Officer, R.N.
Thomas S. Williamson        Petty Officer, R.N.
Patrick Keohane             Petty Officer, R.N.
George P. Abbott            Petty Officer, R.N.
Frank V. Browning           Petty Officer, 2nd Class, R.N.
Harry Dickason              Able Seaman, R.N.
F. J. Hooper                Steward, late R.N.
Anton Omelchenko            Groom.
Demetri Gerof               Dog Driver.


Ship's Party


Officers, &c.

Harry L. L. Pennell         Lieutenant, R.N.
Henry E. de P. Rennick      Lieutenant, R.N.
Wilfred M. Bruce            Lieutenant, R.N.R.
Francis R. H. Drake         Asst. Paymaster, R.N. (Retired),
                            Secretary & Meteorologist in Ship.
Dennis G. Lillie            M.A., Biologist in Ship.
James R. Denniston          In Charge of Mules in Ship.
Alfred B. Cheetham          R.N.R., Boatswain.
William Williams, O.N.      Chief Engine-room Artificer, R.N., Engineer.
William A. Horton, O.N.     Eng. Rm. Art., 3rd Cl., R.N., 2nd Engr.
Francis E. C. Davies, O.N.  Shipwright, R.N., Carpenter.
Frederick Parsons           Petty Officer, R.N.
William L. Heald            Late P.O., R.N.
Arthur S. Bailey            Petty Officer, 2nd Class, R.N.
Albert Balson               Leading Seaman, R.N.
Joseph Leese, O.N.          Able Seaman, R.N.
John Hugh Mather, O.N.      Petty Officer, R.N.V.R.
Robert Oliphant             Able Seaman.
Thomas F. McLeon             ,,    ,,
Mortimer McCarthy            ,,    ,,
William Knowles              ,,    ,,
Charles Williams             ,,    ,,
James Skelton                ,,    ,,
William McDonald             ,,    ,,
James Paton                  ,,    ,,
Robert Brissenden           Leading Stoker, R.N.
Edward A. McKenzie            ,,     ,,     ,,
William Burton              Leading Stoker, R.N.
Bernard J. Stone              ,,     ,,     ,,
Angus McDonald              Fireman.
Thomas McGillon                ,,
Charles Lammas                 ,,
W. H. Neale                 Steward.


GLOSSARY


_Barrier_. The immense sheet of ice, over 400 miles wide and of
still greater length, which lies south of Ross Island to the west of
Victoria Land.
_Brash_. Small ice fragments from a floe that is breaking up.
_Drift_. Snow swept from the ground like dust and driven before
the wind.
_Finnesko_. Fur boots.
_Flense, flence_. To cut the blubber from a skin or carcase.
_Frost_ _smoke_. A mist of water vapour above the open leads, condensed
by the severe cold.
_Hoosh_. A thick camp soup with a basis of pemmican.
_Ice-foot_. Properly the low fringe of ice formed about Polar lands
by the sea spray. More widely, the banks of ice of varying height
which skirt many parts of the Antarctic shores.
_Piedmont_. Coastwise stretches of the ancient ice sheet which once
covered the Antarctic Continent, remaining either on the land, or
wholly or partially afloat.
_Pram_. A Norwegian skiff, with a spoon bow.
_Primus_. A portable stove for cooking.
_Ramp_. A great embankment of morainic material with ice beneath,
once part of the glacier, on the lowest slopes of Erebus at the
landward end of C. Evans.
_Saennegras_. A kind of fine Norwegian hay, used as packing in the
finnesko to keep the feet warm and to make the fur boot fit firmly.
_Sastrugus_. An irregularity formed by the wind on a snowplain. 'Snow
wave' is not completely descriptive, as the sastrugus has often a
fantastic shape unlike the ordinary conception of a wave.
_Skua_. A large gull.
_Working_ _crack_. An open crack which leaves the ice free to move
with the movement of the water beneath.





NOTE.

Passages enclosed in inverted commas are taken from home letters of
Captain Scott.

A number following a word in the text refers to a corresponding note
in the Appendix to this volume.




SCOTT'S LAST EXPEDITION

CHAPTER I

Through Stormy Seas


The Final Preparations in New Zealand

The first three weeks of November have gone with such a rush that I
have neglected my diary and can only patch it up from memory.

The dates seem unimportant, but throughout the period the officers
and men of the ship have been unremittingly busy.

On arrival the ship was cleared of all the shore party stores,
including huts, sledges, &c. Within five days she was in dock. Bowers
attacked the ship's stores, surveyed, relisted, and restowed them,
saving very much space by unstowing numerous cases and stowing the
contents in the lazarette. Meanwhile our good friend Miller attacked
the leak and traced it to the stern. We found the false stem split, and
in one case a hole bored for a long-stem through-bolt which was much
too large for the bolt. Miller made the excellent job in overcoming
this difficulty which I expected, and since the ship has been afloat
and loaded the leak is found to be enormously reduced. The ship still
leaks, but the amount of water entering is little more than one would
expect in an old wooden vessel.

The stream which was visible and audible inside the stern has been
entirely stopped. Without steam the leak can now be kept under with
the hand pump by two daily efforts of a quarter of an hour to twenty
minutes. As the ship was, and in her present heavily laden condition,
it would certainly have taken three to four hours each day.

Before the ship left dock, Bowers and Wyatt were at work again in the
shed with a party of stevedores, sorting and relisting the shore party
stores. Everything seems to have gone without a hitch. The various
gifts and purchases made in New Zealand were collected--butter,
cheese, bacon, hams, some preserved meats, tongues.

Meanwhile the huts were erected on the waste ground beyond the
harbour works. Everything was overhauled, sorted, and marked afresh
to prevent difficulty in the South. Davies, our excellent carpenter,
Forde, Abbott, and Keohane were employed in this work. The large
green tent was put up and proper supports made for it.

When the ship came out of dock she presented a scene of great
industry. Officers and men of the ship, with a party of stevedores,
were busy storing the holds. Miller's men were building horse stalls,
caulking the decks, resecuring the deckhouses, putting in bolts and
various small fittings. The engine-room staff and Anderson's people
on the engines; scientists were stowing their laboratories; the cook
refitting his galley, and so forth--not a single spot but had its
band of workers.

We prepared to start our stowage much as follows: The main hold
contains all the shore party provisions and part of the huts;
above this on the main deck is packed in wonderfully close fashion
the remainder of the wood of the huts, the sledges, and travelling
equipment, and the larger instruments and machines to be employed by
the scientific people; this encroaches far on the men's space, but
the extent has been determined by their own wish; they have requested,
through Evans, that they should not be considered: they were prepared
to pig it anyhow, and a few cubic feet of space didn't matter--such
is their spirit.

The men's space, such as it is, therefore, extends from the fore
hatch to the stem on the main deck.

Under the forecastle are stalls for fifteen ponies, the maximum the
space would hold; the narrow irregular space in front is packed tight
with fodder.

Immediately behind the forecastle bulkhead is the small booby hatch,
the only entrance to the men's mess deck in bad weather. Next comes
the foremast, and between that and the fore hatch the galley and winch;
on the port side of the fore hatch are stalls for four ponies--a very
stout wooden structure.

Abaft the fore hatch is the ice-house. We managed to get 3 tons of ice,
162 carcases of mutton, and three carcases of beef, besides some boxes
of sweetbreads and kidneys, into this space. The carcases are stowed
in tiers with wooden battens between the tiers--it looks a triumph
of orderly stowage, and I have great hope that it will ensure fresh
mutton throughout our winter.

On either side of the main hatch and close up to the ice-house are
two out of our three motor sledges; the third rests across the break
of the poop in a space formerly occupied by a winch.

In front of the break of the poop is a stack of petrol cases; a
further stack surmounted with bales of fodder stands between the main
hatch and the mainmast, and cases of petrol, paraffin, and alcohol,
arranged along either gangway.

We have managed to get 405 tons of coal in bunkers and main hold,
25 tons in a space left in the fore hold, and a little over 30 tons
on the upper deck.

The sacks containing this last, added to the goods already mentioned,
make a really heavy deck cargo, and one is naturally anxious concerning
it; but everything that can be done by lashing and securing has
been done.

The appearance of confusion on deck is completed by our thirty-three
dogs_1_ chained to stanchions and bolts on the ice-house and on the
main hatch, between the motor sledges.

With all these stores on board the ship still stood two inches
above her load mark. The tanks are filled with compressed forage,
except one, which contains 12 tons of fresh water, enough, we hope,
to take us to the ice.

_Forage_.--I originally ordered 30 tons of compressed oaten hay from
Melbourne. Oates has gradually persuaded us that this is insufficient,
and our pony food weight has gone up to 45 tons, besides 3 or 4 tons
for immediate use. The extra consists of 5 tons of hay, 5 or 6 tons
of oil-cake, 4 or 5 tons of bran, and some crushed oats. We are not
taking any corn.

We have managed to wedge in all the dog biscuits, the total weight
being about 5 tons; Meares is reluctant to feed the dogs on seal,
but I think we ought to do so during the winter.

We stayed with the Kinseys at their house 'Te Han' at Clifton. The
house stands at the edge of the cliff, 400 feet above the sea, and
looks far over the Christchurch plains and the long northern beach
which limits it; close beneath one is the harbour bar and winding
estuary of the two small rivers, the Avon and Waimakariri. Far away
beyond the plains are the mountains, ever changing their aspect, and
yet farther in over this northern sweep of sea can be seen in clear
weather the beautiful snow-capped peaks of the Kaikouras. The scene is
wholly enchanting, and such a view from some sheltered sunny corner
in a garden which blazes with masses of red and golden flowers tends
to feelings of inexpressible satisfaction with all things. At night
we slept in this garden under peaceful clear skies; by day I was off
to my office in Christchurch, then perhaps to the ship or the Island,
and so home by the mountain road over the Port Hills. It is a pleasant
time to remember in spite of interruptions--and it gave time for many
necessary consultations with Kinsey. His interest in the expedition
is wonderful, and such interest on the part of a thoroughly shrewd
business man is an asset of which I have taken full advantage. Kinsey
will act as my agent in Christchurch during my absence; I have given
him an ordinary power of attorney, and I think have left him in
possession of all facts. His kindness to us was beyond words.


The Voyage Out

_Saturday, November 26_.--We advertised our start at 3 P.M., and
at three minutes to that hour the _Terra Nova_ pushed off from
the jetty. A great mass of people assembled. K. and I lunched with
a party in the New Zealand Company's ship _Ruapehu_. Mr. Kinsey,
Ainsley, the Arthur and George Rhodes, Sir George Clifford, &c._2_
K. and I went out in the ship, but left her inside the heads after
passing the _Cambrian_, the only Naval ship present. We came home in
the Harbour Tug; two other tugs followed the ship out and innumerable
small boats. Ponting busy with cinematograph. We walked over the
hills to Sumner. Saw the Terra Nova, a little dot to the S.E.

_Monday, November_ 28.--Caught 8 o'clock express to Port Chalmers,
Kinsey saw us off. Wilson joined train. Rhodes met us Timaru. Telegram
to say _Terra Nova_ had arrived Sunday night. Arrived Port Chalmers
at 4.30. Found all well.

_Tuesday, November_ 29.--Saw Fenwick _re Central News_ agreement--to
town. Thanked Glendenning for handsome gift, 130 grey jerseys. To
Town Hall to see Mayor. Found all well on board.

We left the wharf at 2.30--bright sunshine--very gay scene. If anything
more craft following us than at Lyttelton--Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Evans,
and K. left at Heads and back in Harbour Tug. Other tugs followed
farther with Volunteer Reserve Gunboat--all left about 4.30. Pennell
'swung' the ship for compass adjustment, then 'away.'

_Evening_.--Loom of land and Cape Saunders Light blinking.

_Wednesday, November_ 30.--Noon no miles. Light breeze from northward
all day, freshening towards nightfall and turning to N.W. Bright
sunshine. Ship pitching with south-westerly swell. All in good spirits
except one or two sick.

We are away, sliding easily and smoothly through the water, but
burning coal--8 tons in 24 hours reported 8 P.M.

_Thursday, December_ 1.--The month opens well on the whole. During
the night the wind increased; we worked up to 8, to 9, and to 9.5
knots. Stiff wind from N.W. and confused sea. Awoke to much motion.

The ship a queer and not altogether cheerful sight under the
circumstances.

Below one knows all space is packed as tight as human skill can
devise--and on deck! Under the forecastle fifteen ponies close side
by side, seven one side, eight the other, heads together and groom
between--swaying, swaying continually to the plunging, irregular
motion.

One takes a look through a hole in the bulkhead and sees a row
of heads with sad, patient eyes come swinging up together from the
starboard side, whilst those on the port swing back; then up come the
port heads, whilst the starboard recede. It seems a terrible ordeal
for these poor beasts to stand this day after day for weeks together,
and indeed though they continue to feed well the strain quickly drags
down their weight and condition; but nevertheless the trial cannot be
gauged from human standards. There are horses which never lie down,
and all horses can sleep standing; anatomically they possess a ligament
in each leg which takes their weight without strain. Even our poor
animals will get rest and sleep in spite of the violent motion. Some 4
or 5 tons of fodder and the ever watchful Anton take up the remainder
of the forecastle space. Anton is suffering badly from sea-sickness,
but last night he smoked a cigar. He smoked a little, then had an
interval of evacuation, and back to his cigar whilst he rubbed his
stomach and remarked to Oates 'no good'--gallant little Anton!

There are four ponies outside the forecastle and to leeward of the
fore hatch, and on the whole, perhaps, with shielding tarpaulins,
they have a rather better time than their comrades. Just behind
the ice-house and on either side of the main hatch are two enormous
packing-cases containing motor sledges, each 16 × 5 × 4; mounted as
they are several inches above the deck they take a formidable amount
of space. A third sledge stands across the break of the poop in the
space hitherto occupied by the after winch. All these cases are covered
with stout tarpaulin and lashed with heavy chain and rope lashings,
so that they may be absolutely secure.

The petrol for these sledges is contained in tins and drums protected
in stout wooden packing-cases which are ranged across the deck
immediately in front of the poop and abreast the motor sledges. The
quantity is 2 1/2 tons and the space occupied considerable.

Round and about these packing-cases, stretching from the galley forward
to the wheel aft, the deck is stacked with coal bags forming our deck
cargo of coal, now rapidly diminishing.

We left Port Chalmers with 462 tons of coal on board, rather a
greater quantity than I had hoped for, and yet the load mark was
3 inches above the water. The ship was over 2 feet by the stern,
but this will soon be remedied.

Upon the coal sacks, upon and between the motor sledges and upon
the ice-house are grouped the dogs, thirty-three in all. They must
perforce be chained up and they are given what shelter is afforded
on deck, but their position is not enviable. The seas continually
break on the weather bulwarks and scatter clouds of heavy spray over
the backs of all who must venture into, the waist of the ship. The
dogs sit with their tails to this invading water, their coats wet and
dripping. It is a pathetic attitude, deeply significant of cold and
misery; occasionally some poor beast emits a long pathetic whine. The
group forms a picture of wretched dejection; such a life is truly
hard for these poor creatures.

We manage somehow to find a seat for everyone at our cabin table,
although the wardroom contains twenty-four officers. There are
generally one or two on watch, which eases matters, but it is a
squash. Our meals are simple enough, but it is really remarkable to
see the manner in which our two stewards, Hooper and Neald, provide
for all requirements, washing up, tidying cabin, and making themselves
generally useful in the cheerfullest manner.

With such a large number of hands on board, allowing nine seamen in
each watch, the ship is easily worked, and Meares and Oates have their
appointed assistants to help them in custody of dogs and ponies, but
on such a night as the last with the prospect of dirty weather, the
'after guard' of volunteers is awake and exhibiting its delightful
enthusiasm in the cause of safety and comfort--some are ready to
lend a hand if there is difficulty with ponies and dogs, others in
shortening or trimming sails, and others again in keeping the bunkers
filled with the deck coal.

I think Priestley is the most seriously incapacitated by
sea-sickness--others who might be as bad have had some experience
of the ship and her movement. Ponting cannot face meals but sticks
to his work; on the way to Port Chalmers I am told that he posed
several groups before the cinematograph, though obliged repeatedly
to retire to the ship's side. Yesterday he was developing plates with
the developing dish in one hand and an ordinary basin in the other!

We have run 190 miles to-day: a good start, but inconvenient in one
respect--we have been making for Campbell Island, but early this
morning it became evident that our rapid progress would bring us to
the Island in the middle of the night, instead of to-morrow, as I had
anticipated. The delay of waiting for daylight would not be advisable
under the circumstances, so we gave up this item of our programme.

Later in the day the wind has veered to the westward, heading us
slightly. I trust it will not go further round; we are now more
than a point to eastward of our course to the ice, and three points
to leeward of that to Campbell Island, so that we should not have
fetched the Island anyhow.

_Friday, December_ 1.--A day of great disaster. From 4 o'clock last
night the wind freshened with great rapidity, and very shortly we were
under topsails, jib, and staysail only. It blew very hard and the sea
got up at once. Soon we were plunging heavily and taking much water
over the lee rail. Oates and Atkinson with intermittent assistance from
others were busy keeping the ponies on their legs. Cases of petrol,
forage, etc., began to break loose on the upper deck; the principal
trouble was caused by the loose coal-bags, which were bodily lifted by
the seas and swung against the lashed cases. 'You know how carefully
everything had been lashed, but no lashings could have withstood the
onslaught of these coal sacks for long'; they acted like battering
rams. 'There was nothing for it but to grapple with the evil,
and nearly all hands were labouring for hours in the waist of the
ship, heaving coal sacks overboard and re-lashing the petrol cases,
etc., in the best manner possible under such difficult and dangerous
circumstances. The seas were continually breaking over these people
and now and again they would be completely submerged. At such times
they had to cling for dear life to some fixture to prevent themselves
being washed overboard, and with coal bags and loose cases washing
about, there was every risk of such hold being torn away.'

'No sooner was some semblance of order restored than some exceptionally
heavy wave would tear away the lashing and the work had to be done
all over again.'

The night wore on, the sea and wind ever rising, and the ship ever
plunging more distractedly; we shortened sail to main topsail and
staysail, stopped engines and hove to, but to little purpose. Tales
of ponies down came frequently from forward, where Oates and Atkinson
laboured through the entire night. Worse was to follow, much worse--a
report from the engine-room that the pumps had choked and the water
risen over the gratings.

From this moment, about 4 A.M., the engine-room became the centre
of interest. The water gained in spite of every effort. Lashley,
to his neck in rushing water, stuck gamely to the work of clearing
suctions. For a time, with donkey engine and bilge pump sucking,
it looked as though the water would be got under; but the hope was
short-lived: five minutes of pumping invariably led to the same
result--a general choking of the pumps.

The outlook appeared grim. The amount of water which was being made,
with the ship so roughly handled, was most uncertain. 'We knew that
normally the ship was not making much water, but we also knew that a
considerable part of the water washing over the upper deck must be
finding its way below; the decks were leaking in streams. The ship
was very deeply laden; it did not need the addition of much water
to get her water-logged, in which condition anything might have
happened.' The hand pump produced only a dribble, and its suction
could not be got at; as the water crept higher it got in contact
with the boiler and grew warmer--so hot at last that no one could
work at the suctions. Williams had to confess he was beaten and must
draw fires. What was to be done? Things for the moment appeared very
black. The sea seemed higher than ever; it came over lee rail and poop,
a rush of green water; the ship wallowed in it; a great piece of the
bulwark carried clean away. The bilge pump is dependent on the main
engine. To use the pump it was necessary to go ahead. It was at such
times that the heaviest seas swept in over the lee rail; over and over
[again] the rail, from the forerigging to the main, was covered by a
solid sheet of curling water which swept aft and high on the poop. On
one occasion I was waist deep when standing on the rail of the poop.

The scene on deck was devastating, and in the engine-room the water,
though really not great in quantity, rushed over the floor plates
and frames in a fashion that gave it a fearful significance.

The afterguard were organised in two parties by Evans to work buckets;
the men were kept steadily going on the choked hand pumps--this
seemed all that could be done for the moment, and what a measure to
count as the sole safeguard of the ship from sinking, practically an
attempt to bale her out! Yet strange as it may seem the effort has not
been wholly fruitless--the string of buckets which has now been kept
going for four hours, [1] together with the dribble from the pump,
has kept the water under--if anything there is a small decrease.

Meanwhile we have been thinking of a way to get at the suction of
the pump: a hole is being made in the engine-room bulkhead, the coal
between this and the pump shaft will be removed, and a hole made in
the shaft. With so much water coming on board, it is impossible to
open the hatch over the shaft. We are not out of the wood, but hope
dawns, as indeed it should for me, when I find myself so wonderfully
served. Officers and men are singing chanties over their arduous
work. Williams is working in sweltering heat behind the boiler to
get the door made in the bulkhead. Not a single one has lost his
good spirits. A dog was drowned last night, one pony is dead and two
others in a bad condition--probably they too will go. 'Occasionally
a heavy sea would bear one of them away, and he was only saved by
his chain. Meares with some helpers had constantly to be rescuing
these wretched creatures from hanging, and trying to find them better
shelter, an almost hopeless task. One poor beast was found hanging
when dead; one was washed away with such force that his chain broke
and he disappeared overboard; the next wave miraculously washed him
on board again and he is now fit and well.' The gale has exacted
heavy toll, but I feel all will be well if we can only cope with the
water. Another dog has just been washed overboard--alas! Thank God,
the gale is abating. The sea is still mountainously high, but the
ship is not labouring so heavily as she was. I pray we may be under
sail again before morning.

_Saturday, December_ 3.--Yesterday the wind slowly fell towards
evening; less water was taken on board, therefore less found its way
below, and it soon became evident that our baling was gaining on the
engine-room. The work was steadily kept going in two-hour shifts. By
10 P.M. the hole in the engine-room bulkhead was completed, and
(Lieut.) Evans, wriggling over the coal, found his way to the pump
shaft and down it. He soon cleared the suction 'of the coal balls
(a mixture of coal and oil) which choked it,' and to the joy of all
a good stream of water came from the pump for the first time. From
this moment it was evident we should get over the difficulty, and
though the pump choked again on several occasions the water in the
engine-room steadily decreased. It was good to visit that spot this
morning and to find that the water no longer swished from side to
side. In the forenoon fires were laid and lighted--the hand pump was
got into complete order and sucked the bilges almost dry, so that
great quantities of coal and ashes could be taken out.

Now all is well again, and we are steaming and sailing steadily south
within two points of our course. Campbell and Bowers have been busy
relisting everything on the upper deck. This afternoon we got out
the two dead ponies through the forecastle skylight. It was a curious
proceeding, as the space looked quite inadequate for their passage. We
looked into the ice-house and found it in the best order.

Though we are not yet safe, as another gale might have disastrous
results, it is wonderful to realise the change which has been wrought
in our outlook in twenty-four hours. The others have confessed
the gravely serious view of our position which they shared with me
yesterday, and now we are all hopeful again.

As far as one can gather, besides the damage to the bulwarks of
the ship, we have lost two ponies, one dog, '10 tons of coal,' 65
gallons of petrol, and a case of the biologists' spirit--a serious
loss enough, but much less than I expected. 'All things considered we
have come off lightly, but it was bad luck to strike a gale at such
a time.' The third pony which was down in a sling for some time in
the gale is again on his feet. He looks a little groggy, but may pull
through if we don't have another gale. Osman, our best sledge dog,
was very bad this morning, but has been lying warmly in hay all day,
and is now much better. 'Several more were in a very bad way and
needed nursing back to life.' The sea and wind seem to be increasing
again, and there is a heavy southerly swell, but the glass is high;
we ought not to have another gale till it falls._3_

_Monday, December_ 5.--Lat. 56° 40'.--The barometer has been almost
steady since Saturday, the wind rising and falling slightly, but
steady in direction from the west. From a point off course we have
crept up to the course itself. Everything looks prosperous except
the ponies. Up to this morning, in spite of favourable wind and sea,
the ship has been pitching heavily to a south-westerly swell. This has
tried the animals badly, especially those under the forecastle. We had
thought the ponies on the port side to be pretty safe, but two of them
seem to me to be groggy, and I doubt if they could stand more heavy
weather without a spell of rest. I pray there may be no more gales. We
should be nearing the limits of the westerlies, but one cannot be
sure for at least two days. There is still a swell from the S.W.,
though it is not nearly so heavy as yesterday, but I devoutly wish it
would vanish altogether. So much depends on fine weather. December
ought to be a fine month in the Ross Sea; it always has been, and
just now conditions point to fine weather. Well, we must be prepared
for anything, but I'm anxious, anxious about these animals of ours.

The dogs have quite recovered since the fine weather--they are quite
in good form again.

Our deck cargo is getting reduced; all the coal is off the upper
deck and the petrol is re-stored in better fashion; as far as that
is concerned we should not mind another blow. Campbell and Bowers
have been untiring in getting things straight on deck.

The idea of making our station Cape Crozier has again come on the
tapis. There would be many advantages: the ease of getting there at an
early date, the fact that none of the autumn or summer parties could
be cut off, the fact that the main Barrier could be reached without
crossing crevasses and that the track to the Pole would be due south
from the first:--the mild condition and absence of blizzards at the
penguin rookery, the opportunity of studying the Emperor penguin
incubation, and the new interest of the geology of Terror, besides
minor facilities, such as the getting of ice, stones for shelters,
&c. The disadvantages mainly consist in the possible difficulty of
landing stores--a swell would make things very unpleasant, and might
possibly prevent the landing of the horses and motors. Then again
it would be certain that some distance of bare rock would have to
be traversed before a good snow surface was reached from the hut,
and possibly a climb of 300 or 400 feet would intervene. Again,
it might be difficult to handle the ship whilst stores were being
landed, owing to current, bergs, and floe ice. It remains to be seen,
but the prospect is certainly alluring. At a pinch we could land the
ponies in McMurdo Sound and let them walk round.

The sun is shining brightly this afternoon, everything is drying,
and I think the swell continues to subside.

_Tuesday, December_ 6.--Lat. 59° 7'. Long. 177° 51' E. Made good
S. 17 E. 153; 457' to Circle. The promise of yesterday has been
fulfilled, the swell has continued to subside, and this afternoon
we go so steadily that we have much comfort. I am truly thankful
mainly for the sake of the ponies; poor things, they look thin and
scraggy enough, but generally brighter and fitter. There is no doubt
the forecastle is a bad place for them, but in any case some must
have gone there. The four midship ponies, which were expected to be
subject to the worst conditions, have had a much better time than their
fellows. A few ponies have swollen legs, but all are feeding well. The
wind failed in the morning watch and later a faint breeze came from the
eastward; the barometer has been falling, but not on a steep gradient;
it is still above normal. This afternoon it is overcast with a Scotch
mist. Another day ought to put us beyond the reach of westerly gales.

We still continue to discuss the project of landing at Cape Crozier,
and the prospect grows more fascinating as we realise it. For
instance, we ought from such a base to get an excellent idea of the
Barrier movement, and of the relative movement amongst the pressure
ridges. There is no doubt it would be a tremendous stroke of luck to
get safely landed there with all our paraphernalia.

Everyone is very cheerful--one hears laughter and song all day--it's
delightful to be with such a merry crew. A week from New Zealand
to-day.

_Wednesday, December_ 7.--Lat. 61° 22'. Long. 179° 56' W. Made good
S. 25 E. 150; Ant. Circle 313'. The barometer descended on a steep
regular gradient all night, turning suddenly to an equally steep up
grade this morning. With the turn a smart breeze sprang up from the
S.W. and forced us three points off our course. The sea has remained
calm, seeming to show that the ice is not far off; this afternoon
temperature of air and water both 34°, supporting the assumption. The
wind has come fair and we are on our course again, going between 7
and 8 knots.

Quantities of whale birds about the ship, the first fulmars and the
first McCormick skua seen. Last night saw 'hour glass' dolphins
about. Sooty and black-browed albatrosses continue, with Cape
chickens. The cold makes people hungry and one gets just a tremor on
seeing the marvellous disappearance of consumables when our twenty-four
young appetites have to be appeased.

Last night I discussed the Western Geological Party, and explained to
Ponting the desirability of his going with it. I had thought he ought
to be in charge, as the oldest and most experienced traveller, and
mentioned it to him--then to Griffith Taylor. The latter was evidently
deeply disappointed. So we three talked the matter out between us, and
Ponting at once disclaimed any right, and announced cheerful agreement
with Taylor's leadership; it was a satisfactory  arrangement, and shows
Ponting in a very pleasant light. I'm sure he's a very nice fellow.

I would record here a symptom of the spirit which actuates the
men. After the gale the main deck under the forecastle space in
which the ponies are stabled leaked badly, and the dirt of the
stable leaked through on hammocks and bedding. Not a word has been
said; the men living in that part have done their best to fend
off the nuisance with oilskins and canvas, but without sign of
complaint. Indeed the discomfort throughout the mess deck has been
extreme. Everything has been thrown about, water has found its way
down in a dozen places. There is no daylight, and air can come only
through the small fore hatch; the artificial lamplight has given much
trouble. The men have been wetted to the skin repeatedly on deck,
and have no chance of drying their clothing. All things considered,
their cheerful fortitude is little short of wonderful.

_First Ice_.--There was a report of ice at dinner to-night. Evans
corroborated Cheetham's statement that there was a berg far away to
the west, showing now and again as the sun burst through the clouds.

_Thursday, December_ 8.--63° 20'. 177° 22'. S. 31 E. 138'; to
Circle 191'. The wind increased in the first watch last night to
a moderate gale. The ship close hauled held within two points of
her course. Topgallant sails and mainsail were furled, and later in
the night the wind gradually crept ahead. At 6 A.M. we were obliged
to furl everything, and throughout the day we have been plunging
against a stiff breeze and moderate sea. This afternoon by keeping a
little to eastward of the course, we have managed to get fore and aft
sail filled. The barometer has continued its steady upward path for
twenty-four hours; it shows signs of turning, having reached within
1/10th of 30 inches. It was light throughout last night (always a
cheerful condition), but this head wind is trying to the patience,
more especially as our coal expenditure is more than I estimated. We
manage 62 or 63 revolutions on about 9 tons, but have to distil every
three days at expense of half a ton, and then there is a weekly half
ton for the cook. It is certainly a case of fighting one's way South.

I was much disturbed last night by the motion; the ship was pitching
and twisting with short sharp movements on a confused sea, and with
every plunge my thoughts flew to our poor ponies. This afternoon
they are fairly well, but one knows that they must be getting weaker
as time goes on, and one longs to give them a good sound rest with
the ship on an even keel. Poor patient beasts! One wonders how far
the memory of such fearful discomfort will remain with them--animals
so often remember places and conditions where they have encountered
difficulties or hurt. Do they only recollect circumstances which are
deeply impressed by some shock of fear or sudden pain, and does the
remembrance of prolonged strain pass away? Who can tell? But it would
seem strangely merciful if nature should blot out these weeks of slow
but inevitable torture.

The dogs are in great form again; for them the greatest circumstance
of discomfort is to be constantly wet. It was this circumstance
prolonged throughout the gale which nearly lost us our splendid leader
'Osman.' In the morning he was discovered utterly exhausted and only
feebly trembling; life was very nearly out of him. He was buried in
hay, and lay so for twenty-four hours, refusing food--the wonderful
hardihood of his species was again shown by the fact that within
another twenty-four hours he was to all appearance as fit as ever.

Antarctic petrels have come about us. This afternoon one was caught.

Later, about 7 P.M. Evans saw two icebergs far on the port beam; they
could only be seen from the masthead. Whales have been frequently
seen--Balænoptera Sibbaldi--supposed to be the biggest mammal that
has ever existed._4_

_Friday, December_ 9.--65° 8'. 177° 41'. Made good S. 4 W. 109';
Scott Island S. 22 W. 147'. At six this morning bergs and pack were
reported ahead; at first we thought the pack might consist only of
fragments of the bergs, but on entering a stream we found small worn
floes--the ice not more than two or three feet in thickness. 'I had
hoped that we should not meet it till we reached latitude 66 1/2 or
at least 66.' We decided to work to the south and west as far as the
open water would allow, and have met with some success. At 4 P.M.,
as I write, we are still in open water, having kept a fairly straight
course and come through five or six light streams of ice, none more
than 300 yards across.

We have passed some very beautiful bergs, mostly tabular. The heights
have varied from 60 to 80 feet, and I am getting to think that this
part of the Antarctic yields few bergs of greater altitude.

Two bergs deserve some description. One, passed very close on port
hand in order that it might be cinematographed, was about 80 feet in
height, and tabular. It seemed to have been calved at a comparatively
recent date.

The above picture shows its peculiarities, and points to the
desirability of close examination of other berg faces. There seemed
to be a distinct difference of origin between the upper and lower
portions of the berg, as though a land glacier had been covered by
layer after layer of seasonal snow. Then again, what I have described
as 'intrusive layers of blue ice' was a remarkable feature; one
could imagine that these layers represent surfaces which have been
transformed by regelation under hot sun and wind.

This point required investigation.

The second berg was distinguished by innumerable vertical cracks. These
seemed to run criss-cross and to weaken the structure, so that the
various séracs formed by them had bent to different angles and shapes,
giving a very irregular surface to the berg, and a face scarred with
immense vertical fissures.

One imagines that such a berg has come from a region of ice disturbance
such as King Edward's Land.

We have seen a good many whales to-day, rorquals with high black
spouts--_Balænoptera Sibbaldi_.

The birds with us: Antarctic and snow petrel--a fulmar--and this
morning Cape pigeon.

We have pack ice farther north than expected, and it's impossible to
interpret the fact. One hopes that we shall not have anything heavy,
but I'm afraid there's not much to build upon. 10 P.M.--We have made
good progress throughout the day, but the ice streams thicken as we
advance, and on either side of us the pack now appears in considerable
fields. We still pass quantities of bergs, perhaps nearly one-half
the number tabular, but the rest worn and fantastic.

The sky has been wonderful, with every form of cloud in every condition
of light and shade; the sun has continually appeared through breaks
in the cloudy heavens from time to time, brilliantly illuminating some
field of pack, some steep-walled berg, or some patch of bluest sea. So
sunlight and shadow have chased each other across our scene. To-night
there is little or no swell--the ship is on an even keel, steady,
save for the occasional shocks on striking ice.

It is difficult to express the sense of relief this steadiness gives
after our storm-tossed passage. One can only imagine the relief and
comfort afforded to the ponies, but the dogs are visibly cheered and
the human element is full of gaiety. The voyage seems full of promise
in spite of the imminence of delay.

If the pack becomes thick I shall certainly put the fires out and wait
for it to open. I do not think it ought to remain close for long in
this meridian. To-night we must be beyond the 66th parallel.

_Saturday, December_ 10.--Dead Reckoning 66° 38'. Long. 178°
47'. Made good S. 17 W. 94. C. Crozier 688'. Stayed on deck till
midnight. The sun just dipped below the southern horizon. The scene
was incomparable. The northern sky was gloriously rosy and reflected
in the calm sea between the ice, which varied from burnished copper to
salmon pink; bergs and pack to the north had a pale greenish hue with
deep purple shadows, the sky shaded to saffron and pale green. We gazed
long at these beautiful effects. The ship made through leads during the
night; morning found us pretty well at the end of the open water. We
stopped to water ship from a nice hummocky floe. We made about 8 tons
of water. Rennick took a sounding, 1960 fathoms; the tube brought up
two small lumps of volcanic lava with the usual globigerina ooze.

Wilson shot a number of Antarctic petrel and snowy petrel. Nelson
got some crustaceans and other beasts with a vertical tow net, and
got a water sample and temperatures at 400 metres. The water was
warmer at that depth. About 1.30 we proceeded at first through fairly
easy pack, then in amongst very heavy old floes grouped about a big
berg; we shot out of this and made a détour, getting easier going;
but though the floes were less formidable as we proceeded south,
the pack grew thicker. I noticed large floes of comparatively thin
ice very sodden and easily split; these are similar to some we went
through in the _Discovery_, but tougher by a month.

At three we stopped and shot four crab-eater seals; to-night we had
the livers for dinner--they were excellent.

To-night we are in very close pack--it is doubtful if it is worth
pushing on, but an arch of clear sky which has shown to the southward
all day makes me think that there must be clearer water in that
direction; perhaps only some 20 miles away--but 20 miles is much
under present conditions. As I came below to bed at 11 P.M. Bruce
was slogging away, making fair progress, but now and again brought up
altogether. I noticed the ice was becoming much smoother and thinner,
with occasional signs of pressure, between which the ice was very thin.

'We had been very carefully into all the evidence of former voyages
to pick the best meridian to go south on, and I thought and still
think that the evidence points to the 178 W. as the best. We entered
the pack more or less on this meridian, and have been rewarded by
encountering worse conditions than any ship has had before. Worse, in
fact, than I imagined would have been possible on any other meridian
of those from which we could have chosen.

'To understand the difficulty of the position you must appreciate
what the pack is and how little is known of its movements.

'The pack in this part of the world consists (1) of the ice which has
formed over the sea on the fringe of the Antarctic continent during
the last winter; (2) of very heavy old ice floes which have broken
out of bays and inlets during the previous summer, but have not had
time to get north before the winter set in; (3) of comparatively
heavy ice formed over the Ross Sea early in the last winter; and (4)
of comparatively thin ice which has formed over parts of the Ross
Sea in middle or towards the end of the last winter.

'Undoubtedly throughout the winter all ice-sheets move and twist,
tear apart and press up into ridges, and thousands of bergs charge
through these sheets, raising hummocks and lines of pressure and
mixing things up; then of course where such rents are made in the
winter the sea freezes again, forming a newer and thinner sheet.

'With the coming of summer the northern edge of the sheet decays
and the heavy ocean swell penetrates it, gradually breaking it into
smaller and smaller fragments. Then the whole body moves to the north
and the swell of the Ross Sea attacks the southern edge of the pack.

'This makes it clear why at the northern and southern limits the
pieces or ice-floes are comparatively small, whilst in the middle the
floes may be two or three miles across; and why the pack may and does
consist of various natures of ice-floes in extraordinary confusion.

'Further it will be understood why the belt grows narrower and the
floes thinner and smaller as the summer advances.

'We know that where thick pack may be found early in January, open
water and a clear sea may be found in February, and broadly that the
later the date the easier the chance of getting through.

'A ship going through the pack must either break through the floes,
push them aside, or go round them, observing that she cannot push
floes which are more than 200 or 300 yards across.

'Whether a ship can get through or not depends on the thickness and
nature of the ice, the size of the floes and the closeness with which
they are packed together, as well as on her own power.

'The situation of the main bodies of pack and the closeness with
which the floes are packed depend almost entirely on the prevailing
winds. One cannot tell what winds have prevailed before one's arrival;
therefore one cannot know much about the situation or density.

'Within limits the density is changing from day to day and even
from hour to hour; such changes depend on the wind, but it may
not necessarily be a local wind, so that at times they seem almost
mysterious. One sees the floes pressing closely against one another
at a given time, and an hour or two afterwards a gap of a foot or
more may be seen between each.

'When the floes are pressed together it is difficult and sometimes
impossible to force a way through, but when there is release of
pressure the sum of many little gaps allows one to take a zigzag path.'



CHAPTER II

In the Pack

_Sunday, December_ ll.--The ice grew closer during the night, and
at 6 it seemed hopeless to try and get ahead. The pack here is very
regular; the floes about 2 1/2 feet thick and very solid. They are
pressed closely together, but being irregular in shape, open spaces
frequently occur, generally triangular in shape.

It might be noted that such ice as this occupies much greater space
than it originally did when it formed a complete sheet--hence if the
Ross Sea were wholly frozen over in the spring, the total quantity
of pack to the north of it when it breaks out must be immense.

This ice looks as though it must have come from the Ross Sea, and
yet one is puzzled to account for the absence of pressure.

We have lain tight in the pack all day; the wind from 6 A.M. strong
from W. and N.W., with snow; the wind has eased to-night, and for some
hours the glass, which fell rapidly last night, has been stationary. I
expect the wind will shift soon; pressure on the pack has eased,
but so far it has not opened.

This morning Rennick got a sounding at 2015 fathoms from bottom
similar to yesterday, with small pieces of basic lava; these two
soundings appear to show a great distribution of this volcanic rock
by ice. The line was weighed by hand after the soundings. I read
Service in the wardroom.

This afternoon all hands have been away on ski over the floes. It
is delightful to get the exercise. I'm much pleased with the ski and
ski boots--both are very well adapted to our purposes.

This waiting requires patience, though I suppose it was to be expected
at such an early season. It is difficult to know when to try and push
on again.

_Monday, December_ 12.--The pack was a little looser this morning;
there was a distinct long swell apparently from N.W. The floes were
not apart but barely touching the edges, which were hard pressed
yesterday; the wind still holds from N.W., but lighter. Gran, Oates,
and Bowers went on ski towards a reported island about which there
had been some difference of opinion. I felt certain it was a berg,
and it proved to be so; only of a very curious dome shape with very
low cliffs all about.

Fires were ordered for 12, and at 11.30 we started steaming with plain
sail set. We made, and are making fair progress on the whole, but it
is very uneven. We escaped from the heavy floes about us into much
thinner pack, then through two water holes, then back to the thinner
pack consisting of thin floes of large area fairly easily broken. All
went well till we struck heavy floes again, then for half an hour we
stopped dead. Then on again, and since alternately bad and good--that
is, thin young floes and hoary older ones, occasionally a pressed up
berg, very heavy.

The best news of yesterday was that we drifted 15 miles to the S.E.,
so that we have not really stopped our progress at all, though it has,
of course, been pretty slow.

I really don't know what to think of the pack, or when to hope for
open water.

We tried Atkinson's blubber stove this afternoon with great
success. The interior of the stove holds a pipe in a single coil
pierced with holes on the under side. These holes drip oil on to an
asbestos burner. The blubber is placed in a tank suitably built around
the chimney; the overflow of oil from this tank leads to the feed pipe
in the stove, with a cock to regulate the flow. A very simple device,
but as has been shown a very effective one; the stove gives great heat,
but, of course, some blubber smell. However, with such stoves in the
south one would never lack cooked food or warm hut.

Discussed with Wright the fact that the hummocks on sea ice always
yield fresh water. We agreed that the brine must simply run down
out of the ice. It will be interesting to bring up a piece of sea
ice and watch this process. But the fact itself is interesting as
showing that the process producing the hummock is really producing
fresh water. It may also be noted as phenomenon which makes _all_
the difference to the ice navigator._5_

Truly the getting to our winter quarters is no light task; at first the
gales and heavy seas, and now this continuous fight with the pack ice.

8 P.M.--We are getting on with much bumping and occasional 'hold ups.'

_Tuesday, December_ 13.--I was up most of the night. Never have I
experienced such rapid and complete changes of prospect. Cheetham
in the last dog watch was running the ship through sludgy new ice,
making with all sail set four or five knots. Bruce, in the first,
took over as we got into heavy ice again; but after a severe tussle
got through into better conditions. The ice of yesterday loose with
sludgy thin floes between. The middle watch found us making for an
open lead, the ice around hard and heavy. We got through, and by
sticking to the open water and then to some recently frozen pools
made good progress. At the end of the middle watch trouble began
again, and during this and the first part of the morning we were
wrestling with the worst conditions we have met. Heavy hummocked
bay ice, the floes standing 7 or 8 feet out of water, and very deep
below. It was just such ice as we encountered at King Edward's Land
in the _Discovery_. I have never seen anything more formidable. The
last part of the morning watch was spent in a long recently frozen
lead or pool, and the ship went well ahead again.

These changes sound tame enough, but they are a great strain on
one's nerves--one is for ever wondering whether one has done right
in trying to come down so far east, and having regard to coal, what
ought to be done under the circumstances.

In the first watch came many alterations of opinion; time and again it
looks as though we ought to stop when it seemed futile to be pushing
and pushing without result; then would come a stretch of easy going and
the impression that all was going very well with us. The fact of the
matter is, it is difficult not to imagine the conditions in which one
finds oneself to be more extensive than they are. It is wearing to have
to face new conditions every hour. This morning we met at breakfast
in great spirits; the ship has been boring along well for two hours,
then Cheetham suddenly ran her into a belt of the worst and we were
held up immediately. We can push back again, I think, but meanwhile
we have taken advantage of the conditions to water ship. These big
floes are very handy for that purpose at any rate. Rennick got a
sounding 2124 fathoms, similar bottom _including_ volcanic lava.

_December_ 13 (_cont_.).--67° 30' S. 177° 58' W. Made good S. 20
E. 27'. C. Crozier S. 21 W. 644'.--We got in several tons of ice,
then pushed off and slowly and laboriously worked our way to one of
the recently frozen pools. It was not easily crossed, but when we came
to its junction with the next part to the S.W. (in which direction I
proposed to go) we were quite hung up. A little inspection showed that
the big floes were tending to close. It seems as though the tenacity of
the 6 or 7 inches of recent ice over the pools is enormously increased
by lateral pressure. But whatever the cause, we could not budge.

We have decided to put fires out and remain here till the conditions
change altogether for the better. It is sheer waste of coal to make
further attempts to break through as things are at present.

We have been set to the east during the past days; is it the normal
set in the region, or due to the prevalence of westerly winds? Possibly
much depends on this as concerns our date of release. It is annoying,
but one must contain one's soul in patience and hope for a brighter
outlook in a day or two. Meanwhile we shall sound and do as much
biological work as is possible.

The pack is a sunless place as a rule; this morning we had bright
sunshine for a few hours, but later the sky clouded over from the
north again, and now it is snowing dismally. It is calm.

_Wednesday, December_ 14.--Position, N. 2', W. 1/2'. The pack still
close around. From the masthead one can see a few patches of open
water in different directions, but the main outlook is the same
scene of desolate hummocky pack. The wind has come from the S.W.,
force 2; we have bright sunshine and good sights. The ship has swung
to the wind and the floes around are continually moving. They change
their relative positions in a slow, furtive, creeping fashion. The
temperature is 35°, the water 29.2° to 29.5°. Under such conditions
the thin sludgy ice ought to be weakening all the time; a few inches
of such stuff should allow us to push through anywhere.

One realises the awful monotony of a long stay in the pack, such as
Nansen and others experienced. One can imagine such days as these
lengthening into interminable months and years.

For us there is novelty, and everyone has work to do or makes work,
so that there is no keen sense of impatience.

Nelson and Lillie were up all night with the current meter; it is not
quite satisfactory, but some result has been obtained. They will also
get a series of temperatures and samples and use the vertical tow net.

The current is satisfactory. Both days the fixes have been good--it
is best that we should go north and west. I had a great fear that we
should be drifted east and so away to regions of permanent pack. If
we go on in this direction it can only be a question of time before
we are freed.

We have all been away on ski on the large floe to which we anchored
this morning. Gran is wonderfully good and gives instruction well. It
was hot and garments came off one by one--the Soldier [2] and Atkinson
were stripped to the waist eventually, and have been sliding round
the floe for some time in that condition. Nearly everyone has been
wearing goggles; the glare is very bad. Ponting tried to get a colour
picture, but unfortunately the ice colours are too delicate for this.

To-night Campbell, Evans, and I went out over the floe, and each in
turn towed the other two; it was fairly easy work--that is, to pull
310 to 320 lbs. One could pull it perhaps more easily on foot, yet
it would be impossible to pull such a load on a sledge. What a puzzle
this pulling of loads is! If one could think that this captivity was
soon to end there would be little reason to regret it; it is giving
practice with our deep sea gear, and has made everyone keen to learn
the proper use of ski.

The swell has increased considerably, but it is impossible to tell
from what direction it comes; one can simply note that the ship and
brash ice swing to and fro, bumping into the floe.

We opened the ice-house to-day, and found the meat in excellent
condition--most of it still frozen.

_Thursday, December_ 15.--66° 23' S. 177° 59' W. Sit. N. 2', E. 5
1/2'.--In the morning the conditions were unaltered. Went for a ski
run before breakfast. It makes a wonderful difference to get the
blood circulating by a little exercise.

After breakfast we served out ski to the men of the landing party. They
are all very keen to learn, and Gran has been out morning and afternoon
giving instruction.

Meares got some of his dogs out and a sledge--two lots of seven--those
that looked in worst condition (and several are getting very fat) were
tried. They were very short of wind--it is difficult to understand
how they can get so fat, as they only get two and a half biscuits
a day at the most. The ponies are looking very well on the whole,
especially those in the outside stalls.

Rennick got a sounding to-day 1844 fathoms; reversible thermometers
were placed close to bottom and 500 fathoms up. We shall get a very
good series of temperatures from the bottom up during the wait. Nelson
will try to get some more current observations to-night or to-morrow.

It is very trying to find oneself continually drifting north, but
one is thankful not to be going east.

To-night it has fallen calm and the floes have decidedly opened;
there is a lot of water about the ship, but it does not look to extend
far. Meanwhile the brash and thinner floes are melting; everything
of that sort must help--but it's trying to the patience to be delayed
like this.

We have seen enough to know that with a north-westerly or westerly
wind the floes tend to pack and that they open when it is calm. The
question is, will they open more with an easterly or south-easterly
wind--that is the hope.

Signs of open water round and about are certainly increasing rather
than diminishing.

_Friday, December_ 16.--The wind sprang up from the N.E. this morning,
bringing snow, thin light hail, and finally rain; it grew very thick
and has remained so all day.

Early the floe on which we had done so much ski-ing broke up, and
we gathered in our ice anchors, then put on head sail, to which she
gradually paid off. With a fair wind we set sail on the foremast,
and slowly but surely she pushed the heavy floes aside. At lunch
time we entered a long lead of open water, and for nearly half an
hour we sailed along comfortably in it. Entering the pack again,
we found the floes much lighter and again pushed on slowly. In all
we may have made as much as three miles.

I have observed for some time some floes of immense area forming a
chain of lakes in this pack, and have been most anxious to discover
their thickness. They are most certainly the result of the freezing
of comparatively recent pools in the winter pack, and it follows
that they must be getting weaker day by day. If one could be certain
firstly, that these big areas extend to the south, and, secondly,
that the ship could go through them, it would be worth getting up
steam. We have arrived at the edge of one of these floes, and the
ship will not go through under sail, but I'm sure she would do so
under steam. Is this a typical floe? And are there more ahead?

One of the ponies got down this afternoon--Oates thinks it was probably
asleep and fell, but the incident is alarming; the animals are not
too strong. On this account this delay is harassing--otherwise we
should not have much to regret.

_Saturday, December_ 17.--67° 24'. 177° 34'. Drift for 48 hours S. 82
E. 9.7'. It rained hard and the glass fell rapidly last night with
every sign of a coming gale. This morning the wind increased to force
6 from the west with snow. At noon the barograph curve turned up and
the wind moderated, the sky gradually clearing.

To-night it is fairly bright and clear; there is a light south-westerly
wind. It seems rather as though the great gales of the Westerlies must
begin in these latitudes with such mild disturbances as we have just
experienced. I think it is the first time I have known rain beyond
the Antarctic circle--it is interesting to speculate on its effect
in melting the floes.

We have scarcely moved all day, but bergs which have become quite
old friends through the week are on the move, and one has approached
and almost circled us. Evidently these bergs are moving about in an
irregular fashion, only they must have all travelled a little east in
the forty-eight hours as we have done. Another interesting observation
to-night is that of the slow passage of a stream of old heavy floes
past the ship and the lighter ice in which she is held.

There are signs of water sky to the south, and I'm impatient to
be off, but still one feels that waiting may be good policy, and I
should certainly contemplate waiting some time longer if it weren't
for the ponies.

Everyone is wonderfully cheerful; there is laughter all day
long. Nelson finished his series of temperatures and samples to-day
with an observation at 1800 metres.


        Series of Sea Temperatures

                   Depth
                  Metres            Temp. (uncorrected)

        Dec. 14        0            -1.67
          ,,          10            -1.84
          ,,          20            -1.86
          ,,          30            -1.89
          ,,          50            -1.92
          ,,          75            -1.93
          ,,         100            -1.80
          ,,         125            -1.11
          ,,         150            -0.63
          ,,         200             0.24
          ,,         500             1.18
          ,,        1500             0.935
        Dec. 17     1800             0.61
          ,,        2300             0.48
        Dec. 15     2800             0.28
          ,,        3220             0.11
          ,,        3650            -0.13 no sample
          ,,        3891             bottom
        Dec. 20     2300 (1260 fms.) 0.48° C.
          ,,        3220 (1760 fms.) 0.11° C.
          ,,        3300             bottom


A curious point is that the bottom layer is 2 tenths higher on the
20th, remaining in accord with the same depth on the 15th.

_Sunday, December_ 18.--In the night it fell calm and the floes
opened out. There is more open water between the floes around us,
yet not a great deal more.

In general what we have observed on the opening of the pack means a
very small increase in the open water spaces, but enough to convey
the impression that the floes, instead of wishing to rub shoulders
and grind against one another, desire to be apart. They touch lightly
where they touch at all--such a condition makes much difference to
the ship in attempts to force her through, as each floe is freer to
move on being struck.

If a pack be taken as an area bounded by open water, it is evident
that a small increase of the periphery or a small outward movement
of the floes will add much to the open water spaces and create a
general freedom.

The opening of this pack was reported at 3 A.M., and orders were given
to raise steam. The die is cast, and we must now make a determined
push for the open southern sea.

There is a considerable swell from the N.W.; it should help us to
get along.

_Evening_.--Again extraordinary differences of fortune. At first
things looked very bad--it took nearly half an hour to get started,
much more than an hour to work away to one of the large area floes to
which I have referred; then to my horror the ship refused to look at
it. Again by hard fighting we worked away to a crack running across
this sheet, and to get through this crack required many stoppages
and engine reversals.

Then we had to shoot away south to avoid another unbroken floe of
large area, but after we had rounded this things became easier; from 6
o'clock we were almost able to keep a steady course, only occasionally
hung up by some thicker floe. The rest of the ice was fairly recent
and easily broken. At 7 the leads of recent ice became easier still,
and at 8 we entered a long lane of open water. For a time we almost
thought we had come to the end of our troubles, and there was much
jubilation. But, alas! at the end of the lead we have come again to
heavy bay ice. It is undoubtedly this mixture of bay ice which causes
the open leads, and I cannot but think that this is the King Edward's
Land pack. We are making S.W. as best we can.

What an exasperating game this is!--one cannot tell what is going
to happen in the next half or even quarter of an hour. At one moment
everything looks flourishing, the next one begins to doubt if it is
possible to get through.

_New Fish_.--Just at the end of the open lead to-night we capsized
a small floe and thereby jerked a fish out on top of another one. We
stopped and picked it up, finding it a beautiful silver grey, genus
_Notothenia_--I think a new species.

Snow squalls have been passing at intervals--the wind continues in
the N.W. It is comparatively warm.

We saw the first full-grown Emperor penguin to-night.

_Monday, December_ 19.--On the whole, in spite of many bumps, we made
good progress during the night, but the morning (present) outlook is
the worst we've had. We seem to be in the midst of a terribly heavy
screwed pack; it stretches in all directions as far as the eye can see,
and the prospects are alarming from all points of view. I have decided
to push west--anything to get out of these terribly heavy floes. Great
patience is the only panacea for our ill case. It is bad luck.

We first got amongst the very thick floes at 1 A.M., and jammed
through some of the most monstrous I have ever seen. The pressure
ridges rose 24 feet above the surface--the ice must have extended
at least 30 feet below. The blows given us gave the impression of
irresistible solidity. Later in the night we passed out of this into
long lanes of water and some of thin brash ice, hence the progress
made. I'm afraid we have strained our rudder; it is stiff in one
direction. We are in difficult circumstances altogether. This morning
we have brilliant sunshine and no wind.

Noon 67° 54.5' S., 178° 28' W. Made good S. 34 W. 37'; C. Crozier
606'. Fog has spread up from the south with a very light southerly
breeze.

There has been another change of conditions, but I scarcely know
whether to call it for the better or the worse. There are fewer heavy
old floes; on the other hand, the one year's floes, tremendously
screwed and doubtless including old floes in their mass, have now
enormously increased in area.

A floe which we have just passed must have been a mile across--this
argues lack of swell and from that one might judge the open water to be
very far. We made progress in a fairly good direction this morning,
but the outlook is bad again--the ice seems to be closing. Again
patience, we must go on steadily working through.

5.30.--We passed two immense bergs in the afternoon watch, the first
of an irregular tabular form. The stratified surface had clearly
faulted. I suggest that an uneven bottom to such a berg giving unequal
buoyancy to parts causes this faulting. The second berg was domed,
having a twin peak. These bergs are still a puzzle. I rather cling
to my original idea that they become domed when stranded and isolated.

These two bergs had left long tracks of open water in the pack. We came
through these making nearly 3 knots, but, alas! only in a direction
which carried us a little east of south. It was difficult to get from
one tract to another, but the tracts themselves were quite clear of
ice. I noticed with rather a sinking that the floes on either side
of us were assuming gigantic areas; one or two could not have been
less than 2 or 3 miles across. It seemed to point to very distant
open water.

But an observation which gave greater satisfaction was a steady
reduction in the thickness of the floes. At first they were still much
pressed up and screwed. One saw lines and heaps of pressure dotted over
the surface of the larger floes, but it was evident from the upturned
slopes that the floes had been thin when these disturbances took place.

At about 4.30 we came to a group of six or seven low tabular
bergs some 15 or 20 feet in height. It was such as these that we
saw in King Edward's Land, and they might very well come from that
region. Three of these were beautifully uniform, with flat tops and
straight perpendicular sides, and others had overhanging cornices,
and some sloped towards the edges.

No more open water was reported on the other side of the bergs,
and one wondered what would come next. The conditions have proved a
pleasing surprise. There are still large floes on either side of us,
but they are not much hummocked; there are pools of water on their
surface, and the lanes between are filled with light brash and only an
occasional heavy floe. The difference is wonderful. The heavy floes and
gigantic pressure ice struck one most alarmingly--it seemed impossible
that the ship could win her way through them, and led one to imagine
all sorts of possibilities, such as remaining to be drifted north
and freed later in the season, and the contrast now that the ice all
around is little more than 2 or 3 feet thick is an immense relief. It
seems like release from a horrid captivity. Evans has twice suggested
stopping and waiting to-day, and on three occasions I have felt my
own decision trembling in the balance. If this condition holds I need
not say how glad we shall be that we doggedly pushed on in spite of
the apparently hopeless outlook.

In any case, if it holds or not, it will be a great relief to feel
that there is this plain of negotiable ice behind one.

Saw two sea leopards this evening, one in the water making short,
lazy dives under the floes. It had a beautiful sinuous movement.

I have asked Pennell to prepare a map of the pack; it ought to give
some idea of the origin of the various forms of floes, and their
general drift. I am much inclined to think that most of the pressure
ridges are formed by the passage of bergs through the comparatively
young ice. I imagine that when the sea freezes very solid it carries
bergs with it, but obviously the enormous mass of a berg would need
a great deal of stopping. In support of this view I notice that
most of the pressure ridges are formed by pieces of a sheet which
did not exceed one or two feet in thickness--also it seems that the
screwed ice which we have passed has occurred mostly in the regions
of bergs. On one side of the tabular berg passed yesterday pressure
was heaped to a height of 15 feet--it was like a ship's bow wave on a
large scale. Yesterday there were many bergs and much pressure; last
night no bergs and practically no pressure; this morning few bergs
and comparatively little pressure. It goes to show that the unconfined
pack of these seas would not be likely to give a ship a severe squeeze.

Saw a young Emperor this morning, and whilst trying to capture it
one of Wilson's new whales with the sabre dorsal fin rose close to
the ship. I estimated this fin to be 4 feet high.

It is pretty to see the snow petrel and Antarctic petrel diving
on to the upturned and flooded floes. The wash of water sweeps the
Euphausia [3] across such submerged ice. The Antarctic petrel has a
pretty crouching attitude.


    Notes On Nicknames

    Evans           Teddy
    Wilson          Bill, Uncle Bill, Uncle
    Simpson         Sunny Jim
    Ponting         Ponco
    Meares
    Day
    Campbell        The Mate, Mr. Mate
    Pennell         Penelope

    Rennick         Parnie
    Bowers          Birdie
    Taylor          Griff and Keir Hardy
    Nelson          Marie and Bronte
    Gran
    Cherry-Garrard  Cherry
    Wright          Silas, Toronto
    Priestley       Raymond
    Debenham        Deb
    Bruce
    Drake           Francis
    Atkinson        Jane, Helmin, Atchison
    Oates           Titus, Soldier, 'Farmer Hayseed' (by Bowers)
    Levick          Toffarino, the Old Sport
    Lillie          Lithley, Hercules, Lithi_6_


_Tuesday, December_ 20.--Noon 68° 41' S., 179° 28' W. Made good S. 36
W. 58; C. Crozier S. 20 W. 563'.--The good conditions held up to
midnight last night; we went from lead to lead with only occasional
small difficulties. At 9 o'clock we passed along the western edge of
a big stream of very heavy bay ice--such ice as would come out late
in the season from the inner reaches and bays of Victoria Sound,
where the snows drift deeply. For a moment one imagined a return to
our bad conditions, but we passed this heavy stuff in an hour and
came again to the former condition, making our way in leads between
floes of great area.

Bowers reported a floe of 12 square miles in the middle watch. We
made very fair progress during the night, and an excellent run in the
morning watch. Before eight a moderate breeze sprang up from the west
and the ice began to close. We have worked our way a mile or two on
since, but with much difficulty, so that we have now decided to bank
fires and wait for the ice to open again; meanwhile we shall sound
and get a haul with tow nets. I'm afraid we are still a long way from
the open water; the floes are large, and where we have stopped they
seem to be such as must have been formed early last winter. The signs
of pressure have increased again. Bergs were very scarce last night,
but there are several around us to-day. One has a number of big humps
on top. It is curious to think how these big blocks became perched so
high. I imagine the berg must have been calved from a region of hard
pressure ridges. [Later] This is a mistake--on closer inspection it
is quite clear that the berg has tilted and that a great part of the
upper strata, probably 20 feet deep, has slipped off, leaving the
humps as islands on top.

It looks as though we must exercise patience again; progress is more
difficult than in the worst of our experiences yesterday, but the
outlook is very much brighter. This morning there were many dark
shades of open water sky to the south; the westerly wind ruffling
the water makes these cloud shadows very dark.

The barometer has been very steady for several days and we ought to
have fine weather: this morning a lot of low cloud came from the
S.W., at one time low enough to become fog--the clouds are rising
and dissipating, and we have almost a clear blue sky with sunshine.

_Evening_.--The wind has gone from west to W.S.W. and still blows
nearly force 6. We are lying very comfortably alongside a floe with
open water to windward for 200 or 300 yards. The sky has been clear
most of the day, fragments of low stratus occasionally hurry across
the sky and a light cirrus is moving with some speed. Evidently it
is blowing hard in the upper current. The ice has closed--I trust it
will open well when the wind lets up. There is a lot of open water
behind us. The berg described this morning has been circling round
us, passing within 800 yards; the bearing and distance have altered
so un-uniformly that it is evident that the differential movement
between the surface water and the berg-driving layers (from 100 to
200 metres down) is very irregular. We had several hours on the floe
practising ski running, and thus got some welcome exercise. Coal is
now the great anxiety--we are making terrible inroads on our supply--we
have come 240 miles since we first entered the pack streams.

The sounding to-day gave 1804 fathoms--the water bottle didn't work,
but temperatures were got at 1300 and bottom.

The temperature was down to 20° last night and kept 2 or 3 degrees
below freezing all day.

The surface for ski-ing to-day was very good.

_Wednesday, December_ 21.--The wind was still strong this morning,
but had shifted to the south-west. With an overcast sky it was very
cold and raw. The sun is now peeping through, the wind lessening and
the weather conditions generally improving. During the night we had
been drifting towards two large bergs, and about breakfast time we
were becoming uncomfortably close to one of them--the big floes were
binding down on one another, but there seemed to be open water to
the S.E., if we could work out in that direction.

(_Note_.--All directions of wind are given 'true' in this book.)

_Noon Position_.--68° 25' S., 179° 11' W. Made good S. 26 E. 2.5'. Set
of current N., 32 E. 9.4'. Made good 24 hours--N. 40 E. 8'. We got the
steam up and about 9 A.M. commenced to push through. Once or twice
we have spent nearly twenty minutes pushing through bad places, but
it looks as though we are getting to easier water. It's distressing
to have the pack so tight, and the bergs make it impossible to lie
comfortably still for any length of time.

Ponting has made some beautiful photographs and Wilson some charming
pictures of the pack and bergs; certainly our voyage will be well
illustrated. We find quite a lot of sketching talent. Day, Taylor,
Debenham, and Wright all contribute to the elaborate record of the
bergs and ice features met with.

5 P.M.--The wind has settled to a moderate gale from S.W. We went
2 1/2 miles this morning, then became jammed again. The effort has
taken us well clear of the threatening bergs. Some others to leeward
now are a long way off, but they _are_ there and to leeward, robbing
our position of its full measure of security. Oh! but it's mighty
trying to be delayed and delayed like this, and coal going all the
time--also we are drifting N. and E.--the pack has carried us 9'
N. and 6' E. It really is very distressing. I don't like letting
fires go out with these bergs about.

Wilson went over the floe to capture some penguins and lay flat on the
surface. We saw the birds run up to him, then turn within a few feet
and rush away again. He says that they came towards him when he was
singing, and ran away again when he stopped. They were all one year
birds, and seemed exceptionally shy; they appear to be attracted to
the ship by a fearful curiosity._7_

A chain of bergs must form a great obstruction to a field of pack ice,
largely preventing its drift and forming lanes of open water. Taken
in conjunction with the effect of bergs in forming pressure ridges,
it follows that bergs have a great influence on the movement as well
as the nature of pack.

_Thursday, December_ 22.--Noon 68° 26' 2'' S., 197° 8' 5'' W. Sit. N. 5
E. 8.5'.--No change. The wind still steady from the S.W., with a
clear sky and even barometer. It looks as though it might last any
time. This is sheer bad luck. We have let the fires die out; there
are bergs to leeward and we must take our chance of clearing them--we
cannot go on wasting coal.

There is not a vestige of swell, and with the wind in this direction
there certainly ought to be if the open water was reasonably close. No,
it looks as though we'd struck a streak of real bad luck; that
fortune has determined to put every difficulty in our path. We have
less than 300 tons of coal left in a ship that simply eats coal. It's
alarming--and then there are the ponies going steadily down hill in
condition. The only encouragement is the persistence of open water to
the east and south-east to south; big lanes of open water can be seen
in that position, but we cannot get to them in this pressed up pack.

Atkinson has discovered a new tapeworm in the intestines of the Adélie
penguin--a very tiny worm one-eighth of an inch in length with a
propeller-shaped head.

A crumb of comfort comes on finding that we have not drifted to the
eastward appreciably.

_Friday, December_ 23.--The wind fell light at about ten last night
and the ship swung round. Sail was set on the fore, and she pushed a
few hundred yards to the north, but soon became jammed again. This
brought us dead to windward of and close to a large berg with the
wind steadily increasing. Not a very pleasant position, but also
not one that caused much alarm. We set all sail, and with this help
the ship slowly carried the pack round, pivoting on the berg until,
as the pressure relieved, she slid out into the open water close
to the berg. Here it was possible to 'wear ship,' and we saw a fair
prospect of getting away to the east and afterwards south. Following
the leads up we made excellent progress during the morning watch,
and early in the forenoon turned south, and then south-west.

We had made 8 1/2' S. 22 E. and about 5' S.S.W. by 1 P.M., and could
see a long lead of water to the south, cut off only by a broad strip
of floe with many water holes in it: a composite floe. There was just
a chance of getting through, but we have stuck half-way, advance and
retreat equally impossible under sail alone. Steam has been ordered
but will not be ready till near midnight. Shall we be out of the pack
by Christmas Eve?

The floes to-day have been larger but thin and very sodden. There
are extensive water pools showing in patches on the surface, and one
notes some that run in line as though extending from cracks; also here
and there close water-free cracks can be seen. Such floes might well
be termed '_composite_' floes, since they evidently consist of old
floes which have been frozen together--the junction being concealed
by more recent snow falls.

A month ago it would probably have been difficult to detect
inequalities or differences in the nature of the parts of the floes,
but now the younger ice has become waterlogged and is melting rapidly,
hence the pools.

I am inclined to think that nearly all the large floes as well as
many of the smaller ones are 'composite,' and this would seem to show
that the cementing of two floes does not necessarily mean a line of
weakness, provided the difference in the thickness of the cemented
floes is not too great; of course, young ice or even a single season's
sea ice cannot become firmly attached to the thick old bay floes,
and hence one finds these isolated even at this season of the year.

Very little can happen in the personal affairs of our company in this
comparatively dull time, but it is good to see the steady progress
that proceeds unconsciously in cementing the happy relationship that
exists between the members of the party. Never could there have been
a greater freedom from quarrels and trouble of all sorts. I have
not heard a harsh word or seen a black look. A spirit of tolerance
and good humour pervades the whole community, and it is glorious to
realise that men can live under conditions of hardship, monotony,
and danger in such bountiful good comradeship.

Preparations are now being made for Christmas festivities. It is
curious to think that we have already passed the longest day in the
southern year.

Saw a whale this morning--estimated 25 to 30 feet. Wilson thinks a
new species. Find Adélie penguins in batches of twenty or so. Do not
remember having seen so many together in the pack.

_After midnight, December_ 23.--Steam was reported ready at 11
P.M. After some pushing to and fro we wriggled out of our ice prison
and followed a lead to opener waters.

We have come into a region where the open water exceeds the ice; the
former lies in great irregular pools 3 or 4 miles or more across and
connecting with many leads. The latter, and the fact is puzzling, still
contain floes of enormous dimensions; we have just passed one which
is at least 2 miles in diameter. In such a scattered sea we cannot
go direct, but often have to make longish detours; but on the whole
in calm water and with a favouring wind we make good progress. With
the sea even as open as we find it here it is astonishing to find the
floes so large, and clearly there cannot be a southerly swell. The
floes have water pools as described this afternoon, and none average
more than 2 feet in thickness. We have two or three bergs in sight.

_Saturday, December 24, Christmas Eve_.--69° 1' S., 178° 29' W. S. 22
E. 29'; C. Crozier 551'. Alas! alas! at 7 A.M. this morning we were
brought up with a solid sheet of pack extending in all directions,
save that from which we had come. I must honestly own that I turned
in at three thinking we had come to the end of our troubles; I had
a suspicion of anxiety when I thought of the size of the floes, but
I didn't for a moment suspect we should get into thick pack again
behind those great sheets of open water.

All went well till four, when the white wall again appeared ahead--at
five all leads ended and we entered the pack; at seven we were close
up to an immense composite floe, about as big as any we've seen. She
wouldn't skirt the edge of this and she wouldn't go through it. There
was nothing to do but to stop and bank fires. How do we stand?--Any
day or hour the floes may open up, leaving a road to further open
water to the south, but there is no guarantee that one would not be
hung up again and again in this manner as long as these great floes
exist. In a fortnight's time the floes will have crumbled somewhat,
and in many places the ship will be able to penetrate them.

What to do under these circumstances calls for the most difficult
decision.

If one lets fires out it means a dead loss of over 2 tons, when the
boiler has to be heated again. But this 2 tons would only cover a day
under banked fires, so that for anything longer than twenty-four hours
it is economy to put the fires out. At each stoppage one is called upon
to decide whether it is to be for more or less than twenty-four hours.

Last night we got some five or six hours of good going ahead--but it
has to be remembered that this costs 2 tons of coal in addition to
that expended in doing the distance.

If one waits one probably drifts north--in all other respects
conditions ought to be improving, except that the southern edge of
the pack will be steadly augmenting.


    Rough Summary of Current in Pack

    Dec.    Current                     Wind

    11-12   S. 48 E. 12'?               N. by W. 3 to 5
    13-14   N. 20 W. 2'                 N.W. by W. 0-2
    14-15   N. 2 E. 5.2'                S.W. 1-2
    15-17   apparently little current   variable light
    20-21   N. 32 E. 9.4                N.W. to W.S.W. 4 to 6
    21-22   N. 5 E. 8.5                 West 4 to 5


The above seems to show that the drift is generally with the wind. We
have had a predominance of westerly winds in a region where a
predominance of easterly might be expected.

Now that we have an easterly, what will be the result?

_Sunday, December_ 25, _Christmas Day_.--Dead reckoning 69° 5'
S., 178° 30' E. The night before last I had bright hopes that this
Christmas Day would see us in open water. The scene is altogether
too Christmassy. Ice surrounds us, low nimbus clouds intermittently
discharging light snow flakes obscure the sky, here and there small
pools of open water throw shafts of black shadow on to the cloud--this
black predominates in the direction from whence we have come, elsewhere
the white haze of ice blink is pervading.

We are captured. We do practically nothing under sail to push
through, and could do little under steam, and at each step forward
the possibility of advance seems to lessen.

The wind which has persisted from the west for so long fell light
last night, and to-day comes from the N.E. by N., a steady breeze
from 2 to 3 in force. Since one must have hope, ours is pinned to
the possible effect of a continuance of easterly wind. Again the
call is for patience and again patience. Here at least we seem to
enjoy full security. The ice is so thin that it could not hurt by
pressure--there are no bergs within reasonable distance--indeed the
thinness of the ice is one of the most tantalising conditions. In
spite of the unpropitious prospect everyone on board is cheerful and
one foresees a merry dinner to-night.

The mess is gaily decorated with our various banners. There was full
attendance at the Service this morning and a lusty singing of hymns.

Should we now try to go east or west?

I have been trying to go west because the majority of tracks lie that
side and no one has encountered such hard conditions as ours--otherwise
there is nothing to point to this direction, and all through the last
week the prospect to the west has seemed less promising than in other
directions; in spite of orders to steer to the S.W. when possible it
has been impossible to push in that direction.

An event of Christmas was the production of a family by Crean's
rabbit. She gave birth to 17, it is said, and Crean has given away 22!

I don't know what will become of the parent or family; at present
they are warm and snug enough, tucked away in the fodder under the
forecastle.

_Midnight_.--To-night the air is thick with falling snow; the
temperature 28°. It is cold and slushy without.

A merry evening has just concluded. We had an excellent dinner: tomato
soup, penguin breast stewed as an entrée, roast beef, plum-pudding,
and mince pies, asparagus, champagne, port and liqueurs--a festive
menu. Dinner began at 6 and ended at 7. For five hours the company
has been sitting round the table singing lustily; we haven't much
talent, but everyone has contributed more or less, 'and the choruses
are deafening. It is rather a surprising circumstance that such an
unmusical party should be so keen on singing. On Xmas night it was
kept up till 1 A.M., and no work is done without a chanty. I don't
know if you have ever heard sea chanties being sung. The merchant
sailors have quite a repertoire, and invariably call on it when
getting up anchor or hoisting sails. Often as not they are sung in
a flat and throaty style, but the effect when a number of men break
into the chorus is generally inspiriting.'

The men had dinner at midday--much the same fare, but with beer
and some whisky to drink. They seem to have enjoyed themselves
much. Evidently the men's deck contains a very merry band.

There are three groups of penguins roosting on the floes quite close
to the ship. I made the total number of birds 39. We could easily
capture these birds, and so it is evident that food can always be
obtained in the pack.

To-night I noticed a skua gull settle on an upturned block of ice at
the edge of the floe on which several penguins were preparing for
rest. It is a fact that the latter held a noisy confabulation with
the skua as subject--then they advanced as a body towards it; within a
few paces the foremost penguin halted and turned, and then the others
pushed him on towards the skua. One after another they jibbed at being
first to approach their enemy, and it was only with much chattering
and mutual support that they gradually edged towards him.

They couldn't reach him as he was perched on a block, but when they
got quite close the skua, who up to that time had appeared quite
unconcerned, flapped away a few yards and settled close on the other
side of the group of penguins. The latter turned and repeated their
former tactics until the skua finally flapped away altogether. It
really was extraordinarily interesting to watch the timorous protesting
movements of the penguins. The frame of mind producing every action
could be so easily imagined and put into human sentiments.

On the other side of the ship part of another group of penguins
were quarrelling for the possession of a small pressure block which
offered only the most insecure foothold. The scrambling antics to
secure the point of vantage, the ousting of the bird in possession,
and the incontinent loss of balance and position as each bird reached
the summit of his ambition was almost as entertaining as the episode
of the skua. Truly these little creatures afford much amusement.

_Monday, December 26_.--Obs. 69° 9' S., 178° 13' W. Made good 48 hours,
S. 35 E. 10'.--The position to-night is very cheerless. All hope
that this easterly wind will open the pack seems to have vanished. We
are surrounded with compacted floes of immense area. Openings appear
between these floes and we slide crab-like from one to another with
long delays between. It is difficult to keep hope alive. There are
streaks of water sky over open leads to the north, but everywhere to
the south we have the uniform white sky. The day has been overcast
and the wind force 3 to 5 from the E.N.E.--snow has fallen from time
to time. There could scarcely be a more dreary prospect for the eye
to rest upon.

As I lay in my bunk last night I seemed to note a measured crush on
the brash ice, and to-day first it was reported that the floes had
become smaller, and then we seemed to note a sort of measured send
alongside the ship. There may be a long low swell, but it is not
helping us apparently; to-night the floes around are indisputably
as large as ever and I see little sign of their breaking or becoming
less tightly locked.

It is a very, very trying time.

We have managed to make 2 or 3 miles in a S.W. (?) direction under
sail by alternately throwing her aback, then filling sail and pressing
through the narrow leads; probably this will scarcely make up for our
drift. It's all very disheartening. The bright side is that everyone
is prepared to exert himself to the utmost--however poor the result
of our labours may show.

Rennick got a sounding again to-day, 1843 fathoms.

One is much struck by our inability to find a cause for the periodic
opening and closing of the floes. One wonders whether there is a reason
to be found in tidal movement. In general, however, it seems to show
that our conditions are governed by remote causes. Somewhere well
north or south of us the wind may be blowing in some other direction,
tending to press up or release pressure; then again such sheets of open
water as those through which we passed to the north afford space into
which bodies of pack can be pushed. The exasperating uncertainty of
one's mind in such captivity is due to ignorance of its cause and
inability to predict the effect of changes of wind. One can only
vaguely comprehend that things are happening far beyond our horizon
which directly affect our situation.

_Tuesday, December_ 27.--Dead reckoning 69° 12' S., 178° 18' W. We
made nearly 2 miles in the first watch--half push, half drift. Then
the ship was again held up. In the middle the ice was close around,
even pressing on us, and we didn't move a yard. The wind steadily
increased and has been blowing a moderate gale, shifting in direction
to E.S.E. We are reduced to lower topsails.

In the morning watch we began to move again, the ice opening out with
the usual astonishing absence of reason. We have made a mile or two in
a westerly direction in the same manner as yesterday. The floes seem
a little smaller, but our outlook is very limited; there is a thick
haze, and the only fact that can be known is that there are pools of
water at intervals for a mile or two in the direction in which we go.

We commence to move between two floes, make 200 or 300 yards, and
are then brought up bows on to a large lump. This may mean a wait
of anything from ten minutes to half an hour, whilst the ship swings
round, falls away, and drifts to leeward. When clear she forges ahead
again and the operation is repeated. Occasionally when she can get
a little way on she cracks the obstacle and slowly passes through
it. There is a distinct swell--very long, very low. I counted the
period as about nine seconds. Everyone says the ice is breaking up. I
have not seen any distinct evidence myself, but Wilson saw a large
floe which had recently cracked into four pieces in such a position
that the ship could not have caused it. The breaking up of the big
floes is certainly a hopeful sign.

'I have written quite a lot about the pack ice when under ordinary
conditions I should have passed it with few words. But you will
scarcely be surprised when I tell you what an obstacle we have found
it on this occasion.'

I was thinking during the gale last night that our position might
be a great deal worse than it is. We were lying amongst the floes
perfectly peacefully whilst the wind howled through the rigging. One
felt quite free from anxiety as to the ship, the sails, the bergs
or ice pressures. One calmly went below and slept in the greatest
comfort. One thought of the ponies, but after all, horses have been
carried for all time in small ships, and often enough for very long
voyages. The Eastern Party [4] will certainly benefit by any delay
we may make; for them the later they get to King Edward's Land the
better. The depot journey of the Western Party will be curtailed,
but even so if we can get landed in January there should be time for
a good deal of work. One must confess that things might be a great
deal worse and there would be little to disturb one if one's release
was certain, say in a week's time.

I'm afraid the ice-house is not going on so well as it might. There is
some mould on the mutton and the beef is tainted. There is a distinct
smell. The house has been opened by order when the temperature has
fallen below 28°. I thought the effect would be to 'harden up' the
meat, but apparently we need air circulation. When the temperature
goes down to-night we shall probably take the beef out of the house
and put a wind sail in to clear the atmosphere. If this does not
improve matters we must hang more carcasses in the rigging.

_Later_, 6 P.M.--The wind has backed from S.E. to E.S.E. and the
swell is going down--this seems to argue open water in the first but
not in the second direction and that the course we pursue is a good
one on the whole.

The sky is clearing but the wind still gusty, force 4 to 7; the ice
has frozen a little and we've made no progress since noon.

9 P.M.--One of the ponies went down to-night. He has been down
before. It may mean nothing; on the other hand it is not a circumstance
of good omen.

Otherwise there is nothing further to record, and I close this volume
of my Journal under circumstances which cannot be considered cheerful.


A FRESH MS. BOOK. 1910-11.

[_On the Flyleaf_]


    'And in regions far
    Such heroes bring ye forth
        As those from whom we came
        And plant our name
        Under that star
    Not known unto our North.'

            'To the Virginian Voyage.'

                                      DRAYTON.

'But be the workemen what they may be, let us speake of the worke;
that is, the true greatnesse of Kingdom and estates; and the meanes
thereof.'

BACON.


Still in the Ice

_Wednesday, December 28, 1910_.--Obs. Noon, 69° 17' S., 179° 42'
W. Made good since 26th S. 74 W. 31'; C. Crozier S. 22 W. 530'. The
gale has abated. The sky began to clear in the middle watch;
now we have bright, cheerful, warm sunshine (temp. 28°). The wind
lulled in the middle watch and has fallen to force 2 to 3. We made
1 1/2 miles in the middle and have added nearly a mile since. This
movement has brought us amongst floes of decidedly smaller area and
the pack has loosened considerably. A visit to the crow's nest shows
great improvement in the conditions. There is ice on all sides, but a
large percentage of the floes is quite thin and even the heavier ice
appears breakable. It is only possible to be certain of conditions
for three miles or so--the limit of observation from the crow's nest;
but as far as this limit there is no doubt the ship could work through
with ease. Beyond there are vague signs of open water in the southern
sky. We have pushed and drifted south and west during the gale and
are now near the 180th meridian again. It seems impossible that we
can be far from the southern limit of the pack.

On strength of these observations we have decided to raise steam. I
trust this effort will carry us through.

The pony which fell last night has now been brought out into the
open. The poor beast is in a miserable condition, very thin, very weak
on the hind legs, and suffering from a most irritating skin affection
which is causing its hair to fall out in great quantities. I think
a day or so in the open will help matters; one or two of the other
ponies under the forecastle are also in poor condition, but none
so bad as this one. Oates is unremitting in his attention and care
of the animals, but I don't think he quite realises that whilst in
the pack the ship must remain steady and that, therefore, a certain
limited scope for movement and exercise is afforded by the open deck
on which the sick animal now stands.

If we can get through the ice in the coming effort we may get all the
ponies through safely, but there would be no great cause for surprise
if we lost two or three more.

These animals are now the great consideration, balanced as they are
against the coal expenditure.

This morning a number of penguins were diving for food around and
under the ship. It is the first time they have come so close to the
ship in the pack, and there can be little doubt that the absence of
motion of the propeller has made them bold.

The Adélie penguin on land or ice is almost wholly ludicrous. Whether
sleeping, quarrelling, or playing, whether curious, frightened, or
angry, its interest is continuously humorous, but the Adélie penguin
in the water is another thing; as it darts to and fro a fathom or two
below the surface, as it leaps porpoise-like into the air or swims
skimmingly over the rippling surface of a pool, it excites nothing
but admiration. Its speed probably appears greater than it is, but
the ability to twist and turn and the general control of movement is
both beautiful and wonderful.

As one looks across the barren stretches of the pack, it is sometimes
difficult to realise what teeming life exists immediately beneath
its surface.

A tow-net is filled with diatoms in a very short space of time,
showing that the floating plant life is many times richer than that
of temperate or tropic seas. These diatoms mostly consist of three
or four well-known species. Feeding on these diatoms are countless
thousands of small shrimps (_Euphausia_); they can be seen swimming at
the edge of every floe and washing about on the overturned pieces. In
turn they afford food for creatures great and small: the crab-eater
or white seal, the penguins, the Antarctic and snowy petrel, and an
unknown number of fish.

These fish must be plentiful, as shown by our capture of one on an
overturned floe and the report of several seen two days ago by some men
leaning over the counter of the ship. These all exclaimed together,
and on inquiry all agreed that they had seen half a dozen or more a
foot or so in length swimming away under a floe. Seals and penguins
capture these fish, as also, doubtless, the skuas and the petrels.

Coming to the larger mammals, one occasionally sees the long lithe
sea leopard, formidably armed with ferocious teeth and doubtless
containing a penguin or two and perhaps a young crab-eating seal. The
killer whale (_Orca gladiator_), unappeasably voracious, devouring
or attempting to devour every smaller animal, is less common in the
pack but numerous on the coasts. Finally, we have the great browsing
whales of various species, from the vast blue whale (_Balænoptera
Sibbaldi_), the largest mammal of all time, to the smaller and less
common bottle-nose and such species as have not yet been named. Great
numbers of these huge animals are seen, and one realises what a demand
they must make on their food supply and therefore how immense a supply
of small sea beasts these seas must contain. Beneath the placid ice
floes and under the calm water pools the old universal warfare is
raging incessantly in the struggle for existence.

Both morning and afternoon we have had brilliant sunshine, and
this afternoon all the after-guard lay about on the deck sunning
themselves. A happy, care-free group.

10 P.M.--We made our start at eight, and so far things look well. We
have found the ice comparatively thin, the floes 2 to 3 feet in
thickness except where hummocked; amongst them are large sheets from
6 inches to 1 foot in thickness as well as fairly numerous water
pools. The ship has pushed on well, covering at least 3 miles an hour,
though occasionally almost stopped by a group of hummocked floes. The
sky is overcast: stratus clouds come over from the N.N.E. with wind in
the same direction soon after we started. This may be an advantage,
as the sails give great assistance and the officer of the watch has
an easier time when the sun is not shining directly in his eyes. As
I write the pack looks a little closer; I hope to heavens it is not
generally closing up again--no sign of open water to the south. Alas!

12 P.M.--Saw two sea leopards playing in the wake.

_Thursday, December_ 29.--No sights. At last the change for which
I have been so eagerly looking has arrived and we are steaming
amongst floes of small area evidently broken by swell, and with edges
abraded by contact. The transition was almost sudden. We made very
good progress during the night with one or two checks and one or two
slices of luck in the way of open water. In one pool we ran clear
for an hour, capturing 6 good miles.

This morning we were running through large continuous sheets of ice
from 6 inches to 1 foot in thickness, with occasional water holes and
groups of heavier floes. This forenoon it is the same tale, except
that the sheets of thin ice are broken into comparatively regular
figures, none more than 30 yards across. It is the hopefullest sign
of the approach to the open sea that I have seen.

The wind remains in the north helping us, the sky is overcast and
slight sleety drizzle is falling; the sun has made one or two attempts
to break through but without success.

Last night we had a good example of the phenomenon called 'Glazed
Frost.' The ship everywhere, on every fibre of rope as well as on her
more solid parts, was covered with a thin sheet of ice caused by a
fall of light super-cooled rain. The effect was pretty and interesting.

Our passage through the pack has been comparatively uninteresting
from the zoologist's point of view, as we have seen so little of
the rarer species of animals or of birds in exceptional plumage. We
passed dozens of crab-eaters, but have seen no Ross seals nor have we
been able to kill a sea leopard. To-day we see very few penguins. I'm
afraid there can be no observations to give us our position.


Release after Twenty Days in the Pack

_Friday, December_ 30.--Obs. 72° 17' S. 177° 9' E. Made good in
48 hours, S. 19 W. 190'; C. Crozier S. 21 W. 334'. We are out of
the pack at length and at last; one breathes again and hopes that
it will be possible to carry out the main part of our programme,
but the coal will need tender nursing.

Yesterday afternoon it became darkly overcast with falling snow. The
barometer fell on a very steep gradient and the wind increased to
force 6 from the E.N.E. In the evening the snow fell heavily and the
glass still galloped down. In any other part of the world one would
have felt certain of a coming gale. But here by experience we know
that the barometer gives little indication of wind.

Throughout the afternoon and evening the water holes became more
frequent and we came along at a fine speed. At the end of the first
watch we were passing through occasional streams of ice; the wind had
shifted to north and the barometer had ceased to fall. In the middle
watch the snow held up, and soon after--1 A.M.--Bowers steered through
the last ice stream.

At six this morning we were well in the open sea, the sky thick and
overcast with occasional patches of fog. We passed one small berg
on the starboard hand with a group of Antarctic petrels on one side
and a group of snow petrels on the other. It is evident that these
birds rely on sea and swell to cast their food up on ice ledges--only
a few find sustenance in the pack where, though food is plentiful,
it is not so easily come by. A flight of Antarctic petrel accompanied
the ship for some distance, wheeling to and fro about her rather than
following in the wake as do the more northerly sea birds.

It is [good] to escape from the captivity of the pack and to feel that
a few days will see us at Cape Crozier, but it is sad to remember
the terrible inroad which the fight of the last fortnight has made
on our coal supply.

2 P.M.--The wind failed in the forenoon. Sails were clewed up, and
at eleven we stopped to sound. The sounding showed 1111 fathoms--we
appear to be on the edge of the continental shelf. Nelson got some
samples and temperatures.

The sun is bursting through the misty sky and warming the air. The
snowstorm had covered the ropes with an icy sheet--this is now peeling
off and falling with a clatter to the deck, from which the moist slush
is rapidly evaporating. In a few hours the ship will be dry--much to
our satisfaction; it is very wretched when, as last night, there is
slippery wet snow underfoot and on every object one touches.

Our run has exceeded our reckoning by much. I feel confident that
our speed during the last two days had been greatly under-estimated
and so it has proved. We ought to be off C. Crozier on New Year's Day.

8 P.M.--Our calm soon came to an end, the breeze at 3 P.M. coming
strong from the S.S.W., dead in our teeth--a regular southern
blizzard. We are creeping along a bare 2 knots. I begin to wonder
if fortune will ever turn her wheel. On every possible occasion she
seems to have decided against us. Of course, the ponies are feeling
the motion as we pitch in a short, sharp sea--it's damnable for them
and disgusting for us.


Summary of the Pack

We may be said to have entered the pack at 4 P.M. on the 9th in
latitude 65 1/2 S. We left it at 1 A.M. on 30th in latitude 71 1/2
S. We have taken twenty days and some odd hours to get through, and
covered in a direct line over 370 miles--an average of 18 miles a
day. We entered the pack with 342 tons of coal and left with 281 tons;
we have, therefore, expended 61 tons in forcing our way through--an
average of 6 miles to the ton.

These are not pleasant figures to contemplate, but considering the
exceptional conditions experienced I suppose one must conclude that
things might have been worse.


     9th. Loose streams, steaming.
    10th. Close pack.
    11th. 6 A.M. close pack, stopped.
    12th. 11.30 A.M. started.
    13th. 8 A.M. heavy pack, stopped; 8 P.M. out fires.
    14th. Fires out.
    15th. ...
    16th. ...
    17th. ...
    18th. Noon, heavy pack and leads, steaming
    19th. Noon, heavy pack and leads, steaming.
    20th. Forenoon, banked fires.
    21st. 9 A.M. started. 11 A.M. banked.
    22nd.       ,,              ,,
    23rd. Midnight, started.
    24th. 7 A.M. stopped
    25th. Fires out.
    26th.  ,,   ,,
    27th.  ,,   ,,
    28th. 7.30 P.M. steaming.
    29th. Steaming.
    30th. Steaming.


These columns show that we were steaming for nine out of twenty
days. We had two long stops, one of _five_ days and one of _four and
a half_ days. On three other occasions we stopped for short intervals
without drawing fires.

I have asked Wright to plot the pack with certain symbols on the chart
made by Pennell. It promises to give a very graphic representation
of our experiences.

'We hold the record for reaching the northern edge of the pack,
whereas three or four times the open Ross Sea has been gained at an
earlier date.

'I can imagine few things more trying to the patience than the long
wasted days of waiting. Exasperating as it is to see the tons of
coal melting away with the smallest mileage to our credit, one has
at least the satisfaction of active fighting and the hope of better
fortune. To wait idly is the worst of conditions. You can imagine how
often and how restlessly we climbed to the crow's nest and studied
the outlook. And strangely enough there was generally some change to
note. A water lead would mysteriously open up a few miles away or the
place where it had been would as mysteriously close. Huge icebergs
crept silently towards or past us, and continually we were observing
these formidable objects with range finder and compass to determine
the relative movement, sometimes with misgiving as to our ability
to clear them. Under steam the change of conditions was even more
marked. Sometimes we would enter a lead of open water and proceed for
a mile or two without hindrance; sometimes we would come to big sheets
of thin ice which broke easily as our iron-shod prow struck them, and
sometimes even a thin sheet would resist all our attempts to break it;
sometimes we would push big floes with comparative ease and sometimes
a small floe would bar our passage with such obstinacy that one would
almost believe it possessed of an evil spirit; sometimes we passed
through acres of sludgy sodden ice which hissed as it swept along
the side, and sometimes the hissing ceased seemingly without rhyme
or reason, and we found our screw churning the sea without any effect.

'Thus the steaming days passed away in an ever changing environment
and are remembered as an unceasing struggle.

'The ship behaved splendidly--no other ship, not even the _Discovery_,
would have come through so well. Certainly the _Nimrod_ would never
have reached the south water had she been caught in such pack. As
a result I have grown strangely attached to the _Terra Nova_. As
she bumped the floes with mighty shocks, crushing and grinding a way
through some, twisting and turning to avoid others, she seemed like a
living thing fighting a great fight. If only she had more economical
engines she would be suitable in all respects.

'Once or twice we got among floes which stood 7 or 8 feet above water,
with hummocks and pinnacles as high as 25 feet. The ship could have
stood no chance had such floes pressed against her, and at first we
were a little alarmed in such situations. But familiarity breeds
contempt; there never was any pressure in the heavy ice, and I'm
inclined to think there never would be.

'The weather changed frequently during our journey through the
pack. The wind blew strong from the west and from the east; the
sky was often darkly overcast; we had snowstorms, flaky snow, and
even light rain. In all such circumstances we were better placed in
the pack than outside of it. The foulest weather could do us little
harm. During quite a large percentage of days, however, we had bright
sunshine, which, even with the temperature well below freezing,
made everything look bright and cheerful. The sun also brought us
wonderful cloud effects, marvellously delicate tints of sky, cloud,
and ice, such effects as one might travel far to see. In spite of our
impatience we would not willingly have missed many of the beautiful
scenes which our sojourn in the pack afforded us. Ponting and Wilson
have been busy catching these effects, but no art can reproduce such
colours as the deep blue of the icebergs.

'Scientifically we have been able to do something. We have managed to
get a line of soundings on our route showing the raising of the bottom
from the ocean depths to the shallow water on the continental shelf,
and the nature of the bottom. With these soundings we have obtained
many interesting observations of the temperature of different layers
of water in the sea.

'Then we have added a great deal to the knowledge of life in the pack
from observation of the whales, seals, penguins, birds, and fishes as
well as of the pelagic beasts which are caught in tow-nets. Life in
one form or another is very plentiful in the pack, and the struggle
for existence here as elsewhere is a fascinating subject for study.

'We have made a systematic study of the ice also, both the bergs and
sea ice, and have got a good deal of useful information concerning
it. Also Pennell has done a little magnetic work.

'But of course this slight list of activity in the cause of science is
a very poor showing for the time of our numerous experts; many have
had to be idle in regard to their own specialities, though none are
idle otherwise. All the scientific people keep night watch when they
have no special work to do, and I have never seen a party of men so
anxious to be doing work or so cheerful in doing it. When there is
anything to be done, such as making or shortening sail, digging ice
from floes for the water supply, or heaving up the sounding line, it
goes without saying that all the afterguard turn out to do it. There
is no hesitation and no distinction. It will be the same when it
comes to landing stores or doing any other hard manual labour.

'The spirit of the enterprise is as bright as ever. Every one strives
to help every one else, and not a word of complaint or anger has
been heard on board. The inner life of our small community is very
pleasant to think upon and very wonderful considering the extremely
small space in which we are confined.

'The attitude of the men is equally worthy of admiration. In the
forecastle as in the wardroom there is a rush to be first when work is
to be done, and the same desire to sacrifice selfish consideration to
the success of the expedition. It is very good to be able to write in
such high praise of one's companions, and I feel that the possession
of such support ought to ensure success. Fortune would be in a hard
mood indeed if it allowed such a combination of knowledge, experience,
ability, and enthusiasm to achieve nothing.'



CHAPTER III

Land

_Saturday, December_ 31. _New Year's Eve_.--Obs. 72° 54' S., 174°
55' E. Made good S. 45 W. 55'; C. Crozier S. 17 W. 286'.--'The
New Year's Eve found us in the Ross Sea, but not at the end of our
misfortunes.' We had a horrible night. In the first watch we kept away
2 points and set fore and aft sail. It did not increase our comfort
but gave us greater speed. The night dragged slowly through. I could
not sleep thinking of the sore strait for our wretched ponies. In
the morning watch the wind and sea increased and the outlook was
very distressing, but at six ice was sighted ahead. Under ordinary
conditions the safe course would have been to go about and stand to the
east. But in our case we must risk trouble to get smoother water for
the ponies. We passed a stream of ice over which the sea was breaking
heavily and one realised the danger of being amongst loose floes in
such a sea. But soon we came to a compacter body of floes, and running
behind this we were agreeably surprised to find comparatively smooth
water. We ran on for a bit, then stopped and lay to. Now we are lying
in a sort of ice bay--there is a mile or so of pack to windward, and
two horns which form the bay embracing us. The sea is damped down to
a gentle swell, although the wind is as strong as ever. As a result
we are lying very comfortably. The ice is drifting a little faster
than the ship so that we have occasionally to steam slowly to leeward.

So far so good. From a dangerous position we have achieved one which
only directly involved a waste of coal. The question is, which will
last longest, the gale or our temporary shelter?

Rennick has just obtained a sounding of 187 fathoms; taken in
conjunction with yesterday's 1111 fathoms and Ross's sounding of 180,
this is interesting, showing the rapid gradient of the continental
shelf. Nelson is going to put over the 8 feet Agassiz trawl.

Unfortunately we could not clear the line for the trawl--it is
stowed under the fodder. A light dredge was tried on a small manilla
line--very little result. First the weights were insufficient to
carry it to the bottom; a second time, with more weight and line, it
seems to have touched for a very short time only; there was little of
value in the catch, but the biologists are learning the difficulties
of the situation.

_Evening_.--Our protection grew less as the day advanced but saved
us much from the heavy swell. At 8 P.M. we started to steam west
to gain fresh protection, there being signs of pack to south and
west; the swell is again diminishing. The wind which started south
yesterday has gone to S.S.W. (true), the main swell in from S.E. by
S. or S.S.E. There seems to be another from south but none from the
direction from which the wind is now blowing. The wind has been getting
squally: now the squalls are lessening in force, the sky is clearing
and we seem to be approaching the end of the blow. I trust it may be
so and that the New Year will bring us better fortune than the old.

If so, it will be some pleasure to write 1910 for the last time.--Land
oh!

At 10 P.M. to-night as the clouds lifted to the west a distant
but splendid view of the great mountains was obtained. All were in
sunshine; Sabine and Whewell were most conspicuous--the latter from
this view is a beautiful sharp peak, as remarkable a landmark as Sabine
itself. Mount Sabine was 110 miles away when we saw it. I believe we
could have seen it at a distance of 30 or 40 miles farther--such is
the wonderful clearness of the atmosphere.

Finis 1910

1911

_Sunday, January_ 1.--Obs. 73° 5' S. 174° 11' E. Made good S. 48
W. 13.4; C. Crozier S. 15 W. 277'.--At 4 A.M. we proceeded, steaming
slowly to the S.E. The wind having gone to the S.W. and fallen to
force 3 as we cleared the ice, we headed into a short steep swell,
and for some hours the ship pitched most uncomfortably.

At 8 A.M. the ship was clear of the ice and headed south with fore
and aft sail set. She is lying easier on this course, but there is
still a good deal of motion, and would be more if we attempted to
increase speed.

Oates reports that the ponies are taking it pretty well.

Soon after 8 A.M. the sky cleared, and we have had brilliant sunshine
throughout the day; the wind came from the N.W. this forenoon, but
has dropped during the afternoon. We increased to 55 revolutions at
10 A.M. The swell is subsiding but not so quickly as I had expected.

To-night it is absolutely calm, with glorious bright sunshine. Several
people were sunning themselves at 11 o'clock! sitting on deck and
reading.

The land is clear to-night. Coulman Island 75 miles west.


    Sounding at 7 P.M., 187 fathoms.
    Sounding at 4 A.M., 310   ,,


_Monday, January_ 2.--Obs. 75° 3', 173° 41'. Made good S. 3
W. 119'; C. Crozier S. 22 W. 159'.--It has been a glorious night
followed by a glorious forenoon; the sun has been shining almost
continuously. Several of us drew a bucket of sea water and had a
bath with salt water soap on the deck. The water was cold, of course,
but it was quite pleasant to dry oneself in the sun. The deck bathing
habit has fallen off since we crossed the Antarctic circle, but Bowers
has kept going in all weathers.

There is still a good deal of swell--difficult to understand after
a day's calm--and less than 200 miles of water to wind-ward.

Wilson saw and sketched the new white stomached whale seen by us in
the pack.

At 8.30 we sighted Mount Erebus, distant about 115 miles; the sky
is covered with light cumulus and an easterly wind has sprung up,
force 2 to 3. With all sail set we are making very good progress.

_Tuesday, January_ 3, 10 A.M.--The conditions are very much the same
as last night. We are only 24 miles from C. Crozier and the land is
showing up well, though Erebus is veiled in stratus cloud.

It looks finer to the south and we may run into sunshine soon, but
the wind is alarming and there is a slight swell which has little
effect on the ship, but makes all the difference to our landing.

For the moment it doesn't look hopeful. We have been continuing our
line of soundings. From the bank we crossed in latitude 71° the water
has gradually got deeper, and we are now getting 310 to 350 fathoms
against 180 on the bank.

The _Discovery_ soundings give depths up to 450 fathoms East of
Ross Island.

6 P.M.--No good!! Alas! Cape Crozier with all its attractions is
denied us.

We came up to the Barrier five miles east of the Cape soon after
1 P.M. The swell from the E.N.E. continued to the end. The Barrier
was not more than 60 feet in height. From the crow's nest one could
see well over it, and noted that there was a gentle slope for at
least a mile towards the edge. The land of Black (or White?) Island
could be seen distinctly behind, topping the huge lines of pressure
ridges. We plotted the Barrier edge from the point at which we met it
to the Crozier cliffs; to the eye it seems scarcely to have changed
since _Discovery_ days, and Wilson thinks it meets the cliff in the
same place.

The Barrier takes a sharp turn back at 2 or 3 miles from the cliffs,
runs back for half a mile, then west again with a fairly regular
surface until within a few hundred yards of the cliffs; the interval is
occupied with a single high pressure ridge--the evidences of pressure
at the edge being less marked than I had expected.

Ponting was very busy with cinematograph and camera. In the angle
at the corner near the cliffs Rennick got a sounding of 140 fathoms
and Nelson some temperatures and samples. When lowering the water
bottle on one occasion the line suddenly became slack at 100 metres,
then after a moment's pause began to run out again. We are curious
to know the cause, and imagine the bottle struck a seal or whale.

Meanwhile, one of the whale boats was lowered and Wilson, Griffith
Taylor, Priestley, Evans, and I were pulled towards the shore. The
after-guard are so keen that the proper boat's crew was displaced and
the oars manned by Oates, Atkinson, and Cherry-Garrard, the latter
catching several crabs.

The swell made it impossible for us to land. I had hoped to see
whether there was room to pass between the pressure ridge and the
cliff, a route by which Royds once descended to the Emperor rookery;
as we approached the corner we saw that a large piece of sea floe ice
had been jammed between the Barrier and the cliff and had buckled
up till its under surface stood 3 or 4 ft. above the water. On top
of this old floe we saw an old Emperor moulting and a young one
shedding its down. (The down had come off the head and flippers
and commenced to come off the breast in a vertical line similar to
the ordinary moult.) This is an age and stage of development of the
Emperor chick of which we have no knowledge, and it would have been
a triumph to have secured the chick, but, alas! there was no way to
get at it. Another most curious sight was the feet and tails of two
chicks and the flipper of an adult bird projecting from the ice on
the under side of the jammed floe; they had evidently been frozen in
above and were being washed out under the floe.

Finding it impossible to land owing to the swell, we pulled along
the cliffs for a short way. These Crozier cliffs are remarkably
interesting. The rock, mainly volcanic tuff, includes thick strata
of columnar basalt, and one could see beautiful designs of jammed
and twisted columns as well as caves with whole and half pillars
very much like a miniature Giant's Causeway. Bands of bright yellow
occurred in the rich brown of the cliffs, caused, the geologists
think, by the action of salts on the brown rock. In places the cliffs
overhung. In places, the sea had eaten long low caves deep under them,
and continued to break into them over a shelving beach. Icicles hung
pendant everywhere, and from one fringe a continuous trickle of thaw
water had swollen to a miniature waterfall. It was like a big hose
playing over the cliff edge. We noticed a very clear echo as we passed
close to a perpendicular rock face. Later we returned to the ship,
which had been trying to turn in the bay--she is not very satisfactory
in this respect owing to the difficulty of starting the engines either
ahead or astern--several minutes often elapse after the telegraph
has been put over before there is any movement of the engines.

It makes the position rather alarming when one is feeling one's way
into some doubtful corner. When the whaler was hoisted we proceeded
round to the penguin rookery; hopes of finding a quiet landing had
now almost disappeared.8

There were several small grounded bergs close to the rookery; going
close to these we got repeated soundings varying from 34 down to 12
fathoms. There is evidently a fairly extensive bank at the foot of the
rookery. There is probably good anchorage behind some of the bergs,
but none of these afford shelter for landing on the beach, on which the
sea is now breaking incessantly; it would have taken weeks to land the
ordinary stores and heaven only knows how we could have got the ponies
and motor sledges ashore. Reluctantly and sadly we have had to abandon
our cherished plan--it is a thousand pities. Every detail of the shore
promised well for a wintering party. Comfortable quarters for the hut,
ice for water, snow for the animals, good slopes for ski-ing, vast
tracks of rock for walks. Proximity to the Barrier and to the rookeries
of two types of penguins--easy ascent of Mount Terror--good ground for
biological work--good peaks for observation of all sorts--fairly easy
approach to the Southern Road, with no chance of being cut off--and
so forth. It is a thousand pities to have to abandon such a spot.

On passing the rookery it seemed to me we had been wrong in assuming
that all the guano is blown away. I think there must be a pretty
good deposit in places. The penguins could be seen very clearly
from the ship. On the large rookery they occupy an immense acreage,
and one imagines have extended as far as shelter can be found. But
on the small rookery they are patchy and there seems ample room for
the further extension of the colonies. Such unused spaces would have
been ideal for a wintering station if only some easy way could have
been found to land stores.

I noted many groups of penguins on the snow slopes over-looking the
sea far from the rookeries, and one finds it difficult to understand
why they meander away to such places.

A number of killer whales rose close to the ship when we were opposite
the rookery. What an excellent time these animals must have with
thousands of penguins passing to and fro!

We saw our old _Discovery_ post-office pole sticking up as erect as
when planted, and we have been comparing all we have seen with old
photographs. No change at all seems to have taken place anywhere,
and this is very surprising in the case of the Barrier edge.

From the penguin rookeries to the west it is a relentless coast
with high ice cliffs and occasional bare patches of rock showing
through. Even if landing were possible, the grimmest crevassed snow
slopes lie behind to cut one off from the Barrier surface; there is
no hope of shelter till we reach Cape Royds.

Meanwhile all hands are employed making a running survey. I give an
idea of the programme opposite. Terror cleared itself of cloud some
hours ago, and we have had some change in views of it. It is quite
certain that the ascent would be easy. The Bay on the north side of
Erebus is much deeper than shown on the chart.

The sun has been obstinate all day, peeping out occasionally and then
shyly retiring; it makes a great difference to comfort.


    _Programme_

    Bruce continually checking speed with hand log.

    Bowers taking altitudes of objects as they come abeam.
    Nelson noting results.

    Pennell taking verge plate bearings on bow and quarter.
    Cherry-Garrard noting results.

    Evans taking verge plate bearings abeam.
    Atkinson noting results.

    Campbell taking distances abeam with range finder.
    Wright noting results.

    Rennick sounding with Thomson machine.
    Drake noting results.


Beaufort Island looks very black from the south.

10.30.--We find pack off Cape Bird; we have passed through some
streams and there is some open water ahead, but I'm afraid we may
find the ice pretty thick in the Strait at this date.

_Wednesday, January_ 4, 1 A.M.--We are around Cape Bird and in sight of
our destination, but it is doubtful if the open water extends so far.

We have advanced by following an open water lead close along the
land. Cape Bird is a very rounded promontory with many headlands;
it is not easy to say which of these is the Cape.

The same grim unattainable ice-clad coast line extends continuously
from the Cape Crozier Rookery to Cape Bird. West of C. Bird there is
a very extensive expanse of land, and on it one larger and several
small penguin rookeries.

On the uniform dark reddish brown of the land can be seen numerous
grey spots; these are erratic boulders of granite. Through glasses
one could be seen perched on a peak at least 1300 feet above the sea.

Another group of killer whales were idly diving off the penguin
rookery; an old one with a very high straight dorsal fin and several
youngsters. We watched a small party of penguins leaping through the
water towards their enemies. It seemed impossible that they should
have failed to see the sinister fins during their frequent jumps into
the air, yet they seemed to take no notice whatever--stranger still,
the penguins must have actually crossed the whales, yet there was no
commotion whatever, and presently the small birds could be seen leaping
away on the other side. One can only suppose the whales are satiated.

As we rounded Cape Bird we came in sight of the old well-remembered
land marks--Mount Discovery and the Western Mountains--seen dimly
through a hazy atmosphere. It was good to see them again, and perhaps
after all we are better this side of the Island. It gives one a homely
feeling to see such a familiar scene.

4 A.M.--The steep exposed hill sides on the west side of Cape Bird look
like high cliffs as one gets south of them and form a most conspicuous
land mark. We pushed past these cliffs into streams of heavy bay ice,
making fair progress; as we proceeded the lanes became scarcer, the
floes heavier, but the latter remain loose. 'Many of us spent the
night on deck as we pushed through the pack.' We have passed some
very large floes evidently frozen in the strait. This is curious,
as all previous evidence has pointed to the clearance of ice sheets
north of Cape Royds early in the spring.

I have observed several floes with an entirely new type of
surface. They are covered with scales, each scale consisting of a
number of little flaky ice sheets superimposed, and all 'dipping'
at the same angle. It suggests to me a surface with sastrugi and
layers of fine dust on which the snow has taken hold.

We are within 5 miles of Cape Royds and ought to get there.

_Wednesday, January_ 4, P.M..--This work is full of surprises.

At 6 A.M. we came through the last of the Strait pack some three
miles north of Cape Royds. We steered for the Cape, fully expecting
to find the edge of the pack ice ranging westward from it. To our
astonishment we ran on past the Cape with clear water or thin sludge
ice on all sides of us. Past Cape Royds, past Cape Barne, past the
glacier on its south side, and finally round and past Inaccessible
Island, a good 2 miles south of Cape Royds. 'The Cape itself was cut
off from the south.' We could have gone farther, but the last sludge
ice seemed to be increasing in thickness, and there was no wintering
spot to aim for but Cape Armitage. [5] 'I have never seen the ice of
the Sound in such a condition or the land so free from snow. Taking
these facts in conjunction with the exceptional warmth of the air,
I came to the conclusion that it had been an exceptionally warm
summer. At this point it was evident that we had a considerable choice
of wintering spots. We could have gone to either of the small islands,
to the mainland, the Glacier Tongue, or pretty well anywhere except Hut
Point. My main wish was to choose a place that would not be easily cut
off from the Barrier, and my eye fell on a cape which we used to call
the Skuary a little behind us. It was separated from old _Discovery_
quarters by two deep bays on either side of the Glacier Tongue,
and I thought that these bays would remain frozen until late in the
season, and that when they froze over again the ice would soon become
firm.' I called a council and put these propositions. To push on to
the Glacier Tongue and winter there; to push west to the 'tombstone'
ice and to make our way to an inviting spot to the northward of the
cape we used to call 'the Skuary.' I favoured the latter course,
and on discussion we found it obviously the best, so we turned back
close around Inaccessible Island and steered for the fast ice off
the Cape at full speed. After piercing a small fringe of thin ice
at the edge of the fast floe the ship's stem struck heavily on hard
bay ice about a mile and a half from the shore. Here was a road
to the Cape and a solid wharf on which to land our stores. We made
fast with ice anchors. Wilson, Evans, and I went to the Cape, which
I had now rechristened Cape Evans in honour of our excellent second
in command. A glance at the land showed, as we expected, ideal spots
for our wintering station. The rock of the Cape consists mainly of
volcanic agglomerate with olivine kenyte; it is much weathered and
the destruction had formed quantities of coarse sand. We chose a spot
for the hut on a beach facing N.W. and well protected by numerous
small hills behind. This spot seems to have all the local advantages
(which I must detail later) for a winter station, and we realised that
at length our luck had turned. The most favourable circumstance of
all is the stronge chance of communication with Cape Armitage being
established at an early date.

It was in connection with this fact that I had had such a strong
desire to go to Mount Terror, and such misgivings if we had been
forced to go to Cape Royds. It is quite evident that the ice south of
Cape Royds does not become secure till late in the season, probably
in May. Before that, all evidence seems to show that the part between
Cape Royds and Cape Barne is continually going out. How, I ask myself,
was our depot party to get back to home quarters? I feel confident we
can get to the new spot we have chosen at a comparatively early date;
it will probably only be necessary to cross the sea ice in the deep
bays north and south of the Glacier Tongue, and the ice rarely goes
out of there after it has first formed. Even if it should, both stages
can be seen before the party ventures upon them.

After many frowns fortune has treated us to the kindest smile--for
twenty-four hours we have had a calm with brilliant sunshine. Such
weather in such a place comes nearer to satisfying my ideal of
perfection than any condition that I have ever experienced. The warm
glow of the sun with the keen invigorating cold of the air forms a
combination which is inexpressibly health-giving and satisfying to me,
whilst the golden light on this wonderful scene of mountain and ice
satisfies every claim of scenic magnificence. No words of mine can
convey the impressiveness of the wonderful panorama displayed to our
eyes. Ponting is enraptured and uses expressions which in anyone else
and alluding to any other subject might be deemed extravagant.



The Landing: A Week's Work

Whilst we were on shore Campbell was taking the first steps towards
landing our stores. Two of the motor sledges were soon hoisted
out, and Day with others was quickly unpacking them. Our luck stood
again. In spite of all the bad weather and the tons of sea water which
had washed over them the sledges and all the accessories appeared as
fresh and clean as if they had been packed on the previous day--much
credit is due to the officers who protected them with tarpaulins and
lashings. After the sledges came the turn of the ponies--there was a
good deal of difficulty in getting some of them into the horse box,
but Oates rose to the occasion and got most in by persuasion, whilst
others were simply lifted in by the sailors. Though all are thin and
some few looked pulled down I was agreeably surprised at the evident
vitality which they still possessed--some were even skittish. I cannot
express the relief when the whole seventeen were safely picketed on the
floe. From the moment of getting on the snow they seemed to take a new
lease of life, and I haven't a doubt they will pick up very rapidly. It
really is a triumph to have got them through safely and as well as
they are. Poor brutes, how they must have enjoyed their first roll,
and how glad they must be to have freedom to scratch themselves! It is
evident all have suffered from skin irritation--one can imagine the
horror of suffering from such an ill for weeks without being able to
get at the part that itched. I note that now they are picketed together
they administer kindly offices to each other; one sees them gnawing
away at each other's flanks in most amicable and obliging manner.

Meares and the dogs were out early, and have been running to and fro
most of the day with light loads. The great trouble with them has
been due to the fatuous conduct of the penguins. Groups of these have
been constantly leaping on to our floe. From the moment of landing
on their feet their whole attitude expressed devouring curiosity and
a pig-headed disregard for their own safety. They waddle forward,
poking their heads to and fro in their usually absurd way, in spite of
a string of howling dogs straining to get at them. 'Hulloa,' they seem
to say, 'here's a game--what do all you ridiculous things want?' And
they come a few steps nearer. The dogs make a rush as far as their
leashes or harness allow. The penguins are not daunted in the least,
but their ruffs go up and they squawk with semblance of anger, for all
the world as though they were rebuking a rude stranger--their attitude
might be imagined to convey 'Oh, that's the sort of animal you are;
well, you've come to the wrong place--we aren't going to be bluffed
and bounced by you,' and then the final fatal steps forward are taken
and they come within reach. There is a spring, a squawk, a horrid red
patch on the snow, and the incident is closed. Nothing can stop these
silly birds. Members of our party rush to head them off, only to be
met with evasions--the penguins squawk and duck as much as to say,
'What's it got to do with you, you silly ass? Let us alone.'

With the first spilling of blood the skua gulls assemble, and soon,
for them at least, there is a gruesome satisfaction to be reaped. Oddly
enough, they don't seem to excite the dogs; they simply alight within
a few feet and wait for their turn in the drama, clamouring and
quarrelling amongst themselves when the spoils accrue. Such incidents
were happening constantly to-day, and seriously demoralising the dog
teams. Meares was exasperated again and again.

The motor sledges were running by the afternoon, Day managing one and
Nelson the other. In spite of a few minor breakdowns they hauled good
loads to the shore. It is early to call them a success, but they are
certainly extremely promising.

The next thing to be got out of the ship was the hut, and the large
quantity of timber comprising it was got out this afternoon.

And so to-night, with the sun still shining, we look on a very
different prospect from that of 48 or even 24 hours ago.

I have just come back from the shore.

The site for the hut is levelled and the erecting party is living
on shore in our large green tent with a supply of food for eight
days. Nearly all the timber, &c., of the hut is on shore, the
remainder half-way there. The ponies are picketed in a line on a
convenient snow slope so that they cannot eat sand. Oates and Anton
are sleeping ashore to watch over them. The dogs are tied to a long
length of chain stretched on the sand; they are coiled up after a
long day, looking fitter already.  Meares and Demetri are sleeping
in the green tent to look after them. A supply of food for ponies
and dogs as well as for the men has been landed. Two motor sledges
in good working order are safely on the beach.

A fine record for our first day's work. All hands start again at 6
A.M. to-morrow.

It's splendid to see at last the effect of all the months of
preparation and organisation. There is much snoring about me as I
write (2 P.M.) from men tired after a hard day's work and preparing
for such another to-morrow. I also must sleep, for I have had none
for 48 hours--but it should be to dream happily.

_Thursday, January_ 5.--All hands were up at 5 this morning and at
work at 6. Words cannot express the splendid way in which everyone
works and gradually the work gets organised. I was a little late on
the scene this morning, and thereby witnessed a most extraordinary
scene. Some 6 or 7 killer whales, old and young, were skirting the fast
floe edge ahead of the ship; they seemed excited and dived rapidly,
almost touching the floe. As we watched, they suddenly appeared astern,
raising their snouts out of water. I had heard weird stories of these
beasts, but had never associated serious danger with them. Close to
the water's edge lay the wire stern rope of the ship, and our two
Esquimaux dogs were tethered to this. I did not think of connecting
the movements of the whales with this fact, and seeing them so close
I shouted to Ponting, who was standing abreast of the ship. He seized
his camera and ran towards the floe edge to get a close picture of the
beasts, which had momentarily disappeared. The next moment the whole
floe under him and the dogs heaved up and split into fragments. One
could hear the 'booming' noise as the whales rose under the ice and
struck it with their backs. Whale after whale rose under the ice,
setting it rocking fiercely; luckily Ponting kept his feet and was
able to fly to security. By an extraordinary chance also, the splits
had been made around and between the dogs, so that neither of them
fell into the water. Then it was clear that the whales shared our
astonishment, for one after another their huge hideous heads shot
vertically into the air through the cracks which they had made. As
they reared them to a height of 6 or 8 feet it was possible to see
their tawny head markings, their small glistening eyes, and their
terrible array of teeth--by far the largest and most terrifying in
the world. There cannot be a doubt that they looked up to see what
had happened to Ponting and the dogs.

The latter were horribly frightened and strained to their chains,
whining; the head of one killer must certainly have been within 5
feet of one of the dogs.

After this, whether they thought the game insignificant, or whether
they missed Ponting is uncertain, but the terrifying creatures passed
on to other hunting grounds, and we were able to rescue the dogs,
and what was even more important, our petrol--5 or 6 tons of which was
waiting on a piece of ice which was not split away from the main mass.

Of course, we have known well that killer whales continually skirt
the edge of the floes and that they would undoubtedly snap up anyone
who was unfortunate enough to fall into the water; but the facts
that they could display such deliberate cunning, that they were able
to break ice of such thickness (at least 2 1/2 feet), and that they
could act in unison, were a revelation to us. It is clear that they
are endowed with singular intelligence, and in future we shall treat
that intelligence with every respect.


Notes on the Killer or Grampus (_Orca gladiator_)

One killed at Greenwich, 31 feet.

Teeth about 2 1/2 inches above jaw; about 3 1/2 inches total length.

_'British Quadrupeds'--Bell:_

'The fierceness and voracity of the killer, in which it surpasses
all other known cetaceans.'

In stomach of a 21 ft. specimen were found remains of 13 porpoises
and 14 seals.

A herd of white whales has been seen driven into a bay and literally
torn to pieces.

Teeth, large, conical, and slightly recurred, 11 or 12 on each side
of either jaw.

_'Mammals'--Flower and Lydekker:_

'Distinguished from all their allies by great strength and ferocity.'

'Combine in packs to hunt down and destroy . . . full sized whales.'

'_Marine Mammalia'--Scammon_:

Adult males average 20 feet; females 15 feet.

Strong sharp conical teeth which interlock. Combines great strength
with agility.

Spout 'low and bushy.'

Habits exhibit a boldness and cunning peculiar to their carnivorous
propensities.

Three or four do not hesitate to grapple the largest baleen whales, who
become paralysed with terror--frequently evince no efforts to escape.

Instances have occurred where a band of orcas laid siege to whales
in tow, and although frequently lanced and cut with boat spades,
made away with their prey.

Inclined to believe it rarely attacks larger cetaceans.

Possessed of great swiftness.

Sometimes seen peering above the surface with a seal in their bristling
jaws, shaking and crushing their victims and swallowing them apparently
with gusto.

Tear white whales into pieces.


Ponting has been ravished yesterday by a view of the ship seen from a
big cave in an iceberg, and wished to get pictures of it. He succeeded
in getting some splendid plates. This fore-noon I went to the iceberg
with him and agreed that I had rarely seen anything more beautiful
than this cave. It was really a sort of crevasse in a tilted berg
parallel to the original surface; the strata on either side had bent
outwards; through the back the sky could be seen through a screen
of beautiful icicles--it looked a royal purple, whether by contrast
with the blue of the cavern or whether from optical illusion I do
not know. Through the larger entrance could be seen, also partly
through icicles, the ship, the Western Mountains, and a lilac sky;
a wonderfully beautiful picture.

Ponting is simply entranced with this view of Mt. Erebus, and with
the two bergs in the foreground and some volunteers he works up
foregrounds to complete his picture of it.

I go to bed very satisfied with the day's work, but hoping for better
results with the improved organisation and familiarity with the work.

To-day we landed the remainder of the woodwork of the hut, all the
petrol, paraffin and oil of all descriptions, and a quantity of
oats for the ponies besides odds and ends. The ponies are to begin
work to-morrow; they did nothing to-day, but the motor sledges did
well--they are steadying down to their work and made nothing but
non-stop runs to-day. One begins to believe they will be reliable,
but I am still fearing that they will not take such heavy loads as
we hoped.

Day is very pleased and thinks he's going to do wonders, and Nelson
shares his optimism. The dogs find the day work terribly heavy and
Meares is going to put them on to night work.

The framework of the hut is nearly up; the hands worked till 1
A.M. this morning and were at it again at 7 A.M.--an instance of the
spirit which actuates everyone. The men teams formed of the after-guard
brought in good loads, but they are not yet in condition. The hut is
about 11 or 12 feet above the water as far as I can judge. I don't
think spray can get so high in such a sheltered spot even if we get
a northerly gale when the sea is open.

In all other respects the situation is admirable. This work makes
one very tired for Diary-writing.

_Friday, January_ 6.--We got to work at 6 again this morning. Wilson,
Atkinson, Cherry-Garrard, and I took each a pony, returned to the ship,
and brought a load ashore; we then changed ponies and repeated the
process. We each took three ponies in the morning, and I took one in
the afternoon.

Bruce, after relief by Rennick, took one in the morning and one in the
afternoon--of the remaining five Oates deemed two unfit for work and
three requiring some breaking in before getting to serious business.

I was astonished at the strength of the beasts I handled; three out
of the four pulled hard the whole time and gave me much exercise. I
brought back loads of 700 lbs. and on one occasion over 1000 lbs.

With ponies, motor sledges, dogs, and men parties we have done an
excellent day of transporting--another such day should practically
finish all the stores and leave only fuel and fodder (60 tons) to
complete our landing. So far it has been remarkably expeditious.

The motor sledges are working well, but not very well; the small
difficulties will be got over, but I rather fear they will never draw
the loads we expect of them. Still they promise to be a help, and
they are lively and attractive features of our present scene as they
drone along over the floe. At a little distance, without silencers,
they sound exactly like threshing machines.

The dogs are getting better, but they only take very light loads
still and get back from each journey pretty dead beat. In their
present state they don't inspire confidence, but the hot weather is
much against them.

The men parties have done splendidly. Campbell and his Eastern Party
made eight journeys in the day, a distance over 24 miles. Everyone
declares that the ski sticks greatly help pulling; it is surprising
that we never thought of using them before.

Atkinson is very bad with snow blindness to-night; also Bruce. Others
have a touch of the same disease. It's well for people to get
experience of the necessity of safeguarding their eyes.

The only thing which troubles me at present is the wear on our
sledges owing to the hard ice. No great harm has been done so far,
thanks to the excellent wood of which the runners are made, but
we can't afford to have them worn. Wilson carried out a suggestion
of his own to-night by covering the runners of a 9-ft. sledge with
strips from the skin of a seal which he killed and flensed for the
purpose. I shouldn't wonder if this acted well, and if it does we
will cover more sledges in a similar manner. We shall also try Day's
new under-runners to-morrow. After 48 hours of brilliant sunshine we
have a haze over the sky.

List of sledges:


    12 ft.  11 in use
            14 spare
    10 ft.  10 not now used
    9 ft.   10 in use


To-day I walked over our peninsula to see what the southern side was
like. Hundreds of skuas were nesting and attacked in the usual manner
as I passed. They fly round shrieking wildly until they have gained
some altitude. They then swoop down with great impetus directly
at one's head, lifting again when within a foot of it. The bolder
ones actually beat on one's head with their wings as they pass. At
first it is alarming, but experience shows that they never strike
except with their wings. A skua is nesting on a rock between the
ponies and the dogs. People pass every few minutes within a pace
or two, yet the old bird has not deserted its chick. In fact, it
seems gradually to be getting confidence, for it no longer attempts
to swoop at the intruder. To-day Ponting went within a few feet,
and by dint of patience managed to get some wonderful cinematograph
pictures of its movements in feeding and tending its chick, as well
as some photographs of these events at critical times.

The main channel for thaw water at Cape Evans is now quite a rushing
stream.

Evans, Pennell, and Rennick have got sight for meridian distance;
we ought to get a good longitude fix.

_Saturday, January_ 7.--The sun has returned. To-day it seemed better
than ever and the glare was blinding. There are quite a number of
cases of snow blindness.

We have done splendidly. To-night all the provisions except some in
bottles are ashore and nearly all the working paraphernalia of the
scientific people--no light item. There remains some hut furniture,
2 1/2 tons of carbide, some bottled stuff, and some odds and ends
which should occupy only part of to-morrow; then we come to the two
last and heaviest items--coal and horse fodder.

If we are not through in the week we shall be very near it. Meanwhile
the ship is able to lay at the ice edge without steam; a splendid
saving.

There has been a steady stream of cases passing along the shore route
all day and transport arrangements are hourly improving.

Two parties of four and three officers made ten journeys each,
covering over 25 miles and dragging loads one way which averaged 250
to 300 lbs. per man.

The ponies are working well now, but beginning to give some
excitement. On the whole they are fairly quiet beasts, but they
get restive with their loads, mainly but indirectly owing to the
smoothness of the ice. They know perfectly well that the swingle trees
and traces are hanging about their hocks and hate it. (I imagine it
gives them the nervous feeling that they are going to be carried off
their feet.) This makes it hard to start them, and when going they
seem to appreciate the fact that the sledges will overrun them should
they hesitate or stop. The result is that they are constantly fretful
and the more nervous ones tend to become refractory and unmanageable.

Oates is splendid with them--I do not know what we should do without
him.

I did seven journeys with ponies and got off with a bump on the head
and some scratches.

One pony got away from Debenham close to the ship, and galloped the
whole way in with its load behind; the load capsized just off the
shore and the animal and sledge dashed into the station. Oates very
wisely took this pony straight back for another load.

Two or three ponies got away as they were being harnessed, and careered
up the hill again. In fact there were quite a lot of minor incidents
which seemed to endanger life and limb to the animals if not the men,
but which all ended safely.

One of Meares' dog teams ran away--one poor dog got turned over at
the start and couldn't get up again (Muk/aka). He was dragged at a
gallop for nearly half a mile; I gave him up as dead, but apparently
he was very little hurt.

The ponies are certainly going to keep things lively as time goes on
and they get fresher. Even as it is, their condition can't be half
as bad as we imagined; the runaway pony wasn't much done even after
the extra trip.

The station is beginning to assume the appearance of an orderly
camp. We continue to find advantages in the situation; the long level
beach has enabled Bowers to arrange his stores in the most systematic
manner. Everything will be handy and there will never be a doubt as
to the position of a case when it is wanted. The hut is advancing
apace--already the matchboarding is being put on. The framework is
being clothed. It should be extraordinarily warm and comfortable,
for in addition to this double coating of insulation, dry seaweed in
quilted sacking, I propose to stack the pony fodder all around it.

I am wondering how we shall stable the ponies in the winter.

The only drawback to the present position is that the ice is getting
thin and sludgy in the cracks and on some of the floes. The ponies drop
their feet through, but most of them have evidently been accustomed
to something of the sort; they make no fuss about it. Everything
points to the desirability of the haste which we are making--so we
go on to-morrow, Sunday.

A whole host of minor ills besides snow blindness have come upon
us. Sore faces and lips, blistered feet, cuts and abrasions; there are
few without some troublesome ailment, but, of course, such things are
'part of the business.' The soles of my feet are infernally sore.

'Of course the elements are going to be troublesome, but it is good
to know them as the only adversary and to feel there is so small a
chance of internal friction.'

Ponting had an alarming adventure about this time. Bent on getting
artistic photographs with striking objects, such as hummocked floes
or reflecting water, in the foreground, he used to depart with his
own small sledge laden with cameras and cinematograph to journey
alone to the grounded icebergs. One morning as he tramped along
harnessed to his sledge, his snow glasses clouded with the mist of
perspiration, he suddenly felt the ice giving under his feet. He
describes the sensation as the worst he ever experienced, and one can
well believe it; there was no one near to have lent assistance had he
gone through. Instinctively he plunged forward, the ice giving at every
step and the sledge dragging through water. Providentially the weak
area he had struck was very limited, and in a minute or two he pulled
out on a firm surface. He remarked that he was perspiring very freely!

Looking back it is easy to see that we were terribly incautious in
our treatment of this decaying ice.



CHAPTER IV

Settling In

_Sunday, January 8_.--A day of disaster. I stupidly gave permission for
the third motor to be got out this morning. This was done first thing
and the motor placed on firm ice. Later Campbell told me one of the men
had dropped a leg through crossing a sludgy patch some 200 yards from
the ship. I didn't consider it very serious, as I imagined the man
had only gone through the surface crust. About 7 A.M. I started for
the shore with a single man load, leaving Campbell looking about for
the best crossing for the motor. I sent Meares and the dogs over with
a can of petrol on arrival. After some twenty minutes he returned to
tell me the motor had gone through. Soon after Campbell and Day arrived
to confirm the dismal tidings. It appears that getting frightened of
the state of affairs Campbell got out a line and attached it to the
motor--then manning the line well he attempted to rush the machine
across the weak place. A man on the rope, Wilkinson, suddenly went
through to the shoulders, but was immediately hauled out. During the
operation the ice under the motor was seen to give, and suddenly it
and the motor disappeared. The men kept hold of the rope, but it cut
through the ice towards them with an ever increasing strain, obliging
one after another to let go. Half a minute later nothing remained but
a big hole. Perhaps it was lucky there was no accident to the men,
but it's a sad incident for us in any case. It's a big blow to know
that one of the two best motors, on which so much time and trouble
have been spent, now lies at the bottom of the sea. The actual spot
where the motor disappeared was crossed by its fellow motor with a
very heavy load as well as by myself with heavy ponies only yesterday.

Meares took Campbell back and returned with the report that the ice
in the vicinity of the accident was hourly getting more dangerous.

It was clear that we were practically cut off, certainly as regards
heavy transport. Bowers went back again with Meares and managed
to ferry over some wind clothes and odds and ends. Since that no
communication has been held; the shore party have been working,
but the people on board have had a half holiday.

At 6 I went to the ice edge farther to the north. I found a place where
the ship could come and be near the heavy ice over which sledging
is still possible. I went near the ship and semaphored directions
for her to get to this place as soon as she could, using steam if
necessary. She is at present wedged in with the pack, and I think
Pennell hopes to warp her along when the pack loosens.

Meares and I marked the new trail with kerosene tins before
returning. So here we are waiting again till fortune is
kinder. Meanwhile the hut proceeds; altogether there are four layers
of boarding to go on, two of which are nearing completion; it will
be some time before the rest and the insulation is on.

It's a big job getting settled in like this and a tantalising one
when one is hoping to do some depot work before the season closes.

We had a keen north wind to-night and a haze, but wind is dropping and
sun shining brightly again. To-day seemed to be the hottest we have
yet had; after walking across I was perspiring freely, and later as
I sat in the sun after lunch one could almost imagine a warm summer
day in England.

This is my first night ashore. I'm writing in one of my new domed
tents which makes a very comfortable apartment.

_Monday, January_ 9.--I didn't poke my nose out of my tent till 6.45,
and the first object I saw was the ship, which had not previously been
in sight from our camp. She was now working her way along the ice
edge with some difficulty. I heard afterwards that she had started
at 6.15 and she reached the point I marked yesterday at 8.15. After
breakfast I went on board and was delighted to find a good solid
road right up to the ship. A flag was hoisted immediately for the
ponies to come out, and we commenced a good day's work. All day the
sledges have been coming to and fro, but most of the pulling work
has been done by the ponies: the track is so good that these little
animals haul anything from 12 to 18 cwt. Both dogs and men parties
have been a useful addition to the haulage--no party or no single
man comes over without a load averaging 300 lbs. per man. The dogs,
working five to a team, haul 5 to 6 cwt. and of course they travel
much faster than either ponies or men.

In this way we transported a large quantity of miscellaneous stores;
first about 3 tons of coal for present use, then 2 1/2 tons of carbide,
all the many stores, chimney and ventilators for the hut, all the
biologists' gear--a big pile, the remainder of the physicists' gear
and medical stores, and many old cases; in fact a general clear up
of everything except the two heavy items of forage and fuel. Later in
the day we made a start on the first of these, and got 7 tons ashore
before ceasing work. We close with a good day to our credit, marred
by an unfortunate incident--one of the dogs, a good puller, was seen
to cough after a journey; he was evidently trying to bring something
up--two minutes later he was dead. Nobody seems to know the reason,
but a post-mortem is being held by Atkinson and I suppose the cause
of death will be found. We can't afford to lose animals of any sort.

All the ponies except three have now brought loads from the
ship. Oates thinks these three are too nervous to work over this
slippery surface. However, he tried one of the hardest cases to-night,
a very fine pony, and got him in successfully with a big load.

To-morrow we ought to be running some twelve or thirteen of these
animals.

Griffith Taylor's bolted on three occasions, the first two times more
or less due to his own fault, but the third owing to the stupidity
of one of the sailors. Nevertheless a third occasion couldn't be
overlooked by his messmates, who made much merriment of the event. It
was still funnier when he brought his final load (an exceptionally
heavy one) with a set face and ardent pace, vouchsafing not a word
to anyone he passed.

We have achieved fair organisation to-day. Evans is in charge of the
road and periodically goes along searching for bad places and bridging
cracks with boards and snow.

Bowers checks every case as it comes on shore and dashes off to the
ship to arrange the precedence of different classes of goods. He proves
a perfect treasure; there is not a single case he does not know or
a single article of any sort which he cannot put his hand on at once.

Rennick and Bruce are working gallantly at the discharge of stores
on board.

Williamson and Leese load the sledges and are getting very clever
and expeditious. Evans (seaman) is generally superintending the
sledging and camp outfit. Forde, Keohane, and Abbott are regularly
assisting the carpenter, whilst Day, Lashly, Lillie, and others give
intermittent help.

Wilson, Cherry-Garrard, Wright, Griffith Taylor, Debenham, Crean, and
Browning have been driving ponies, a task at which I have assisted
myself once or twice. There was a report that the ice was getting
rotten, but I went over it myself and found it sound throughout. The
accident with the motor sledge has made people nervous.

The weather has been very warm and fine on the whole, with occasional
gleams of sunshine, but to-night there is a rather chill wind from
the south. The hut is progressing famously. In two more working days
we ought to have everything necessary on shore.

_Tuesday, January_ 10.--We have been six days in McMurdo Sound and
to-night I can say we are landed. Were it impossible to land another
pound we could go on without hitch. Nothing like it has been done
before; nothing so expeditious and complete. This morning the main
loads were fodder. Sledge after sledge brought the bales, and early
in the afternoon the last (except for about a ton stowed with Eastern
Party stores) was brought on shore. Some addition to our patent fuel
was made in the morning, and later in the afternoon it came in a
steady stream. We have more than 12 tons and could make this do if
necessity arose.

In addition to this oddments have been arriving all day--instruments,
clothing, and personal effects. Our camp is becoming so perfect in
its appointments that I am almost suspicious of some drawback hidden
by the summer weather.

The hut is progressing apace, and all agree that it should be the
most perfectly comfortable habitation. 'It amply repays the time
and attention given to the planning.' The sides have double boarding
inside and outside the frames, with a layer of our excellent quilted
seaweed insulation between each pair of boardings. The roof has a
single matchboarding inside, but on the outside is a matchboarding,
then a layer of 2-ply 'ruberoid,' then a layer of quilted seaweed, then
a second matchboarding, and finally a cover of 3-ply 'ruberoid.' The
first floor is laid, but over this there will be a quilting, a felt
layer, a second boarding, and finally linoleum; as the plenteous
volcanic sand can be piled well up on every side it is impossible to
imagine that draughts can penetrate into the hut from beneath, and
it is equally impossible to imagine great loss of heat by contact
or radiation in that direction. To add to the wall insulation the
south and east sides of the hut are piled high with compressed forage
bales, whilst the north side is being prepared as a winter stable for
the ponies. The stable will stand between the wall of the hut and a
wall built of forage bales, six bales high and two bales thick. This
will be roofed with rafters and tarpaulin, as we cannot find enough
boarding. We shall have to take care that too much snow does not
collect on the roof, otherwise the place should do excellently well.

Some of the ponies are very troublesome, but all except two have been
running to-day, and until this evening there were no excitements. After
tea Oates suggested leading out the two intractable animals behind
other sledges; at the same time he brought out the strong, nervous
grey pony. I led one of the supposedly safe ponies, and all went well
whilst we made our journey; three loads were safely brought in. But
whilst one of the sledges was being unpacked the pony tied to it
suddenly got scared. Away he dashed with sledge attached; he made
straight for the other ponies, but finding the incubus still fast
to him he went in wider circles, galloped over hills and boulders,
narrowly missing Ponting and his camera, and finally dashed down hill
to camp again pretty exhausted--oddly enough neither sledge nor pony
was much damaged. Then we departed again in the same order. Half-way
over the floe my rear pony got his foreleg foul of his halter, then
got frightened, tugged at his halter, and lifted the unladen sledge to
which he was tied--then the halter broke and away he went. But by this
time the damage was done. My pony snorted wildly and sprang forward as
the sledge banged to the ground. I just managed to hold him till Oates
came up, then we started again; but he was thoroughly frightened--all
my blandishments failed when he reared and plunged a second time,
and I was obliged to let go. He galloped back and the party dejectedly
returned. At the camp Evans got hold of the pony, but in a moment it
was off again, knocking Evans off his legs. Finally he was captured
and led forth once more between Oates and Anton. He remained fairly
well on the outward journey, but on the homeward grew restive again;
Evans, who was now leading him, called for Anton, and both tried to
hold him, but to no purpose--he dashed off, upset his load, and came
back to camp with the sledge. All these troubles arose after he had
made three journeys without a hitch and we had come to regard him as
a nice, placid, gritty pony. Now I'm afraid it will take a deal of
trouble to get him safe again, and we have three very troublesome
beasts instead of two. I have written this in some detail to show
the unexpected difficulties that arise with these animals, and the
impossibility of knowing exactly where one stands. The majority of
our animals seem pretty quiet now, but any one of them may break out
in this way if things go awry. There is no doubt that the bumping of
the sledges close at the heels of the animals is the root of the evil.

The weather has the appearance of breaking. We had a strongish
northerly breeze at midday with snow and hail storms, and now the wind
has turned to the south and the sky is overcast with threatenings of a
blizzard. The floe is cracking and pieces may go out--if so the ship
will have to get up steam again. The hail at noon made the surface
very bad for some hours; the men and dogs felt it most.

The dogs are going well, but Meares says he thinks that several are
suffering from snow blindness. I never knew a dog get it before, but
Day says that Shackleton's dogs suffered from it. The post-mortem
on last night's death revealed nothing to account for it. Atkinson
didn't examine the brain, and wonders if the cause lay there. There is
a certain satisfaction in believing that there is nothing infectious.

_Wednesday, January_ ll.--A week here to-day--it seems quite a month,
so much has been crammed into a short space of time.

The threatened blizzard materialised at about four o'clock this
morning. The wind increased to force six or seven at the ship, and
continued to blow, with drift, throughout the forenoon.

Campbell and his sledging party arrived at the Camp at 8.0
A.M. bringing a small load: there seemed little object, but I suppose
they like the experience of a march in the blizzard. They started
to go back, but the ship being blotted out, turned and gave us their
company at breakfast. The day was altogether too bad for outside work,
so we turned our attention to the hut interior, with the result that
to-night all the matchboarding is completed. The floor linoleum is
the only thing that remains to be put down; outside, the roof and ends
have to be finished. Then there are several days of odd jobs for the
carpenter, and all will be finished. It is a first-rate building in
an extraordinarily sheltered spot; whilst the wind was raging at the
ship this morning we enjoyed comparative peace. Campbell says there
was an extraordinary change as he approached the beach.

I sent two or three people to dig into the hard snow drift behind
the camp; they got into solid ice immediately, became interested
in the job, and have begun the making of a cave which is to be our
larder. Already they have tunnelled 6 or 8 feet in and have begun
side channels. In a few days they will have made quite a spacious
apartment--an ideal place to keep our meat store. We had been
speculating as to the origin of this solid drift and attached great
antiquity to it, but the diggers came to a patch of earth with skua
feathers, which rather knocks our theories on the head.

The wind began to drop at midday, and after lunch I went to the
ship. I was very glad to learn that she can hold steam at two hours'
notice on an expenditure of 13 cwt. The ice anchors had held well
during the blow.

As far as I can see the open water extends to an east and west line
which is a little short of the glacier tongue.

To-night the wind has dropped altogether and we return to the
glorious conditions of a week ago. I trust they may last for a few
days at least.

_Thursday, January_ 12.--Bright sun again all day, but in the afternoon
a chill wind from the S.S.W. Again we are reminded of the shelter
afforded by our position; to-night the anemometers on Observatory
Hill show a 20-mile wind--down in our valley we only have mild puffs.

Sledging began as usual this morning; seven ponies and the dog teams
were hard at it all the forenoon. I ran six journeys with five dogs,
driving them in the Siberian fashion for the first time. It was not
difficult, but I kept forgetting the Russian words at critical moments:
'Ki'--'right'; 'Tchui'--'left'; 'Itah'--'right ahead'; [here is a
blank in memory and in diary]--'get along'; 'Paw'--'stop.' Even my
short experience makes me think that we may have to reorganise this
driving to suit our particular requirements. I am inclined for smaller
teams and the driver behind the sledge. However, it's early days to
decide such matters, and we shall learn much on the depot journey.

Early in the afternoon a message came from the ship to say that all
stores had been landed. Nothing remains to be brought but mutton,
books and pictures, and the pianola. So at last we really are a
self-contained party ready for all emergencies. We are LANDED eight
days after our arrival--a very good record.

The hut could be inhabited at this moment, but probably we shall not
begin to live in it for a week. Meanwhile the carpenter will go on
steadily fitting up the dark room and various other compartments as
well as Simpson's Corner. [6]

The grotto party are making headway into the ice for our larder,
but it is slow and very arduous work. However, once made it will be
admirable in every way.

To-morrow we begin sending ballast off to the ship; some 30 tons will
be sledged off by the ponies. The hut and grotto parties will continue,
and the arrangements for the depot journey will be commenced. I
discussed these with Bowers this afternoon--he is a perfect treasure,
enters into one's ideas at once, and evidently thoroughly understands
the principles of the game.

I have arranged to go to Hut Point with Meares and some dogs to-morrow
to test the ice and see how the land lies. As things are at present
we ought to have little difficulty in getting the depot party away
any time before the end of the month, but the ponies will have to
cross the Cape [7] without loads. There is a way down on the south
side straight across, and another way round, keeping the land on the
north side and getting on ice at the Cape itself. Probably the ship
will take the greater part of the loads.

_Saturday, January_ 14.--The completion of our station is approaching
with steady progress. The wind was strong from the S.S.E. yesterday
morning, sweeping over the camp; the temperature fell to 15°, the sky
became overcast. To the south the land outlines were hazy with drift,
so my dog tour was abandoned. In the afternoon, with some moderation
of conditions, the ballast party went to work, and wrought so well
that more than 10 tons were got off before night. The organisation of
this work is extremely good. The loose rocks are pulled up, some 30 or
40 feet up the hillside, placed on our heavy rough sledges and rushed
down to the floe on a snow track; here they are laden on pony sledges
and transported to the ship. I slept on board the ship and found it
colder than the camp--the cabins were below freezing all night and
the only warmth existed in the cheery spirit of the company. The
cold snap froze the water in the boiler and Williams had to light
one of the fires this morning. I shaved and bathed last night (the
first time for 10 days) and wrote letters from breakfast till tea
time to-day. Meanwhile the ballast team has been going on merrily,
and to-night Pennell must have some 26 tons on board.

It was good to return to the camp and see the progress which had
been made even during such a short absence. The grotto has been much
enlarged and is, in fact, now big enough to hold all our mutton and
a considerable quantity of seal and penguin.

Close by Simpson and Wright have made surprising progress in excavating
for the differential magnetic hut. They have already gone in 7 feet
and, turning a corner, commenced the chamber, which is to be 13 feet
× 5 feet. The hard ice of this slope is a godsend and both grottoes
will be ideal for their purposes.

The cooking range and stove have been placed in the hut and now
chimneys are being constructed; the porch is almost finished as well
as the interior; the various carpenters are busy with odd jobs and
it will take them some time to fix up the many small fittings that
different people require.

I have been making arrangements for the depôt journey, telling off
people for ponies and dogs, &c._9_

To-morrow is to be our first rest day, but next week everything will
be tending towards sledging preparations. I have also been discussing
and writing about the provisions of animals to be brought down in
the _Terra Nova_ next year.

The wind is very persistent from the S.S.E., rising and falling;
to-night it has sprung up again, and is rattling the canvas of
the tent.

Some of the ponies are not turning out so well as I expected; they
are slow walkers and must inevitably impede the faster ones. Two of
the best had been told off for Campbell by Oates, but I must alter
the arrangement. 'Then I am not quite sure they are going to stand
the cold well, and on this first journey they may have to face pretty
severe conditions. Then, of course, there is the danger of losing
them on thin ice or by injury sustained in rough places. Although we
have fifteen now (two having gone for the Eastern Party) it is not at
all certain that we shall have such a number when the main journey is
undertaken next season. One can only be careful and hope for the best.'

_Sunday, January_ 15.--We had decided to observe this day as a 'day
of rest,' and so it has been.

At one time or another the majority have employed their spare hours
in writing letters.

We rose late, having breakfast at nine. The morning promised well and
the day fulfilled the promise: we had bright sunshine and practically
no wind.

At 10 A.M. the men and officers streamed over from the ship, and we all
assembled on the beach and I read Divine Service, our first Service at
the camp and impressive in the open air. After Service I told Campbell
that I should have to cancel his two ponies and give him two others. He
took it like the gentleman he is, thoroughly appreciating the reason.

He had asked me previously to be allowed to go to Cape Royds over the
glacier and I had given permission. After our talk we went together
to explore the route, which we expected to find much crevassed. I
only intended to go a short way, but on reaching the snow above the
uncovered hills of our Cape I found the surface so promising and so
free from cracks that I went quite a long way. Eventually I turned,
leaving Campbell, Gran, and Nelson roped together and on ski to make
their way onward, but not before I felt certain that the route to
Cape Royds would be quite easy. As we topped the last rise we saw
Taylor and Wright some way ahead on the slope; they had come up by
a different route. Evidently they are bound for the same goal.

I returned to camp, and after lunch Meares and I took a sledge
and nine dogs over the Cape to the sea ice on the south side and
started for Hut Point. We took a little provision and a cooker and
our sleeping-bags. Meares had found a way over the Cape which was
on snow all the way except about 100 yards. The dogs pulled well,
and we went towards the Glacier Tongue at a brisk pace; found much of
the ice uncovered. Towards the Glacier Tongue there were some heaps
of snow much wind blown. As we rose the glacier we saw the _Nimrod_
depot some way to the right and made for it. We found a good deal
of compressed fodder and boxes of maize, but no grain crushed as
expected. The open water was practically up to the Glacier Tongue.

We descended by an easy slope 1/4 mile from the end of the Glacier
Tongue, but found ourselves cut off by an open crack some 15 feet
across and had to get on the glacier again and go some 1/2 mile
farther in. We came to a second crack, but avoided it by skirting to
the west. From this point we had an easy run without difficulty to
Hut Point. There was a small pool of open water and a longish crack
off Hut Point. I got my feet very wet crossing the latter. We passed
hundreds of seals at the various cracks.

On the arrival at the hut to my chagrin we found it filled with
snow. Shackleton reported that the door had been forced by the wind,
but that he had made an entrance by the window and found shelter
inside--other members of his party used it for shelter. But they
actually went away and left the window (which they had forced) open;
as a result, nearly the whole of the interior of the hut is filled
with hard icy snow, and it is now impossible to find shelter inside.

Meares and I were able to clamber over the snow to some extent and
to examine the neat pile of cases in the middle, but they will take
much digging out. We got some asbestos sheeting from the magnetic
hut and made the best shelter we could to boil our cocoa.

There was something too depressing in finding the old hut in
such a desolate condition. I had had so much interest in seeing
all the old landmarks and the huts apparently intact. To camp
outside and feel that all the old comfort and cheer had departed,
was dreadfully heartrending. I went to bed thoroughly depressed. It
stems a fundamental expression of civilised human sentiment that men
who come to such places as this should leave what comfort they can
to welcome those who follow.

_Monday, January_ 16.--We slept badly till the morning and,
therefore, late. After breakfast we went up the hills; there was a
keen S.E. breeze, but the sun shone and my spirits revived. There was
very much less snow everywhere than I had ever seen. The ski run was
completely cut through in two places, the Gap and Observation Hill
almost bare, a great bare slope on the side of Arrival Heights, and
on top of Crater Heights an immense bare table-land. How delighted
we should have been to see it like this in the old days! The pond was
thawed and the #confervae green in fresh water. The hole which we had
dug in the mound in the pond was still there, as Meares discovered
by falling into it up to his waist and getting very wet.

On the south side we could see the Pressure Ridges beyond Pram Point
as of old--Horseshoe Bay calm and unpressed--the sea ice pressed
on Pram Point and along the Gap ice foot, and a new ridge running
around C. Armitage about 2 miles off. We saw Ferrar's old thermometer
tubes standing out of the snow slope as though they'd been placed
yesterday. Vince's cross might have been placed yesterday--the paint
was so fresh and the inscription so legible.

The flagstaff was down, the stays having carried away, but in five
minutes it could be put up again. We loaded some asbestos sheeting
from the old magnetic hut on our sledges for Simpson, and by standing
1/4 mile off Hut Point got a clear run to Glacier Tongue. I had hoped
to get across the wide crack by going west, but found that it ran for
a great distance and had to get on the glacier at the place at which
we had left it. We got to camp about teatime. I found our larder
in the grotto completed and stored with mutton and penguins--the
temperature inside has never been above 27°, so that it ought to be
a fine place for our winter store. Simpson has almost completed the
differential magnetic cave next door. The hut stove was burning well
and the interior of the building already warm and homelike--a day or
two and we shall be occupying it.

I took Ponting out to see some interesting thaw effects on the ice
cliffs east of the Camp. I noted that the ice layers were pressing
out over thin dirt bands as though the latter made the cleavage lines
over which the strata slid.

It has occurred to me that although the sea ice may freeze in our bays
early in March it will be a difficult thing to get ponies across it
owing to the cliff edges at the side. We must therefore be prepared
to be cut off for a longer time than I anticipated. I heard that all
the people who journeyed towards C. Royds yesterday reached their
destination in safety. Campbell, Levick, and Priestley had just
departed when I returned._10_

_Tuesday, January_ 17.--We took up our abode in the hut to-day
and are simply overwhelmed with its comfort. After breakfast this
morning I found Bowers making cubicles as I had arranged, but I soon
saw these would not fit in, so instructed him to build a bulkhead of
cases which shuts off the officers' space from the men's, I am quite
sure to the satisfaction of both. The space between my bulkhead and
the men's I allotted to five: Bowers, Oates, Atkinson, Meares, and
Cherry-Garrard. These five are all special friends and have already
made their dormitory very habitable. Simpson and Wright are near the
instruments in their corner. Next come Day and Nelson in a space which
includes the latter's 'Lab.' near the big window; next to this is a
space for three--Debenham, Taylor, and Gran; they also have already
made their space part dormitory and part workshop.

It is fine to see the way everyone sets to work to put things straight;
in a day or two the hut will become the most comfortable of houses,
and in a week or so the whole station, instruments, routine, men and
animals, &c., will be in working order.

It is really wonderful to realise the amount of work which has been
got through of late.

It will be a _fortnight to-morrow_ since we arrived in McMurdo Sound,
and here we are absolutely settled down and ready to start on our depôt
journey directly the ponies have had a proper chance to recover from
the effects of the voyage. I had no idea we should be so expeditious.

It snowed hard all last night; there were about three or four inches
of soft snow over the camp this morning and Simpson tells me some
six inches out by the ship. The camp looks very white. During the
day it has been blowing very hard from the south, with a great deal
of drift. Here in this camp as usual we do not feel it much, but we
see the anemometer racing on the hill and the snow clouds sweeping
past the ship. The floe is breaking between the point and the ship,
though curiously it remains fast on a direct route to the ship. Now
the open water runs parallel to our ship road and only a few hundred
yards south of it. Yesterday the whaler was rowed in close to the
camp, and if the ship had steam up she could steam round to within
a few hundred yards of us. The big wedge of ice to which the ship is
holding on the outskirts of the Bay can have very little grip to keep
it in and must inevitably go out very soon. I hope this may result
in the ship finding a more sheltered and secure position close to us.

A big iceberg sailed past the ship this afternoon. Atkinson declares
it was the end of the Cape Barne Glacier. I hope they will know in
the ship, as it would be interesting to witness the birth of a glacier
in this region.

It is clearing to-night, but still blowing hard. The ponies don't
like the wind, but they are all standing the cold wonderfully and
all their sores are healed up.

_Wednesday, January_ 18.--The ship had a poor time last night; steam
was ordered, but the floe began breaking up fast at 1 A.M., and the
rest of the night was passed in struggling with ice anchors; steam
was reported ready just as the ship broke adrift. In the morning she
secured to the ice edge on the same line as before but a few hundred
yards nearer. After getting things going at the hut, I walked over and
suggested that Pennell should come round the corner close in shore. The
ice anchors were tripped and we steamed slowly in, making fast to
the floe within 200 yards of the ice foot and 400 yards of the hut.

For the present the position is extraordinarily comfortable. With a
southerly blow she would simply bind on to the ice, receiving great
shelter from the end of the Cape. With a northerly blow she might
turn rather close to the shore, where the soundings run to 3 fathoms,
but behind such a stretch of ice she could scarcely get a sea or swell
without warning. It looks a wonderfully comfortable little nook, but,
of course, one can be certain of nothing in this place; one knows from
experience how deceptive the appearance of security may be. Pennell
is truly excellent in his present position--he's invariably cheerful,
unceasingly watchful, and continuously ready for emergencies. I have
come to possess implicit confidence in him.

The temperature fell to 4° last night, with a keen S.S.E. breeze; it
was very unpleasant outside after breakfast. Later in the forenoon
the wind dropped and the sun shone forth. This afternoon it fell
almost calm, but the sky clouded over again and now there is a
gentle warm southerly breeze with light falling snow and an overcast
sky. Rather significant of a blizzard if we had not had such a lot of
wind lately. The position of the ship makes the casual transport that
still proceeds very easy, but the ice is rather thin at the edge. In
the hut all is marching towards the utmost comfort.

Bowers has completed a storeroom on the south side, an excellent place
to keep our travelling provisions. Every day he conceives or carries
out some plan to benefit the camp. Simpson and Wright are worthy of
all admiration: they have been unceasingly active in getting things
to the fore and I think will be ready for routine work much earlier
than was anticipated. But, indeed, it is hard to specialise praise
where everyone is working so indefatigably for the cause.

Each man in his way is a treasure.

Clissold the cook has started splendidly, has served seal, penguin,
and skua now, and I can honestly say that I have never met these
articles of food in such a pleasing guise; 'this point is of the
greatest practical importance, as it means the certainty of good
health for any number of years.' Hooper was landed to-day, much to
his joy. He got to work at once, and will be a splendid help, freeing
the scientific people of all dirty work. Anton and Demetri are both
most anxious to help on all occasions; they are excellent boys.

_Thursday, January_ 19.--The hut is becoming the most comfortable
dwelling-place imaginable. We have made unto ourselves a truly
seductive home, within the walls of which peace, quiet, and comfort
reign supreme.

Such a noble dwelling transcends the word 'hut,' and we pause to
give it a more fitting title only from lack of the appropriate
suggestion. What shall we call it?

'The word "hut" is misleading. Our residence is really a house of
considerable size, in every respect the finest that has ever been
erected in the Polar regions; 50 ft. long by 25 wide and 9 ft. to
the eaves.

'If you can picture our house nestling below this small hill on a long
stretch of black sand, with many tons of provision cases ranged in neat
blocks in front of it and the sea lapping the icefoot below, you will
have some idea of our immediate vicinity. As for our wider surroundings
it would be difficult to describe their beauty in sufficiently glowing
terms. Cape Evans is one of the many spurs of Erebus and the one that
stands closest under the mountain, so that always towering above us
we have the grand snowy peak with its smoking summit. North and south
of us are deep bays, beyond which great glaciers come rippling over
the lower slopes to thrust high blue-walled snouts into the sea. The
sea is blue before us, dotted with shining bergs or ice floes, whilst
far over the Sound, yet so bold and magnificent as to appear near,
stand the beautiful Western Mountains with their numerous lofty peaks,
their deep glacial valley and clear cut scarps, a vision of mountain
scenery that can have few rivals.

'Ponting is the most delighted of men; he declares this is the
most beautiful spot he has ever seen and spends all day and most
of the night in what he calls "gathering it in" with camera and
cinematograph.'

The wind has been boisterous all day, to advantage after the last snow
fall, as it has been drifting the loose snow along and hardening the
surfaces. The horses don't like it, naturally, but it wouldn't do to
pamper them so soon before our journey. I think the hardening process
must be good for animals though not for men; nature replies to it in
the former by growing a thick coat with wonderful promptitude. It seems
to me that the shaggy coats of our ponies are already improving. The
dogs seem to feel the cold little so far, but they are not so exposed.

A milder situation might be found for the ponies if only we could
picket them off the snow.

Bowers has completed his southern storeroom and brought the wing
across the porch on the windward side, connecting the roofing with
that of the porch. The improvement is enormous and will make the
greatest difference to those who dwell near the door.

The carpenter has been setting up standards and roof beams for the
stables, which will be completed in a few days. Internal affairs have
been straightening out as rapidly as before, and every hour seems to
add some new touch for the better.

This morning I overhauled all the fur sleeping-bags and found them
in splendid order--on the whole the skins are excellent. Since that
I have been trying to work out sledge details, but my head doesn't
seem half as clear on the subject as it ought to be.

I have fixed the 25th as the date for our departure. Evans is to get
all the sledges and gear ready whilst Bowers superintends the filling
of provision bags.

Griffith Taylor and his companions have been seeking advice as to their
Western trip. Wilson, dear chap, has been doing his best to coach them.

Ponting has fitted up his own dark room--doing the carpentering work
with extraordinary speed and to everyone's admiration. To-night he
made a window in the dark room in an hour or so.

Meares has become enamoured of the gramophone. We find we have
a splendid selection of records. The pianola is being brought in
sections, but I'm not at all sure it will be worth the trouble. Oates
goes steadily on with the ponies--he is perfectly excellent and
untiring in his devotion to the animals.

Day and Nelson, having given much thought to the proper fitting up
of their corner, have now begun work. There seems to be little doubt
that these ingenious people will make the most of their allotted space.

I have done quite a lot of thinking over the autumn journeys and a
lot remains to be done, mainly on account of the prospect of being
cut off from our winter quarters; for this reason we must have a
great deal of food for animals and men.

_Friday, January_ 20.--Our house has assumed great proportions. Bowers'
annexe is finished, roof and all thoroughly snow tight; an excellent
place for spare clothing, furs, and ready use stores, and its extension
affording complete protection to the entrance porch of the hut. The
stables are nearly finished--a thoroughly stout well-roofed lean-to
on the north side. Nelson has a small extension on the east side
and Simpson a prearranged projection on the S.E. corner, so that
on all sides the main building has thrown out limbs. Simpson has
almost completed his ice cavern, light-tight lining, niches, floor
and all. Wright and Forde have almost completed the absolute hut,
a patchwork building for which the framework only was brought--but
it will be very well adapted for our needs.

Gran has been putting 'record' on the ski runners. Record is a mixture
of vegetable tar, paraffin, soft soap, and linseed oil, with some
patent addition which prevents freezing--this according to Gran.

P.O. Evans and Crean have been preparing sledges; Evans shows himself
wonderfully capable, and I haven't a doubt as to the working of the
sledges he has fitted up.

We have been serving out some sledging gear and wintering boots. We are
delighted with everything. First the felt boots and felt slippers made
by Jaeger and then summer wind clothes and fur mits--nothing could be
better than these articles. Finally to-night we have overhauled and
served out two pairs of finnesko (fur boots) to each traveller. They
are excellent in quality. At first I thought they seemed small, but a
stiffness due to cold and dryness misled me--a little stretching and
all was well. They are very good indeed. I have an idea to use putties
to secure our wind trousers to the finnesko. But indeed the whole
time we are thinking of devices to make our travelling work easier.

'We have now tried most of our stores, and so far we have not found
a single article that is not perfectly excellent in quality and
preservation. We are well repaid for all the trouble which was taken in
selecting the food list and the firms from which the various articles
could best be obtained, and we are showering blessings on Mr. Wyatt's
head for so strictly safeguarding our interests in these particulars.

'Our clothing is as good as good. In fact first and last, running
through the whole extent of our outfit, I can say with some pride
that there is not a single arrangement which I would have had altered.'

An Emperor penguin was found on the Cape well advanced in moult,
a good specimen skin. Atkinson found cysts formed by a tapeworm in
the intestines. It seems clear that this parasite is not transferred
from another host, and that its history is unlike that of any other
known tapeworm--in fact, Atkinson scores a discovery in parasitology
of no little importance.

The wind has turned to the north to-night and is blowing quite fresh. I
don't much like the position of the ship as the ice is breaking away
all the time. The sky is quite clear and I don't think the wind often
lasts long under such conditions.

The pianola has been erected by Rennick. He is a good fellow and one
feels for him much at such a time--it must be rather dreadful for
him to be returning when he remembers that he was once practically
one of the shore party._11_ The pianola has been his special care,
and it shows well that he should give so much pains in putting it
right for us.

Day has been explaining the manner in which he hopes to be able to
cope with the motor sledge difficulty. He is hopeful of getting things
right, but I fear it won't do to place more reliance on the machines.

Everything looks hopeful for the depot journey if only we can get
our stores and ponies past the Glacier Tongue.

We had some seal rissoles to-day so extraordinarily well cooked that
it was impossible to distinguish them from the best beef rissoles. I
told two of the party they were beef, and they made no comment till I
enlightened them after they had eaten two each. It is the first time
I have tasted seal without being aware of its particular flavour. But
even its own flavour is acceptable in our cook's hands--he really
is excellent.

_Saturday, January_ 21.--My anxiety for the ship was not
unfounded. Fearing a little trouble I went out of the hut in the middle
of the night and saw at once that she was having a bad time--the
ice was breaking with a northerly swell and the wind increasing,
with the ship on dead lee shore; luckily the ice anchors had been
put well in on the floe and some still held. Pennell was getting up
steam and his men struggling to replace the anchors.

We got out the men and gave some help. At 6 steam was up, and I was
right glad to see the ship back out to windward, leaving us to recover
anchors and hawsers.

She stood away to the west, and almost immediately after a large berg
drove in and grounded in the place she had occupied.

We spent the day measuring our provisions and fixing up clothing
arrangements for our journey; a good deal of progress has been made.

In the afternoon the ship returned to the northern ice edge; the
wind was still strong (about N. 30 W.) and loose ice all along the
edge--our people went out with the ice anchors and I saw the ship
pass west again. Then as I went out on the floe came the report that
she was ashore. I ran out to the Cape with Evans and saw that the
report was only too true. She looked to be firmly fixed and in a very
uncomfortable position. It looked as though she had been trying to
get round the Cape, and therefore I argued she must have been going a
good pace as the drift was making rapidly to the south. Later Pennell
told me he had been trying to look behind the berg and had been going
astern some time before he struck.

My heart sank when I looked at her and I sent Evans off in the whaler
to sound, recovered the ice anchors again, set the people to work,
and walked disconsolately back to the Cape to watch.

Visions of the ship failing to return to New Zealand and of sixty
people waiting here arose in my mind with sickening pertinacity,
and the only consolation I could draw from such imaginations was the
determination that the southern work should go on as before--meanwhile
the least ill possible seemed to be an extensive lightening of the
ship with boats as the tide was evidently high when she struck--a
terribly depressing prospect.

Some three or four of us watched it gloomily from the shore whilst
all was bustle on board, the men shifting cargo aft. Pennell tells
me they shifted 10 tons in a very short time.

The first ray of hope came when by careful watching one could see
that the ship was turning very slowly, then one saw the men running
from side to side and knew that an attempt was being made to roll her
off. The rolling produced a more rapid turning movement at first and
then she seemed to hang again. But only for a short time; the engines
had been going astern all the time and presently a slight movement
became apparent. But we only knew she was getting clear when we heard
cheers on board and more cheers from the whaler.

Then she gathered stern way and was clear. The relief was enormous.

The wind dropped as she came off, and she is now securely moored off
the northern ice edge, where I hope the greater number of her people
are finding rest. For here and now I must record the splendid manner
in which these men are working. I find it difficult to express my
admiration for the manner in which the ship is handled and worked
under these very trying circumstances.

From Pennell down there is not an officer or man who has not done his
job nobly during the past weeks, and it will be a glorious thing to
remember the unselfish loyal help they are giving us.

Pennell has been over to tell me all about it to-night; I think I
like him more every day.

Campbell and his party returned late this afternoon--I have not
heard details.

Meares and Oates went to the Glacier Tongue and satisfied themselves
that the ice is good. It only has to remain another three days,
and it would be poor luck if it failed in that time.

_Sunday, January_ 22.--A quiet day with little to record.

The ship lies peacefully in the bay; a brisk northerly breeze in
the forenoon died to light airs in the evening--it is warm enough,
the temperature in the hut was 63° this evening. We have had a long
busy day at clothing--everyone sewing away diligently. The Eastern
Party ponies were put on board the ship this morning.

_Monday, January_ 23.--Placid conditions last for a very short time in
these regions. I got up at 5 this morning to find the weather calm and
beautiful, but to my astonishment an opening lane of water between the
land and the ice in the bay. The latter was going out in a solid mass.

The ship discovered it easily, got up her ice anchors, sent a boat
ashore, and put out to sea to dredge. We went on with our preparations,
but soon Meares brought word that the ice in the south bay was going in
an equally rapid fashion. This proved an exaggeration, but an immense
piece of floe had separated from the land. Meares and I walked till
we came to the first ice. Luckily we found that it extends for some
2 miles along the rock of our Cape, and we discovered a possible way
to lead ponies down to it. It was plain that only the ponies could
go by it--no loads.

Since that everything has been rushed--and a wonderful day's work has
resulted; we have got all the forage and food sledges and equipment
off to the ship--the dogs will follow in an hour, I hope, with pony
harness, &c., that is everything to do with our depôt party, except
the ponies.

As at present arranged they are to cross the Cape and try to get
over the Southern Road [8] to-morrow morning. One breathes a prayer
that the Road holds for the few remaining hours. It goes in one place
between a berg in open water and a large pool of the glacier face--it
may be weak in that part, and at any moment the narrow isthmus may
break away. We are doing it on a very narrow margin.

If all is well I go to the ship to-morrow morning after the ponies
have started, and then to Glacier Tongue.



CHAPTER V

Depôt Laying To One Ton Camp

_Tuesday, January_ 24.--People were busy in the hut all last night--we
got away at 9 A.M. A boat from the _Terra Nova_ fetched the Western
Party and myself as the ponies were led out of the camp. Meares and
Wilson went ahead of the ponies to test the track. On board the ship I
was taken in to see Lillie's catch of sea animals. It was wonderful,
quantities of sponges, isopods, pentapods, large shrimps, corals,
&c., &c.--but the _pièce de résistance_ was the capture of several
buckets full of cephalodiscus of which only seven pieces had been
previously caught. Lillie is immensely pleased, feeling that it alone
repays the whole enterprise.

In the forenoon we skirted the Island, getting 30 and 40 fathoms of
water north and west of Inaccessible Island. With a telescope we could
see the string of ponies steadily progressing over the sea ice past the
Razor Back Islands. As soon as we saw them well advanced we steamed on
to the Glacier Tongue. The open water extended just round the corner
and the ship made fast in the narrow angle made by the sea ice with
the glacier, her port side flush with the surface of the latter. I
walked over to meet the ponies whilst Campbell went to investigate a
broad crack in the sea ice on the Southern Road. The ponies were got
on to the Tongue without much difficulty, then across the glacier, and
picketed on the sea ice close to the ship. Meanwhile Campbell informed
me that the big crack was 30 feet across: it was evident we must get
past it on the glacier, and I asked Campbell to peg out a road clear
of cracks. Oates reported the ponies ready to start again after tea,
and they were led along Campbell's road, their loads having already
been taken on the floe--all went well until the animals got down on
the floe level and Oates led across an old snowed-up crack. His and
the next pony got across, but the third made a jump at the edge and
sank to its stomach in the middle. It couldn't move, and with such
struggles as it made it sank deeper till only its head and forelegs
showed above the slush. With some trouble we got ropes on these,
and hauling together pulled the poor creature out looking very weak
and miserable and trembling much.

We led the other ponies round farther to the west and eventually got
all out on the floe, gave them a small feed, and started them off with
their loads. The dogs meanwhile gave some excitement. Starting on
hard ice with a light load nothing could hold them, and they dashed
off over everything--it seemed wonderful that we all reached the
floe in safety. Wilson and I drive one team, whilst Evans and Meares
drive the other. I withhold my opinion of the dogs in much doubt as
to whether they are going to be a real success--but the ponies are
going to be real good. They work with such extraordinary steadiness,
stepping out briskly and cheerfully, following in each other's
tracks. The great drawback is the ease with which they sink in soft
snow: they go through in lots of places where the men scarcely make an
impression--they struggle pluckily when they sink, but it is trying to
watch them. We came with the loads noted below and one bale of fodder
(105 lbs.) added to each sledge. We are camped 6 miles from the glacier
and 2 from Hut Point--a cold east wind; to-night the temperature 19°.

_Autumn Party to start January 25, 1911_

12 men, [9] 8 ponies, 26 dogs.

First load estimated 5385 lbs., including 14 weeks' food and fuel
for men--taken to Cache No. 1.

Ship transports following to Glacier Tongue:


                                            lbs.
        130 Bales compressed fodder         13,650
        24 Cases dog biscuit                 1,400
        10 Sacks of oats                     1,600 ?
                                            ------
                                            16,650


Teams return to ship to transport this load to Cache No. 1. Dog teams
also take on 500 lbs. of biscuit from Hut Point.


        Pony Sledges

                                                lbs.
        On all sledges

            Sledge with straps and tank          52
            Pony furniture                       25
            Driver's ski and sleeping-bag, &c.   40


        Nos. 1 & 5
            Cooker and primus instruments        40
            Tank containing biscuit             172
            Sack of oats                        160
            Tent and poles                       28
            Alpine rope                           5
            1 oil can and spirit can             15
                                                ---
                                                537

        Nos. 2 & 6
            Oil                                 100
            Tank contents: food bags            285
            Ready provision bag                  63
            2 picks                              20
                                                ---
                                                468

        Nos. 3 & 7
            Oil                                 100
            Tank contents: biscuit              196
            Sack of oats                        160
            2 shovels                             9
                                                ---
                                                465

        Nos. 4 & 8
            Box with tools, &c.                  35
            Cookers, &c.                        105
            Tank contents food bags             252
            Sack of oats                        160
            3 long bamboos and spare gear        15
                                                ---
                                                567


Spare Gear per Man

        2 pairs under socks
        2 pairs outer socks
        1 pair hair socks
        1 pair night socks
        1 pyjama jacket
        1 pyjama trousers
        1 woollen mits
        2 finnesko
        Skein                           =  10 lbs.
        Books, diaries, tobacco, &c.        2  ,,
                                           --
                                           12 lbs.

Dress

        Vest and drawers
        Woollen shirt
        Jersey
        Balaclava
        Wind Suit
        Two pairs socks
        Ski boots.



Dogs

        No. 1.
                                                lbs.
            Sledge straps and tanks              54
            Drivers' ski and bags                80
            Cooker primus and instruments        50
            Tank contents: biscuit              221
            Alpine rope                           5
            Lamps and candles                     4
            2 shovels                             9
            Ready provision bag                  63
            Sledge meter                          2
                                                ---
                                                488

        No. 2.
                                                lbs.
            Sledge straps and tanks              54
            Drivers' ski and bags                80
            Tank contents: food bags            324
            Tent and poles                       33
                                                ---
                                                491


10-ft. sledge: men's harness, extra tent.

_Thursday, January 26_.--Yesterday I went to the ship with a dog
team. All went well till the dogs caught sight of a whale breeching
in the 30 ft. lead and promptly made for it! It was all we could do
to stop them before we reached the water.

Spent the day writing letters and completing arrangements for the
ship--a brisk northerly breeze sprang up in the night and the ship
bumped against the glacier until the pack came in as protection from
the swell. Ponies and dogs arrived about 1 P.M., and at 5 we all went
out for the final start.

A little earlier Pennell had the men aft and I thanked them for
their splendid work. They have behaved like bricks and a finer lot of
fellows never sailed in a ship. It was good to get their hearty send
off. Before we could get away Ponting had his half-hour photographing
us, the ponies and the dog teams--I hope he will have made a good
thing of it. It was a little sad to say farewell to all these good
fellows and Campbell and his men. I do most heartily trust that all
will be successful in their ventures, for indeed their unselfishness
and their generous high spirit deserves reward. God bless them.

So here we are with all our loads. One wonders what the upshot will
be. It will take three days to transport the loads to complete safety;
the break up of the sea ice ought not to catch us before that. The
wind is from the S.E. again to-night.

_Friday, January_ 27.--Camp 2. Started at 9.30 and moved a load of
fodder 3 3/4 miles south--returned to camp to lunch--then shifted
camp and provisions. Our weights are now divided into three loads:
two of food for ponies, one of men's provisions with some ponies'
food. It is slow work, but we retreat slowly but surely from the
chance of going out on the sea ice.

We are camped about a mile south of C. Armitage. After camping I went
to the east till abreast of Pram Point, finding the ice dangerously
thin off C. Armitage. It is evident we must make a considerable
détour to avoid danger. The rest of the party went to the _Discovery_
hut to see what could be done towards digging it out. The report is
unfavourable, as I expected. The drift inside has become very solid--it
would take weeks of work to clear it. A great deal of biscuit and some
butter, cocoa, &c., was seen, so that we need not have any anxiety
about provisions if delayed in returning to Cape Evans.

The dogs are very tired to-night. I have definitely handed the
control of the second team to Wilson. He was very eager to have
it and will do well I'm sure--but certainly also the dogs will not
pull heavy loads--500 pounds proved a back-breaking load for 11 dogs
to-day--they brought it at a snail's pace. Meares has estimated to
give them two-thirds of a pound of biscuit a day. I have felt sure
he will find this too little.

The ponies are doing excellently. Their loads run up to 800 and 900
lbs. and they make very light of them. Oates said he could have gone
on for some time to-night.

_Saturday, January_ 28.--Camp 2. The ponies went back for the last load
at Camp 1, and I walked south to find a way round the great pressure
ridge. The sea ice south is covered with confused irregular sastrugi
well remembered from _Discovery_ days. The pressure ridge is new. The
broken ice of the ridge ended east of the spot I approached and the
pressure was seen only in a huge domed wave, the hollow of which
on my left was surrounded with a countless number of seals--these
lay about sleeping or apparently gambolling in the shallow water. I
imagine the old ice in this hollow has gone well under and that the
seals have a pool above it which may be warmer on such a bright day.

It was evident that the ponies could be brought round by this route,
and I returned to camp to hear that one of the ponies (Keohane's)
had gone lame. The Soldier took a gloomy view of the situation,
but he is not an optimist. It looks as though a tendon had been
strained, but it is not at all certain. Bowers' pony is also weak in
the forelegs, but we knew this before: it is only a question of how
long he will last. The pity is that he is an excellently strong pony
otherwise. Atkinson has a bad heel and laid up all day--his pony was
tied behind another sledge, and went well, a very hopeful sign.

In the afternoon I led the ponies out 2 3/4 miles south to the
crossing of the pressure ridge, then east 1 1/4 till we struck the
barrier edge and ascended it. Going about 1/2 mile in we dumped the
loads--the ponies sank deep just before the loads were dropped, but
it looked as though the softness was due to some rise in the surface.

We saw a dark object a quarter of a mile north as we reached the
Barrier. I walked over and found it to be the tops of two tents more
than half buried--Shackleton's tents we suppose. A moulting Emperor
penguin was sleeping between them. The canvas on one tent seemed
intact, but half stripped from the other.

The ponies pulled splendidly to-day, as also the dogs, but we have
decided to load both lightly from now on, to march them easily, and
to keep as much life as possible in them. There is much to be learnt
as to their powers of performance.

Keohane says 'Come on, lad, you'll be getting to the Pole' by way of
cheering his animal--all the party is cheerful, there never were a
better set of people.

_Sunday, January_ 29.--Camp 2. This morning after breakfast I
read prayers. Excellent day. The seven good ponies have made two
journeys to the Barrier, covering 18 geographical miles, half with
good loads--none of them were at all done. Oates' pony, a spirited,
nervous creature, got away at start when his head was left for a
moment and charged through the camp at a gallop; finally his sledge
cannoned into another, the swingle tree broke, and he galloped away,
kicking furiously at the dangling trace. Oates fetched him when he
had quieted down, and we found that nothing had been hurt or broken
but the swingle tree.

Gran tried going on ski with his pony. All went well while he was
alongside, but when he came up from the back the swish of the ski
frightened the beast, who fled faster than his pursuer--that is,
the pony and load were going better than the Norwegian on ski.

Gran is doing very well. He has a lazy pony and a good deal of work
to get him along, and does it very cheerfully.

The dogs are doing excellently--getting into better condition
every day.

They ran the first load 1 mile 1200 yards past the stores on the
Barrier, to the spot chosen for 'Safety Camp,' the big home depot.

I don't think that any part of the Barrier is likely to go, but it's
just as well to be prepared for everything, and our camp must deserve
its distinctive title of 'Safety.'

In the afternoon the dogs ran a second load to the same place--covering
over 24 geographical miles in the day--an excellent day's work._12_

Evans and I took a load out on foot over the pressure ridge. The camp
load alone remains to be taken to the Barrier. Once we get to Safety
Camp we can stay as long as we like before starting our journey. It
is only when we start that we must travel fast.

Most of the day it has been overcast, but to-night it has cleared
again. There is very little wind. The temperatures of late have been
ranging from 9° at night to 24° in the day. Very easy circumstances
for sledging.

_Monday, January_ 30.--Camp 3. Safety Camp. Bearings: Lat. 77.55; Cape
Armitage N. 64 W.; Camel's Hump of Blue Glacier left, extreme; Castle
Rock N. 40 W. Called the camp at 7.30. Finally left with ponies at
11.30. There was a good deal to do, which partly accounts for delays,
but we shall have to 'buck up' with our camp arrangement. Atkinson
had his foot lanced and should be well in a couple of days.

I led the lame pony; his leg is not swelled, but I fear he's developed
a permanent defect--there are signs of ring bone and the hoof is split.

A great shock came when we passed the depôted fodder and made for
this camp. The ponies sank very deep and only brought on their loads
with difficulty, getting pretty hot. The distance was but 1 1/2
miles, but it took more out of them than the rest of the march. We
camped and held a council of war after lunch. I unfolded my plan,
which is to go forward with five weeks' food for men and animals: to
depôt a fortnight's supply after twelve or thirteen days and return
here. The loads for ponies thus arranged work out a little over 600
lbs., for the dog teams 700 lbs., both apart from sledges. The ponies
ought to do it easily if the surface is good enough for them to walk,
which is doubtful--the dogs may have to be lightened--such as it is,
it is the best we can do under the circumstances!

This afternoon I went forward on ski to see if the conditions
changed. In 2 or 3 miles I could see no improvement.

Bowers, Garrard, and the three men went and dug out the _Nimrod_
tent. They found a cooker and provisions and remains of a hastily
abandoned meal. One tent was half full of hard ice, the result of
thaw. The Willesden canvas was rotten except some material used for
the doors. The floor cloth could not be freed.

The Soldier doesn't like the idea of fetching up the remainder of the
loads to this camp with the ponies. I think we will bring on all we
can with the dogs and take the risk of leaving the rest.

The _Nimrod_ camp was evidently made by some relief or ship party,
and if that has stood fast for so long there should be little fear
for our stuff in a single season. To-morrow we muster stores, build
the depot, and pack our sledges.

_Tuesday, January_ 31.--Camp 3. We have everything ready to
start--but this afternoon we tried our one pair of snow-shoes on
'Weary Willy.' The effect was magical. He strolled around as though
walking on hard ground in places where he floundered woefully without
them. Oates hasn't had any faith in these shoes at all, and I thought
that even the quietest pony would need to be practised in their use.

Immediately after our experiment I decided that an effort must be
made to get more, and within half an hour Meares and Wilson were on
their way to the station more than 20 miles away. There is just the
chance that the ice may not have gone out, but it is a very poor one
I fear. At present it looks as though we might double our distance
with the snow-shoes.

Atkinson is better to-day, but not by any means well, so that the
delay is in his favour. We cannot start on till the dogs return with
or without the shoes. The only other hope for this journey is that the
Barrier gets harder farther out, but I feel that the prospect of this
is not very bright. In any case it is something to have discovered
the possibilities of these shoes.

Low temperature at night for first time. Min. 2.4°. Quite warm in tent.

_Wednesday, February_ 1.--Camp 3. A day of comparative inactivity and
some disappointment. Meares and Wilson returned at noon, reporting
the ice out beyond the Razor Back Island--no return to Cape Evans--no
pony snow-shoes--alas! I have decided to make a start to-morrow without
them. Late to-night Atkinson's foot was examined: it is bad and there's
no possibility of its getting right for some days. He must be left
behind--I've decided to leave Crean with him. Most luckily we now
have an extra tent and cooker. How the ponies are to be led is very
doubtful. Well, we must do the best that circumstances permit. Poor
Atkinson is in very low spirits.

I sent Gran to the _Discovery_ hut with our last mail. He went on
ski and was nearly 4 hours away, making me rather anxious, as the
wind had sprung up and there was a strong surface-drift; he narrowly
missed the camp on returning and I am glad to get him back.

Our food allowance seems to be very ample, and if we go on as at
present we shall thrive amazingly.

_Thursday, February_ 2.--Camp 4. Made a start at last. Roused out at 7,
left camp about 10.30. Atkinson and Crean remained behind--very hard
on the latter. Atkinson suffering much pain and mental distress at
his condition--for the latter I fear I cannot have much sympathy, as
he ought to have reported his trouble long before. Crean will manage
to rescue some more of the forage from the Barrier edge--I am very
sorry for him.

On starting with all the ponies (I leading Atkinson's) I saw with
some astonishment that the animals were not sinking deeply, and to my
pleased surprise we made good progress at once. This lasted for more
than an hour, then the surface got comparatively bad again--but still
most of the ponies did well with it, making 5 miles. Birdie's [10]
animal, however, is very heavy and flounders where the others walk
fairly easily. He is eager and tries to go faster as he flounders. As
a result he was brought in, in a lather. I inquired for our one set
of snow-shoes and found they had been left behind. The difference
in surface from what was expected makes one wonder whether better
conditions may not be expected during the night and in the morning,
when the temperatures are low. My suggestion that we should take to
night marching has met with general approval. Even if there is no
improvement in the surface the ponies will rest better during the
warmer hours and march better in the night.

So we are resting in our tents, waiting to start to-night. Gran has
gone back for the snow-shoes--he volunteered good-naturedly--certainly
his expertness on ski is useful.

Last night the temperature fell to -6° after the wind dropped--to-day
it is warm and calm.

_Impressions_

The seductive folds of the sleeping-bag.

The hiss of the primus and the fragrant steam of the cooker issuing
from the tent ventilator.

The small green tent and the great white road.

The whine of a dog and the neigh of our steeds.

The driving cloud of powdered snow.

The crunch of footsteps which break the surface crust.

The wind blown furrows.

The blue arch beneath the smoky cloud.

The crisp ring of the ponies' hoofs and the swish of the following
sledge.

The droning conversation of the march as driver encourages or chides
his horse.

The patter of dog pads.

The gentle flutter of our canvas shelter.

Its deep booming sound under the full force of a blizzard.

The drift snow like finest flour penetrating every hole and
corner--flickering up beneath one's head covering, pricking sharply
as a sand blast.

The sun with blurred image peeping shyly through the wreathing drift
giving pale shadowless light.

The eternal silence of the great white desert. Cloudy columns of snow
drift advancing from the south, pale yellow wraiths, heralding the
coming storm, blotting out one by one the sharp-cut lines of the land.

The blizzard, Nature's protest--the crevasse, Nature's pitfall--that
grim trap for the unwary--no hunter could conceal his snare so
perfectly--the light rippled snow bridge gives no hint or sign of
the hidden danger, its position unguessable till man or beast is
floundering, clawing and struggling for foothold on the brink.

The vast silence broken only by the mellow sounds of the marching
column.

_Friday, February_ 3, 8 A.M.--Camp 5. Roused the camp at 10 P.M. and
we started marching at 12.30. At first surface bad, but gradually
improving. We had two short spells and set up temporary camp to feed
ourselves and ponies at 3.20. Started again at 5 and marched till
7. In all covered 9 miles. Surface seemed to have improved during the
last part of the march till just before camping time, when Bowers, who
was leading, plunged into soft snow. Several of the others following
close on his heels shared his fate, and soon three ponies were plunging
and struggling in a drift. Garrard's pony, which has very broad feet,
found hard stuff beyond and then my pony got round. Forde and Keohane
led round on comparatively hard ground well to the right, and the
entangled ponies were unharnessed and led round from patch to patch
till firmer ground was reached. Then we camped and the remaining loads
were brought in. Then came the _triumph of the snow-shoe_ again. We
put a set on Bowers' big pony--at first he walked awkwardly (for a
few minutes only) then he settled down, was harnessed to his load,
brought that in and another also--all over places into which he had
been plunging. If we had more of these shoes we could certainly put
them on seven out of eight of our ponies--and after a little I think
on the eighth, Oates' pony, as certainly the ponies so shod would draw
their loads over the soft snow patches without any difficulty. It is
trying to feel that so great a help to our work has been left behind
at the station.

_Impressions_

It is pathetic to see the ponies floundering in the soft patches. The
first sink is a shock to them and seems to brace them to action. Thus
they generally try to rush through when they feel themselves
sticking. If the patch is small they land snorting and agitated on
the harder surface with much effort. And if the patch is extensive
they plunge on gamely until exhausted. Most of them after a bit
plunge forward with both forefeet together, making a series of jumps
and bringing the sledge behind them with jerks. This is, of course,
terribly tiring for them. Now and again they have to stop, and it is
horrid to see them half engulfed in the snow, panting and heaving from
the strain. Now and again one falls and lies trembling and temporarily
exhausted. It must be terribly trying for them, but it is wonderful
to see how soon they recover their strength. The quiet, lazy ponies
have a much better time than the eager ones when such troubles arise.

The soft snow which gave the trouble is evidently in the hollow of one
of the big waves that continue through the pressure ridges at Cape
Crozier towards the Bluff. There are probably more of these waves,
though we crossed several during the last part of the march--so far
it seems that the soft parts are in patches only and do not extend
the whole length of the hollow. Our course is to pick a way with
the sure-footed beasts and keep the others back till the road has
been tested.

What extraordinary uncertainties this work exhibits! Every day some
new fact comes to light--some new obstacle which threatens the gravest
obstruction. I suppose this is the reason which makes the game so
well worth playing.

_Impressions_

The more I think of our sledging outfit the more certain I am that
we have arrived at something near a perfect equipment for civilised
man under such conditions.

The border line between necessity and luxury is vague enough.

We might save weight at the expense of comfort, but all possible saving
would amount to but a mere fraction of one's loads. Supposing it were
a grim struggle for existence and we were forced to drop everything
but the barest necessities, the total saving on this three weeks'
journey would be:


                                        lbs.
        Fuel for cooking                100
        Cooking apparatus                45
        Personal clothing, &c., say     100
        Tent, say                        30
        Instruments, &c.                100
                                        ---
                                        375


This is half of one of ten sledge loads, or about one-twentieth of
the total weight carried. If this is the only part of our weights
which under any conceivable circumstances could be included in
the category of luxuries, it follows the sacrifice to comfort is
negligible. Certainly we could not have increased our mileage by
making such a sacrifice.

But beyond this it may be argued that we have an unnecessary amount
of food: 32 oz. per day per man is our allowance. I well remember
the great strait of hunger to which we were reduced in 1903 after
four or five weeks on 26 oz., and am perfectly confident that we
were steadily losing stamina at that time. Let it be supposed that
4 oz. per day per man might conceivably be saved. We have then a
3 lbs. a day saved in the camp, or 63 lbs. in the three weeks, or
1/100th part of our present loads.

The smallness of the fractions on which the comfort and physical
well-being of the men depend is due to the fact of travelling with
animals whose needs are proportionately so much greater than those of
the men. It follows that it must be sound policy to keep the men of a
sledge party keyed up to a high pitch of well-fed physical condition
as long as they have animals to drag their loads. The time for short
rations, long marches and carefullest scrutiny of detail comes when
the men are dependent on their own traction efforts.

6 P.M.--It has been blowing from the S.W., but the wind is dying
away--the sky is overcast--I write after 9 hours' sleep, the others
still peacefully slumbering. Work with animals means long intervals
of rest which are not altogether easily occupied. With our present
routine the dogs remain behind for an hour or more, trying to hit
off their arrival in the new camp soon after the ponies have been
picketed. The teams are pulling very well, Meares' especially. The
animals are getting a little fierce. Two white dogs in Meares' team
have been trained to attack strangers--they were quiet enough on board
ship, but now bark fiercely if anyone but their driver approaches the
team. They suddenly barked at me as I was pointing out the stopping
place to Meares, and Osman, my erstwhile friend, swept round and
nipped my leg lightly. I had no stick and there is no doubt that if
Meares had not been on the sledge the whole team, following the lead
of the white dogs, would have been at me in a moment.

Hunger and fear are the only realities in dog life: an empty stomach
makes a fierce dog. There is something almost alarming in the sudden
fierce display of natural instinct in a tame creature. Instinct
becomes a blind, unreasoning, relentless passion. For instance the
dogs are as a rule all very good friends in harness: they pull side
by side rubbing shoulders, they walk over each other as they settle
to rest, relations seem quite peaceful and quiet. But the moment food
is in their thoughts, however, their passions awaken; each dog is
suspicious of his neighbour, and the smallest circumstance produces
a fight. With like suddenness their rage flares out instantaneously
if they get mixed up on the march--a quiet, peaceable team which has
been lazily stretching itself with wagging tails one moment will become
a set of raging, tearing, fighting devils the next. It is such stern
facts that resign one to the sacrifice of animal life in the effort
to advance such human projects as this.

The Corner Camp. [Bearings: Obs. Hill < Bluff 86°; Obs. Hill < Knoll
80 1/2°; Mt. Terror N. 4 W.; Obs. Hill N. 69 W.]

_Saturday, February_ 4, 8 A.M., 1911.--Camp 6. A satisfactory night
march covering 10 miles and some hundreds of yards.

Roused party at 10, when it was blowing quite hard from the S.E.,
with temperature below zero. It looked as though we should have a
pretty cold start, but by the end of breakfast the wind had dropped
and the sun shone forth.

Started on a bad surface--ponies plunging a good deal for 2 miles or
so, Bowers' 'Uncle Bill' walking steadily on his snow-shoes. After this
the surface improved and the marching became steadier. We camped for
lunch after 5 miles. Going still better in the afternoon, except that
we crossed several crevasses. Oates' pony dropped his legs into two
of these and sank into one--oddly the other ponies escaped and we were
the last. Some 2 miles from our present position the cracks appeared to
cease, and in the last march we have got on to quite a hard surface on
which the ponies drag their loads with great ease. This part seems to
be swept by the winds which so continually sweep round Cape Crozier,
and therefore it is doubtful if it extends far to the south, but for
the present the going should be good. Had bright moonshine for the
march, but now the sky has clouded and it looks threatening to the
south. I think we may have a blizzard, though the wind is northerly
at present.

The ponies are in very good form; 'James Pigg' remarkably recovered
from his lameness.

8 P.M.--It is blowing a blizzard--wind moderate--temperature mild.

_Impressions_

The deep, dreamless sleep that follows the long march and the
satisfying supper.

The surface crust which breaks with a snap and sinks with a snap,
startling men and animals.

Custom robs it of dread but not of interest to the dogs, who come to
imagine such sounds as the result of some strange freak of hidden
creatures. They become all alert and spring from side to side,
hoping to catch the creature. The hope clings in spite of continual
disappointment._13_

A dog must be either eating, asleep, or _interested_. His eagerness
to snatch at interest, to chain his attention to something, is almost
pathetic. The monotony of marching kills him.

This is the fearfullest difficulty for the dog driver on a snow plain
without leading marks or objects in sight. The dog is almost human
in its demand for living interest, yet fatally less than human in
its inability to foresee.

The dog lives for the day, the hour, even the moment. The human being
can live and support discomfort for a future.

_Sunday, February_ 5.--Corner Camp, No. 6. The blizzard descended on
us at about 4 P.M. yesterday; for twenty-four hours it continued with
moderate wind, then the wind shifting slightly to the west came with
much greater violence. Now it is blowing very hard and our small frail
tent is being well tested. One imagines it cannot continue long as at
present, but remembers our proximity to Cape Crozier and the length
of the blizzards recorded in that region. As usual we sleep and eat,
conversing as cheerfully as may be in the intervals. There is scant
news of our small outside world--only a report of comfort and a rumour
that Bowers' pony has eaten one of its putties!!

11 P.M.--Still blowing hard--a real blizzard now with dusty, floury
drift--two minutes in the open makes a white figure. What a wonderful
shelter our little tent affords! We have just had an excellent meal,
a quiet pipe, and fireside conversation within, almost forgetful for
the time of the howling tempest without;--now, as we lie in our bags
warm and comfortable, one can scarcely realise that 'hell' is on the
other side of the thin sheet of canvas that protects us.

_Monday, February_ 6.--Corner Camp, No. 6. 6 P.M. The wind increased
in the night. It has been blowing very hard all day. No fun to be
out of the tent--but there are no shirkers with us. Oates has been
out regularly to feed the ponies; Meares and Wilson to attend to the
dogs--the rest of us as occasion required. The ponies are fairly
comfortable, though one sees now what great improvements could be
made to the horse clothes. The dogs ought to be quite happy. They are
curled snugly under the snow and at meal times issue from steaming warm
holes. The temperature is high, luckily. We are comfortable enough in
the tent, but it is terribly trying to the patience--over fifty hours
already and no sign of the end. The drifts about the camp are very
deep--some of the sledges almost covered. It is the old story, eat and
sleep, sleep and eat--and it's surprising how much sleep can be put in.

_Tuesday, February_ 7, 5 P.M.--Corner Camp, No. 6. The wind kept on
through the night, commencing to lull at 8 A.M. At 10 A.M. one could
see an arch of clear sky to the S.W. and W., White Island, the Bluff,
and the Western Mountains clearly defined. The wind had fallen very
light and we were able to do some camp work, digging out sledges and
making the ponies more comfortable. At 11 a low dark cloud crept over
the southern horizon and there could be no doubt the wind was coming
upon us again. At 1 P.M. the drift was all about us once more and
the sun obscured. One began to feel that fortune was altogether too
hard on us--but now as I write the wind has fallen again to a gentle
breeze, the sun is bright, and the whole southern horizon clear. A
good sign is the freedom of the Bluff from cloud. One feels that we
ought to have a little respite for the next week, and now we must
do everything possible to tend and protect our ponies. All looks
promising for the night march.

_Wednesday, February_ 8.--No. 7 Camp. Bearings: Lat. 78° 13';
Mt. Terror N. 3 W.; Erebus 23 1/2 Terror 2nd peak from south; Pk. 2
White Island 74 Terror; Castle Rk. 43 Terror. Night march just
completed. 10 miles, 200 yards. The ponies were much shaken by the
blizzard. One supposes they did not sleep--all look listless and two
or three are visibly thinner than before. But the worst case by far
is Forde's little pony; he was reduced to a weight little exceeding
400 lbs. on his sledge and caved in altogether on the second part of
the march. The load was reduced to 200 lbs., and finally Forde pulled
this in, leading the pony. The poor thing is a miserable scarecrow and
never ought to have been brought--it is the same pony that did so badly
in the ship. To-day it is very fine and bright. We are giving a good
deal of extra food to the animals, and my hope is that they will soon
pick up again--but they cannot stand more blizzards in their present
state. I'm afraid we shall not get very far, but at all hazards we
must keep the greater number of the ponies alive. The dogs are in
fine form--the blizzard has only been a pleasant rest _for them_.

_Memo_.--Left No. 7 Camp. 2 bales of fodder.

_Thursday, February_ 9.--No. 8 Camp. Made good 11 miles. Good night
march; surface excellent, but we are carrying very light loads
with the exception of one or two ponies. Forde's poor 'Misery' is
improving slightly. It is very keen on its feed. Its fate is much in
doubt. Keohane's 'Jimmy Pigg' is less lame than yesterday. In fact
there is a general buck up all round.

It was a coldish march with light head wind and temperature 5° or 6°
below zero, but it was warm in the sun all yesterday and promises to be
warm again to-day. If such weather would hold there would be nothing to
fear for the ponies. We have come to the conclusion that the principal
cause of their discomfort is the comparative thinness of their coats.

We get the well-remembered glorious views of the Western Mountains,
but now very distant. No crevasses to-day. I shall be surprised if
we pass outside all sign of them.

One begins to see how things ought to be worked next year if the
ponies hold out. Ponies and dogs are losing their snow blindness.

_Friday, February_ 10.--No. 9 Camp. 12 miles 200 yards. Cold march,
very chilly wind, overcast sky, difficult to see surface or course.

Noticed sledges, ponies, &c., cast shadows all round.

Surface very good and animals did splendidly.

We came over some undulations during the early part of the march,
but the last part appeared quite flat. I think I remember observing
the same fact on our former trip.

The wind veers and backs from S. to W. and even to N., coming in
gusts. The sastrugi are distinctly S.S.W. There isn't a shadow of
doubt that the prevailing wind is along the coast, taking the curve
of the deep bay south of the Bluff.

The question now is: Shall we by going due southward keep this hard
surface? If so, we should have little difficulty in reaching the
Beardmore Glacier next year.

We turn out of our sleeping-bags about 9 P.M. Somewhere about 11.30 I
shout to the Soldier 'How are things?' There is a response suggesting
readiness, and soon after figures are busy amongst sledges and
ponies. It is chilling work for the fingers and not too warm for the
feet. The rugs come off the animals, the harness is put on, tents and
camp equipment are loaded on the sledges, nosebags filled for the next
halt; one by one the animals are taken off the picketing rope and yoked
to the sledge. Oates watches his animal warily, reluctant to keep such
a nervous creature standing in the traces. If one is prompt one feels
impatient and fretful whilst watching one's more tardy fellows. Wilson
and Meares hang about ready to help with odds and ends. Still we wait:
the picketing lines must be gathered up, a few pony putties need
adjustment, a party has been slow striking their tent. With numbed
fingers on our horse's bridle and the animal striving to turn its
head from the wind one feels resentful. At last all is ready. One says
'All right, Bowers, go ahead,' and Birdie leads his big animal forward,
starting, as he continues, at a steady pace. The horses have got cold
and at the word they are off, the Soldier's and one or two others
with a rush. Finnesko give poor foothold on the slippery sastrugi,
and for a minute or two drivers have some difficulty in maintaining
the pace on their feet. Movement is warming, and in ten minutes the
column has settled itself to steady marching.

The pace is still brisk, the light bad, and at intervals one or another
of us suddenly steps on a slippery patch and falls prone. These are
the only real incidents of the march--for the rest it passes with
a steady tramp and slight variation of formation. The weaker ponies
drop a bit but not far, so that they are soon up in line again when
the first halt is made. We have come to a single halt in each half
march. Last night it was too cold to stop long and a very few minutes
found us on the go again.

As the end of the half march approaches I get out my whistle. Then
at a shrill blast Bowers wheels slightly to the left, his tent mates
lead still farther out to get the distance for the picket lines;
Oates and I stop behind Bowers and Evans, the two other sledges of
our squad behind the two other of Bowers'. So we are drawn up in camp
formation. The picket lines are run across at right angles to the line
of advance and secured to the two sledges at each end. In a few minutes
ponies are on the lines covered, tents up again and cookers going.

Meanwhile the dog drivers, after a long cold wait at the old camp,
have packed the last sledge and come trotting along our tracks. They
try to time their arrival in the new camp immediately after our own
and generally succeed well. The mid march halt runs into an hour to an
hour and a half, and at the end we pack up and tramp forth again. We
generally make our final camp about 8 o'clock, and within an hour
and a half most of us are in our sleeping-bags. Such is at present
the daily routine. At the long halt we do our best for our animals
by building snow walls and improving their rugs, &c.

_Saturday, February_ 11.--No. 10 Camp. Bearings: Lat. 78° 47'. Bluff
S. 79 W.; Left extreme Bluff 65°; Bluff A White Island near Sound. 11
miles. Covered 6 and 5 miles between halts. The surface has got a good
deal softer. In the next two marches we should know more certainly,
but it looks as though the conditions to the south will not be so
good as those we have had hitherto.

Blossom, Evans' pony, has very small hoofs and found the going very
bad. It is less a question of load than one of walking, and there is
no doubt that some form of snow-shoe would help greatly. The question
is, what form?

All the ponies were a little done when we stopped, but the weather
is favourable for a good rest; there is no doubt this night marching
is the best policy.

Even the dogs found the surface more difficult to-day, but they are
pulling very well. Meares has deposed Osman in favour of Rabchick,
as the former was getting either very disobedient or very deaf. The
change appears excellent. Rabchick leads most obediently.

Mem. for next year. A stout male bamboo shod with a spike to sound
for crevasses.

_Sunday, February_ 12.--No. 11 Camp. 10 miles. Depot one Bale
of Fodder. Variation 150 E. South True = N. 30 E. by compass. The
surface is getting decidedly worse. The ponies sink quite deep every
now and again. We marched 6 1/4 miles before lunch, Blossom dropping
considerably behind. He lagged more on the second march and we halted
at 9 miles. Evans said he might be dragged for another mile and we
went on for that distance and camped.

The sky was overcast: very dark and snowy looking in the south--very
difficult to steer a course. Mt. Discovery is in line with the south
end of the Bluff from the camp and we are near the 79th parallel. We
must get exact bearings for this is to be called the 'Bluff Camp'
and should play an important part in the future. Bearings: Bluff 36°
13'; Black Island Rht. Ex. I have decided to send E. Evans, Forde,
and Keohane back with the three weakest ponies which they have been
leading. The remaining five ponies which have been improving in
condition will go on for a few days at least, and we must see how
near we can come to the 80th parallel.

To-night we have been making all the necessary arrangements for this
plan. Cherry-Garrard is to come into our tent.

_Monday, February_ 13.--No. 12 Camp. 9 miles 150 yds. The wind got up
from the south with drift before we started yesterday--all appearance
of a blizzard. But we got away at 12.30 and marched through drift for
7 miles. It was exceedingly cold at first. Just at starting the sky
cleared in the wonderfully rapid fashion usual in these regions. We
saw that our camp had the southern edge of the base rock of the Bluff
in line with Mt. Discovery, and White Island well clear of the eastern
slope of Mt. Erebus. A fairly easy alignment to pick up.

At lunch time the sky lightened up and the drift temporarily ceased. I
thought we were going to get in a good march, but on starting again
the drift came thicker than ever and soon the course grew wild. We
went on for 2 miles and then I decided to camp. So here we are with a
full blizzard blowing. I told Wilson I should camp if it grew thick,
and hope he and Meares have stopped where they were. They saw Evans
start back from No. 11 Camp before leaving. I trust they have got
in something of a march before stopping. This continuous bad weather
is exceedingly trying, but our own ponies are quite comfortable this
time, I'm glad to say. We have built them extensive snow walls behind
which they seem to get quite comfortable shelter. We are five in a
tent yet fairly comfortable.

Our ponies' coats are certainly getting thicker and I see no reason
why we shouldn't get to the 80th parallel if only the weather would
give us a chance.

Bowers is wonderful. Throughout the night he has worn no head-gear
but a common green felt hat kept on with a chin stay and affording no
cover whatever for the ears. His face and ears remain bright red. The
rest of us were glad to have thick Balaclavas and wind helmets. I have
never seen anyone so unaffected by the cold. To-night he remained
outside a full hour after the rest of us had got into the tent. He
was simply pottering about the camp doing small jobs to the sledges,
&c. Cherry-Garrard is remarkable because of his eyes. He can only see
through glasses and has to wrestle with all sorts of inconveniences
in consequence. Yet one could never guess it--for he manages somehow
to do more than his share of the work.

_Tuesday, February_ 14.--13 Camp. 7 miles 650 yards. A disappointing
day: the weather had cleared, the night was fine though cold,
temperature well below zero with a keen S.W. breeze. Soon after the
start we struck very bad surface conditions. The ponies sank lower
than their hocks frequently and the soft patches of snow left by the
blizzard lay in sandy heaps, making great friction for the runners. We
struggled on, but found Gran with Weary Willy dropping to the rear. I
consulted Oates as to distance and he cheerfully proposed 15 miles
for the day! This piqued me somewhat and I marched till the sledge
meter showed 6 1/2 miles. By this time Weary Willy had dropped about
three-quarters of a mile and the dog teams were approaching. Suddenly
we heard much barking in the distance, and later it was evident that
something had gone wrong. Oates and then I hurried back. I met Meares,
who told me the dogs of his team had got out of hand and attacked
Weary Willy when they saw him fall. Finally they had been beaten off
and W.W. was being led without his sledge. W.W. had been much bitten,
but luckily I think not seriously: he appears to have made a gallant
fight, and bit and shook some of the dogs with his teeth. Gran did
his best, breaking his ski stick. Meares broke his dog stick--one way
and another the dogs must have had a rocky time, yet they seemed to
bear charmed lives when their blood is up, as apparently not one of
them has been injured.

After lunch four of us went back and dragged up the load. It taught us
the nature of the surface more than many hours of pony leading!! The
incident is deplorable and the blame widespread. I find W.W.'s load
was much heavier than that of the other ponies.

I blame myself for not supervising these matters more effectively
and for allowing W.W. to get so far behind.

We started off again after lunch, but when we had done two-thirds of a
mile, W.W.'s condition made it advisable to halt. He has been given a
hot feed, a large snow wall, and some extra sacking--the day promises
to be quiet and warm for him, and one can only hope that these measures
will put him right again. But the whole thing is very annoying.

_Memo_.--Arrangements for ponies.

1. Hot bran or oat mashes.

2. Clippers for breaking wires of bales.

3. Pickets for horses.

4. Lighter ponies to take 10 ft. sledges?

The surface is so crusty and friable that the question of snow-shoes
again becomes of great importance.

All the sastrugi are from S.W. by S. to S.W. and all the wind that
we have experienced in this region--there cannot be a doubt that the
wind sweeps up the coast at all seasons.

A point has arisen as to the deposition. David [11] called the crusts
seasonal. This must be wrong; they mark blizzards, but after each
blizzard fresh crusts are formed only over the patchy heaps left by the
blizzard. A blizzard seems to leave heaps which cover anything from
one-sixth to one-third of the whole surface--such heaps presumably
turn hollows into mounds with fresh hollows between--these are filled
in turn by ensuing blizzards. If this is so, the only way to get at
the seasonal deposition would be to average the heaps deposited and
multiply this by the number of blizzards in the year.

_Monday, February_ 15.--14 Camp. 7 miles 775 yards. The surface was
wretched to-day, the two drawbacks of yesterday (the thin crusts which
let the ponies through and the sandy heaps which hang on the runners)
if anything exaggerated.

Bowers' pony refused work at intervals for the first time. His hind
legs sink very deep. Weary Willy is decidedly better. The Soldier
takes a gloomy view of everything, but I've come to see that this is
a characteristic of him. In spite of it he pays every attention to
the weaker horses.

We had frequent halts on the march, but managed 4 miles before lunch
and 3 1/2 after.

The temperature was -15° at the lunch camp. It was cold sitting in
the tent waiting for the ponies to rest. The thermometer is now -7°,
but there is a bright sun and no wind, which makes the air feel
quite comfortable: one's socks and finnesko dry well. Our provision
allowance is working out very well. In fact all is well with us except
the condition of the ponies. The more I see of the matter the more
certain I am that we must save all the ponies to get better value out
of them next year. It would have been ridiculous to have worked some
out this year as the Soldier wished. Even now I feel we went too far
with the first three.

One thing is certain. A good snow-shoe would be worth its weight in
gold on this surface, and if we can get something really practical
we ought to greatly increase our distances next year.

_Mems_.--Storage of biscuit next year, lashing cases on sledges.

Look into sledgemeter.

Picket lines for ponies.

Food tanks to be size required.

Two sledges altered to take steel runners.

Stowage of pony food. Enough sacks for ready bags.

_Thursday, February_ 16.--6 miles 1450 yards. 15 Camp. The surface
a good deal better, but the ponies running out. Three of the five
could go on without difficulty. Bowers' pony might go on a bit,
but Weary Willy is a good deal done up, and to push him further
would be to risk him unduly, so to-morrow we turn. The temperature
on the march to-night fell to -21° with a brisk S.W. breeze. Bowers
started out as usual in his small felt hat, ears uncovered. Luckily
I called a halt after a mile and looked at him. His ears were quite
white. Cherry and I nursed them back whilst the patient seemed to
feel nothing but intense surprise and disgust at the mere fact of
possessing such unruly organs. Oates' nose gave great trouble. I got
frostbitten on the cheek lightly, as also did Cherry-Garrard.

Tried to march in light woollen mits to great discomfort.

_Friday, February_ 17.--Camp 15. Lat. 79° 28 1/2' S. It clouded over
yesterday--the temperature rose and some snow fell. Wind from the
south, cold and biting, as we turned out. We started to build the
depot. I had intended to go on half a march and return to same camp,
leaving Weary Willy to rest, but under the circumstances did not like
to take risk.

Stores left in depôt:

Lat. 79° 29'. Depot.


        lbs.

         245            7 weeks' full provision bags for 1 unit
          12            2 days' provision bags for 1 unit
           8            8 weeks' tea
          31            6 weeks' extra butter
         176            176 lbs. biscuit (7 weeks full biscuit)
          85            8 1/2 gallons oil (12 weeks oil for 1 unit)
         850            5 sacks of oats
         424            4 bales of fodder
         250            Tank of dog biscuit
         100            2 cases of biscuit
        ----
        2181

                    1 skein white line
                    1 set breast harness
                    2 12 ft. sledges
                    2 pair ski, 1 pair ski sticks
                    1 Minimum Thermometer
                    1 tin Rowntree cocoa
                    1 tin matches


With packing we have landed considerably over a ton of stuff. It is a
pity we couldn't get to 80°, but as it is we shall have a good leg up
for next year and can at least feed the ponies full up to this point.

Our Camp 15 is very well marked, I think. Besides the flagstaff and
black flag we have piled biscuit boxes, filled and empty, to act as
reflectors--secured tea tins to the sledges, which are planted upright
in the snow. The depot cairn is more than 6 ft. above the surface,
very solid and large; then there are the pony protection walls;
altogether it should show up for many miles.

I forgot to mention that looking back on the 15th we saw a cairn
built on a camp 12 1/2 miles behind--it was miraged up.

It seems as though some of our party will find spring journeys pretty
trying. Oates' nose is always on the point of being frostbitten;
Meares has a refractory toe which gives him much trouble--this is
the worst prospect for summit work. I have been wondering how I shall
stick the summit again, this cold spell gives ideas. I think I shall
be all right, but one must be prepared for a pretty good doing.




CHAPTER VI

Adventure and Peril

_Saturday, February_ 18.--Camp 12. North 22 miles 1996 yards. I
scattered some oats 50 yards east of depôt. [12] The minimum
thermometer showed -16° when we left camp: _inform Simpson!_

The ponies started off well, Gran leading my pony with Weary Willy
behind, the Soldier leading his with Cherry's behind, and Bowers
steering course as before with a light sledge. [13]

We started half an hour later, soon overtook the ponies, and luckily
picked up a small bag of oats which they had dropped. We went on for
10 3/4 miles and stopped for lunch. After lunch to our astonishment
the ponies appeared, going strong. They were making for a camp some
miles farther on, and meant to remain there. I'm very glad to have
seen them making the pace so well. They don't propose to stop for
lunch at all but to march right through 10 or 12 miles a day. I think
they will have little difficulty in increasing this distance.

For the dogs the surface has been bad, and one or another of us on
either sledge has been running a good part of the time. But we have
covered 23 miles: three marches out. We have four days' food for them
and ought to get in very easily.

As we camp late the temperature is evidently very low and there is a
low drift. Conditions are beginning to be severe on the Barrier and
I shall be glad to get the ponies into more comfortable quarters.

_Sunday, February_ 19.--Started 10 P.M. Camped 6.30. Nearly 26
miles to our credit. The dogs went very well and the surface became
excellent after the first 5 or 6 miles. At the Bluff Camp, No. 11,
we picked up Evans' track and found that he must have made excellent
progress. No. 10 Camp was much snowed up: I should imagine our light
blizzard was severely felt along this part of the route. We must look
out to-morrow for signs of Evans being 'held up.'

The old tracks show better here than on the softer surface. During this
journey both ponies and dogs have had what under ordinary circumstances
would have been a good allowance of food, yet both are desperately
hungry. Both eat their own excrement. With the ponies it does not
seem so horrid, as there must be a good deal of grain, &c., which
is not fully digested. It is the worst side of dog driving. All the
rest is diverting. The way in which they keep up a steady jog trot
for hour after hour is wonderful. Their legs seem steel springs,
fatigue unknown--for at the end of a tiring march any unusual
incident will arouse them to full vigour. Osman has been restored
to leadership. It is curious how these leaders come off and go off,
all except old Stareek, who remains as steady as ever.

We are all acting like seasoned sledge travellers now, such is the
force of example. Our tent is up and cooker going in the shortest
time after halt, and we are able to break camp in exceptionally good
time. Cherry-Garrard is cook. He is excellent, and is quickly learning
all the tips for looking after himself and his gear.

What a difference such care makes is apparent now, but was more so when
he joined the tent with all his footgear iced up, whilst Wilson and
I nearly always have dry socks and finnesko to put on. This is only
a point amongst many in which experience gives comfort. Every minute
spent in keeping one's gear dry and free of snow is very well repaid.

_Monday, February_ 20.--29 miles. Lunch. Excellent run on hard
wind-swept surface--_covered nearly seventeen miles_. Very cold at
starting and during march. Suddenly wind changed and temperature rose
so that at the moment of stopping for final halt it appeared quite
warm, almost sultry. On stopping found we had covered 29 miles,
some 35 statute miles. The dogs are weary but by no means played
out--during the last part of the journey they trotted steadily with a
wonderfully tireless rhythm. I have been off the sledge a good deal
and trotting for a good many miles, so should sleep well. E. Evans
has left a bale of forage at Camp 8 and has not taken on the one which
he might have taken from the depôt--facts which show that his ponies
must have been going strong. I hope to find them safe and sound the
day after to-morrow.

We had the most wonderfully beautiful sky effects on the march with
the sun circling low on the southern horizon. Bright pink clouds
hovered overhead on a deep grey-blue background. Gleams of bright
sunlit mountains appeared through the stratus.

Here it is most difficult to predict what is going to happen. Sometimes
the southern sky looks dark and ominous, but within half an hour all
has changed--the land comes and goes as the veil of stratus lifts and
falls. It seems as though weather is made here rather than dependent
on conditions elsewhere. It is all very interesting.

_Tuesday, February_ 21.--New Camp about 12 miles from Safety Camp. 15
1/2 miles. We made a start as usual about 10 P.M. The light was
good at first, but rapidly grew worse till we could see little of
the surface. The dogs showed signs of wearying. About an hour and a
half after starting we came on mistily outlined pressure ridges. We
were running by the sledges. Suddenly Wilson shouted 'Hold on to
the sledge,' and I saw him slip a leg into a crevasse. I jumped to
the sledge, but saw nothing. Five minutes after, as the teams were
trotting side by side, the middle dogs of our team disappeared. In
a moment the whole team were sinking--two by two we lost sight of
them, each pair struggling for foothold. Osman the leader exerted
all his great strength and kept a foothold--it was wonderful to see
him. The sledge stopped and we leapt aside. The situation was clear
in another moment. We had been actually travelling along the bridge
of a crevasse, the sledge had stopped on it, whilst the dogs hung
in their harness in the abyss, suspended between the sledge and
the leading dog. Why the sledge and ourselves didn't follow the
dogs we shall never know. I think a fraction of a pound of added
weight must have taken us down. As soon as we grasped the position,
we hauled the sledge clear of the bridge and anchored it. Then we
peered into the depths of the crack. The dogs were howling dismally,
suspended in all sorts of fantastic positions and evidently terribly
frightened. Two had dropped out of their harness, and we could see
them indistinctly on a snow bridge far below. The rope at either
end of the chain had bitten deep into the snow at the side of the
crevasse, and with the weight below, it was impossible to move it. By
this time Wilson and Cherry-Garrard, who had seen the accident,
had come to our assistance. At first things looked very bad for our
poor team, and I saw little prospect of rescuing them. I had luckily
inquired about the Alpine rope before starting the march, and now
Cherry-Garrard hurriedly brought this most essential aid. It takes
one a little time to make plans under such sudden circumstances,
and for some minutes our efforts were rather futile. We could get
not an inch on the main trace of the sledge or on the leading rope,
which was binding Osman to the snow with a throttling pressure. Then
thought became clearer. We unloaded our sledge, putting in safety our
sleeping-bags with the tent and cooker. Choking sounds from Osman made
it clear that the pressure on him must soon be relieved. I seized the
lashing off Meares' sleeping-bag, passed the tent poles across the
crevasse, and with Meares managed to get a few inches on the leading
line; this freed Osman, whose harness was immediately cut.

Then securing the Alpine rope to the main trace we tried to haul up
together. One dog came up and was unlashed, but by this time the rope
had cut so far back at the edge that it was useless to attempt to get
more of it. But we could now unbend the sledge and do that for which
we should have aimed from the first, namely, run the sledge across the
gap and work from it. We managed to do this, our fingers constantly
numbed. Wilson held on to the anchored trace whilst the rest of us
laboured at the leader end. The leading rope was very small and I was
fearful of its breaking, so Meares was lowered down a foot or two to
secure the Alpine rope to the leading end of the trace; this done,
the work of rescue proceeded in better order. Two by two we hauled
the animals up to the sledge and one by one cut them out of their
harness. Strangely the last dogs were the most difficult, as they
were close under the lip of the gap, bound in by the snow-covered
rope. Finally, with a gasp we got the last poor creature on to firm
snow. We had recovered eleven of the thirteen._13a_

Then I wondered if the last two could not be got, and we paid down the
Alpine rope to see if it was long enough to reach the snow bridge on
which they were coiled. The rope is 90 feet, and the amount remaining
showed that the depth of the bridge was about 65 feet. I made a
bowline and the others lowered me down. The bridge was firm and I got
hold of both dogs, which were hauled up in turn to the surface. Then
I heard dim shouts and howls above. Some of the rescued animals had
wandered to the second sledge, and a big fight was in progress. All
my rope-tenders had to leave to separate the combatants; but they
soon returned, and with some effort I was hauled to the surface.

All is well that ends well, and certainly this was a most surprisingly
happy ending to a very serious episode. We felt we must have
refreshment, so camped and had a meal, congratulating ourselves on
a really miraculous escape. If the sledge had gone down Meares and
I _must_ have been badly injured, if not killed outright. The dogs
are wonderful, but have had a terrible shaking--three of them are
passing blood and have more or less serious internal injuries. Many
were held up by a thin thong round the stomach, writhing madly
to get free. One dog better placed in its harness stretched its
legs full before and behind and just managed to claw either side
of the gap--it had continued attempts to climb throughout, giving
vent to terrified howls. Two of the animals hanging together had
been fighting at intervals when they swung into any position which
allowed them to bite one another. The crevasse for the time being
was an inferno, and the time must have been all too terribly long for
the wretched creatures. It was twenty minutes past three when we had
completed the rescue work, and the accident must have happened before
one-thirty. Some of the animals must have been dangling for over an
hour. I had a good opportunity of examining the crack.

The section seemed such as I have shown. It narrowed towards the east
and widened slightly towards the west. In this direction there were
curious curved splinters; below the snow bridge on which I stood the
opening continued, but narrowing, so that I think one could not have
fallen many more feet without being wedged. Twice I have owed safety
to a snow bridge, and it seems to me that the chance of finding some
obstruction or some saving fault in the crevasse is a good one,
but I am far from thinking that such a chance can be relied upon,
and it would be an awful situation to fall beyond the limits of the
Alpine rope.

We went on after lunch, and very soon got into soft snow and regular
surface where crevasses are most unlikely to occur. We have pushed on
with difficulty, for the dogs are badly cooked and the surface tries
them. We are all pretty done, but luckily the weather favours us. A
sharp storm from the south has been succeeded by ideal sunshine which
is flooding the tent as I write. It is the calmest, warmest day we
have had since we started sledging. We are only about 12 miles from
Safety Camp, and I trust we shall push on without accident to-morrow,
but I am anxious about some of the dogs. We shall be lucky indeed if
all recover.

My companions to-day were excellent; Wilson and Cherry-Garrard if
anything the most intelligently and readily helpful.

I begin to think that there is no avoiding the line of cracks running
from the Bluff to Cape Crozier, but my hope is that the danger does
not extend beyond a mile or two, and that the cracks are narrower
on the pony road to Corner Camp. If eight ponies can cross without
accident I do not think there can be great danger. Certainly we must
rigidly adhere to this course on all future journeys. We must try and
plot out the danger line. [14] I begin to be a little anxious about
the returning ponies.

I rather think the dogs are being underfed--they have weakened badly
in the last few days--more than such work ought to entail. Now they
are absolutely ravenous.

Meares has very dry feet. Whilst we others perspire freely and our
skin remains pink and soft his gets horny and scaly. He amused us
greatly to-night by scraping them. The sound suggested the whittling
of a hard wood block and the action was curiously like an attempt to
shape the feet to fit the finnesko!


Summary of Marches Made on the Depôt Journey

Distances in Geographical Miles. Variation 152 E.



                                        m.      yds.
Safety   No. 3 to 4     E.               4      2000
                        S. 64 E.         4      500   |
             4 to 5     S. 77 E.         1      312   | 9.359
                        S. 60 E.         3      1575  |
             5 to 6     S. 48 E.        10      270  Var. 149 1/2 E.
Corner       6 to 7     S.              10      145
             7 to 8     S.              ? 11    198
             8 to 9     S.              12      325
             9 to 10    S.              11      118
Bluff Camp  10 to 11    S.              10      226 Var. 152 1/2 E.
            11 to 12    S.              9       150
            12 to 13    S.              7       650
            13 to 14    S.              7       Bowers 775
            14 to 15    S.              8       1450
                                        ---     ----
                                        111     610

Return 17th-18th

        15 to 12        N.              22      1994
        18th-19th 12
        to midway
        between 9 & 10  N.              48      1825
        19th-20th
        Lunch 8 Camp    N.              65      1720
        19th-20th
        7 Camp          N.              77      1820
        20th-21st       N. 30 to 35 W.  93      950
        21st-22nd
        Safety Camp     N. & W.         107     1125


_Wednesday, February_ 22.--Safety Camp. Got away at 10 again: surface
fairly heavy: dogs going badly.

The dogs are as thin as rakes; they are ravenous and very tired. I feel
this should not be, and that it is evident that they are underfed. The
ration must be increased next year and we _must_ have some properly
thought out diet. The biscuit alone is not good enough. Meares is
excellent to a point, but ignorant of the conditions here. One thing
is certain, the dogs will never continue to drag heavy loads with men
sitting on the sledges; we must all learn to run with the teams and
the Russian custom must be dropped. Meares, I think, rather imagined
himself racing to the Pole and back on a dog sledge. This journey
has opened his eyes a good deal.

We reached Safety Camp (dist. 14 miles) at 4.30 A.M.; found Evans and
his party in excellent health, but, alas! with only ONE pony. As far as
I can gather Forde's pony only got 4 miles back from the Bluff Camp;
then a blizzard came on, and in spite of the most tender care from
Forde the pony sank under it. Evans says that Forde spent hours with
the animal trying to keep it going, feeding it, walking it about;
at last he returned to the tent to say that the poor creature had
fallen; they all tried to get it on its feet again but their efforts
were useless. It couldn't stand, and soon after it died.

Then the party marched some 10 miles, but the blizzard had had a
bad effect on Blossom--it seemed to have shrivelled him up, and
now he was terribly emaciated. After this march he could scarcely
move. Evans describes his efforts as pathetic; he got on 100 yards,
then stopped with legs outstretched and nose to the ground. They rested
him, fed him well, covered him with rugs; but again all efforts were
unavailing. The last stages came with painful detail. So Blossom is
also left on the Southern Road.

The last pony, James Pigg, as he is called, has thriven amazingly--of
course great care has been taken with him and he is now getting full
feed and very light work, so he ought to do well. The loss is severe;
but they were the two oldest ponies of our team and the two which
Oates thought of least use.

Atkinson and Crean have departed, leaving no trace--not even a note.

Crean had carried up a good deal of fodder, and some seal meat was
found buried.

After a few hours' sleep we are off for Hut Point.

There are certain points in night marching, if only for the glorious
light effects which the coming night exhibits.

_Wednesday, February_ 22.--10 P.M. Safety Camp. Turned out at 11 this
morning after 4 hours' sleep.

Wilson, Meares, Evans, Cherry-Garrard, and I went to Hut Point. Found
a great enigma. The hut was cleared and habitable--but no one was
there. A pencil line on the wall said that a bag containing a mail
was inside, but no bag could be found. We puzzled much, then finally
decided on the true solution, viz. that Atkinson and Crean had gone
towards Safety Camp as we went to Hut Point--later we saw their sledge
track leading round on the sea ice. Then we returned towards Safety
Camp and endured a very bad hour in which we could see the two bell
tents but not the domed. It was an enormous relief to find the dome
securely planted, as the ice round Cape Armitage is evidently very
weak; I have never seen such enormous water holes off it.

But every incident of the day pales before the startling contents of
the mail bag which Atkinson gave me--a letter from Campbell setting
out his doings and the finding of Amundsen established in the Bay
of Whales.

One thing only fixes itself definitely in my mind. The proper, as
well as the wiser, course for us is to proceed exactly as though
this had not happened. To go forward and do our best for the honour
of the country without fear or panic.

There is no doubt that Amundsen's plan is a very serious menace
to ours. He has a shorter distance to the Pole by 60 miles--I never
thought he could have got so many dogs safely to the ice. His plan for
running them seems excellent. But above and beyond all he can start
his journey early in the season--an impossible condition with ponies.

The ice is still in at the Glacier Tongue: a very late date--it
looks as though it will not break right back this season, but off
Cape Armitage it is so thin that I doubt if the ponies could safely
be walked round.

_Thursday, February_ 23.--Spent the day preparing sledges, &c., for
party to meet Bowers at Corner Camp. It was blowing and drifting and
generally uncomfortable. Wilson and Meares killed three seals for
the dogs.

_Friday, February_ 24.--Roused out at 6. Started marching at 9. Self,
Crean, and Cherry-Garrard one sledge and tent; Evans, Atkinson, Forde,
second sledge and tent; Keohane leading his pony. We pulled on ski
in the forenoon; the second sledge couldn't keep up, so we changed
about for half the march. In the afternoon we pulled on foot. On the
whole I thought the labour greater on foot, so did Crean, showing
the advantage of experience.

There is no doubt that very long days' work could be done by men in
hard condition on ski.

The hanging back of the second sledge was mainly a question of
condition, but to some extent due to the sledge. We have a 10 ft.,
whilst the other party has a 12 ft.; the former is a distinct advantage
in this case.

It has been a horrid day. We woke to find a thick covering of sticky
ice crystals on everything--a frost _rime_. I cleared my ski before
breakfast arid found more on afterwards. There was the suggestion
of an early frosty morning at home--such a morning as develops
into a beautiful sunshiny day; but in our case, alas! such hopes
were shattered: it was almost damp, with temperature near zero and a
terribly bad light for travelling. In the afternoon Erebus and Terror
showed up for a while. Now it is drifting hard with every sign of
a blizzard--a beastly night. This marching is going to be very good
for our condition and I shall certainly keep people at it.

_Saturday, February_ 25.--Fine bright day--easy marching--covered 9
miles and a bit yesterday and the same to-day. Should reach Corner
Camp before lunch to-morrow.

Turned out at 3 A.M. and saw a short black line on the horizon
towards White Island. Thought it an odd place for a rock exposure
and then observed movement in it. Walked 1 1/2 miles towards it and
made certain that it was Oates, Bowers, and the ponies. They seemed
to be going very fast and evidently did not see our camp. To-day we
have come on their tracks, and I fear there are only four ponies left.

James Pigg, our own pony, limits the length of our marches. The
men haulers could go on much longer, and we all like pulling on
ski. Everyone must be practised in this.

_Sunday, February_ 26.--Marched on Corner Camp, but second main party
found going very hard and eventually got off their ski and pulled
on foot. James Pigg also found the surface bad, so we camped and had
lunch after doing 3 miles.

Except for our tent the camp routine is slack. Shall have to tell
people that we are out on business, not picnicking. It was another
3 miles to depot after lunch. Found signs of Bowers' party having
camped there and glad to see five pony walls. Left six full weeks'
provision: 1 bag of oats, 3/4 of a bale of fodder. Then Cherry-Garrard,
Crean, and I started for home, leaving the others to bring the pony
by slow stages. We covered 6 1/4 miles in direct line, then had some
tea and marched another 8. We must be less than 10 miles from Safety
Camp. Pitched tent at 10 P.M., very dark for cooking.

_Monday, February_ 27.--Awoke to find it blowing a howling
blizzard--absolutely confined to tent at present--to step outside is to
be covered with drift in a minute. We have managed to get our cooking
things inside and have had a meal. Very anxious about the ponies--am
wondering where they can be. The return party [15] has had two days
and may have got them into some shelter--but more probably they were
not expecting this blow--I wasn't. The wind is blowing force 8 or 9;
heavy gusts straining the tent; the temperature is evidently quite
low. This is poor luck.

_Tuesday, February_ 28.--Safety Camp. Packed up at 6 A.M. and marched
into Safety Camp. Found everyone very cold and depressed. Wilson
and Meares had had continuous bad weather since we left, Bowers and
Oates since their arrival. The blizzard had raged for two days. The
animals looked in a sorry condition but all were alive. The wind blew
keen and cold from the east. There could be no advantage in waiting
here, and soon all arrangements were made for a general shift to Hut
Point. Packing took a long time. The snowfall had been prodigious,
and parts of the sledges were 3 or 4 feet under drift. About 4 o'clock
the two dog teams got safely away. Then the pony party prepared to
go. As the clothes were stripped from the ponies the ravages of the
blizzard became evident. The animals without exception were terribly
emaciated, and Weary Willy was in a pitiable condition.

The plan was for the ponies to follow the dog tracks, our small party
to start last and get in front of the ponies on the sea ice. I was
very anxious about the sea ice passage owing to the spread of the
water holes.

The ponies started, but Weary Willy, tethered last without a load,
immediately fell down. We tried to get him up and he made efforts,
but was too exhausted.

Then we rapidly reorganised. Cherry-Garrard and Crean went on whilst
Oates and Gran stayed with me. We made desperate efforts to save the
poor creature, got him once more on his legs and gave him a hot oat
mash. Then after a wait of an hour Oates led him off, and we packed
the sledge and followed on ski; 500 yards away from the camp the poor
creature fell again and I felt it was the last effort. We camped,
built a snow wall round him, and did all we possibly could to get him
on his feet. Every effort was fruitless, though the poor thing made
pitiful struggles. Towards midnight we propped him up as comfortably
as we could and went to bed.

_Wednesday, March_ 1, A.M.--Our pony died in the night. It is hard
to have got him back so far only for this. It is clear that these
blizzards are terrible for the poor animals. Their coats are not good,
but even with the best of coats it is certain they would lose condition
badly if caught in one, and we cannot afford to lose condition at
the beginning of a journey. It makes a late start _necessary for
next year_.

Well, we have done our best and bought our experience at a heavy
cost. Now every effort must be bent on saving the remaining animals,
and it will be good luck if we get four back to Cape Evans, or even
three. Jimmy Pigg may have fared badly; Bowers' big pony is in a bad
way after that frightful blizzard. I cannot remember such a bad storm
in February or March: the temperature was -7°.


Bowers Incident

I note the events of the night of March 1 whilst they are yet fresh
in my memory.

_Thursday, March_ 2, A.M.--The events of the past 48 hours bid fair
to wreck the expedition, and the only one comfort is the miraculous
avoidance of loss of life. We turned out early yesterday, Oates,
Gran, and I, after the dismal night of our pony's death, and pulled
towards the forage depot [16] on ski. As we approached, the sky
looked black and lowering, and mirage effects of huge broken floes
loomed out ahead. At first I thought it one of the strange optical
illusions common in this region--but as we neared the depot all doubt
was dispelled. The sea was full of broken pieces of Barrier edge. My
thoughts flew to the ponies and dogs, and fearful anxieties assailed
my mind. We turned to follow the sea edge and suddenly discovered a
working crack. We dashed over this and slackened pace again after a
quarter of a mile. Then again cracks appeared ahead and we increased
pace as much as possible, not slackening again till we were in line
between the Safety Camp and Castle Rock. Meanwhile my first thought
was to warn Evans. We set up tent, and Gran went to the depot with
a note as Oates and I disconsolately thought out the situation. I
thought to myself that if either party had reached safety either on
the Barrier or at Hut Point they would immediately have sent a warning
messenger to Safety Camp. By this time the messenger should have been
with us. Some half-hour passed, and suddenly with a 'Thank God!' I
made certain that two specks in the direction of Pram Point were human
beings. I hastened towards them and found they were Wilson and Meares,
who had led the homeward way with the dog teams. They were astonished
to see me--they said they feared the ponies were adrift on the sea
ice--they had seen them with glasses from Observation Hill. They
thought I was with them. They had hastened out without breakfast:
we made them cocoa and discussed the gloomiest situation. Just
after cocoa Wilson discovered a figure making rapidly for the depot
from the west. Gran was sent off again to intercept. It proved to
be Crean--he was exhausted and a little incoherent. The ponies had
camped at 2.30 A.M. on the sea ice well beyond the seal crack on the
previous night. In the middle of the night...

_Friday, March_ 3, A.M.--I was interrupted when writing yesterday
and continue my story this morning.... In the middle of the night
at 4.30 Bowers got out of the tent and discovered the ice had broken
all round him: a crack ran under the picketing line, and one pony had
disappeared. They had packed with great haste and commenced jumping
the ponies from floe to floe, then dragging the loads over after--the
three men must have worked splendidly and fearlessly. At length they
had worked their way to heavier floes lying near the Barrier edge,
and at one time thought they could get up, but soon discovered that
there were gaps everywhere off the high Barrier face. In this dilemma
Crean volunteering was sent off to try to reach me. The sea was like
a cauldron at the time of the break up, and killer whales were putting
their heads up on all sides. Luckily they did not frighten the ponies.

He travelled a great distance over the sea ice, leaping from floe
to floe, and at last found a thick floe from which with help of ski
stick he could climb the Barrier face. It was a desperate venture,
but luckily successful.

As soon as I had digested Crean's news I sent Gran back to Hut Point
with Wilson and Meares and started with my sledge, Crean, and Oates
for the scene of the mishap. We stopped at Safety Camp to load some
provisions and oil and then, marching carefully round, approached
the ice edge. To my joy I caught sight of the lost party. We got our
Alpine rope and with its help dragged the two men to the surface. I
pitched camp at a safe distance from the edge and then we all started
salvage work. The ice had ceased to drift and lay close and quiet
against the Barrier edge. We got the men at 5.30 P.M. and all the
sledges and effects on to the Barrier by 4 A.M. As we were getting
up the last loads the ice showed signs of drifting off, and we saw
it was hopeless to try and move the ponies. The three poor beasts had
to be left on their floe for the moment, well fed. None of our party
had had sleep the previous night and all were dog tired. I decided we
must rest, but turned everyone out at 8.30 yesterday morning. Before
breakfast we discovered the ponies had drifted away. We had tried
to anchor their floe with the Alpine rope, but the anchors had
drawn. It was a sad moment. At breakfast we decided to pack and
follow the Barrier edge: this was the position when I last wrote,
but the interruption came when Bowers, who had taken the binoculars,
announced that he could see the ponies about a mile to the N.W. We
packed and went on at once. We found it easy enough to get down
to the poor animals and decided to rush them for a last chance of
life. Then there was an unfortunate mistake: I went along the Barrier
edge and discovered what I thought and what proved to be a practicable
way to land a pony, but the others meanwhile, a little overwrought,
tried to leap Punch across a gap. The poor beast fell in; eventually
we had to kill him--it was awful. I recalled all hands and pointed
out my road. Bowers and Oates went out on it with a sledge and worked
their way to the remaining ponies, and started back with them on the
same track. Meanwhile Cherry and I dug a road at the Barrier edge. We
saved one pony; for a time I thought we should get both, but Bowers'
poor animal slipped at a jump and plunged into the water: we dragged
him out on some brash ice--killer whales all about us in an intense
state of excitement. The poor animal couldn't rise, and the only
merciful thing was to kill it. These incidents were too terrible.

At 5 P.M. we sadly broke our temporary camp and marched back to the
one I had first pitched. Even here it seemed unsafe, so I walked
nearly two miles to discover cracks: I could find none, and we turned
in about midnight.

So here we are ready to start our sad journey to Hut Point. Everything
out of joint with the loss of the ponies, but mercifully with all
the party alive and well.

_Saturday, March_ 4, A.M.--We had a terrible pull at the start
yesterday, taking four hours to cover some three miles to march on the
line between Safety Camp and Fodder Depot. From there Bowers went to
Safety Camp and found my notes to Evans had been taken. We dragged on
after lunch to the place where my tent had been pitched when Wilson
first met me and where we had left our ski and other loads. All these
had gone. We found sledge tracks leading in towards the land and
at length marks of a pony's hoofs. We followed these and some ski
tracks right into the land, coming at length to the highest of the
Pram Point ridges. I decided to camp here, and as we unpacked I saw
four figures approaching. They proved to be Evans and his party. They
had ascended towards Castle Rock on Friday and found a good camp site
on top of the Ridge. They were in good condition. It was a relief
to hear they had found a good road up. They went back to their camp
later, dragging one of our sledges and a light load. Atkinson is to
go to Hut Point this morning to tell Wilson about us. The rest ought
to meet us and help us up the hill--just off to march up the hill,
hoping to avoid trouble with the pony._14_

_Sunday, March_ 5, A.M.--Marched up the hill to Evans' Camp under
Castle Rock. Evans' party came to meet us and helped us up with the
loads--it was a steep, stiff pull; the pony was led up by Oates. As
we camped for lunch Atkinson and Gran appeared, the former having
been to Hut Point to carry news of the relief. I sent Gran on to
Safety Camp to fetch some sugar and chocolate, left Evans, Oates, and
Keohane in camp, and marched on with remaining six to Hut Point. It
was calm at Evans' Camp, but blowing hard on the hill and harder at
Hut Point. Found the hut in comparative order and slept there.



CHAPTER VII

At Discovery Hut

_Monday, March_ 6, A.M.--Roused the hands at 7.30. Wilson, Bowers,
Garrard, and I went out to Castle Rock. We met Evans just short of
his camp and found the loads had been dragged up the hill. Oates
and Keohane had gone back to lead on the ponies. At the top of the
ridge we harnessed men and ponies to the sledges and made rapid
progress on a good surface towards the hut. The weather grew very
thick towards the end of the march, with all signs of a blizzard. We
unharnessed the ponies at the top of Ski slope--Wilson guided them
down from rock patch to rock patch; the remainder of us got down a
sledge and necessaries over the slope. It is a ticklish business to
get the sledge along the ice foot, which is now all blue ice ending
in a drop to the sea. One has to be certain that the party has good
foothold. All reached the hut in safety. The ponies have admirably
comfortable quarters under the verandah.

After some cocoa we fetched in the rest of the dogs from the Gap and
another sledge from the hill. It had ceased to snow and the wind had
gone down slightly. Turned in with much relief to have all hands and
the animals safely housed.

_Tuesday, March_ 7, A.M.--Yesterday went over to Pram Point with
Wilson. We found that the corner of sea ice in Pram Point Bay had
not gone out--it was crowded with seals. We killed a young one and
carried a good deal of the meat and some of the blubber back with us.

Meanwhile the remainder of the party had made some progress towards
making the hut more comfortable. In the afternoon we all set to in
earnest and by supper time had wrought wonders.

We have made a large L-shaped inner apartment with packing-cases,
the intervals stopped with felt. An empty kerosene tin and some
firebricks have been made into an excellent little stove, which has
been connected to the old stove-pipe. The solider fare of our meals
is either stewed or fried on this stove whilst the tea or cocoa is
being prepared on a primus.

The temperature of the hut is low, of course, but in every other
respect we are absolutely comfortable. There is an unlimited quantity
of biscuit, and our discovery at Pram Point means an unlimited
supply of seal meat. We have heaps of cocoa, coffee, and tea, and a
sufficiency of sugar and salt. In addition a small store of luxuries,
chocolate, raisins, lentils, oatmeal, sardines, and jams, which will
serve to vary the fare. One way and another we shall manage to be
very comfortable during our stay here, and already we can regard it
as a temporary home.

_Thursday, March_ 9, A.M.--Yesterday and to-day very busy about the
hut and overcoming difficulties fast. The stove threatened to exhaust
our store of firewood. We have redesigned it so that it takes only a
few chips of wood to light it and then continues to give great heat
with blubber alone. To-day there are to be further improvements to
regulate the draught and increase the cooking range. We have further
housed in the living quarters with our old _Discovery_ winter awning,
and begin already to retain the heat which is generated inside. We are
beginning to eat blubber and find biscuits fried in it to be delicious.

We really have everything necessary for our comfort and only need
a little more experience to make the best of our resources. The
weather has been wonderfully, perhaps ominously, fine during the
last few days. The sea has frozen over and broken up several times
already. The warm sun has given a grand opportunity to dry all gear.

Yesterday morning Bowers went with a party to pick up the stores
rescued from the floe last week. Evans volunteered to join the party
with Meares, Keohane, Atkinson, and Gran. They started from the hut
about 10 A.M.; we helped them up the hill, and at 7.30 I saw them reach
the camp containing the gear, some 12 miles away. I don't expect them
in till to-morrow night.

It is splendid to see the way in which everyone is learning the
ropes, and the resource which is being shown. Wilson as usual leads
in the making of useful suggestions and in generally providing for
our wants. He is a tower of strength in checking the ill-usage of
clothes--what I have come to regard as the greatest danger with
Englishmen.

_Friday, March_ 10, A.M.--Went yesterday to Castle Rock with Wilson
to see what chance there might be of getting to Cape Evans. [17]
The day was bright and it was quite warm walking in the sun. There
is no doubt the route to Cape Evans lies over the worst corner of
Erebus. From this distance the whole mountain side looks a mass of
crevasses, but a route might be found at a level of 3000 or 4000 ft.

The hut is getting warmer and more comfortable. We have very excellent
nights; it is cold only in the early morning. The outside temperatures
range from 8° or so in the day to 2° at night. To-day there is a strong
S.E. wind with drift. We are going to fetch more blubber for the stove.

_Saturday, March 11, A.M._--Went yesterday morning to Pram Point to
fetch in blubber--wind very strong to Gap but very little on Pram
Point side.

In the evening went half-way to Castle Rock; strong bitter cold wind on
summit. Could not see the sledge party, but after supper they arrived,
having had very hard pulling. They had had no wind at all till they
approached the hut. Their temperatures had fallen to -10° and -15°,
but with bright clear sunshine in the daytime. They had thoroughly
enjoyed their trip and the pulling on ski.

Life in the hut is much improved, but if things go too fast there
will be all too little to think about and give occupation in the hut.

It is astonishing how the miscellaneous assortment of articles
remaining in and about the hut have been put to useful purpose.

This deserves description._15_

_Monday, March_ 13, A.M.--The weather grew bad on Saturday night
and we had a mild blizzard yesterday. The wind went to the south
and increased in force last night, and this morning there was quite
a heavy sea breaking over the ice foot. The spray came almost up to
the dogs. It reminds us of the gale in which we drove ashore in the
_Discovery._ We have had some trouble with our blubber stove and got
the hut very full of smoke on Saturday night. As a result we are all as
black as sweeps and our various garments are covered with oily soot. We
look a fearful gang of ruffians. The blizzard has delayed our plans
and everyone's attention is bent on the stove, the cooking, and the
various internal arrangements. Nothing is done without a great amount
of advice received from all quarters, and consequently things are
pretty well done. The hut has a pungent odour of blubber and blubber
smoke. We have grown accustomed to it, but imagine that ourselves and
our clothes will be given a wide berth when we return to Cape Evans.

_Wednesday, March_ 15, A.M.--It was blowing continuously from the
south throughout Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday--I never remember such
a persistent southerly wind.

Both Monday and Tuesday I went up Crater Hill. I feared that our floe
at Pram Point would go, but yesterday it still remained, though the
cracks are getting more open. We should be in a hole if it went. [18]

As I came down the hill yesterday I saw a strange figure advancing and
found it belonged to Griffith Taylor. He and his party had returned
safely. They were very full of their adventures. The main part of
their work seems to be rediscovery of many facts which were noted but
perhaps passed over too lightly in the _Discovery_--but it is certain
that the lessons taught by the physiographical and ice features will
now be thoroughly explained. A very interesting fact lies in the
continuous bright sunshiny weather which the party enjoyed during
the first four weeks of their work. They seem to have avoided all
our stormy winds and blizzards.

But I must leave Griffith Taylor to tell his own story, which will
certainly be a lengthy one. The party gives Evans [P.O.] a very
high character.

To-day we have a large seal-killing party. I hope to get in a good
fortnight's allowance of blubber as well as meat, and pray that our
floe will remain.

_Friday, March_ 17, A.M.--We killed eleven seals at Pram Point on
Wednesday, had lunch on the Point, and carried some half ton of the
blubber and meat back to camp--it was a stiff pull up the hill.

Yesterday the last Corner Party started: Evans, Wright, Crean, and
Forde in one team; Bowers, Oates, Cherry-Garrard, and Atkinson in the
other. It was very sporting of Wright to join in after only a day's
rest. He is evidently a splendid puller.

Debenham has become principal cook, and evidently enjoys the task.

Taylor is full of good spirits and anecdote, an addition to the party.

Yesterday after a beautifully fine morning we got a strong northerly
wind which blew till the middle of the night, crowding the young
ice up the Strait. Then the wind suddenly shifted to the south,
and I thought we were in for a blizzard; but this morning the wind
has gone to the S.E.--the stratus cloud formed by the north wind is
dissipating, and the damp snow deposited in the night is drifting. It
looks like a fine evening.

Steadily we are increasing the comforts of the hut. The stove has
been improved out of all recognition; with extra stove-pipes we get
no back draughts, no smoke inside, whilst the economy of fuel is
much increased.

Insulation inside and out is the subject we are now attacking.

The young ice is going to and fro, but the sea refuses to freeze over
so far--except in the region of Pram Point, where a bay has remained
for some four days holding some pieces of Barrier in its grip. These
pieces have come from the edge of the Barrier and some are crumbling
already, showing a deep and rapid surface deposit of snow and therefore
the probability that they are drifted sea ice not more than a year
or two old, the depth of the drift being due to proximity to an old
Barrier edge.

I have just taken to pyjama trousers and shall don an extra shirt--I
have been astonished at the warmth which I have felt throughout in
light clothing. So far I have had nothing more than a singlet and
jersey under pyjama jacket and a single pair of drawers under wind
trousers. A hole in the drawers of ancient date means that one place
has had no covering but the wind trousers, yet I have never felt cold
about the body.

In spite of all little activities I am impatient of our wait here. But
I shall be impatient also in the main hut. It is ill to sit still
and contemplate the ruin which has assailed our transport. The
scheme of advance must be very different from that which I first
contemplated. The Pole is a very long way off, alas!

Bit by bit I am losing all faith in the dogs--I'm afraid they will
never go the pace we look for.

_Saturday, March_ 18, A.M.--Still blowing and drifting. It seems as
though there can be no peace at this spot till the sea is properly
frozen over. It blew very hard from the S.E. yesterday--I could
scarcely walk against the wind. In the night it fell calm; the moon
shone brightly at midnight. Then the sky became overcast and the
temperature rose to +11. Now the wind is coming in spurts from the
south--all indications of a blizzard.

With the north wind of Friday the ice must have pressed up on Hut
Point. A considerable floe of pressed up young ice is grounded under
the point, and this morning we found a seal on this. Just as the party
started out to kill it, it slid off into the water--it had evidently
finished its sleep--but it is encouraging to have had a chance to
capture a seal so close to the hut.

_Monday, March_ 20.--On Saturday night it blew hard from the south,
thick overhead, low stratus and drift. The sea spray again came over
the ice foot and flung up almost to the dogs; by Sunday morning the
wind had veered to the S.E., and all yesterday it blew with great
violence and temperature down to -11° and -12°.

We were confined to the hut and its immediate environs. Last night the
wind dropped, and for a few hours this morning we had light airs only,
the temperature rising to -2°.

The continuous bad weather is very serious for the dogs. We have
strained every nerve to get them comfortable, but the changes of wind
made it impossible to afford shelter in all directions. Some five or
six dogs are running loose, but we dare not allow the stronger animals
such liberty. They suffer much from the cold, but they don't get worse.

The small white dog which fell into the crevasse on our home journey
died yesterday. Under the best circumstances I doubt if it could have
lived, as there had evidently been internal injury and an external
sore had grown gangrenous. Three other animals are in a poor way,
but may pull through with luck.

We had a stroke of luck to-day. The young ice pressed up off Hut
Point has remained fast--a small convenient platform jutting out
from the point. We found two seals on it to-day and killed them--thus
getting a good supply of meat for the dogs and some more blubber for
our fire. Other seals came up as the first two were being skinned,
so that one may now hope to keep up all future supplies on this side
of the ridge.

As I write the wind is blowing up again and looks like returning to
the south. The only comfort is that these strong cold winds with no
sun must go far to cool the waters of the Sound.

The continuous bad weather is trying to the spirits, but we are fairly
comfortable in the hut and only suffer from lack of exercise to work
off the heavy meals our appetites demand.

_Tuesday, March_ 21.--The wind returned to the south at 8 last
night. It gradually increased in force until 2 A.M., when it
was blowing from the S.S.W., force 9 to 10. The sea was breaking
constantly and heavily on the ice foot. The spray carried right over
the Point--covering all things and raining on the roof of the hut. Poor
Vince's cross, some 30 feet above the water, was enveloped in it.

Of course the dogs had a very poor time, and we went and released
two or three, getting covered in spray during the operation--our wind
clothes very wet.

This is the third gale from the south since our arrival here. Any
one of these would have rendered the Bay impossible for a ship, and
therefore it is extraordinary that we should have entirely escaped
such a blow when the _Discovery_ was in it in 1902.

The effects of this gale are evident and show that it is a most unusual
occurrence. The rippled snow surface of the ice foot is furrowed in
all directions and covered with briny deposit--a condition we have
never seen before. The ice foot at the S.W. corner of the bay is
broken down, bare rock appearing for the first time.

The sledges, magnetic huts, and in fact every exposed object on the
Point are thickly covered with brine. Our seal floe has gone, so it
is good-bye to seals on this side for some time.

The dogs are the main sufferers by this continuance of phenomenally
terrible weather. At least four are in a bad state; some six or seven
others are by no means fit and well, but oddly enough some ten or a
dozen animals are as fit as they can be. Whether constitutionally
harder or whether better fitted by nature or chance to protect
themselves it is impossible to say--Osman, Czigane, Krisravitsa,
Hohol, and some others are in first-rate condition, whilst Lappa is
better than he has ever been before.

It is so impossible to keep the dogs comfortable in the traces and
so laborious to be continually attempting it, that we have decided
to let the majority run loose. It will be wonderful if we can avoid
one or two murders, but on the other hand probably more would die if
we kept them in leash.

We shall try and keep the quarrelsome dogs chained up.

The main trouble that seems to come on the poor wretches is the icing
up of their hindquarters; once the ice gets thoroughly into the coat
the hind legs get half paralysed with cold. The hope is that the
animals will free themselves of this by running about.

Well, well, fortune is not being very kind to us. This month will have
sad memories. Still I suppose things might be worse; the ponies are
well housed and are doing exceedingly well, though we have slightly
increased their food allowance.

Yesterday afternoon we climbed Observation Hill to see some examples of
spheroidal weathering--Wilson knew of them and guided. The geologists
state that they indicate a columnar structure, the tops of the columns
being weathered out.

The specimens we saw were very perfect. Had some interesting
instruction in geology in the evening. I should not regret a stay
here with our two geologists if only the weather would allow us to
get about.

This morning the wind moderated and went to the S.E.; the sea
naturally fell quickly. The temperature this morning was + 17°;
minimum +11°. But now the wind is increasing from the S.E. and it is
momentarily getting colder.

_Thursday, March_ 23, A.M.--No signs of depot party, which to-night
will have been a week absent. On Tuesday afternoon we went up to
the Big Boulder above Ski slope. The geologists were interested,
and we others learnt something of olivines, green in crystal form
or oxidized to bright red, granites or granulites or quartzites,
hornblende and feldspars, ferrous and ferric oxides of lava acid,
basic, plutonic, igneous, eruptive--schists, basalts &c. All such
things I must get clearer in my mind. [19]

Tuesday afternoon a cold S.E. wind commenced and blew all night.

Yesterday morning it was calm and I went up Crater Hill. The sea
of stratus cloud hung curtain-like over the Strait--blue sky east
and south of it and the Western Mountains bathed in sunshine, sharp,
clear, distinct, a glorious glimpse of grandeur on which the curtain
gradually descended. In the morning it looked as though great pieces
of Barrier were drifting out. From the hill one found these to be
but small fragments which the late gale had dislodged, leaving in
places a blue wall very easily distinguished from the general white
of the older fractures. The old floe and a good extent of new ice
had remained fast in Pram Point Bay. Great numbers of seals up as
usual. The temperature was up to +20° at noon. In the afternoon a very
chill wind from the east, temperature rapidly dropping till zero in
the evening. The Strait obstinately refuses to freeze.

We are scoring another success in the manufacture of blubber lamps,
which relieves anxiety as to lighting as the hours of darkness
increase.

The young ice in Pram Point Bay is already being pressed up.

_Friday, March_ 24, A.M.--Skuas still about, a few--very shy--very
dark in colour after moulting.

Went along Arrival Heights yesterday with very keen over-ridge wind--it
was difficult to get shelter. In the evening it fell calm and has
remained all night with temperature up to + 18°. This morning it is
snowing with fairly large flakes.

Yesterday for the first time saw the ice foot on the south side of the
bay, a wall some 5 or 6 ft. above water and 12 or 14 ft. below; the
sea bottom quite clear with the white wall resting on it. This must
be typical of the ice foot all along the coast, and the wasting of
caves at sea level alone gives the idea of an overhanging mass. Very
curious and interesting erosion of surface of the ice foot by waves
during recent gale.

The depot party returned yesterday morning. They had thick weather
on the outward march and missed the track, finally doing 30 miles
between Safety Camp and Corner Camp. They had a hard blow up to force
8 on the night of our gale. Started N.W. and strongest S.S.E.

The sea wants to freeze--a thin coating of ice formed directly the
wind dropped; but the high temperature does not tend to thicken it
rapidly and the tide makes many an open lead. We have been counting
our resources and arranging for another twenty days' stay.

_Saturday, March_ 25, A.M.--We have had two days of surprisingly
warm weather, the sky overcast, snow falling, wind only in light
airs. Last night the sky was clearing, with a southerly wind, and this
morning the sea was open all about us. It is disappointing to find
the ice so reluctant to hold; at the same time one supposes that the
cooling of the water is proceeding and therefore that each day makes
it easier for the ice to form--the sun seems to have lost all power,
but I imagine its rays still tend to warm the surface water about the
noon hours. It is only a week now to the date which I thought would
see us all at Cape Evans.

The warmth of the air has produced a comparatively uncomfortable state
of affairs in the hut. The ice on the inner roof is melting fast,
dripping on the floor and streaming down the sides. The increasing
cold is checking the evil even as I write. Comfort could only be
ensured in the hut either by making a clean sweep of all the ceiling
ice or by keeping the interior at a critical temperature little
above freezing-point.

_Sunday, March_ 26, P.M.--Yesterday morning went along Arrival Heights
in very cold wind. Afternoon to east side Observation Hill. As
afternoon advanced, wind fell. Glorious evening--absolutely calm,
smoke ascending straight. Sea frozen over--looked very much like
final freezing, but in night wind came from S.E., producing open
water all along shore. Wind continued this morning with drift,
slackened in afternoon; walked over Gap and back by Crater Heights
to Arrival Heights.

Sea east of Cape Armitage pretty well covered with ice; some open
pools--sea off shore west of the Cape frozen in pools, open lanes
close to shore as far as Castle Rock. Bays either side of Glacier
Tongue _look_ fairly well frozen. Hut still dropping water badly.

Held service in hut this morning, read Litany. One skua seen to-day.

_Monday, March_ 27, P.M.--Strong easterly wind on ridge to-day rushing
down over slopes on western side.

Ice holding south from about Hut Point, but cleared 1/2 to 3/4
mile from shore to northward. Cleared in patches also, I am told,
on both sides of Glacier Tongue, which is annoying. A regular local
wind. The Barrier edge can be seen clearly all along, showing there
is little or no drift. Have been out over the Gap for walk. Glad to
say majority of people seem anxious to get exercise, but one or two
like the fire better.

The dogs are getting fitter each day, and all save one or two have
excellent coats. I was very pleased to find one or two of the animals
voluntarily accompanying us on our walk. It is good to see them
trotting against a strong drift.

_Tuesday, March_ 28.--Slowly but surely the sea is freezing over. The
ice holds and thickens south of Hut Point in spite of strong easterly
wind and in spite of isolated water holes which obstinately remain
open. It is difficult to account for these--one wonders if the air
currents shoot downward on such places; but even so it is strange
that they do not gradually diminish in extent. A great deal of ice
seems to have remained in and about the northern islets, but it is
too far to be sure that there is a continuous sheet.

We are building stabling to accommodate four more ponies under the
eastern verandah. When this is complete we shall be able to shelter
seven animals, and this should be enough for winter and spring
operations.

_Thursday, March_ 30.--The ice holds south of Hut Point, though not
thickening rapidly--yesterday was calm and the same ice conditions
seemed to obtain on both sides of the Glacier Tongue. It looks as
though the last part of the road to become safe will be the stretch
from Hut Point to Turtleback Island. Here the sea seems disinclined
to freeze even in calm weather. To-day there is more strong wind from
the east. White horse all along under the ridge.

The period of our stay here seems to promise to lengthen. It is
trying--trying--but we can live, which is something. I should not
be greatly surprised if we had to wait till May. Several skuas were
about the camp yesterday. I have seen none to-day.

Two rorquals were rising close to Hut Point this morning--although
the ice is nowhere thick it was strange to see them making for the
open leads and thin places to blow.

_Friday, March_ 31.--I studied the wind blowing along the ridge
yesterday and came to the conclusion that a comparatively thin shaft of
air was moving along the ridge from Erebus. On either side of the ridge
it seemed to pour down from the ridge itself--there was practically
no wind on the sea ice off Pram Point, and to the westward of Hut
Point the frost smoke was drifting to the N.W. The temperature ranges
about zero. It seems to be almost certain that the perpetual wind is
due to the open winter. Meanwhile the sea refuses to freeze over.

Wright pointed out the very critical point which zero temperature
represents in the freezing of salt water, being the freezing
temperature of concentrated brine--a very few degrees above or below
zero would make all the difference to the rate of increase of the
ice thickness.

Yesterday the ice was 8 inches in places east of Cape Armitage and 6
inches in our Bay: it was said to be fast to the south of the Glacier
Tongue well beyond Turtleback Island and to the north out of the
Islands, except for a strip of water immediately north of the Tongue.

We are good for another week in pretty well every commodity and shall
then have to reduce luxuries. But we have plenty of seal meat, blubber
and biscuit, and can therefore remain for a much longer period if needs
be. Meanwhile the days are growing shorter and the weather colder.

_Saturday, April_ 1.--The wind yesterday was blowing across the Ridge
from the top down on the sea to the west: very little wind on the
eastern slopes and practically none at Pram Point. A seal came up
in our Bay and was killed. Taylor found a number of fish frozen into
the sea ice--he says there are several in a small area.

The pressure ridges in Pram Point Bay are estimated by Wright to
have set up about 3 feet. This ice has been 'in' about ten days. It
is now safe to work pretty well anywhere south of Hut Point.

Went to Third Crater (next Castle Rock) yesterday. The ice seems to
be holding in the near Bay from a point near Hulton Rocks to Glacier;
also in the whole of the North Bay except for a tongue of open water
immediately north of the Glacier.

The wind is the same to-day as yesterday, and the open water apparently
not reduced by a square yard. I'm feeling impatient.

_Sunday, April_ 2, A.M.--Went round Cape Armitage to Pram Point on
sea ice for first time yesterday afternoon. Ice solid everywhere,
except off the Cape, where there are numerous open pools. Can only
imagine layers of comparatively warm water brought to the surface
by shallows. The ice between the pools is fairly shallow. One
Emperor killed off the Cape. Several skuas seen--three seals up in
our Bay--several off Pram Point in the shelter of Horse Shoe Bay. A
great many fish on sea ice--mostly small, but a second species 5 or
6 inches long: imagine they are chased by seals and caught in brashy
ice where they are unable to escape. Came back over hill: glorious
sunset, brilliant crimson clouds in west.

Returned to find wind dropping, the first time for three days. It
turned to north in the evening. Splendid aurora in the night; a bright
band of light from S.S.W. to E.N.E. passing within 10° of the zenith
with two waving spirals at the summit. This morning sea to north
covered with ice. Min. temp, for night -5°, but I think most of the
ice was brought in by the wind. Things look more hopeful. Ice now
continuous to Cape Evans, but very thin as far as Glacier Tongue;
three or four days of calm or light winds should make everything firm.

_Wednesday, April_ 5, A.M.--The east wind has continued with a short
break on Sunday for five days, increasing in violence and gradually
becoming colder and more charged with snow until yesterday, when we
had a thick overcast day with falling and driving snow and temperature
down to -11°.

Went beyond Castle Rock on Sunday and Monday mornings with Griffith
Taylor.

Think the wind fairly local and that the Strait has frozen over to
the north, as streams of drift snow and ice crystals (off the cliffs)
were building up the ice sheet towards the wind. Monday we could see
the approaching white sheet--yesterday it was visibly closer to land,
though the wind had not decreased. Walking was little pleasure on
either day: yesterday climbed about hills to see all possible. No one
else left the hut. In the evening the wind fell and freezing continued
during night (min.--17°). This morning there is ice everywhere. I
cannot help thinking it has come to stay. In Arrival Bay it is 6
to 7 inches thick, but the new pools beyond have only I inch of the
regular elastic sludgy new ice. The sky cleared last night, and this
morning we have sunshine for the first time for many days. If this
weather holds for a day we shall be all right. We are getting towards
the end of our luxuries, so that it is quite time we made a move--we
are very near the end of the sugar.

The skuas seem to have gone, the last was seen on Sunday. These birds
were very shy towards the end of their stay, also very dark in plumage;
they did not seem hungry, and yet it must have been difficult for
them to get food.

The seals are coming up in our Bay--five last night. Luckily the
dogs have not yet discovered them or the fact that the sea ice will
bear them.

Had an interesting talk with Taylor on agglomerate and basaltic dykes
of Castle Rock. The perfection of the small cone craters below Castle
Rock seem to support the theory we have come to, that there have been
volcanic disturbances since the recession of the greater ice sheet.

It is a great thing having Wright to fog out the ice problems,
and he has had a good opportunity of observing many interesting
things here. He is keeping notes of ice changes and a keen eye on
ice phenomena; we have many discussions.

Yesterday Wilson prepared a fry of seal meat with penguin blubber. It
had a flavour like cod-liver oil and was not much appreciated--some
ate their share, and I think all would have done so if we had had
sledging appetites--shades of _Discovery_ days!!_16_

This Emperor weighed anything from 88 to 96 lbs., and therefore
approximated to or exceeded the record.

The dogs are doing pretty well with one or two exceptions. Deek is
the worst, but I begin to think all will pull through.

_Thursday, April_ 6, A.M.--The weather continued fine and clear
yesterday--one of the very few fine days we have had since our arrival
at the hut.

The sun shone continuously from early morning till it set behind the
northern hills about 5 P.M. The sea froze completely, but with only
a thin sheet to the north. A fairly strong northerly wind sprang up,
causing this thin ice to override and to leave several open leads
near the land. In the forenoon I went to the edge of the new ice
with Wright. It looked at the limit of safety and we did not venture
far. The over-riding is interesting: the edge of one sheet splits as
it rises and slides over the other sheet in long tongues which creep
onward impressively. Whilst motion lasts there is continuous music,
a medley of high pitched but tuneful notes--one might imagine small
birds chirping in a wood. The ice sings, we say.

P.M.--In the afternoon went nearly two miles to the north over the
young ice; found it about 3 1/2 inches thick. At supper arranged
programme for shift to Cape Evans--men to go on Saturday--dogs
Sunday--ponies Monday--all subject to maintenance of good weather
of course.

_Friday, April_ 7.--Went north over ice with Atkinson, Bowers, Taylor,
Cherry-Garrard; found the thickness nearly 5 inches everywhere except
in open water leads, which remain open in many places. As we got away
from the land we got on an interesting surface of small pancakes,
much capped and pressed up, a sort of mosaic. This is the ice which
was built up from lee side of the Strait, spreading across to windward
against the strong winds of Monday and Tuesday.

Another point of interest was the manner in which the overriding ice
sheets had scraped the under floes.

Taylor fell in when rather foolishly trying to cross a thinly covered
lead--he had a very scared face for a moment or two whilst we hurried
to the rescue, but hauled himself out with his ice axe without our
help and walked back with Cherry.

The remainder of us went on till abreast of the sulphur cones under
Castle Rock, when we made for the shore, and with a little mutual
help climbed the cliff and returned by land.

As far as one can see all should be well for our return to-morrow,
but the sky is clouding to-night and a change of weather seems
imminent. Three successive fine days seem near the limit in this
region.

We have picked up quite a number of fish frozen in the ice--the larger
ones about the size of a herring and the smaller of a minnow. We
imagined both had been driven into the slushy ice by seals, but
to-day Gran found a large fish frozen in the act of swallowing a
small one. It looks as though both small and large are caught when
one is chasing the other.

We have achieved such great comfort here that one is half sorry to
leave--it is a fine healthy existence with many hours spent in the
open and generally some interesting object for our walks abroad. The
hill climbing gives excellent exercise--we shall miss much of it at
Cape Evans. But I am anxious to get back and see that all is well at
the latter, as for a long time I have been wondering how our beach
has withstood the shocks of northerly winds. The thought that the hut
may have been damaged by the sea in one of the heavy storms will not
be banished.


A Sketch of the Life at Hut Point

We gather around the fire seated on packing-cases to receive them
with a hunk of butter and a steaming pannikin of tea, and life is well
worth living. After lunch we are out and about again; there is little
to tempt a long stay indoors and exercise keeps us all the fitter.

The falling light and approach of supper drives us home again with
good appetites about 5 or 6 o'clock, and then the cooks rival one
another in preparing succulent dishes of fried seal liver. A single
dish may not seem to offer much opportunity of variation, but a lot
can be done with a little flour, a handful of raisins, a spoonful of
curry powder, or the addition of a little boiled pea meal. Be this as
it may, we never tire of our dish and exclamations of satisfaction
can be heard every night--or nearly every night, for two nights ago
[April 4] Wilson, who has proved a genius in the invention of 'plats,'
almost ruined his reputation. He proposed to fry the seal liver
in penguin blubber, suggesting that the latter could be freed from
all rankness. The blubber was obtained and rendered down with great
care, the result appeared as delightfully pure fat free from smell;
but appearances were deceptive; the 'fry' proved redolent of penguin,
a concentrated essence of that peculiar flavour which faintly lingers
in the meat and should not be emphasised. Three heroes got through
their pannikins, but the rest of us decided to be contented with
cocoa and biscuit after tasting the first mouthful. After supper we
have an hour or so of smoking and conversation--a cheering, pleasant
hour--in which reminiscences are exchanged by a company which has
very literally had world-wide experience. There is scarce a country
under the sun which one or another of us has not travelled in, so
diverse are our origins and occupations. An hour or so after supper
we tail off one by one, spread out our sleeping-bags, take off our
shoes and creep into comfort, for our reindeer bags are really warm
and comfortable now that they have had a chance of drying, and the
hut retains some of the heat generated in it. Thanks to the success
of the blubber lamps and to a fair supply of candles, we can muster
ample light to read for another hour or two, and so tucked up in our
furs we study the social and political questions of the past decade.

We muster no less than sixteen. Seven of us pretty well cover the floor
of one wing of the L-shaped enclosure, four sleep in the other wing,
which also holds the store, whilst the remaining five occupy the annexe
and affect to find the colder temperature more salubrious. Everyone
can manage eight or nine hours' sleep without a break, and not a few
would have little difficulty in sleeping the clock round, which goes
to show that our extremely simple life is an exceedingly healthy one,
though with faces and hands blackened with smoke, appearances might
not lead an outsider to suppose it.

_Sunday, April_ 9, A.M.--On Friday night it grew overcast and the
wind went to the south. During the whole of yesterday and last
night it blew a moderate blizzard--the temperature at highest +5°,
a relatively small amount of drift. On Friday night the ice in the
Strait went out from a line meeting the shore 3/4 mile north of Hut
Point. A crack off Hut Point and curving to N.W. opened to about 15
or 20 feet, the opening continuing on the north side of the Point. It
is strange that the ice thus opened should have remained.

Ice cleared out to the north directly wind commenced--it didn't wait
a single instant, showing that our journey over it earlier in the day
was a very risky proceeding--the uncertainty of these conditions is
beyond words, but there shall be no more of this foolish venturing
on young ice. This decision seems to put off the return of the ponies
to a comparatively late date.

Yesterday went to the second crater, Arrival Heights, hoping to see
the condition of the northerly bays, but could see little or nothing
owing to drift. A white line dimly seen on the horizon seemed to
indicate that the ice drifted out has not gone far.

Some skuas were seen yesterday, a very late date. The seals disinclined
to come on the ice; one can be seen at Cape Armitage this morning,
but it is two or three days since there was one up in our Bay. It
will certainly be some time before the ponies can be got back.

_Monday, April_ 10, P.M.--Intended to make for Cape Evans this
morning. Called hands early, but when we were ready for departure after
breakfast, the sky became more overcast and snow began to fall. It
continued off and on all day, only clearing as the sun set. It would
have been the worst condition possible for our attempt, as we could
not have been more than 100 yards.

Conditions look very unfavourable for the continued freezing of
the Strait.

_Thursday, April_ 13.--Started from Hut Point 9 A.M. Tuesday. Party
consisted of self, Bowers, P.O. Evans, Taylor, one tent; Evans,
Gran, Crean, Debenham, and Wright, second tent. Left Wilson in
charge at Hut Point with Meares, Forde, Keohane, Oates, Atkinson, and
Cherry-Garrard. All gave us a pull up the ski slope; it had become a
point of honour to take this slope without a 'breather.' I find such
an effort trying in the early morning, but had to go through with it.

Weather fine; we marched past Castle Rock, east of it; the snow
was soft on the slopes, showing the shelter afforded--continued to
traverse the ridge for the first time--found quite good surface much
wind swept--passed both cones on the ridge on the west side. Caught a
glimpse of fast ice in the Bays either side of Glacier as expected,
but in the near Bay its extent was very small. Evidently we should
have to go well along the ridge before descending, and then the
problem would be how to get down over the cliffs. On to Hulton Rocks
7 1/2 miles from the start--here it was very icy and wind swept,
inhospitable--the wind got up and light became bad just at the critical
moment, so we camped and had some tea at 2 P.M. A clearance half an
hour later allowed us to see a possible descent to the ice cliffs,
but between Hulton Rocks and Erebus all the slope was much cracked
and crevassed. We chose a clear track to the edge of the cliffs,
but could find no low place in these, the lowest part being 24 feet
sheer drop. Arriving here the wind increased, the snow drifting off
the ridge--we had to decide quickly; I got myself to the edge and
made standing places to work the rope; dug away at the cornice, well
situated for such work in harness. Got three people lowered by the
Alpine rope--Evans, Bowers, and Taylor--then sent down the sledges,
which went down in fine style, fully packed--then the remainder of the
party. For the last three, drove a stake hard down in the snow and
used the rope round it, the men being lowered by people below--came
down last myself. Quite a neat and speedy bit of work and all done
in 20 minutes without serious frostbite--quite pleased with the result.

We found pulling to Glacier Tongue very heavy over the surface of
ice covered with salt crystals, and reached Glacier Tongue about
5.30; found a low place and got the sledges up the 6 ft. wall pretty
easily. Stiff incline, but easy pulling on hard surface--the light
was failing and the surface criss-crossed with innumerable cracks;
several of us fell in these with risk of strain, but the north side
was well snow-covered and easy, with a good valley leading to a low
ice cliff--here a broken piece afforded easy descent. I decided to
push on for Cape Evans, so camped for tea at 6. At 6.30 found darkness
suddenly arrived; it was very difficult to see anything--we got down
on the sea ice, very heavy pulling, but plodded on for some hours; at
10 arrived close under little Razor Back Island, and not being able
to see anything ahead, decided to camp and got to sleep at 11.30 in
no very comfortable circumstances.

The wind commenced to rise during night. We found a roaring blizzard
in the morning. We had many alarms for the safety of the ice on
which the camp was pitched. Bowers and Taylor climbed the island;
reported wind terrific on the summit--sweeping on either side but
comparatively calm immediately to windward and to leeward. Waited
all day in hopes of a lull; at 3 I went round the island myself with
Bowers, and found a little ice platform close under the weather
side; resolved to shift camp here. It took two very cold hours,
but we gained great shelter, the cliffs rising almost sheer from the
tents. Only now and again a whirling wind current eddied down on the
tents, which were well secured, but the noise of the wind sweeping
over the rocky ridge above our heads was deafening; we could scarcely
hear ourselves speak. Settled down for our second night with little
comfort, and slept better, knowing we could not be swept out to sea,
but provisions were left only for one more meal.

During the night the wind moderated and we could just see outline
of land.

I roused the party at 7 A.M. and we were soon under weigh, with a
desperately cold and stiff breeze and frozen clothes; it was very
heavy pulling, but the distance only two miles. Arrived off the point
about ten and found sea ice continued around it. It was a very great
relief to see the hut on rounding it and to hear that all was well.

Another pony, Hackenschmidt, and one dog reported dead, but this
certainly is not worse than expected. All the other animals are in
good form.

Delighted with everything I see in the hut. Simpson has done wonders,
but indeed so has everyone else, and I must leave description to a
future occasion.

_Friday, April_ 14.--Good Friday. Peaceful day. Wind continuing 20
to 30 miles per hour.

Had divine service.

_Saturday, April_ 15.--Weather continuing thoroughly bad. Wind
blowing from 30 to 40 miles an hour all day; drift bad, and to-night
snow falling. I am waiting to get back to Hut Point with relief
stores. To-night sent up signal light to inform them there of our
safe arrival--an answering flare was shown.

_Sunday, April_ 16.--Same wind as yesterday up to 6 o'clock, when it
fell calm with gusts from the north.

Have exercised the ponies to-day and got my first good look at them. I
scarcely like to express the mixed feelings with which I am able to
regard this remnant.


Freezing of Bays. Cape Evans

_March_ 15.--General young ice formed.

_March_ 19.--Bay cleared except strip inside Inaccessible and
Razor Back Islands to Corner Turk's Head.

_March_ 20.--Everything cleared.

_March_ 25.--Sea froze over inside Islands for good.

_March_ 28.--Sea frozen as far as seen.

_March_ 30.--Remaining only inside Islands.

_April_ 1.--Limit Cape to Island.

_April_ 6.--Present limit freezing in Strait and in North Bay.

_April_ 9.--Strait cleared except former limit and _some_ ice in
North Bay likely to remain.



CHAPTER VIII

Home Impressions and an Excursion

_Impressions on returning to the Hut, April_ 13, 1911

In choosing the site of the hut on our Home Beach I had thought of
the possibility of northerly winds bringing a swell, but had argued,
firstly, that no heavy northerly swell had ever been recorded in the
Sound; secondly, that a strong northerly wind was bound to bring pack
which would damp the swell; thirdly, that the locality was excellently
protected by the Barne Glacier, and finally, that the beach itself
showed no signs of having been swept by the sea, the rock fragments
composing it being completely angular.

When the hut was erected and I found that its foundation was only
11 feet above the level of the sea ice, I had a slight misgiving,
but reassured myself again by reconsidering the circumstances that
afforded shelter to the beach.

The fact that such question had been considered makes it easier to
understand the attitude of mind that readmitted doubt in the face of
phenomenal conditions.

The event has justified my original arguments, but I must confess a
sense of having assumed security without sufficient proof in a case
where an error of judgment might have had dire consequences.

It was not until I found all safe at the Home Station that I realised
how anxious I had been concerning it. In a normal season no thought
of its having been in danger would have occurred to me, but since the
loss of the ponies and the breaking of the Glacier Tongue I could not
rid myself of the fear that misfortune was in the air and that some
abnormal swell had swept the beach; gloomy thoughts of the havoc that
might have been wrought by such an event would arise in spite of the
sound reasons which had originally led me to choose the site of the
hut as a safe one.

The late freezing of the sea, the terrible continuance of wind and
the abnormalities to which I have referred had gradually strengthened
the profound distrust with which I had been forced to regard our
mysterious Antarctic climate until my imagination conjured up many
forms of disaster as possibly falling on those from whom I had parted
for so long.

We marched towards Cape Evans under the usually miserable conditions
which attend the breaking of camp in a cold wind after a heavy
blizzard. The outlook was dreary in the grey light of early morning,
our clothes were frozen stiff and our fingers, wet and cold in the
tent, had been frostbitten in packing the sledges.

A few comforting signs of life appeared as we approached the Cape; some
old footprints in the snow, a long silk thread from the meteorologist's
balloon; but we saw nothing more as we neared the rocks of the
promontory and the many grounded bergs which were scattered off it.

To my surprise the fast ice extended past the Cape and we were able
to round it into the North Bay. Here we saw the weather screen on Wind
Vane Hill, and a moment later turned a small headland and brought the
hut in full view. It was intact--stables, outhouses and all; evidently
the sea had left it undisturbed. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. We
watched two figures at work near the stables and wondered when they
would see us. In a moment or two they did so, and fled inside the
hut to carry the news of our arrival. Three minutes later all nine
occupants [20] were streaming over the floe towards us with shouts
of welcome. There were eager inquiries as to mutual welfare and it
took but a minute to learn the most important events of the quiet
station life which had been led since our departure. These under the
circumstances might well be considered the deaths of one pony and
one dog. The pony was that which had been nicknamed Hackenschmidt
from his vicious habit of using both fore and hind legs in attacking
those who came near him. He had been obviously of different breed from
the other ponies, being of lighter and handsomer shape, suggestive
of a strain of Arab blood. From no cause which could be discovered
either by the symptoms of his illness or the post-mortem held by
Nelson could a reason be found for his death. In spite of the best
feeding and every care he had gradually sickened until he was too
weak to stand, and in this condition there had been no option but to
put him out of misery. Anton considers the death of Hackenschmidt to
have been an act of 'cussedness'--the result of a determination to do
no work for the Expedition!! Although the loss is serious I remember
doubts which I had as to whether this animal could be anything but
a source of trouble to us. He had been most difficult to handle all
through, showing a vicious, intractable temper. I had foreseen great
difficulties with him, especially during the early part of any journey
on which he was taken, and this consideration softened the news of
his death. The dog had been left behind in a very sick condition,
and this loss was not a great surprise.

These items were the worst of the small budget of news that awaited
me; for the rest, the hut arrangements had worked out in the most
satisfactory manner possible and the scientific routine of observations
was in full swing. After our primitive life at Cape Armitage it
was wonderful to enter the precincts of our warm, dry Cape Evans
home. The interior space seemed palatial, the light resplendent,
and the comfort luxurious. It was very good to eat in civilised
fashion, to enjoy the first bath for three months, and have contact
with clean, dry clothing. Such fleeting hours of comfort (for custom
soon banished their delight) are the treasured remembrance of every
Polar traveller. They throw into sharpest contrast the hardships of
the past and the comforts of the present, and for the time he revels
in the unaccustomed physical contentment that results.

I was not many hours or even minutes in the hut before I was haled
round to observe in detail the transformation which had taken place
during my absence, and in which a very proper pride was taken by
those who had wrought it.

Simpson's Corner was the first visited. Here the eye travelled over
numerous shelves laden with a profusion of self-recording instruments,
electric batteries and switchboards, whilst the ear caught the
ticking of many clocks, the gentle whir of a motor and occasionally
the trembling note of an electric bell. But such sights and sounds
conveyed only an impression of the delicate methodical means by which
the daily and hourly variations of our weather conditions were being
recorded--a mere glimpse of the intricate arrangements of a first-class
meteorological station--the one and only station of that order which
has been established in Polar regions. It took me days and even months
to realise fully the aims of our meteorologist and the scientific
accuracy with which he was achieving them. When I did so to an adequate
extent I wrote some description of his work which will be found in the
following pages of this volume. [21] The first impression which I am
here describing was more confused; I appreciated only that by going to
'Simpson's Corner' one could ascertain at a glance how hard the wind
was blowing and had been blowing, how the barometer was varying, to
what degree of cold the thermometer had descended; if one were still
more inquisitive he could further inform himself as to the electrical
tension of the atmosphere and other matters of like import. That such
knowledge could be gleaned without a visit to the open air was an
obvious advantage to those who were clothing themselves to face it,
whilst the ability to study the variation of a storm without exposure
savoured of no light victory of mind over matter.

The dark room stands next to the parasitologist's side of the bench
which flanks Sunny Jim's Corner--an involved sentence. To be more
exact, the physicists adjust their instruments and write up books at
a bench which projects at right angles to the end wall of the hut;
the opposite side of this bench is allotted to Atkinson, who is to
write with his back to the dark room. Atkinson being still absent
his corner was unfurnished, and my attention was next claimed by
the occupant of the dark room beyond Atkinson's limit. The art of
photography has never been so well housed within the Polar regions and
rarely without them. Such a palatial chamber for the development of
negatives and prints can only be justified by the quality of the work
produced in it, and is only justified in our case by the possession
of such an artist as Ponting. He was eager to show me the results
of his summer work, and meanwhile my eye took in the neat shelves
with their array of cameras, &c., the porcelain sink and automatic
water tap, the two acetylene gas burners with their shading screens,
and the general obviousness of all conveniences of the photographic
art. Here, indeed, was encouragement for the best results, and to
the photographer be all praise, for it is mainly his hand which has
executed the designs which his brain conceived. In this may be clearly
seen the advantage of a traveller's experience. Ponting has had to fend
for himself under primitive conditions in a new land; the result is a
'handy man' with every form of tool and in any circumstances. Thus,
when building operations were to the fore and mechanical labour
scarce, Ponting returned to the shell of his apartment with only the
raw material for completing it. In the shortest possible space of
time shelves and tanks were erected, doors hung and windows framed,
and all in a workmanlike manner commanding the admiration of all
beholders. It was well that speed could be commanded for such work,
since the fleeting hours of the summer season had been altogether too
few to be spared from the immediate service of photography. Ponting's
nervous temperament allowed no waste of time--for him fine weather
meant no sleep; he decided that lost opportunities should be as rare
as circumstances would permit.

This attitude was now manifested in the many yards of cinematograph
film remaining on hand and yet greater number recorded as having been
sent back in the ship, in the boxes of negatives lying on the shelves
and a well-filled album of prints.

Of the many admirable points in this work perhaps the most notable
are Ponting's eye for a picture and the mastery he has acquired of ice
subjects; the composition of most of his pictures is extraordinarily
good, he seems to know by instinct the exact value of foreground
and middle distance and of the introduction of 'life,' whilst with
more technical skill in the manipulation of screens and exposures he
emphasises the subtle shadows of the snow and reproduces its wondrously
transparent texture. He is an artist in love with his work, and it
was good to hear his enthusiasm for results of the past and plans of
the future.

Long before I could gaze my fill at the contents of the dark room I
was led to the biologists' cubicle; Nelson and Day had from the first
decided to camp together, each having a habit of methodical neatness;
both were greatly relieved when the arrangement was approved, and
they were freed from the chance of an untidy companion. No attempt
had been made to furnish this cubicle before our departure on the
autumn journey, but now on my return I found it an example of the best
utilisation of space. The prevailing note was neatness; the biologist's
microscope stood on a neat bench surrounded by enamel dishes, vessels,
and books neatly arranged; behind him, when seated, rose two neat
bunks with neat, closely curtained drawers for clothing and neat
reflecting sconces for candles; overhead was a neat arrangement for
drying socks with several nets, neatly bestowed. The carpentering
to produce this effect had been of quite a high order, and was in
very marked contrast with that exhibited for the hasty erections in
other cubicles. The pillars and boarding of the bunks had carefully
finished edges and were stained to mahogany brown. Nelson's bench
is situated very conveniently under the largest of the hut windows,
and had also an acetylene lamp, so that both in summer and winter he
has all conveniences for his indoor work.

Day appeared to have been unceasingly busy during my absence. Everyone
paid tribute to his mechanical skill and expressed gratitude for the
help he had given in adjusting instruments and generally helping
forward the scientific work. He was entirely responsible for the
heating, lighting, and ventilating arrangements, and as all these
appear satisfactory he deserved much praise. Particulars concerning
these arrangements I shall give later; as a first impression it is
sufficient to note that the warmth and lighting of the hut seemed as
good as could be desired, whilst for our comfort the air seemed fresh
and pure. Day had also to report some progress with the motor sledges,
but this matter also I leave for future consideration.

My attention was very naturally turned from the heating arrangements
to the cooking stove and its custodian, Clissold. I had already
heard much of the surpassingly satisfactory meals which his art had
produced, and had indeed already a first experience of them. Now I
was introduced to the cook's corner with its range and ovens, its
pots and pans, its side tables and well-covered shelves. Much was to
be gathered therefrom, although a good meal by no means depends only
on kitchen conveniences. It was gratifying to learn that the stove had
proved itself economical and the patent fuel blocks a most convenient
and efficient substitute for coal. Save for the thickness of the
furnace cheeks and the size of the oven Clissold declared himself
wholly satisfied. He feared that the oven would prove too small to
keep up a constant supply of bread for all hands; nevertheless he
introduced me to this oven with an air of pride which I soon found
to be fully justified. For connected therewith was a contrivance
for which he was entirely responsible, and which in its ingenuity
rivalled any of which the hut could boast. The interior of the oven
was so arranged that the 'rising' of the bread completed an electric
circuit, thereby ringing a bell and switching on a red lamp. Clissold
had realised that the continuous ringing of the bell would not be
soothing to the nerves of our party, nor the continuous burning of
the lamp calculated to prolong its life, and he had therefore added
the clockwork mechanism which automatically broke the circuit after
a short interval of time; further, this clockwork mechanism could be
made to control the emersion of the same warning signals at intervals
of time varied according to the desire of the operator;--thus because,
when in bed, he would desire a signal at short periods, but if absent
from the hut he would wish to know at a glance what had happened
when he returned. Judged by any standard it was a remarkably pretty
little device, but when I learnt that it had been made from odds and
ends, such as a cog-wheel or spring here and a cell or magnet there,
begged from other departments, I began to realise that we had a very
exceptional cook. Later when I found that Clissold was called in to
consult on the ailments of Simpson's motor and that he was capable of
constructing a dog sledge out of packing cases, I was less surprised,
because I knew by this time that he had had considerable training in
mechanical work before he turned his attention to pots and pans.

My first impressions include matters to which I was naturally eager to
give an early half-hour, namely the housing of our animals. I found
herein that praise was as justly due to our Russian boys as to my
fellow Englishmen.

Anton with Lashly's help had completed the furnishing of the
stables. Neat stalls occupied the whole length of the 'lean to,' the
sides so boarded that sprawling legs could not be entangled beneath
and the front well covered with tin sheet to defeat the 'cribbers.' I
could but sigh again to think of the stalls that must now remain empty,
whilst appreciating that there was ample room for the safe harbourage
of the ten beasts that remain, be the winter never so cold or the
winds so wild.

Later we have been able to give double space to all but two or three
of our animals, in which they can lie down if they are so inclined.

The ponies look fairly fit considering the low diet on which they
have been kept; their coats were surprisingly long and woolly in
contrast with those of the animals I had left at Hut Point. At this
time they were being exercised by Lashly, Anton, Demetri, Hooper,
and Clissold, and as a rule were ridden, the sea having only recently
frozen. The exercise ground had lain on the boulder-strewn sand of
the home beach and extending towards the Skua lake; and across these
stretches I soon saw barebacked figures dashing at speed, and not
a few amusing incidents in which horse and rider parted with abrupt
lack of ceremony. I didn't think this quite the most desirable form
of exercise for the beasts, but decided to leave matters as they were
till our pony manager returned.

Demetri had only five or six dogs left in charge, but these looked
fairly fit, all things considered, and it was evident the boy was bent
on taking every care of them, for he had not only provided shelters,
but had built a small 'lean to' which would serve as a hospital for
any animal whose stomach or coat needed nursing.

Such were in broad outline the impressions I received on my first
return to our home station; they were almost wholly pleasant and,
as I have shown, in happy contrast with the fears that had assailed
me on the homeward route. As the days went by I was able to fill in
the detail in equally pleasant fashion, to watch the development of
fresh arrangements and the improvement of old ones. Finally, in this
way I was brought to realise what an extensive and intricate but
eminently satisfactory organisation I had made myself responsible for.

_Notes on Flyleaf of Fresh MS. Book_

Genus Homo, Species Sapiens!

FLOTSAM

Wm. Barents' house in Novaya Zemlya built 1596. Found by Capt. Carlsen
1871 (275 years later) intact, everything inside as left! What of
this hut?

The ocean girt continent.

'Might have seemed almost heroic if any higher end than excessive
love of gain and traffic had animated the design.'--MILTON.

'He is not worthy to live at all, who, for fear and danger of death
shunneth his country's service or his own honour, since death is
inevitable and the fame of virtue immortal.'--SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.

There is no part of the world that _can_ not be reached by man. When
the 'can be' is turned to 'has been' the Geographical Society will
have altered its status.


'At the whirring loom of time unawed
I weave the living garment of God.'--GOETHE.


By all means think yourself big but don't think everyone else small!

The man who knows everyone's job isn't much good at his own.

'When you are attacked unjustly avoid the appearance of evil, but
avoid also the appearance of being too good!' 'A man can't be too good,
but he can appear too good.'

_Monday, April_ 17.--Started from C. Evans with two 10 ft. sledges.


    Party 1. Self, Lashly, Day, Demetri.
      ,,  2. Bowers, Nelson, Crean, Hooper.


We left at 8 A.M., taking our personal equipment, a week's provision
of sledging food, and butter, oatmeal, flour, lard, chocolate, &c.,
for the hut.

Two of the ponies hauled the sledges to within a mile of the Glacier
Tongue; the wind, which had been north, here suddenly shifted to S.E.,
very biting. (The wind remained north at C. Evans during the afternoon,
the ponies walked back into it.) Sky overcast, very bad light. Found
the place to get on the glacier, but then lost the track-crossed
more or less direct, getting amongst many cracks. Came down in bay
near the open water--stumbled over the edge to an easy drift. More
than once on these trips I as leader have suddenly disappeared from
the sight of the others, affording some consternation till they got
close enough to see what has happened. The pull over sea ice was very
heavy and in face of strong wind and drift. Every member of the party
was frostbitten about the face, several with very cold feet. Pushed
on after repairs. Found drift streaming off the ice cliff, a new
cornice formed and our rope buried at both ends. The party getting
cold, I decided to camp, have tea, and shift foot gear. Whilst tea
was preparing, Bowers and I went south, then north, along the cliffs
to find a place to ascend--nearly everywhere ascent seemed impossible
in the vicinity of Hulton Rocks or north, but eventually we found an
overhanging cornice close to our rope.

After lunch we unloaded a sledge, which, held high on end by four men,
just reached the edge of the cornice. Clambering up over backs and
up sledge I used an ice-axe to cut steps over the cornice and thus
managed to get on top, then cut steps and surmounted the edge of the
cornice. Helped Bowers up with the rope; others followed--then the
gear was hauled up piecemeal. For Crean, the last man up, we lowered
the sledge over the cornice and used a bowline in the other end of
the rope on top of it. He came up grinning with delight, and we all
thought the ascent rather a cunning piece of work. It was fearfully
cold work, but everyone working with rare intelligence, we eventually
got everything up and repacked the sledge; glad to get in harness
again. Then a heavy pull up a steep slope in wretched light, making
detour to left to avoid crevasses. We reached the top and plodded on
past the craters as nearly as possible as on the outward route. The
party was pretty exhausted and very wet with perspiration. Approaching
Castle Rock the weather and light improved. Camped on Barrier Slope
north of Castle Rock about 9 P.M. Night cold but calm, -38° during
night; slept pretty well.

_Tuesday, April_ 18.--Hut Point. Good moonlight at 7 A.M.--had
breakfast. Broke camp very quickly--Lashly splendid at camp work as of
old--very heavy pull up to Castle Rock, sweated much. This sweating in
cold temperature is a serious drawback. Reached Hut Point 1 P.M. Found
all well in excellent spirits--didn't seem to want us much!!

Party reported very bad weather since we left, cold blizzard, then
continuous S.W. wind with -20° and below. The open water was right
up to Hut Point, wind absolutely preventing all freezing along
shore. Wilson reported skua gull seen Monday.

Found party much shorter of blubber than I had expected--they were
only just keeping themselves supplied with a seal killed two days
before and one as we arrived.

Actually less fast ice than when we left!

_Wednesday, April_ 19.--Hut Point. Calm during night, sea froze over
at noon, 4 1/2 inches thick off Hut Point, showing how easily the
sea will freeze when the chance is given.

Three seals reported on the ice; all hands out after breakfast and the
liver and blubber of all three seals were brought in. This relieves
one of a little anxiety, leaving a twelve days' stock, in which time
other seals ought to be coming up. I am making arrangements to start
back to-morrow, but at present it is overcast and wind coming up from
the south. This afternoon, all ice frozen last night went out quietly;
the sea tried to freeze behind it, but the wind freshened soon. The
ponies were exercised yesterday and to-day; they look pretty fit,
but their coats are not so good as those in winter quarters--they
want fatty foods.

Am preparing to start to-morrow, satisfied that the _Discovery_ Hut
is very comfortable and life very liveable in it. The dogs are much
the same, all looking pretty fit except Vaida and Rabchick--neither of
which seem to get good coats. I am greatly struck with the advantages
of experience in Crean and Lashly for all work about camps.

_Thursday, April_ 20.--Hut Point. Everything ready for starting this
morning, but of course it 'blizzed.' Weather impossible--much wind
and drift from south. Wind turned to S.E. in afternoon--temperatures
low. Went for walk to Cape Armitage, but it is really very
unpleasant. The wind blowing round the Cape is absolutely blighting,
force 7 and temperature below -30°. Sea a black cauldron covered with
dark frost smoke. No ice can form in such weather.

_Friday, April_ 21.--Started homeward at 10.30.

Left Meares in charge of station with Demetri to help with dogs,
Lashly and Keohane to look out for ponies, Nelson and Day and Forde
to get some idea of the life and experience. Homeward party, therefore:


            Self       Bowers
            Wilson     Oates
            Atkinson   Cherry-Garrard
            Crean      Hooper


As usual all hands pulled up Ski slope, which we took without a
halt. Lashly and Demetri came nearly to Castle Rock--very cold
side wind and some frostbites. We reached the last downward slope
about 2.30; at the cliff edge found the cornice gone--heavy wind and
drift worse than before, if anything. We bustled things, and after
tantalising delays with the rope got Bowers and some others on the
floe, then lowered the sledges packed; three men, including Crean and
myself, slid down last on the Alpine rope--doubled and taken round
an ash stave, so that we were able to unreeve the end and recover
the rope--we recovered also most of the old Alpine rope, all except a
piece buried in snow on the sea ice and dragged down under the slush,
just like the _Discovery_ boats; I could not have supposed this could
happen in so short a time._17_

By the time all stores were on the floe, with swirling drift about
us, everyone was really badly cold--one of those moments for quick
action. We harnessed and dashed for the shelter of the cliffs; up
tents, and hot tea as quick as possible; after this and some shift of
foot gear all were much better. Heavy plod over the sea ice, starting
at 4.30--very bad light on the glacier, and we lost our way as usual,
stumbling into many crevasses, but finally descended in the old place;
by this time sweating much. Crean reported our sledge pulling much more
heavily than the other one. Marched on to Little Razor Back Island
without halt, our own sledge dragging fearfully. Crean said there
was great difference in the sledges, though loads were equal. Bowers
politely assented when I voiced this sentiment, but I'm sure he and his
party thought it the plea of tired men. However there was nothing like
proof, and he readily assented to change sledges. The difference was
really extraordinary; we felt the new sledge a featherweight compared
with the old, and set up a great pace for the home quarters regardless
of how much we perspired. We arrived at the hut (two miles away) ten
minutes ahead of the others, who by this time were quite convinced
as to the difference in the sledges.

The difference was only marked when pulling over the salt-covered
sea ice; on snow the sledges seemed pretty much the same. It is due
to the grain of the wood in the runners and is worth looking into.

We all arrived bathed in sweat--our garments were soaked through, and
as we took off our wind clothes showers of ice fell on the floor. The
accumulation was almost incredible and shows the whole trouble of
sledging in cold weather. It would have been very uncomfortable to
have camped in the open under such conditions, and assuredly a winter
and spring party cannot afford to get so hot if they wish to retain
any semblance of comfort.

Our excellent cook had just the right meal prepared for us--an enormous
dish of rice and figs, and cocoa in a bucket! The hut party were all
very delighted to see us, and the fittings and comforts of the hut
are amazing to the newcomers.

_Saturday, April_ 22.--Cape Evans, Winter Quarters. The sledging
season is at an end. It's good to be back in spite of all the losses
we have sustained.

To-day we enjoy a very exceptional calm. The sea is freezing over
of course, but unfortunately our view from Observatory Hill is very
limited. Oates and the rest are exercising the ponies. I have been
sorting my papers and getting ready for the winter work.



CHAPTER IX

The Work and the Workers

_Sunday, April_ 23.--Winter Quarters. The last day of the sun and
a very glorious view of its golden light over the Barne Glacier. We
could not see the sun itself on account of the Glacier, the fine ice
cliffs of which were in deep shadow under the rosy rays.

_Impression_.--The long mild twilight which like a silver clasp unites
to-day with yesterday; when morning and evening sit together hand in
hand beneath the starless sky of midnight.

It blew hard last night and most of the young ice has gone as
expected. Patches seem to be remaining south of the Glacier Tongue and
the Island and off our own bay. In this very queer season it appears
as though the final freezing is to be reached by gradual increments
to the firmly established ice.

Had Divine Service. Have only seven hymn-books, those brought on
shore for our first Service being very stupidly taken back to the ship.

I begin to think we are too comfortable in the hut and hope it will
not make us slack; but it is good to see everyone in such excellent
spirits--so far not a rift in the social arrangements.

_Monday, April 24_.--A night watchman has been instituted mainly for
the purpose of observing the aurora, of which the displays have been
feeble so far. The observer is to look round every hour or oftener
if there is aught to be seen. He is allowed cocoa and sardines with
bread and butter--the cocoa can be made over an acetylene Bunsen
burner, part of Simpson's outfit. I took the first turn last night;
the remainder of the afterguard follow in rotation. The long night
hours give time to finish up a number of small tasks--the hut remains
quite warm though the fires are out.

Simpson has been practising with balloons during our absence. This
morning he sent one up for trial. The balloon is of silk and has a
capacity of 1 cubic metre. It is filled with hydrogen gas, which is
made in a special generator. The generation is a simple process. A
vessel filled with water has an inverted vessel within it; a pipe
is led to the balloon from the latter and a tube of india-rubber is
attached which contains calcium hydrate. By tipping the tube the amount
of calcium hydrate required can be poured into the generator. As the
gas is made it passes into the balloon or is collected in the inner
vessel, which acts as a bell jar if the stop cock to the balloon
is closed.

The arrangements for utilising the balloon are very pretty.

An instrument weighing only 2 1/4 oz. and recording the temperature and
pressure is attached beneath a small flag and hung 10 to 15 ft. below
the balloon with balloon silk thread; this silk thread is of such fine
quality that 5 miles of it only weighs 4 ozs., whilst its breaking
strain is 1 1/4 lbs. The lower part of the instrument is again attached
to the silk thread, which is cunningly wound on coned bobbins from
which the balloon unwinds it without hitch or friction as it ascends.

In order to spare the silk any jerk as the balloon is released two
pieces of string united with a slow match carry the strain between
the instrument and the balloon until the slow match is consumed.

The balloon takes about a quarter of an hour to inflate; the slow
match is then lit, and the balloon released; with a weight of 8
oz. and a lifting power of 2 1/2 lbs. it rises rapidly. After it
is lost to ordinary vision it can be followed with glasses as mile
after mile of thread runs out. Theoretically, if strain is put on the
silk thread it should break between the instrument and the balloon,
leaving the former free to drop, when the thread can be followed up
and the instrument with its record recovered.

To-day this was tried with a dummy instrument, but the thread broke
close to the bobbins. In the afternoon a double thread was tried,
and this acted successfully.

To-day I allotted the ponies for exercise. Bowers, Cherry-Garrard,
Hooper, Clissold, P.O. Evans, and Crean take animals, besides Anton
and Oates. I have had to warn people that they will not necessarily
lead the ponies which they now tend.

Wilson is very busy making sketches.

_Tuesday, April_ 28.--It was comparatively calm all day yesterday
and last night, and there have been light airs only from the south
to-day. The temperature, at first comparatively high at -5°, has
gradually fallen to -13°; as a result the Strait has frozen over at
last and it looks as though the Hut Point party should be with us
before very long. If the blizzards hold off for another three days the
crossing should be perfectly safe, but I don't expect Meares to hurry.

Although we had very good sunset effects at Hut Point, Ponting and
others were much disappointed with the absence of such effects at Cape
Evans. This was probably due to the continual interference of frost
smoke; since our return here and especially yesterday and to-day the
sky and sea have been glorious in the afternoon.

Ponting has taken some coloured pictures, but the result is not very
satisfactory and the plates are much spotted; Wilson is very busy
with pencil and brush.

Atkinson is unpacking and setting up his sterilizers and
incubators. Wright is wrestling with the electrical instruments. Evans
is busy surveying the Cape and its vicinity. Oates is reorganising
the stable, making bigger stalls, &c. Cherry-Garrard is building a
stone house for taxidermy and with a view to getting hints for making
a shelter at Cape Crozier during the winter. Debenham and Taylor are
taking advantage of the last of the light to examine the topography
of the peninsula. In fact, everyone is extraordinarily busy.

I came back with the impression that we should not find our winter
walks so interesting as those at Hut Point, but I'm rapidly altering my
opinion; we may miss the hill climbing here, but in every direction
there is abundance of interest. To-day I walked round the shores
of the North Bay examining the kenyte cliffs and great masses of
morainic material of the Barne Glacier, then on under the huge blue
ice cliffs of the Glacier itself. With the sunset lights, deep shadows,
the black islands and white bergs it was all very beautiful.

Simpson and Bowers sent up a balloon to-day with a double thread
and instrument attached; the line was checked at about 3 miles,
and soon after the instrument was seen to disengage. The balloon at
first went north with a light southerly breeze till it reached 300
or 400 ft., then it turned to the south but did not travel rapidly;
when 2 miles of thread had gone it seemed to be going north again or
rising straight upward.

In the afternoon Simpson and Bowers went to recover their treasure,
but somewhere south of Inaccessible Island they found the thread
broken and the light was not good enough to continue the search.

The sides of the galley fire have caved in--there should have been
cheeks to prevent this; we got some fire clay cement to-day and
plastered up the sides. I hope this will get over the difficulty,
but have some doubt.

_Wednesday, April_ 26.--Calm. Went round Cape Evans--remarkable
effects of icicles on the ice foot, formed by spray of southerly gales.

_Thursday, April_ 27.--The fourth day in succession without wind,
but overcast. Light snow has fallen during the day--to-night the wind
comes from the north.

We should have our party back soon. The temperature remains about -5°
and the ice should be getting thicker with rapidity.

Went round the bergs off Cape Evans--they are very beautiful,
especially one which is pierced to form a huge arch. It will be
interesting to climb around these monsters as the winter proceeds.

To-day I have organised a series of lectures for the winter; the people
seem keen and it ought to be exceedingly interesting to discuss so
many diverse subjects with experts.

We have an extraordinary diversity of talent and training in our
people; it would be difficult to imagine a company composed of
experiences which differed so completely. We find one hut contains
an experience of every country and every clime! What an assemblage
of motley knowledge!

_Friday, April_ 28.--Another comparatively calm day--temp. -12°,
clear sky. Went to ice caves on glacier S. of Cape; these are really
very wonderful. Ponting took some photographs with long exposure
and Wright got some very fine ice crystals. The Glacier Tongue comes
close around a high bluff headland of kenyte; it is much cracked and
curiously composed of a broad wedge of white névé over blue ice. The
faults in the dust strata in these surfaces are very mysterious and
should be instructive in the explanation of certain ice problems.

It looks as though the sea had frozen over for good. If no further
blizzard clears the Strait it can be said for this season that:


        The Bays froze over on March 25.
        The Strait ,,    ,,    ,, April 22.
         ,,    ,,  dissipated April 29.
         ,,    ,,  froze over on April 30.


Later. The Hut Point record of freezing is:


        Night 24th-25th.    Ice forming mid-day 25th, opened
                            with leads.
        26th.               Ice all out, sound apparently open.
        27th.               Strait apparently freezing.
        Early 28th.         Ice over whole Strait.
        29th.               All ice gone.
        30th.               Freezing over.
        May 4th.            Broad lead opened along land to Castle
                            Rock, 300 to 400 yds. wide.


Party intended to start on 11th, if weather fine.

Very fine display of aurora to-night, one of the brightest I have ever
seen--over Erebus; it is conceded that a red tinge is seen after the
movement of light.

_Saturday, April_ 29.--Went to Inaccessible Island with Wilson. The
agglomerates, kenytes, and lavas are much the same as those at Cape
Evans. The Island is 540 ft. high, and it is a steep climb to reach
the summit over very loose sand and boulders. From the summit one
has an excellent view of our surroundings and the ice in the Strait,
which seemed to extend far beyond Cape Royds, but had some ominous
cracks beyond the Island.

We climbed round the ice foot after descending the hill and found
it much broken up on the south side; the sea spray had washed far up
on it.

It is curious to find that all the heavy seas come from the south
and that it is from this direction that protection is most needed.

There is some curious weathering on the ice blocks on the N. side;
also the snow drifts show interesting dirt bands. The island had a good
sprinkling of snow, which will all be gone, I expect, to-night. For
as we reached the summit we saw a storm approaching from the south;
it had blotted out the Bluff, and we watched it covering Black Island,
then Hut Point and Castle Rock. By the time we started homeward it
was upon us, making a harsh chatter as it struck the high rocks and
sweeping along the drift on the floe.

The blow seems to have passed over to-night and the sky is clear
again, but I much fear the ice has gone out in the Strait. There is
an ominous black look to the westward.

_Sunday, April_ 30.--As I feared last night, the morning light revealed
the havoc made in the ice by yesterday's gale. From Wind Vane Hill (66
feet) it appeared that the Strait had not opened beyond the island,
but after church I went up the Ramp with Wilson and steadily climbed
over the Glacier ice to a height of about 650 feet. From this elevation
one could see that a broad belt of sea ice had been pushed bodily
to seaward, and it was evident that last night the whole stretch of
water from Hut Point to Turtle Island must have been open--so that
our poor people at Hut Point are just where they were.

The only comfort is that the Strait is already frozen again; but what
is to happen if every blow clears the sea like this?

Had an interesting walk. One can go at least a mile up the glacier
slope before coming to crevasses, and it does not appear that these
would be serious for a good way farther. The view is magnificent,
and on a clear day like this, one still enjoys some hours of daylight,
or rather twilight, when it is possible to see everything clearly.

Have had talks of the curious cones which are such a feature of
the Ramp--they are certainly partly produced by ice and partly by
weathering. The ponds and various forms of ice grains interest us.

To-night have been naming all the small land features of our vicinity.

_Tuesday, May_ 2.--It was calm yesterday. A balloon was sent up in
the morning, but only reached a mile in height before the instrument
was detached (by slow match).

In the afternoon went out with Bowers and his pony to pick up
instrument, which was close to the shore in the South Bay. Went on past
Inaccessible Island. The ice outside the bergs has grown very thick, 14
inches or more, but there were freshly frozen pools beyond the Island.

In the evening Wilson opened the lecture series with a paper on
'Antarctic Flying Birds.' Considering the limits of the subject the
discussion was interesting. The most attractive point raised was
that of pigmentation. Does the absence of pigment suggest absence of
reserve energy? Does it increase the insulating properties of the
hair or feathers? Or does the animal clothed in white radiate less
of his internal heat? The most interesting example of Polar colouring
here is the increased proportion of albinos amongst the giant petrels
found in high latitudes.

To-day have had our first game of football; a harassing southerly
wind sprang up, which helped my own side to the extent of three goals.

This same wind came with a clear sky and jumped up and down in force
throughout the afternoon, but has died away to-night. In the afternoon
I saw an ominous lead outside the Island which appeared to extend a
long way south. I'm much afraid it may go across our pony track from
Hut Point. I am getting anxious to have the hut party back, and begin
to wonder if the ice to the south will ever hold in permanently now
that the Glacier Tongue has gone.

_Wednesday, May_ 3.--Another calm day, very beautiful and clear. Wilson
and Bowers took our few dogs for a run in a sledge. Walked myself out
over ice in North Bay--there are a good many cracks and pressures
with varying thickness of ice, showing how tide and wind shift the
thin sheets--the newest leads held young ice of 4 inches.

The temperature remains high, the lowest yesterday -13°; it should
be much lower with such calm weather and clear skies. A strange fact
is now very commonly noticed: in calm weather there is usually a
difference of 4° or 5° between the temperature at the hut and that
on Wind Vane Hill (64 feet), the latter being the higher. This shows
an inverted temperature.

As I returned from my walk the southern sky seemed to grow darker,
and later stratus cloud was undoubtedly spreading up from that
direction--this at about 5 P.M. About 7 a moderate north wind sprang
up. This seemed to indicate a southerly blow, and at about 9 the wind
shifted to that quarter and blew gustily, 25 to 35 m.p.h. One cannot
see the result on the Strait, but I fear it means that the ice has
gone out again in places. The wind dropped as suddenly as it had
arisen soon after midnight.

In the evening Simpson gave us his first meteorological lecture--the
subject, 'Coronas, Halos, Rainbows, and Auroras.' He has a remarkable
power of exposition and taught me more of these phenomena in the hour
than I had learnt by all previous interested inquiries concerning them.

I note one or two points concerning each phenomenon.

_Corona_.--White to brown inside ring called Aureola--outside
are sometimes seen two or three rings of prismatic light in
addition. Caused by diffraction of light round drops of water or ice
crystals; diameter of rings inversely proportionate to size of drops
or crystals--mixed sizes of ditto causes aureola without rings.

_Halos_.--Caused by refraction and reflection through and from ice
crystals. In this connection the hexagonal, tetrahedonal type of
crystallisation is first to be noted; then the infinite number of
forms in which this can be modified together with result of fractures:
two forms predominate, the plate and the needle; these forms falling
through air assume definite position--the plate falls horizontally
swaying to and fro, the needle turns rapidly about its longer axis,
which remains horizontal. Simpson showed excellent experiments to
illustrate; consideration of these facts and refraction of light
striking crystals clearly leads to explanation of various complicated
halo phenomena such as recorded and such as seen by us on the Great
Barrier, and draws attention to the critical refraction angles of 32°
and 46°, the radius of inner and outer rings, the position of mock
suns, contra suns, zenith circles, &c.

Further measurements are needed; for instance of streamers from mock
suns and examination of ice crystals. (Record of ice crystals seen
on Barrier Surface.)

_Rainbows_.--Caused by reflection and refraction from and through
_drops of water_--colours vary with size of drops, the smaller the
drop the lighter the colours and nearer to the violet end of the
spectrum--hence white rainbow as seen on the Barrier, very small drops.

Double Bows--diameters must be 84° and 100°--again from laws of
refraction--colours: inner, red outside; outer, red inside--i.e. reds
come together.

Wanted to see more rainbows on Barrier. In this connection a good
rainbow was seen to N.W. in February from winter quarters. Reports
should note colours and relative width of bands of colour.

_Iridescent Clouds_.--Not yet understood; observations required,
especially angular distance from the sun.

_Auroras_.--Clearly most frequent and intense in years of maximum
sun spots; this argues connection with the sun.

Points noticed requiring confirmation:

Arch: centre of arch in magnetic meridian.

Shafts: take direction of dipping needle.

Bands and Curtains with convolutions--not understood.

Corona: shafts meeting to form.

Notes required on movement and direction of movement--colours
seen--supposed red and possibly green rays preceding or accompanying
movement. Auroras are sometimes accompanied by magnetic storms,
but not always, and vice versa--in general significant signs of
some connection--possible common dependents on a third factor. The
phenomenon further connects itself in form with lines of magnetic
force about the earth.

(Curious apparent connection between spectrum of aurora and that of
a heavy gas, 'argon.' May be coincidence.)

Two theories enunciated:

_Arrhenius_.--Bombardments of minute charged particles from the sun
gathered into the magnetic field of the earth.

_Birkeland_.--Bombardment of free negative electrons gathered into
the magnetic field of the earth.

It is experimentally shown that minute drops of water are deflected
by light.

It is experimentally shown that ions are given off by dried calcium,
which the sun contains.

Professor Störmer has collected much material showing connection of
the phenomenon with lines of magnetic force.

_Thursday, May_ 4.--From the small height of Wind Vane Hill (64 feet)
it was impossible to say if the ice in the Strait had been out after
yesterday's wind. The sea was frozen, but after twelve hours' calm it
would be in any case. The dark appearance of the ice is noticeable, but
this has been the case of late since the light is poor; little snow has
fallen or drifted and the ice flowers are very sparse and scattered.

We had an excellent game of football again to-day--the exercise is
delightful and we get very warm. Atkinson is by far the best player,
but Hooper, P.O. Evans, and Crean are also quite good. It has been
calm all day again.

Went over the sea ice beyond the Arch berg; the ice half a mile beyond
is only 4 inches. I think this must have been formed since the blow
of yesterday, that is, in sixteen hours or less.

Such rapid freezing is a hopeful sign, but the prompt dissipation of
the floe under a southerly wind is distinctly the reverse.

I am anxious to get our people back from Hut Point, mainly on account
of the two ponies; with so much calm weather there should have been
no difficulty for the party in keeping up its supply of blubber;
an absence of which is the only circumstance likely to discomfort it.

The new ice over which I walked is extraordinarily slippery and
free from efflorescence. I think this must be a further sign of
rapid formation.

_Friday, May_ 5.--Another calm day following a quiet night. Once
or twice in the night a light northerly wind, soon dying away. The
temperature down to -12°. What is the meaning of this comparative
warmth? As usual in calms the Wind Vane Hill temperature is 3° or 4°
higher. It is delightful to contemplate the amount of work which is
being done at the station. No one is idle--all hands are full, and one
cannot doubt that the labour will be productive of remarkable result.

I do not think there can be any life quite so demonstrative of
character as that which we had on these expeditions. One sees a
remarkable reassortment of values. Under ordinary conditions it is so
easy to carry a point with a little bounce; self-assertion is a mask
which covers many a weakness. As a rule we have neither the time nor
the desire to look beneath it, and so it is that commonly we accept
people on their own valuation. Here the outward show is nothing,
it is the inward purpose that counts. So the 'gods' dwindle and the
humble supplant them. Pretence is useless.

One sees Wilson busy with pencil and colour box, rapidly and steadily
adding to his portfolio of charming sketches and at intervals filling
the gaps in his zoological work of _Discovery_ times; withal ready
and willing to give advice and assistance to others at all times;
his sound judgment appreciated and therefore a constant referee.

Simpson, master of his craft, untiringly attentive to the working
of his numerous self-recording instruments, observing all changes
with scientific acumen, doing the work of two observers at least
and yet ever seeking to correlate an expanded scope. So the current
meteorological and magnetic observations are taken as never before
by Polar expeditions.

Wright, good-hearted, strong, keen, striving to saturate his mind
with the ice problems of this wonderful region. He has taken the
electrical work in hand with all its modern interest of association
with radio-activity.

Evans, with a clear-minded zeal in his own work, does it with all the
success of result which comes from the taking of pains. Therefrom
we derive a singularly exact preservation of time--an important
consideration to all, but especially necessary for the physical
work. Therefrom also, and including more labour, we have an accurate
survey of our immediate surroundings and can trust to possess the
correctly mapped results of all surveying data obtained. He has Gran
for assistant.

Taylor's intellect is omnivorous and versatile--his mind is unceasingly
active, his grasp wide. Whatever he writes will be of interest--his
pen flows well.

Debenham's is clearer. Here we have a well-trained, sturdy worker, with
a quiet meaning that carries conviction; he realises the conceptions
of thoroughness and conscientiousness.

To Bowers' practical genius is owed much of the smooth working of our
station. He has a natural method in line with which all arrangements
fall, so that expenditure is easily and exactly adjusted to supply,
and I have the inestimable advantage of knowing the length of time
which each of our possessions will last us and the assurance that
there can be no waste. Active mind and active body were never more
happily blended. It is a restless activity, admitting no idle moments
and ever budding into new forms.

So we see the balloons ascending under his guidance and anon he is
away over the floe tracking the silk thread which held it. Such a task
completed, he is away to exercise his pony, and later out again with
the dogs, the last typically self-suggested, because for the moment
there is no one else to care for these animals. Now in a similar
manner he is spreading thermometer screens to get comparative readings
with the home station. He is for the open air, seemingly incapable
of realising any discomfort from it, and yet his hours within doors
spent with equal profit. For he is intent on tracking the problems
of sledging food and clothing to their innermost bearings and is
becoming an authority on past records. This will be no small help to
me and one which others never could have given.

Adjacent to the physicist's corner of the hut Atkinson is quietly
pursuing the subject of parasites. Already he is in a new world. The
laying out of the fish trap was his action and the catches are
his field of labour. Constantly he comes to ask if I would like to
see some new form and I am taken to see some protozoa or ascidian
isolated on the slide plate of his microscope. The fishes themselves
are comparatively new to science; it is strange that their parasites
should have been under investigation so soon.

Atkinson's bench with its array of microscopes, test-tubes, spirit
lamps, &c., is next the dark room in which Ponting spends the greater
part of his life. I would describe him as sustained by artistic
enthusiasm. This world of ours is a different one to him than it is
to the rest of us--he gauges it by its picturesqueness--his joy is to
reproduce its pictures artistically, his grief to fail to do so. No
attitude could be happier for the work which he has undertaken, and one
cannot doubt its productiveness. I would not imply that he is out of
sympathy with the works of others, which is far from being the case,
but that his energies centre devotedly on the minutiae of his business.

Cherry-Garrard is another of the open-air, self-effacing, quiet
workers; his whole heart is in the life, with profound eagerness
to help everyone. 'One has caught glimpses of him in tight places;
sound all through and pretty hard also.' Indoors he is editing our
Polar journal, out of doors he is busy making trial stone huts and
blubber stoves, primarily with a view to the winter journey to Cape
Crozier, but incidentally these are instructive experiments for any
party which may get into difficulty by being cut off from the home
station. It is very well to know how best to use the scant resources
that nature provides in these regions. In this connection I have
been studying our Arctic library to get details concerning snow hut
building and the implements used for it.

Oates' whole heart is in the ponies. He is really devoted to their
care, and I believe will produce them in the best possible form for the
sledging season. Opening out the stores, installing a blubber stove,
&c., has kept _him_ busy, whilst his satellite, Anton, is ever at
work in the stables--an excellent little man.

Evans and Crean are repairing sleeping-bags, covering felt boots,
and generally working on sledging kit. In fact there is no one idle,
and no one who has the least prospect of idleness.

_Saturday, May_ 6.--Two more days of calm, interrupted with occasional
gusts.

Yesterday, Friday evening, Taylor gave an introductory lecture on
his remarkably fascinating subject--modern physiography.

These modern physiographers set out to explain the forms of
land erosion on broad common-sense lines, heedless of geological
support. They must, in consequence, have their special language. River
courses, they say, are not temporary--in the main they are archaic. In
conjunction with land elevations they have worked through _geographical
cycles_, perhaps many. In each geographical cycle they have advanced
from _infantile_ V-shaped forms; the courses broaden and deepen, the
bank slopes reduce in angle as maturer stages are reached until the
level of sea surface is more and more nearly approximated. In _senile_
stages the river is a broad sluggish stream flowing over a plain with
little inequality of level. The cycle has formed a _Peneplain._
Subsequently, with fresh elevation, a new cycle is commenced. So much
for the simple case, but in fact nearly all cases are modified by
unequal elevations due to landslips, by variation in hardness of rock,
&c. Hence modification in positions of river courses and the fact of
different parts of a single river being in different stages of cycle.

Taylor illustrated his explanations with examples: The Red River,
Canada--Plain flat though elevated, water lies in pools, river flows in
'V' 'infantile' form.

The Rhine Valley--The gorgeous scenery from Mainz down due to infantile
form in recently elevated region.

The Russian Plains--Examples of 'senility.'

Greater complexity in the Blue Mountains--these are undoubted earth
folds; the Nepean River flows through an offshoot of a fold, the
valley being made as the fold was elevated--curious valleys made by
erosion of hard rock overlying soft.

River _piracy--Domestic_, the short circuiting of a _meander_, such
as at Coo in the Ardennes; _Foreign_, such as Shoalhaven River,
Australia--stream has captured river.

Landslips have caused the isolation of Lake George and altered the
watershed of the whole country to the south.

Later on Taylor will deal with the effects of ice and lead us to the
formation of the scenery of our own region, and so we shall have much
to discuss.

_Sunday, May_ 7.--Daylight now is very short. One wonders why the Hut
Point party does not come. Bowers and Cherry-Garrard have set up a
thermometer screen containing maximum thermometers and thermographs on
the sea floe about 3/4' N.W. of the hut. Another smaller one is to go
on top of the Ramp. They took the screen out on one of Day's bicycle
wheel carriages and found it ran very easily over the salty ice where
the sledges give so much trouble. This vehicle is not easily turned,
but may be very useful before there is much snowfall.

Yesterday a balloon was sent up and reached a very good height
(probably 2 to 3 miles) before the instrument disengaged; the balloon
went almost straight up and the silk fell in festoons over the
rocky part of the Cape, affording a very difficult clue to follow;
but whilst Bowers was following it, Atkinson observed the instrument
fall a few hundred yards out on the Bay--it was recovered and gives
the first important record of upper air temperature.

Atkinson and Crean put out the fish trap in about 3 fathoms of water
off the west beach; both yesterday morning and yesterday evening
when the trap was raised it contained over forty fish, whilst this
morning and this evening the catches in the same spot have been from
twenty to twenty-five. We had fish for breakfast this morning, but
an even more satisfactory result of the catches has been revealed
by Atkinson's microscope. He had discovered quite a number of new
parasites and found work to last quite a long time.

Last night it came to my turn to do night watchman again, so that I
shall be glad to have a good sleep to-night.

Yesterday we had a game of football; it is pleasant to mess about,
but the light is failing.

Clissold is still producing food novelties; to-night we had galantine
of seal--it was _excellent_.

_Monday, May_ 8--Tuesday, May 9.--As one of the series of lectures I
gave an outline of my plans for next season on Monday evening. Everyone
was interested naturally. I could not but hint that in my opinion
the problem of reaching the Pole can best be solved by relying on
the ponies and man haulage. With this sentiment the whole company
appeared to be in sympathy. Everyone seems to distrust the dogs when
it comes to glacier and summit. I have asked everyone to give thought
to the problem, to freely discuss it, and bring suggestions to my
notice. It's going to be a tough job; that is better realised the
more one dives into it.

To-day (Tuesday) Debenham has been showing me his photographs
taken west. With Wright's and Taylor's these will make an extremely
interesting series--the ice forms especially in the region of the
Koettlitz glacier are unique.

The Strait has been frozen over a week. I cannot understand why the
Hut Point party doesn't return. The weather continues wonderfully
calm though now looking a little unsettled. Perhaps the unsettled
look stops the party, or perhaps it waits for the moon, which will
be bright in a day or two.

Any way I wish it would return, and shall not be free from anxiety
till it does.

Cherry-Garrard is experimenting in stone huts and with blubber
fires--all with a view to prolonging the stay at Cape Crozier.

Bowers has placed one thermometer screen on the floe about 3/4' out,
and another smaller one above the Ramp. Oddly, the floe temperature
seems to agree with that on Wind Vane Hill, whilst the hut temperature
is always 4° or 5° colder in calm weather. To complete the records
a thermometer is to be placed in South Bay.

Science--the rock foundation of all effort!!

_Wednesday, May_ 10.--It has been blowing from the South 12 to 20 miles
per hour since last night; the ice remains fast. The temperature -12°
to -19°. The party does not come. I went well beyond Inaccessible
Island till Hut Point and Castle Rock appeared beyond Tent Island,
that is, well out on the space which was last seen as open water. The
ice is 9 inches thick, not much for eight or nine days' freezing;
but it is very solid--the surface wet but very slippery. I suppose
Meares waits for 12 inches in thickness, or fears the floe is too
slippery for the ponies.

Yet I wish he would come.

I took a thermometer on my walk to-day; the temperature was -12°
inside Inaccessible Island, but only -8° on the sea ice outside--the
wind seemed less outside. Coming in under lee of Island and bergs I was
reminded of the difficulty of finding shelter in these regions. The
weather side of hills seems to afford better shelter than the lee
side, as I have remarked elsewhere. May it be in part because all
lee sides tend to be filled by drift snow, blown and weathered rock
debris? There was a good lee under one of the bergs; in one corner the
ice sloped out over me and on either side, forming a sort of grotto;
here the air was absolutely still.

Ponting gave us an interesting lecture on Burmah, illustrated with
fine slides. His descriptive language is florid, but shows the
artistic temperament. Bowers and Simpson were able to give personal
reminiscences of this land of pagodas, and the discussion led to
interesting statements on the religion, art, and education of its
people, their philosophic idleness, &c. Our lectures are a real
success.

_Friday, May_ 12.--Yesterday morning was quiet. Played football in
the morning; wind got up in the afternoon and evening.

All day it has been blowing hard, 30 to 60 miles an hour; it has never
looked very dark overhead, but a watery cirrus has been in evidence
for some time, causing well marked paraselene.

I have not been far from the hut, but had a great fear on one occasion
that the ice had gone out in the Strait.

The wind is dropping this evening, and I have been up to Wind Vane
Hill. I now think the ice has remained fast.

There has been astonishingly little drift with the wind, probably
due to the fact that there has been so very little snowfall of late.

Atkinson is pretty certain that he has isolated a very motile bacterium
in the snow. It is probably air borne, and though no bacteria have
been found in the air, this may be carried in upper currents and
brought down by the snow. If correct it is an interesting discovery.

To-night Debenham gave a geological lecture. It was elementary. He
gave little more than the rough origin and classification of rocks
with a view to making his further lectures better understood.

_Saturday, May_ 13.--The wind dropped about 10 last night. This
morning it was calm and clear save for a light misty veil of ice
crystals through which the moon shone with scarce clouded brilliancy,
surrounded with bright cruciform halo and white paraselene. Mock
moons with prismatic patches of colour appeared in the radiant ring,
echoes of the main source of light. Wilson has a charming sketch of
the phenomenon.

I went to Inaccessible Island, and climbing some way up the steep
western face, reassured myself concerning the ice. It was evident
that there had been no movement in consequence of yesterday's blow.

In climbing I had to scramble up some pretty steep rock faces and
screens, and held on only in anticipation of gaining the top of the
Island and an easy descent. Instead of this I came to an impossible
overhanging cliff of lava, and was forced to descend as I had come
up. It was no easy task, and I was glad to get down with only one slip,
when I brought myself up with my ice axe in the nick of time to prevent
a fall over a cliff. This Island is very steep on all sides. There
is only one known place of ascent; it will be interesting to try and
find others.

After tea Atkinson came in with the glad tidings that the dog team
were returning from Hut Point. We were soon on the floe to welcome
the last remnant of our wintering party. Meares reported everything
well and the ponies not far behind.

The dogs were unharnessed and tied up to the chains; they are all
looking remarkably fit--apparently they have given no trouble at all
of late; there have not even been any fights.

Half an hour later Day, Lashly, Nelson, Forde, and Keohane arrived
with the two ponies--men and animals in good form.

It is a great comfort to have the men and dogs back, and a greater
to contemplate all the ten ponies comfortably stabled for the
winter. Everything seems to depend on these animals.

I have not seen the meteorological record brought back, but it appears
that the party had had very fine calm weather since we left them,
except during the last three days when wind has been very strong. It
is curious that we should only have got one day with wind.

I am promised the sea-freezing record to-morrow. Four seals were
got on April 22, the day after we left, and others have been killed
since, so that there is a plentiful supply of blubber and seal meat
at the hut--the rest of the supplies seem to have been pretty well run
out. Some more forage had been fetched in from the depot. A young sea
leopard had been killed on the sea ice near Castle Rock three days ago,
this being the second only found in the Sound.

It is a strange fact that none of the returning party seem to greatly
appreciate the food luxuries they have had since their return. It
would have been the same with us had we not had a day or two in tents
before our return. It seems more and more certain that a very simple
fare is all that is needed here--plenty of seal meat, flour, and fat,
with tea, cocoa, and sugar; these are the only real requirements for
comfortable existence.

The temperatures at Hut Point have not been as low as I expected. There
seems to have been an extraordinary heat wave during the spell of
calm recorded since we left--the thermometer registering little below
zero until the wind came, when it fell to -20°. Thus as an exception
we have had a fall instead of a rise of temperature with wind.

[The exact inventory of stores at Hut Point here recorded has no
immediate bearing on the history of the expedition, but may be noted
as illustrating the care and thoroughness with which all operations
were conducted. Other details as to the carbide consumed in making
acetylene gas may be briefly quoted. The first tin was opened on
February 1, the second on March 26. The seventh on May 20, the next
eight at the average interval of 9 1/2 days.]

_Sunday, May_ 14.--Grey and dull in the morning.

Exercised the ponies and held the usual service. This morning I gave
Wright some notes containing speculations on the amount of ice on the
Antarctic continent and on the effects of winter movements in the sea
ice. I want to get into his head the larger bearing of the problems
which our physical investigations involve. He needs two years here to
fully realise these things, and with all his intelligence and energy
will produce little unless he has that extended experience.

The sky cleared at noon, and this afternoon I walked over the North
Bay to the ice cliffs--such a very beautiful afternoon and evening--the
scene bathed in moonlight, so bright and pure as to be almost golden,
a very wonderful scene. At such times the Bay seems strangely homely,
especially when the eye rests on our camp with the hut and lighted
windows.

I am very much impressed with the extraordinary and general cordiality
of the relations which exist amongst our people. I do not suppose that
a statement of the real truth, namely, that there is no friction at
all, will be credited--it is so generally thought that the many rubs of
such a life as this are quietly and purposely sunk in oblivion. With
me there is no need to draw a veil; there is nothing to cover. There
are no strained relations in this hut, and nothing more emphatically
evident than the universally amicable spirit which is shown on all
occasions.

Such a state of affairs would be delightfully surprising under any
conditions, but it is much more so when one remembers the diverse
assortment of our company.

This theme is worthy of expansion. To-night Oates, captain in a smart
cavalry regiment, has been 'scrapping' over chairs and tables with
Debenham, a young Australian student.

It is a triumph to have collected such men.

The temperature has been down to -23°, the lowest yet recorded
here--doubtless we shall soon get lower, for I find an extraordinary
difference between this season as far as it has gone and those
of 1902-3.



CHAPTER X

In Winter Quarters: Modern Style

_Monday, May_ 15.--The wind has been strong from the north all
day--about 30 miles an hour. A bank of stratus cloud about 6000 or
7000 feet (measured by Erebus) has been passing rapidly overhead
_towards_ the north; it is nothing new to find the overlying layers
of air moving in opposite directions, but it is strange that the
phenomenon is so persistent. Simpson has frequently remarked as a
great feature of weather conditions here the seeming reluctance of
the air to 'mix'--the fact seems to be the explanation of many curious
fluctuations of temperature.

Went for a short walk, but it was not pleasant. Wilson gave
an interesting lecture on penguins. He explained the primitive
characteristics in the arrangement of feathers on wings and body, the
absence of primaries and secondaries or bare tracts; the modification
of the muscles of the wings and in the structure of the feet (the
metatarsal joint). He pointed out (and the subsequent discussion
seemed to support him) that these birds probably branched at a very
early stage of bird life--coming pretty directly from the lizard
bird Archaeopteryx of the Jurassic age. Fossils of giant penguins
of Eocene and Miocene ages show that there has been extremely little
development since.

He passed on to the classification and habitat of different genera,
nest-making habits, eggs, &c. Then to a brief account of the habits
of the Emperors and Adelies, which was of course less novel ground
for the old hands.

Of special points of interest I recall his explanation of the
desirability of embryonic study of the Emperor to throw further
light on the development of the species in the loss of teeth, &c.;
and Ponting's contribution and observation of adult Adelies teaching
their young to swim--this point has been obscure. It has been said
that the old birds push the young into the water, and, per contra,
that they leave them deserted in the rookery--both statements seemed
unlikely. It would not be strange if the young Adelie had to learn to
swim (it is a well-known requirement of the Northern fur seal--sea
bear), but it will be interesting to see in how far the adult birds
lay themselves out to instruct their progeny.

During our trip to the ice and sledge journey one of our dogs, Vaida,
was especially distinguished for his savage temper and generally
uncouth manners. He became a bad wreck with his poor coat at Hut Point,
and in this condition I used to massage him; at first the operation was
mistrusted and only continued to the accompaniment of much growling,
but later he evidently grew to like the warming effect and sidled
up to me whenever I came out of the hut, though still with some
suspicion. On returning here he seemed to know me at once, and now
comes and buries his head in my legs whenever I go out of doors; he
allows me to rub him and push him about without the slightest protest
and scampers about me as I walk abroad. He is a strange beast--I
imagine so unused to kindness that it took him time to appreciate it.

_Tuesday, May_ 16.--The north wind continued all night but dropped this
forenoon. Conveniently it became calm at noon and we had a capital
game of football. The light is good enough, but not much more than
good enough, for this game.

Had some instruction from Wright this morning on the electrical
instruments.

Later went into our carbide expenditure with Day: am glad to find it
sufficient for two years, but am not making this generally known as
there are few things in which economy is less studied than light if
regulations allow of waste.


Electrical Instruments

For measuring the ordinary potential gradient we have two
self-recording quadrant electrometers. The principle of this instrument
is the same as that of the old Kelvin instrument; the clockwork
attached to it unrolls a strip of paper wound on a roller; at intervals
the needle of the instrument is depressed by an electromagnet and makes
a dot on the moving paper. The relative position of these dots forms
the record. One of our instruments is adjusted to give only 1/10th
the refinement of measurement of the other by means of reduction in
the length of the quartz fibre. The object of this is to continue the
record in snowstorms, &c., when the potential difference of air and
earth is very great. The instruments are kept charged with batteries
of small Daniels cells. The clocks are controlled by a master clock.

The instrument available for radio-activity measurements is a modified
type of the old gold-leaf electroscope. The measurement is made by the
mutual repulsion of quartz fibres acting against a spring--the extent
of the repulsion is very clearly shown against a scale magnified by
a telescope.

The measurements to be made with instrument are various:

The _ionization of the air_. A length of wire charged with 2000 volts
(negative) is exposed to the air for several hours. It is then coiled
on a frame and its rate of discharge measured by the electroscope.

The _radio-activity of the various rocks_ of our neighbourhood;
this by direct measurement of the rock.

The _conductivity of the air_, that is, the relative movement of
ions in the air; by movement of air past charged surface. Rate of
absorption of + and - ions is measured, the negative ion travelling
faster than the positive.

_Wednesday, May_ 17.--For the first time this season we have a rise
of temperature with a southerly wind. The wind force has been about
30 since yesterday evening; the air is fairly full of snow and the
temperature has risen to -6° from -18°.

I heard one of the dogs barking in the middle of the night, and on
inquiry learned that it was one of the 'Serais,' [22] that he seemed
to have something wrong with his hind leg, and that he had been put
under shelter. This morning the poor brute was found dead.

I'm afraid we can place but little reliance on our dog teams and
reflect ruefully on the misplaced confidence with which I regarded
the provision of our transport. Well, one must suffer for errors
of judgment.

This afternoon Wilson held a post-mortem on the dog; he could find
no sufficient cause of death. This is the third animal that has died
at winter quarters without apparent cause. Wilson, who is nettled,
proposes to examine the brain of this animal to-morrow.

Went up the Ramp this morning. There was light enough to see our camp,
and it looked homely, as it does from all sides. Somehow we loom larger
here than at Cape Armitage. We seem to be more significant. It must
be from contrast of size; the larger hills tend to dwarf the petty
human element.

To-night the wind has gone back to the north and is now blowing fresh.

This sudden and continued complete change of direction is new to
our experience.

Oates has just given us an excellent little lecture on the management
of horses.

He explained his plan of feeding our animals 'soft' during the
winter, and hardening them up during the spring. He pointed out that
the horse's natural food being grass and hay, he would naturally
employ a great number of hours in the day filling a stomach of small
capacity with food from which he could derive only a small percentage
of nutriment.

Hence it is desirable to feed horses often and light. His present
routine is as follows:

Morning.--Chaff.

Noon, after exercise.--Snow. Chaff and either oats or oil-cake
alternate days.

Evening, 5 P.M.--Snow. Hot bran mash with oil-cake or boiled oats and
chaff; finally a small quantity of hay. This sort of food should be
causing the animals to put on flesh, but is not preparing them for
work. In October he proposes to give 'hard' food, all cold, and to
increase the exercising hours.

As concerning the food we possess he thinks:

The _chaff_ made of young wheat and hay is doubtful; there does not
seem to be any grain with it--and would farmers cut young wheat? There
does not seem to be any 'fat' in this food, but it is very well for
ordinary winter purposes.

N.B.--It seems to me this ought to be inquired into. _Bran_ much
discussed, but good because it causes horses to chew the oats with
which mixed.

_Oil-cake_, greasy, producing energy--excellent for horses to work on.

_Oats_, of which we have two qualities, also very good working
food--our white quality much better than the brown.

Our trainer went on to explain the value of training horses, of
getting them 'balanced' to pull with less effort. He owns it is very
difficult when one is walking horses only for exercise, but thinks
something can be done by walking them fast and occasionally making
them step backwards.

Oates referred to the deeds that had been done with horses by
foreigners in shows and with polo ponies by Englishmen when the
animals were trained; it is, he said, a sort of gymnastic training.

The discussion was very instructive and I have only noted the salient
points.

_Thursday, May_ 18.--The wind dropped in the night; to-day it is calm,
with slight snowfall. We have had an excellent football match--the
only outdoor game possible in this light.

I think our winter routine very good, I suppose every leader of a
party has thought that, since he has the power of altering it. On the
other hand, routine in this connection must take into consideration the
facilities of work and play afforded by the preliminary preparations
for the expedition. The winter occupations of most of our party
depend on the instruments and implements, the clothing and sledging
outfit, provided by forethought, and the routine is adapted to these
occupations.

The busy winter routine of our party may therefore be excusably held
as a subject for self-congratulation.

_Friday, May_ 19.--Wind from the north in the morning, temperature
comparatively high (about -6°). We played football during the noon
hour--the game gets better as we improve our football condition
and skill.

In the afternoon the wind came from the north, dying away again late
at night.

In the evening Wright lectured on 'Ice Problems.' He had a difficult
subject and was nervous. He is young and has never done original work;
is only beginning to see the importance of his task.

He started on the crystallisation of ice, and explained with very
good illustrations the various forms of crystals, the manner of their
growth under different conditions and different temperatures. This
was instructive. Passing to the freezing of salt water, he was not
very clear. Then on to glaciers and their movements, theories for
same and observations in these regions.

There was a good deal of disconnected information--silt bands,
crevasses were mentioned. Finally he put the problems of larger aspect.

The upshot of the discussion was a decision to devote another evening
to the larger problems such as the Great Ice Barrier and the interior
ice sheet. I think I will write the paper to be discussed on this
occasion.

I note with much satisfaction that the talks on ice problems and the
interest shown in them has had the effect of making Wright devote
the whole of his time to them. That may mean a great deal, for he is
a hard and conscientious worker.

Atkinson has a new hole for his fish trap in 15 fathoms; yesterday
morning he got a record catch of forty-three fish, but oddly enough
yesterday evening there were only two caught.

_Saturday, May_ 20.--Blowing hard from the south, with some snow and
very cold. Few of us went far; Wilson and Bowers went to the top of
the Ramp and found the wind there force 6 to 7, temperature -24°;
as a consequence they got frost-bitten. There was lively cheering
when they reappeared in this condition, such is the sympathy which is
here displayed for affliction; but with Wilson much of the amusement
arises from his peculiarly scant headgear and the confessed jealousy of
those of us who cannot face the weather with so little face protection.

The wind dropped at night.

_Sunday, May_ 21.--Observed as usual. It blew from the north in the
morning. Had an idea to go to Cape Royds this evening, but it was
reported that the open water reached to the Barne Glacier, and last
night my own observation seemed to confirm this.

This afternoon I started out for the open water. I found the ice solid
off the Barne Glacier tongue, but always ahead of me a dark horizon as
though I was within a very short distance of its edge. I held on with
this appearance still holding up to C. Barne itself and then past that
Cape and half way between it and C. Royds. This was far enough to make
it evident that the ice was continuous to C. Royds, and has been so
for a long time. Under these circumstances the continual appearance of
open water to the north is most extraordinary and quite inexplicable.

Have had some very interesting discussions with Wilson, Wright,
and Taylor on the ice formations to the west. How to account for
the marine organisms found on the weathered glacier ice north of the
Koettlitz Glacier? We have been elaborating a theory under which this
ice had once a negative buoyancy due to the morainic material on top
and in the lower layers of the ice mass, and had subsequently floated
when the greater amount of this material had weathered out.

Have arranged to go to C. Royds to-morrow.

The temperatures have sunk very steadily this year; for a long time
they hung about zero, then for a considerable interval remained about
-10°; now they are down in the minus twenties, with signs of falling
(to-day -24°).

Bowers' meteorological stations have been amusingly named Archibald,
Bertram, Clarence--they are entered by the initial letter, but spoken
of by full title.

To-night we had a glorious auroral display--quite the most brilliant
I have seen. At one time the sky from N.N.W. to S.S.E. as high as the
zenith was massed with arches, band, and curtains, always in rapid
movement. The waving curtains were especially fascinating--a wave
of bright light would start at one end and run along to the other,
or a patch of brighter light would spread as if to reinforce the
failing light of the curtain.


Auroral Notes

The auroral light is of a palish green colour, but we now see
distinctly a red flush preceding the motion of any bright part.

The green ghostly light seems suddenly to spring to life with rosy
blushes. There is infinite suggestion in this phenomenon, and in that
lies its charm; the suggestion of life, form, colour and movement never
less than evanescent, mysterious,--no reality. It is the language
of mystic signs and portents--the inspiration of the gods--wholly
spiritual--divine signalling. Remindful of superstition, provocative
of imagination. Might not the inhabitants of some other world (Mars)
controlling mighty forces thus surround our globe with fiery symbols,
a golden writing which we have not the key to decipher?

There is argument on the confession of Ponting's inability to obtain
photographs of the aurora. Professor Stormer of Norway seems to
have been successful. Simpson made notes of his method, which seems
to depend merely on the rapidity of lens and plate. Ponting claims
to have greater rapidity in both, yet gets no result even with long
exposure. It is not only a question of aurora; the stars are equally
reluctant to show themselves on Ponting's plate. Even with five seconds
exposure the stars become short lines of light on the plate of a fixed
camera. Stormer's stars are points and therefore his exposure must
have been short, yet there is detail in some of his pictures which
it seems impossible could have been got with a short exposure. It is
all very puzzling.

_Monday, May_ 22.--Wilson, Bowers, Atkinson, Evans (P.O.), Clissold,
and self went to C. Royds with a 'go cart' carrying our sleeping-bags,
a cooker, and a small quantity of provision.

The 'go cart' consists of a framework of steel tubing supported on
four bicycle wheels.

The surface of the floes carries 1 to 2 inches of snow, barely covering
the salt ice flowers, and for this condition this vehicle of Day's
is excellent. The advantage is that it meets the case where the
salt crystals form a heavy frictional surface for wood runners. I'm
inclined to think that there are great numbers of cases when wheels
would be more efficient than runners on the sea ice.

We reached Cape Royds in 2 1/2 hours, killing an Emperor penguin
in the bay beyond C. Barne. This bird was in splendid plumage, the
breast reflecting the dim northern light like a mirror.

It was fairly dark when we stumbled over the rocks and dropped on to
Shackleton's Hut. Clissold started the cooking-range, Wilson and I
walked over to the Black beach and round back by Blue Lake.

The temperature was down at -31° and the interior of the hut was
very cold.

_Tuesday, May_ 23.--We spent the morning mustering the stores
within and without the hut, after a cold night which we passed very
comfortably in our bags.

We found a good quantity of flour and Danish butter and a fair amount
of paraffin, with smaller supplies of assorted articles--the whole
sufficient to afford provision for such a party as ours for about six
or eight months if well administered. In case of necessity this would
undoubtedly be a very useful reserve to fall back upon. These stores
are somewhat scattered, and the hut has a dilapidated, comfortless
appearance due to its tenantless condition; but even so it seemed to
me much less inviting than our old _Discovery_ hut at C. Armitage.

After a cup of cocoa there was nothing to detain us, and we started
back, the only useful articles added to our weights being a scrap or
two of leather and _five hymn-books_. Hitherto we have been only able
to muster seven copies; this increase will improve our Sunday Services.

_Wednesday, May_ 24.--A quiet day with northerly wind; the temperature
rose gradually to zero. Having the night duty, did not go out. The
moon has gone and there is little to attract one out of doors.

Atkinson gave us an interesting little discourse on parasitology,
with a brief account of the life history of some ecto- and some
endo-parasites--Nematodes, Trematodes. He pointed out how that
in nearly every case there was a secondary host, how in some cases
disease was caused, and in others the presence of the parasite was even
helpful. He acknowledged the small progress that had been made in this
study. He mentioned ankylostomiasis, blood-sucking worms, Bilhartsia
(Trematode) attacking bladder (Egypt), Filaria (round tapeworm),
Guinea worm, Trichina (pork), and others, pointing to disease caused.

From worms he went to Protozoa-Trypanosomes, sleeping sickness,
host tsetse-fly--showed life history comparatively, propagated in
secondary host or encysting in primary host--similarly malarial germs
spread by Anopheles mosquitoes--all very interesting.

In the discussion following Wilson gave some account of the grouse
disease worm, and especially of the interest in finding free living
species almost identical; also part of the life of disease worm is
free living. Here we approached a point pressed by Nelson concerning
the degeneration consequent on adoption of the parasitic habit. All
parasites seem to have descended from free living beasts. One asks
'what is degeneration?' without receiving a very satisfactory
answer. After all, such terms must be empirical.

_Thursday, May_ 25.--It has been blowing from south with heavy gusts
and snow, temperature extraordinarily high, -6°. This has been a heavy
gale. The weather conditions are certainly very interesting; Simpson
has again called attention to the wind in February, March, and April
at Cape Evans--the record shows an extraordinary large percentage
of gales. It is quite certain that we scarcely got a fraction of the
wind on the Barrier and doubtful if we got as much at Hut Point.

_Friday, May_ 26.--A calm and clear day--a nice change from recent
weather. It makes an enormous difference to the enjoyment of this
life if one is able to get out and stretch one's legs every day. This
morning I went up the Ramp. No sign of open water, so that my fears
for a broken highway in the coming season are now at rest. In future
gales can only be a temporary annoyance--anxiety as to their result
is finally allayed.

This afternoon I searched out ski and ski sticks and went for a short
run over the floe. The surface is quite good since the recent snowfall
and wind. This is satisfactory, as sledging can now be conducted on
ordinary lines, and if convenient our parties can pull on ski. The
young ice troubles of April and May have passed away. It is curious
that circumstances caused us to miss them altogether during our stay
in the _Discovery._

We are living extraordinarily well. At dinner last night we had some
excellent thick seal soup, very much like thick hare soup; this was
followed by an equally tasty seal steak and kidney pie and a fruit
jelly. The smell of frying greeted us on awaking this morning, and
at breakfast each of us had two of our nutty little _Notothenia_ fish
after our bowl of porridge. These little fish have an extraordinarily
sweet taste--bread and butter and marmalade finished the meal. At the
midday meal we had bread and butter, cheese, and cake, and to-night
I smell mutton in the preparation. Under the circumstances it would
be difficult to conceive more appetising repasts or a regime which
is likely to produce scorbutic symptoms. I cannot think we shall
get scurvy.

Nelson lectured to us to-night, giving a very able little elementary
sketch of the objects of the biologist. A fact struck one in his
explanation of the rates of elimination. Two of the offspring of
two parents alone survive, speaking broadly; this the same of the
human species or the 'ling,' with 24,000,000 eggs in the roe of
each female! He talked much of evolution, adaptation, &c. Mendelism
became the most debated point of the discussion; the transmission
of characters has a wonderful fascination for the human mind. There
was also a point striking deep in the debate on Professor Loeb's
experiments with sea urchins; how far had he succeeded in reproducing
the species without the male spermatozoa? Not very far, it seemed,
when all was said.

A theme for a pen would be the expansion of interest in polar affairs;
compare the interests of a winter spent by the old Arctic voyagers
with our own, and look into the causes. The aspect of everything
changes as our knowledge expands.

The expansion of human interest in rude surroundings may perhaps
best be illustrated by comparisons. It will serve to recall such a
simple case as the fact that our ancestors applied the terms horrid,
frightful, to mountain crags which in our own day are more justly
admired as lofty, grand, and beautiful.

The poetic conception of this natural phenomenon has followed not so
much an inherent change of sentiment as the intimacy of wider knowledge
and the death of superstitious influence. One is much struck by the
importance of realising limits.

_Saturday, May_ 27.--A very unpleasant, cold, windy day. Annoyed with
the conditions, so did not go out.

In the evening Bowers gave his lecture on sledging diets. He has
shown great courage in undertaking the task, great perseverance in
unearthing facts from books, and a considerable practical skill in
stringing these together. It is a thankless task to search polar
literature for dietary facts and still more difficult to attach due
weight to varying statements. Some authors omit discussion of this
important item altogether, others fail to note alterations made in
practice or additions afforded by circumstances, others again forget
to describe the nature of various food stuffs.

Our lecturer was both entertaining and instructive when he dealt
with old time rations; but he naturally grew weak in approaching the
physiological aspect of the question. He went through with it manfully
and with a touch of humour much appreciated; whereas, for instance,
he deduced facts from 'the equivalent of Mr. Joule, a gentleman whose
statements he had no reason to doubt.'

Wilson was the mainstay of the subsequent discussion and put
all doubtful matters in a clearer light. 'Increase your fats
(carbohydrate)' is what science seems to say, and practice with
conservativism is inclined to step cautiously in response to this
urgence. I shall, of course, go into the whole question as thoroughly
as available information and experience permits. Meanwhile it is
useful to have had a discussion which aired the popular opinions.

Feeling went deepest on the subject of tea versus cocoa; admitting all
that can be said concerning stimulation and reaction, I am inclined
to see much in favour of tea. Why should not one be mildly stimulated
during the marching hours if one can cope with reaction by profounder
rest during the hours of inaction?

_Sunday, May_ 28.--Quite an excitement last night. One of the ponies
(the grey which I led last year and salved from the floe) either fell
or tried to lie down in his stall, his head being lashed up to the
stanchions on either side. In this condition he struggled and kicked
till his body was twisted right round and his attitude extremely
uncomfortable. Very luckily his struggles were heard almost at once,
and his head ropes being cut, Oates got him on his feet again. He
looked a good deal distressed at the time, but is now quite well
again and has been out for his usual exercise.

Held Service as usual.

This afternoon went on ski around the bay and back across. Little
or no wind; sky clear, temperature -25°. It was wonderfully mild
considering the temperature--this sounds paradoxical, but the sensation
of cold does not conform to the thermometer--it is obviously dependent
on the wind and less obviously on the humidity of the air and the
ice crystals floating in it. I cannot very clearly account for this
effect, but as a matter of fact I have certainly felt colder in still
air at -10° than I did to-day when the thermometer was down to -25°,
other conditions apparently equal.

The amazing circumstance is that by no means can we measure the
humidity, or indeed the precipitation or evaporation. I have just
been discussing with Simpson the insuperable difficulties that stand
in the way of experiment in this direction, since cold air can only
hold the smallest quantities of moisture, and saturation covers an
extremely small range of temperature.

_Monday, May_ 29.--Another beautiful calm day. Went out both before and
after the mid-day meal. This morning with Wilson and Bowers towards
the thermometer off Inaccessible Island. On the way my companionable
dog was heard barking and dimly seen--we went towards him and found
that he was worrying a young sea leopard. This is the second found in
the Strait this season. We had to secure it as a specimen, but it was
sad to have to kill. The long lithe body of this seal makes it almost
beautiful in comparison with our stout, bloated Weddells. This poor
beast turned swiftly from side to side as we strove to stun it with
a blow on the nose. As it turned it gaped its jaws wide, but oddly
enough not a sound came forth, not even a hiss.

After lunch a sledge was taken out to secure the prize, which had
been photographed by flashlight.

Ponting has been making great advances in flashlight work, and has
opened up quite a new field in which artistic results can be obtained
in the winter.

Lecture--Japan. To-night Ponting gave us a charming lecture on
Japan with wonderful illustrations of his own. He is happiest in his
descriptions of the artistic side of the people, with which he is
in fullest sympathy. So he took us to see the flower pageants. The
joyful festivals of the cherry blossom, the wistaria, the iris and
chrysanthemum, the sombre colours of the beech blossom and the paths
about the lotus gardens, where mankind meditated in solemn mood. We
had pictures, too, of Nikko and its beauties, of Temples and great
Buddhas. Then in more touristy strain of volcanoes and their craters,
waterfalls and river gorges, tiny tree-clad islets, that feature of
Japan--baths and their bathers, Ainos, and so on. His descriptions
were well given and we all of us thoroughly enjoyed our evening.

_Tuesday, May_ 30.--Am busy with my physiological investigations. [23]
Atkinson reported a sea leopard at the tide crack; it proved to be
a crab-eater, young and very active. In curious contrast to the sea
leopard of yesterday in snapping round it uttered considerable noise,
a gasping throaty growl.

Went out to the outer berg, where there was quite a collection of
people, mostly in connection with Ponting, who had brought camera
and flashlight.

It was beautifully calm and comparatively warm. It was good to hear
the gay chatter and laughter, and see ponies and their leaders come
up out of the gloom to add liveliness to the scene. The sky was
extraordinarily clear at noon and to the north very bright.

We have had an exceptionally large tidal range during the last
three days--it has upset the tide gauge arrangements and brought a
little doubt on the method. Day is going into the question, which we
thoroughly discussed to-day. Tidal measurements will be worse than
useless unless we can be sure of the accuracy of our methods. Pools
of salt water have formed over the beach floes in consequence of the
high tide, and in the chase of the crab eater to-day very brilliant
flashes of phosphorescent light appeared in these pools. We think it
due to a small cope-pod. I have just found a reference to the same
phenomena in Nordenskiöld's 'Vega.' He, and apparently Bellot before
him, noted the phenomenon. An interesting instance of bi-polarity.

Another interesting phenomenon observed to-day was a cirrus cloud lit
by sunlight. It was seen by Wilson and Bowers 5° above the northern
horizon--the sun is 9° below our horizon, and without refraction we
calculate a cloud could be seen which was 12 miles high. Allowing
refraction the phenomenon appears very possible.

_Wednesday, May_ 31.--The sky was overcast this morning and the
temperature up to -13°. Went out after lunch to 'Land's End.' The
surface of snow was sticky for ski, except where drifts were
deep. There was an oppressive feel in the air and I got very hot,
coming in with head and hands bare.

At 5, from dead calm the wind suddenly sprang up from the south, force
40 miles per hour, and since that it has been blowing a blizzard;
wind very gusty, from 20 to 60 miles. I have never known a storm come
on so suddenly, and it shows what possibility there is of individuals
becoming lost even if they only go a short way from the hut.

To-night Wilson has given us a very interesting lecture on
sketching. He started by explaining his methods of rough sketch
and written colour record, and explained its suitability to this
climate as opposed to coloured chalks, &c.--a very practical method
for cold fingers and one that becomes more accurate with practice in
observation. His theme then became the extreme importance of accuracy,
his mode of expression and explanation frankly Ruskinesque. Don't
put in meaningless lines--every line should be from observation. So
with contrast of light and shade--fine shading, subtle distinction,
everything--impossible without care, patience, and trained attention.

He raised a smile by generalising failures in sketches of others of
our party which had been brought to him for criticism. He pointed
out how much had been put in from preconceived notion. 'He will draw
a berg faithfully as it is now and he studies it, but he leaves sea
and sky to be put in afterwards, as he thinks they must be like sea
and sky everywhere else, and he is content to try and remember how
these _should_ be done.' Nature's harmonies cannot be guessed at.

He quoted much from Ruskin, leading on a little deeper to
'Composition,' paying a hearty tribute to Ponting.

The lecture was delivered in the author's usual modest strain, but
unconsciously it was expressive of himself and his whole-hearted
thoroughness. He stands very high in the scale of human beings--how
high I scarcely knew till the experience of the past few months.

There is no member of our party so universally esteemed; only
to-night I realise how patiently and consistently he has given time
and attention to help the efforts of the other sketchers, and so it is
all through; he has had a hand in almost every lecture given, and has
been consulted in almost every effort which has been made towards the
solution of the practical or theoretical problems of our polar world.

The achievement of a great result by patient work is the best
possible object lesson for struggling humanity, for the results of
genius, however admirable, can rarely be instructive. The chief of
the Scientific Staff sets an example which is more potent than any
other factor in maintaining that bond of good fellowship which is
the marked and beneficent characteristic of our community.



CHAPTER XI

To Midwinter Day

_Thursday, June_ 1.--The wind blew hard all night, gusts arising to
72 m.p.h.; the anemometer choked five times--temperature +9°. It is
still blowing this morning. Incidentally we have found that these
heavy winds react very conveniently on our ventilating system. A fire
is always a good ventilator, ensuring the circulation of inside air and
the indraught of fresh air; its defect as a ventilator lies in the low
level at which it extracts inside air. Our ventilating system utilises
the normal fire draught, but also by suitable holes in the funnelling
causes the same draught to extract foul air at higher levels. I think
this is the first time such a system has been used. It is a bold step
to make holes in the funnelling as obviously any uncertainty of draught
might fill the hut with smoke. Since this does not happen with us it
follows that there is always strong suction through our stovepipes,
and this is achieved by their exceptionally large dimensions and by
the length of the outer chimney pipe.

With wind this draught is greatly increased and with high winds the
draught would be too great for the stoves if it were not for the
relief of the ventilating holes.

In these circumstances, therefore, the rate of extraction of air
automatically rises, and since high wind is usually accompanied with
marked rise of temperature, the rise occurs at the most convenient
season, when the interior of the hut would otherwise tend to become
oppressively warm. The practical result of the system is that in
spite of the numbers of people living in the hut, the cooking, and
the smoking, the inside air is nearly always warm, sweet, and fresh.

There is usually a drawback to the best of arrangements, and I have
said 'nearly' always. The exceptions in this connection occur when
the outside air is calm and warm and the galley fire, as in the early
morning, needs to be worked up; it is necessary under these conditions
to temporarily close the ventilating holes, and if at this time the
cook is intent on preparing our breakfast with a frying-pan we are
quickly made aware of his intentions. A combination of this sort is
rare and lasts only for a very short time, for directly the fire is
aglow the ventilator can be opened again and the relief is almost
instantaneous.

This very satisfactory condition of inside air must be a highly
important factor in the preservation of health.





I have to-day regularised the pony 'nicknames'; I must leave it to
Drake to pull out the relation to the 'proper' names according to
our school contracts! [24]

The nicknames are as follows:


        James Pigg              Keohane
        Bones                   Crean
        Michael                 Clissold
        Snatcher                Evans (P.O.)
        Jehu
        China
        Christopher             Hooper
        Victor                  Bowers
        Snippets (windsucker)
        Nobby                   Lashly


_Friday, June_ 2.--The wind still high. The drift ceased at an early
hour yesterday; it is difficult to account for the fact. At night
the sky cleared; then and this morning we had a fair display of
aurora streamers to the N. and a faint arch east. Curiously enough
the temperature still remains high, about +7°.

The meteorological conditions are very puzzling.

_Saturday, June_ 3.--The wind dropped last night, but at 4
A.M. suddenly sprang up from a dead calm to 30 miles an hour. Almost
instantaneously, certainly within the space of one minute, there was
a temperature rise of nine degrees. It is the most extraordinary
and interesting example of a rise of temperature with a southerly
wind that I can remember. It is certainly difficult to account for
unless we imagine that during the calm the surface layer of cold air
is extremely thin and that there is a steep inverted gradient. When
the wind arose the sky overhead was clearer than I ever remember to
have seen it, the constellations brilliant, and the Milky Way like
a bright auroral streamer.

The wind has continued all day, making it unpleasant out of doors. I
went for a walk over the land; it was dark, the rock very black,
very little snow lying; old footprints in the soft, sandy soil were
filled with snow, showing quite white on a black ground. Have been
digging away at food statistics.

Simpson has just given us a discourse, in the ordinary lecture series,
on his instruments. Having already described these instruments, there
is little to comment upon; he is excellently lucid in his explanations.

As an analogy to the attempt to make a scientific observation when
the condition under consideration is affected by the means employed,
he rather quaintly cited the impossibility of discovering the length
of trousers by bending over to see!

The following are the instruments described:


    Features

    The outside (bimetallic) thermograph.

    The inside thermograph (alcohol)
        Alcohol in spiral, small lead pipe--float vessel.

    The electrically recording anemometer
        Cam device with contact on wheel; slowing arrangement,
        inertia of wheel.

    The Dynes anemometer
        Parabola on immersed float.

    The recording wind vane
        Metallic pen.

    The magnetometer
        Horizontal force measured in two directions--vertical
        force in one--timing arrangement.

    The high and low potential apparatus of the balloon thermograph
        Spotting arrangement and difference, see _ante_.


Simpson is admirable as a worker, admirable as a scientist, and
admirable as a lecturer.

_Sunday, June_ 4.--A calm and beautiful day. The account of this,
a typical Sunday, would run as follows: Breakfast. A half-hour or
so selecting hymns and preparing for Service whilst the hut is being
cleared up. The Service: a hymn; Morning prayer to the Psalms; another
hymn; prayers from Communion Service and Litany; a final hymn and
our special prayer. Wilson strikes the note on which the hymn is to
start and I try to hit it after with doubtful success! After church
the men go out with their ponies.

To-day Wilson, Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, Lashly, and I went to
start the building of our first 'igloo.' There is a good deal of
difference of opinion as to the best implement with which to cut snow
blocks. Cherry-Garrard had a knife which I designed and Lashly made,
Wilson a saw, and Bowers a large trowel. I'm inclined to think the
knife will prove most effective, but the others don't acknowledge
it _yet_. As far as one can see at present this knife should have a
longer handle and much coarser teeth in the saw edge--perhaps also
the blade should be thinner.

We must go on with this hut building till we get good at it. I'm sure
it's going to be a useful art.

We only did three courses of blocks when tea-time arrived, and light
was not good enough to proceed after tea.

Sunday afternoon for the men means a 'stretch of the land.'

I went over the floe on ski. The best possible surface after the late
winds as far as Inaccessible Island. Here, and doubtless in most places
along the shore, this, the first week of June, may be noted as the date
by which the wet, sticky salt crystals become covered and the surface
possible for wood runners. Beyond the island the snow is still very
thin, barely covering the ice flowers, and the surface is still bad.

There has been quite a small landslide on the S. side of the Island;
seven or eight blocks of rock, one or two tons in weight, have dropped
on to the floe, an interesting instance of the possibility of transport
by sea ice.

Ponting has been out to the bergs photographing by flashlight. As
I passed south of the Island with its whole mass between myself
and the photographer I saw the flashes of magnesium light, having
all the appearance of lightning. The light illuminated the sky and
apparently objects at a great distance from the camera. It is evident
that there may be very great possibilities in the use of this light
for signalling purposes and I propose to have some experiments.

N.B.--Magnesium flashlight as signalling apparatus in the summer.

Another crab-eater seal was secured to-day; he had come up by the
bergs.

_Monday, June_ 5.--The wind has been S. all day, sky overcast and
air misty with snow crystals. The temperature has gone steadily up
and to-night rose to + 16°. Everything seems to threaten a blizzard
which cometh not. But what is to be made of this extraordinary high
temperature heaven only knows. Went for a walk over the rocks and
found it very warm and muggy.

Taylor gave us a paper on the Beardmore Glacier. He has taken pains
to work up available information; on the ice side he showed the
very gradual gradient as compared with the Ferrar. If crevasses
are as plentiful as reported, the motion of glacier must be very
considerable. There seem to be three badly crevassed parts where the
glacier is constricted and the fall is heavier.

Geologically he explained the rocks found and the problems
unsolved. The basement rocks, as to the north, appear to be reddish
and grey granites and altered slate (possibly bearing fossils). The
Cloudmaker appears to be diorite; Mt. Buckley sedimentary. The
suggested formation is of several layers of coal with sandstone
above and below; interesting to find if it is so and investigate
coal. Wood fossil conifer appears to have come from this--better to
get leaves--wrap fossils up for protection.

Mt. Dawson described as pinkish limestone, with a wedge of dark rock;
this very doubtful! Limestone is of great interest owing to chance
of finding Cambrian fossils (Archeocyathus).

He mentioned the interest of finding here, as in Dry Valley, volcanic
cones of recent date (later than the recession of the ice). As points
to be looked to in Geology and Physiography:

1. Hope Island shape.

2. Character of wall facets.

3. Type of tributary glacierscliff or curtain, broken.


4. Do tributaries enter 'at grade'?

5. Lateral gullies pinnacled, &c., shape and size of slope.

6. Do tributaries cut out gullies--empty unoccupied cirques,
   hangers, &c.

7. Do upland moraines show tesselation?

8. Arrangement of strata, inclusion of.

9. Types of moraines, distance of blocks.

10. Weathering of glaciers. Types of surface. (Thrust mark? Rippled,
    snow stool, glass house, coral reef, honeycomb, ploughshare,
    bastions, piecrust.)

11. Amount of water silt bands, stratified, or irregular folded
    or broken.

12. Cross section, of valleys 35° slopes?

13. Weather slopes debris covered, height to which.

14. Nunataks, height of rounded, height of any angle in profile,
    erratics.

15. Evidence of order in glacier delta.

Debenham in discussion mentioned usefulness of small chips of
rock--many chips from several places are more valuable than few
larger specimens.

We had an interesting little discussion.

I must enter a protest against the use made of the word 'glaciated'
by Geologists and Physiographers.

To them a 'glaciated land' is one which appears to have been shaped
by former ice action.

The meaning I attach to the phrase, and one which I believe is more
commonly current, is that it describes a land at present wholly or
partly covered with ice and snow.

I hold the latter is the obvious meaning and the former results from
a piracy committed in very recent times.

The alternative terms descriptive of the different meanings are ice
covered and ice eroded.

To-day I have been helping the Soldier to design pony rugs; the great
thing, I think, is to get something which will completely cover the
hindquarters.

_Tuesday, June_ 6.--The temperature has been as high as +19° to-day;
the south wind persisted until the evening with clear sky except
for fine effects of torn cloud round about the mountain. To-night
the moon has emerged from behind the mountain and sails across the
cloudless northern sky; the wind has fallen and the scene is glorious.

It is my birthday, a fact I might easily have forgotten, but my kind
people did not. At lunch an immense birthday cake made its appearance
and we were photographed assembled about it. Clissold had decorated
its sugared top with various devices in chocolate and crystallised
fruit, flags and photographs of myself.

After my walk I discovered that great preparations were in progress for
a special dinner, and when the hour for that meal arrived we sat down
to a sumptuous spread with our sledge banners hung about us. Clissold's
especially excellent seal soup, roast mutton and red currant jelly,
fruit salad, asparagus and chocolate--such was our menu. For drink we
had cider cup, a mystery not yet fathomed, some sherry and a liqueur.

After this luxurious meal everyone was very festive and amiably
argumentative. As I write there is a group in the dark room discussing
political progress with discussions--another at one corner of
the dinner table airing its views on the origin of matter and the
probability of its ultimate discovery, and yet another debating
military problems. The scraps that reach me from the various groups
sometimes piece together in ludicrous fashion. Perhaps these arguments
are practically unprofitable, but they give a great deal of pleasure
to the participants. It's delightful to hear the ring of triumph in
some voice when the owner imagines he has delivered himself of a
well-rounded period or a clinching statement concerning the point
under discussion. They are boys, all of them, but such excellent
good-natured ones; there has been no sign of sharpness or anger,
no jarring note, in all these wordy contests! all end with a laugh.

Nelson has offered Taylor a pair of socks to teach him some
geology! This lulls me to sleep!

_Wednesday, June_ 7.--A very beautiful day. In the afternoon went
well out over the floe to the south, looking up Nelson at his icehole
and picking up Bowers at his thermometer. The surface was polished
and beautifully smooth for ski, the scene brightly illuminated
with moonlight, the air still and crisp, and the thermometer at
-10°. Perfect conditions for a winter walk.

In the evening I read a paper on 'The Ice Barrier and Inland Ice.' I
have strung together a good many new points and the interest taken
in the discussion was very genuine--so keen, in fact, that we did not
break up till close on midnight. I am keeping this paper, which makes
a very good basis for all future work on these subjects. (See Vol. II.)


Shelters to Iceholes

Time out of number one is coming across rediscoveries. Of such a
nature is the building of shelters for iceholes. We knew a good deal
about it in the _Discovery_, but unfortunately did not make notes of
our experiences. I sketched the above figures for Nelson, and found on
going to the hole that the drift accorded with my sketch. The sketches
explain themselves. I think wall 'b' should be higher than wall 'a.'

My night on duty. The silent hours passed rapidly and comfortably. To
bed 7 A.M.

_Thursday, June_ 8.--Did not turn out till 1 P.M., then with a bad
head, an inevitable sequel to a night of vigil. Walked out to and
around the bergs, bright moonlight, but clouds rapidly spreading up
from south.

Tried the snow knife, which is developing. Debenham and Gran went
off to Hut Point this morning; they should return to-morrow.

_Friday, June_ 9.--No wind came with the clouds of yesterday, but
the sky has not been clear since they spread over it except for about
two hours in the middle of the night when the moonlight was so bright
that one might have imagined the day returned.

Otherwise the web of stratus which hangs over us thickens and thins,
rises and falls with very bewildering uncertainty. We want theories
for these mysterious weather conditions; meanwhile it is annoying to
lose the advantages of the moonlight.

This morning had some discussion with Nelson and Wright regarding the
action of sea water in melting barrier and sea ice. The discussion
was useful to me in drawing attention to the equilibrium of layers
of sea water.

In the afternoon I went round the Razor Back Islands on ski, a run
of 5 or 6 miles; the surface was good but in places still irregular
with the pressures formed when the ice was 'young.'

The snow is astonishingly soft on the south side of both islands. It
is clear that in the heaviest blizzard one could escape the wind
altogether by camping to windward of the larger island. One sees
more and more clearly what shelter is afforded on the weather side
of steep-sided objects.

Passed three seals asleep on the ice. Two others were killed near
the bergs.

_Saturday, June_ 10.--The impending blizzard has come; the wind came
with a burst at 9.30 this morning.

Simpson spent the night turning over a theory to account for the
phenomenon, and delivered himself of it this morning. It seems a
good basis for the reference of future observations. He imagines the
atmosphere A C in potential equilibrium with large margin of stability,
i.e. the difference of temperature between A and C being much less
than the adiabatic gradient.

In this condition there is a tendency to cool by radiation until
some critical layer, B, reaches its due point. A stratus cloud is
thus formed at B; from this moment A B continues to cool, but B C is
protected from radiating, whilst heated by radiation from snow and
possibly by release of latent heat due to cloud formation.

The condition now rapidly approaches unstable equilibrium, B C tending
to rise, A B to descend.

Owing to lack of sun heat the effect will be more rapid in south than
north and therefore the upset will commence first in the south. After
the first start the upset will rapidly spread north, bringing the
blizzard. The facts supporting the theory are the actual formation
of a stratus cloud before a blizzard, the snow and warm temperature
of the blizzard and its gusty nature.

It is a pretty starting-point, but, of course, there are weak spots.

Atkinson has found a trypanosome in the fish--it has been stained,
photographed and drawn--an interesting discovery having regard to
the few species that have been found. A trypanosome is the cause of
'sleeping sickness.'

The blizzard has continued all day with a good deal of drift. I went
for a walk, but the conditions were not inviting.

We have begun to consider details of next season's travelling
equipment. The crampons, repair of finnesko with sealskin, and an
idea for a double tent have been discussed to-day. P.O. Evans and
Lashly are delightfully intelligent in carrying out instructions.

_Sunday, June_ 11.--A fine clear morning, the moon now revolving well
aloft and with full face.

For exercise a run on ski to the South Bay in the morning and a dash
up the Ramp before dinner. Wind and drift arose in the middle of the
day, but it is now nearly calm again.

At our morning service Cherry-Garrard, good fellow, vamped the
accompaniment of two hymns; he received encouraging thanks and will
cope with all three hymns next Sunday.

Day by day news grows scant in this midwinter season; all events seem
to compress into a small record, yet a little reflection shows that
this is not the case. For instance I have had at least three important
discussions on weather and ice conditions to-day, concerning which
many notes might be made, and quite a number of small arrangements
have been made.

If a diary can be so inadequate here how difficult must be the task
of making a faithful record of a day's events in ordinary civilised
life! I think this is why I have found it so difficult to keep a
diary at home.

_Monday, June_ 12.--The weather is not kind to us. There has not been
much wind to-day, but the moon has been hid behind stratus cloud. One
feels horribly cheated in losing the pleasure of its light. I scarcely
know what the Crozier party can do if they don't get better luck
next month.

Debenham and Gran have not yet returned; this is their fifth day
of absence.

Bowers and Cherry-Garrard went to Cape Royds this afternoon to stay
the night. Taylor and Wright walked there and back after breakfast
this morning. They returned shortly after lunch.

Went for a short spin on ski this morning and again this
afternoon. This evening Evans has given us a lecture on surveying. He
was shy and slow, but very painstaking, taking a deal of trouble in
preparing pictures, &c.

I took the opportunity to note hurriedly the few points to which I
want attention especially directed. No doubt others will occur to
me presently. I think I now understand very well how and why the old
surveyors (like Belcher) failed in the early Arctic work.

1. Every officer who takes part in the Southern Journey ought to have
   in his memory the approximate variation of the compass at various
   stages of the journey and to know how to apply it to obtain a true
   course from the compass. The variation changes very slowly so that
   no great effort of memory is required.

2. He ought to know what the true course is to reach one depôt from
   another.

3. He should be able to take an observation with the theodolite.

4. He should be able to work out a meridian altitude observation.

5. He could advantageously add to his knowledge the ability to work
   out a longitude observation or an ex-meridian altitude.

6. He should know how to read the sledgemeter.

7. He should note and remember the error of the watch he carries and
   the rate which is ascertained for it from time to time.

8. He should assist the surveyor by noting the coincidences of objects,
   the opening out of valleys, the observation of new peaks, &c._19_

_Tuesday, June_ 13.--A very beautiful day. We revelled in the calm
clear moonlight; the temperature has fallen to -26°. The surface of
the floe perfect for ski--had a run to South Bay in forenoon and was
away on a long circuit around Inaccessible Island in the afternoon. In
such weather the cold splendour of the scene is beyond description;
everything is satisfying, from the deep purple of the starry sky to
the gleaming bergs and the sparkle of the crystals under foot.

Some very brilliant patches of aurora over the southern shoulder of
the mountain. Observed an exceedingly bright meteor shoot across the
sky to the northward.

On my return found Debenham and Gran back from Cape Armitage. They had
intended to start back on Sunday, but were prevented by bad weather;
they seemed to have had stronger winds than we.

On arrival at the hut they found poor little 'Mukaka' coiled up
outside the door, looking pitifully thin and weak, but with enough
energy to bark at them.

This dog was run over and dragged for a long way under the sledge
runners whilst we were landing stores in January (the 7th). He has
never been worth much since, but remained lively in spite of all the
hardships of sledging work. At Hut Point he looked a miserable object,
as the hair refused to grow on his hindquarters. It seemed as though
he could scarcely continue in such a condition, and when the party came
back to Cape Evans he was allowed to run free alongside the sledge.

On the arrival of the party I especially asked after the little animal
and was told by Demetri that he had returned, but later it transpired
that this was a mistake--that he had been missed on the journey and
had not turned up again later as was supposed.

I learned this fact only a few days ago and had quite given up the hope
of ever seeing the poor little beast again. It is extraordinary to
realise that this poor, lame, half-clad animal has lived for a whole
month by himself. He had blood on his mouth when found, implying the
capture of a seal, but how he managed to kill it and then get through
its skin is beyond comprehension. Hunger drives hard.

_Wednesday, June_ 14.--Storms are giving us little rest. We found
a thin stratus over the sky this morning, foreboding ill. The wind
came, as usual with a rush, just after lunch. At first there was much
drift--now the drift has gone but the gusts run up to 65 m.p.h.

Had a comfortless stroll around the hut; how rapidly things change
when one thinks of the delights of yesterday! Paid a visit to
Wright's ice cave; the pendulum is installed and will soon be ready
for observation. Wright anticipates the possibility of difficulty
with ice crystals on the agate planes.

He tells me that he has seen some remarkably interesting examples of
the growth of ice crystals on the walls of the cave and has observed
the same unaccountable confusion of the size of grains in the ice,
showing how little history can be gathered from the structure of ice.

This evening Nelson gave us his second biological lecture, starting
with a brief reference to the scientific classification of the
organism into Kingdom, Phylum, Group, Class, Order, Genus, Species;
he stated the justification of a biologist in such an expedition,
as being 'To determine the condition under which organic substances
exist in the sea.'

He proceeded to draw divisions between the bottom organisms without
power of motion, benthon, the nekton motile life in mid-water, and
the plankton or floating life. Then he led very prettily on to the
importance of the tiny vegetable organisms as the basis of all life.

In the killer whale may be found a seal, in the seal a fish, in
the fish a smaller fish, in the smaller fish a copepod, and in the
copepod a diatom. If this be regular feeding throughout, the diatom
or vegetable is essentially the base of all.

Light is the essential of vegetable growth or metabolism, and light
quickly vanishes in depth of water, so that all ocean life must
ultimately depend on the phyto-plankton. To discover the conditions
of this life is therefore to go to the root of matters.

At this point came an interlude--descriptive of the various biological
implements in use in the ship and on shore. The otter trawl, the
Agassiz trawl, the 'D' net, and the ordinary dredger.

A word or two on the using of 'D' nets and then explanation of
sieves for classifying the bottom, its nature causing variation in
the organisms living on it.

From this he took us amongst the tow-nets with their beautiful
silk fabrics, meshes running 180 to the inch and materials costing 2
guineas the yard--to the German tow-nets for quantitative measurements,
the object of the latter and its doubtful accuracy, young fish trawls.

From this to the chemical composition of sea water, the total salt
about 3.5 per cent, but variable: the proportions of the various salts
do not appear to differ, thus the chlorine test detects the salinity
quantitatively. Physically plankton life must depend on this salinity
and also on temperature, pressure, light, and movement.

(If plankton only inhabits surface waters, then density, temperatures,
&c., of surface waters must be the important factors. Why should
biologists strive for deeper layers? Why should not deep sea life be
maintained by dead vegetable matter?)

Here again the lecturer branched off into descriptions of water
bottles, deep sea thermometers, and current-meters, the which I think
have already received some notice in this diary. To what depth light
may extend is the difficult problem and we had some speculation,
especially in the debate on this question. Simpson suggested that
laboratory experiment should easily determine. Atkinson suggested
growth of bacteria on a scratched plate. The idea seems to be that
vegetable life cannot exist without red rays, which probably do not
extend beyond 7 feet or so. Against this is an extraordinary recovery
of _Holosphera Firidis_ by German expedition from 2000 fathoms;
this seems to have been confirmed. Bowers caused much amusement by
demanding to know 'If the pycnogs (pycnogonids) were more nearly
related to the arachnids (spiders) or crustaceans.' As a matter of
fact a very sensible question, but it caused amusement because of
its sudden display of long names. Nelson is an exceedingly capable
lecturer; he makes his subject very clear and is never too technical.

_Thursday, June_ 15.--Keen cold wind overcast sky till 5.30 P.M. Spent
an idle day.

Jimmy Pigg had an attack of colic in the stable this afternoon. He was
taken out and doctored on the floe, which seemed to improve matters,
but on return to the stable he was off his feed.

This evening the Soldier tells me he has eaten his food, so I hope
all be well again.

_Friday, June_ 16.--Overcast again--little wind but also little
moonlight. Jimmy Pigg quite recovered.

Went round the bergs in the afternoon. A great deal of ice has fallen
from the irregular ones, showing that a great deal of weathering of
bergs goes on during the winter and hence that the life of a berg is
very limited, even if it remains in the high latitudes.

To-night Debenham lectured on volcanoes. His matter is very good, but
his voice a little monotonous, so that there were signs of slumber
in the audience, but all woke up for a warm and amusing discussion
succeeding the lecture.

The lecturer first showed a world chart showing distribution of
volcanoes, showing general tendency of eruptive explosions to occur
in lines. After following these lines in other parts of the world he
showed difficulty of finding symmetrical linear distribution near
McMurdo Sound. He pointed out incidentally the important inference
which could be drawn from the discovery of altered sandstones in the
Erebus region. He went to the shapes of volcanoes:

The massive type formed by very fluid lavas--Mauna Loa (Hawaii),
Vesuvius, examples.

The more perfect cones formed by ash talus--Fujiama, Discovery.

The explosive type with parasitic cones--Erebus, Morning, Etna.

Fissure eruption--historic only in Iceland, but best prehistoric
examples Deccan (India) and Oregon (U.S.).

There is small ground for supposing relation between adjacent
volcanoes--activity in one is rarely accompanied by activity in the
other. It seems most likely that vent tubes are entirely separate.

_Products of volcanoes_.--The lecturer mentioned the escape of
quantities of free hydrogen--there was some discussion on this
point afterwards; that water is broken up is easily understood, but
what becomes of the oxygen? Simpson suggests the presence of much
oxidizable material.

CO_2 as a noxious gas also mentioned and discussed--causes mythical
'upas' tree--sulphurous fumes attend final stages.

Practically little or no heat escapes through sides of a volcano.

There was argument over physical conditions influencing
explosions--especially as to barometric influence. There was a good
deal of disjointed information on lavas, ropy or rapid flowing and
viscous--also on spatter cones and caverns.

In all cases lavas cool slowly--heat has been found close to the
surface after 87 years. On Etna there is lava over ice. The lecturer
finally reviewed the volcanicity of our own neighbourhood. He described
various vents of Erebus, thinks Castle Rock a 'plug'--here some
discussion--Observation Hill part of old volcano, nothing in common
with Crater Hill. Inaccessible Island seems to have no connection
with Erebus.

Finally we had a few words on the origin of volcanicity and afterwards
some discussion on an old point--the relation to the sea. Why are
volcanoes close to sea? Debenham thinks not cause and effect, but
two effects resulting from same cause.

Great argument as to whether effect of barometric changes on Erebus
vapour can be observed. Not much was said about the theory of
volcanoes, but Debenham touched on American theories--the melting
out from internal magma.

There was nothing much to catch hold of throughout, but discussion
of such a subject sorts one's ideas.

_Saturday, June_ 17.--Northerly wind, temperature changeable, dropping
to -16°.

Wind doubtful in the afternoon. Moon still obscured--it is very
trying. Feeling dull in spirit to-day.

_Sunday, June_ 18.--Another blizzard--the weather is distressing. It
ought to settle down soon, but unfortunately the moon is passing.

Held the usual Morning Service. Hymns not quite successful to-day.

To-night Atkinson has taken the usual monthly measurement. I don't
think there has been much change.

_Monday, June_ 19.--A pleasant change to find the air calm and the
sky clear--temperature down to -28°. At 1.30 the moon vanished behind
the western mountains, after which, in spite of the clear sky, it
was very dark on the floe. Went out on ski across the bay, then round
about the cape, and so home, facing a keen northerly wind on return.

Atkinson is making a new fish trap hole; from one cause and another,
the breaking of the trap, and the freezing of the hole, no catch
has been made for some time. I don't think we shall get good catches
during the dark season, but Atkinson's own requirements are small,
and the fish, though nice enough, are not such a luxury as to be
greatly missed from our 'menu.'

Our daily routine has possessed a settled regularity for a long
time. Clissold is up about 7 A.M. to start the breakfast. At 7.30
Hooper starts sweeping the floor and setting the table. Between 8 and
8.30 the men are out and about, fetching ice for melting, &c. Anton
is off to feed the ponies, Demetri to see the dogs; Hooper bursts
on the slumberers with repeated announcements of the time, usually
a quarter of an hour ahead of the clock. There is a stretching of
limbs and an interchange of morning greetings, garnished with sleepy
humour. Wilson and Bowers meet in a state of nature beside a washing
basin filled with snow and proceed to rub glistening limbs with this
chilling substance. A little later with less hardihood some others
may be seen making the most of a meagre allowance of water. Soon after
8.30 I manage to drag myself from a very comfortable bed and make my
toilet with a bare pint of water. By about ten minutes to 9 my clothes
are on, my bed is made, and I sit down to my bowl of porridge; most
of the others are gathered about the table by this time, but there
are a few laggards who run the nine o'clock rule very close. The rule
is instituted to prevent delay in the day's work, and it has needed
a little pressure to keep one or two up to its observance. By 9.20
breakfast is finished, and before the half-hour has struck the table
has been cleared. From 9.30 to 1.30 the men are steadily employed
on a programme of preparation for sledging, which seems likely to
occupy the greater part of the winter. The repair of sleeping-bags
and the alteration of tents have already been done, but there are many
other tasks uncompleted or not yet begun, such as the manufacture of
provision bags, crampons, sealskin soles, pony clothes, &c.

Hooper has another good sweep up the hut after breakfast, washes the
mess traps, and generally tidies things. I think it a good thing
that in these matters the officers need not wait on themselves;
it gives long unbroken days of scientific work and must, therefore,
be an economy of brain in the long run.

We meet for our mid-day meal at 1.30 or 1.45, and spend a very
cheerful half-hour over it. Afterwards the ponies are exercised,
weather permitting; this employs all the men and a few of the officers
for an hour or more--the rest of us generally take exercise in some
form at the same time. After this the officers go on steadily with
their work, whilst the men do odd jobs to while away the time. The
evening meal, our dinner, comes at 6.30, and is finished within the
hour. Afterwards people read, write, or play games, or occasionally
finish some piece of work. The gramophone is usually started by some
kindly disposed person, and on three nights of the week the lectures
to which I have referred are given. These lectures still command full
audiences and lively discussions.

At 11 P.M. the acetylene lights are put out, and those who wish to
remain up or to read in bed must depend on candle-light. The majority
of candles are extinguished by midnight, and the night watchman alone
remains awake to keep his vigil by the light of an oil lamp.

Day after day passes in this fashion. It is not a very active life
perhaps, but certainly not an idle one. Few of us sleep more than
eight hours out of the twenty-four.

On Saturday afternoon or Sunday morning some extra bathing takes place;
chins are shaven, and perhaps clean garments donned. Such signs,
with the regular Service on Sunday, mark the passage of the weeks.

To-night Day has given us a lecture on his motor sledge. He seems very
hopeful of success, but I fear is rather more sanguine in temperament
than his sledge is reliable in action. I wish I could have more
confidence in his preparations, as he is certainly a delightful
companion.

_Tuesday, June_ 20.--Last night the temperature fell to -36°, the
lowest we have had this year. On the Ramp the minimum was -31°, not
the first indication of a reversed temperature gradient. We have had
a calm day, as is usual with a low thermometer.

It was very beautiful out of doors this morning; as the crescent moon
was sinking in the west, Erebus showed a heavy vapour cloud, showing
that the quantity is affected by temperature rather than pressure.

I'm glad to have had a good run on ski.

The Cape Crozier party are preparing for departure, and heads have been
put together to provide as much comfort as the strenuous circumstances
will permit. I came across a hint as to the value of a double tent
in Sverdrup's book, 'New Land,' and (P.O.) Evans has made a lining
for one of the tents; it is secured on the inner side of the poles
and provides an air space inside the tent. I think it is going to be
a great success, and that it will go far to obviate the necessity of
considering the question of snow huts--though we shall continue our
efforts in this direction also.

Another new departure is the decision to carry eiderdown sleeping-bags
inside the reindeer ones.

With such an arrangement the early part of the journey is bound to
be comfortable, but when the bags get iced difficulties are pretty
certain to arise.

Day has been devoting his energies to the creation of a blubber stove,
much assisted of course by the experience gained at Hut Point.

The blubber is placed in an annular vessel, A. The oil from it passes
through a pipe, B, and spreads out on the surface of a plate, C,
with a containing flange; _d d_ are raised points which serve as
heat conductors; _e e_ is a tin chimney for flame with air holes at
its base.

To start the stove the plate C must be warmed with spirit lamp or
primus, but when the blubber oil is well alight its heat is quite
sufficient to melt the blubber in And keep up the oil supply--the heat
gradually rises until the oil issues from B in a vaporised condition,
when, of course, the heat given off by the stove is intense.

This stove was got going this morning in five minutes in the outer
temperature with the blubber hard frozen. It will make a great
difference to the Crozier Party if they can manage to build a hut,
and the experience gained will be everything for the Western Party
in the summer. With a satisfactory blubber stove it would never be
necessary to carry fuel on a coast journey, and we shall deserve well
of posterity if we can perfect one.

The Crozier journey is to be made to serve a good many trial ends. As I
have already mentioned, each man is to go on a different food scale,
with a view to determining the desirable proportion of fats and
carbohydrates. Wilson is also to try the effect of a double wind-proof
suit instead of extra woollen clothing.

If two suits of wind-proof will keep one as warm in the spring as a
single suit does in the summer, it is evident that we can face the
summit of Victoria Land with a very slight increase of weight.

I think the new crampons, which will also be tried on this journey,
are going to be a great success. We have returned to the last
_Discovery_ type with improvements; the magnalium sole plates of
our own crampons are retained but shod with 1/2-inch steel spikes;
these plates are rivetted through canvas to an inner leather sole,
and the canvas is brought up on all sides to form a covering to the
'finnesko' over which it is laced--they are less than half the weight
of an ordinary ski boot, go on very easily, and secure very neatly.

Midwinter Day, the turn of the season, is very close; it will be good
to have light for the more active preparations for the coming year.

_Wednesday, June_ 21.--The temperature low again, falling to -36°. A
curious hazy look in the sky, very little wind. The cold is bringing
some minor troubles with the clockwork instruments in the open and
with the acetylene gas plant--no insuperable difficulties. Went for
a ski run round the bergs; found it very dark and uninteresting.

The temperature remained low during night and Taylor reported a very
fine display of Aurora.

_Thursday, June 22_.--MIDWINTER. The sun reached its maximum depression
at about 2.30 P.M. on the 22nd, Greenwich Mean Time: this is 2.30
A.M. on the 23rd according to the local time of the 180th meridian
which we are keeping. Dinner to-night is therefore the meal which is
nearest the sun's critical change of course, and has been observed
with all the festivity customary at Xmas at home.

At tea we broached an enormous Buzzard cake, with much gratitude to
its provider, Cherry-Garrard. In preparation for the evening our
'Union Jacks' and sledge flags were hung about the large table,
which itself was laid with glass and a plentiful supply of champagne
bottles instead of the customary mugs and enamel lime juice jugs. At
seven o'clock we sat down to an extravagant bill of fare as compared
with our usual simple diet.

Beginning on seal soup, by common consent the best decoction that our
cook produces, we went on to roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, fried
potatoes and Brussels sprouts. Then followed a flaming plum-pudding
and excellent mince pies, and thereafter a dainty savoury of anchovy
and cod's roe. A wondrous attractive meal even in so far as judged
by our simple lights, but with its garnishments a positive feast, for
withal the table was strewn with dishes of burnt almonds, crystallised
fruits, chocolates and such toothsome kickshaws, whilst the unstinted
supply of champagne which accompanied the courses was succeeded by
a noble array of liqueur bottles from which choice could be made in
the drinking of toasts.

I screwed myself up to a little speech which drew attention to the
nature of the celebration as a half-way mark not only in our winter
but in the plans of the Expedition as originally published. (I fear
there are some who don't realise how rapidly time passes and who have
barely begun work which by this time ought to be in full swing.)

We had come through a summer season and half a winter,and had before
us half a winter and a second summer. We ought to know how we stood
in every respect; we did know how we stood in regard to stores and
transport, and I especially thanked the officer in charge of stores
and the custodians of the animals. I said that as regards the future,
chance must play a part, but that experience showed me that it would
have been impossible to have chosen people more fitted to support me
in the enterprise to the South than those who were to start in that
direction in the spring. I thanked them all for having put their
shoulders to the wheel and given me this confidence.

We drank to the Success of the Expedition.

Then everyone was called on to speak, starting on my left and working
round the table; the result was very characteristic of the various
individuals--one seemed to know so well the style of utterance to
which each would commit himself.

Needless to say, all were entirely modest and brief; unexpectedly,
all had exceedingly kind things to say of me--in fact I was obliged
to request the omission of compliments at an early stage. Nevertheless
it was gratifying to have a really genuine recognition of my attitude
towards the scientific workers of the Expedition, and I felt very
warmly towards all these kind, good fellows for expressing it.

If good will and happy fellowship count towards success, very surely
shall we deserve to succeed. It was matter for comment, much applauded,
that there had not been a single disagreement between any two members
of our party from the beginning. By the end of dinner a very cheerful
spirit prevailed, and the room was cleared for Ponting and his lantern,
whilst the gramophone gave forth its most lively airs.

When the table was upended, its legs removed, and chairs arranged in
rows, we had quite a roomy lecture hall. Ponting had cleverly chosen
this opportunity to display a series of slides made from his own local
negatives. I have never so fully realised his work as on seeing these
beautiful pictures; they so easily outclass anything of their kind
previously taken in these regions. Our audience cheered vociferously.

After this show the table was restored for snapdragon, and a brew of
milk punch was prepared in which we drank the health of Campbell's
party and of our good friends in the _Terra Nova_. Then the table
was again removed and a set of lancers formed.

By this time the effect of stimulating liquid refreshment on men so
long accustomed to a simple life became apparent. Our biologist had
retired to bed, the silent Soldier bubbled with humour and insisted
on dancing with Anton. Evans, P.O., was imparting confidences in
heavy whispers.  Pat' Keohane had grown intensely Irish and desirous
of political argument, whilst Clissold sat with a constant expansive
smile and punctuated the babble of conversation with an occasional
'Whoop' of delight or disjointed witticism. Other bright-eyed
individuals merely reached the capacity to enjoy that which under
ordinary circumstances might have passed without evoking a smile.

In the midst of the revelry Bowers suddenly appeared, followed by some
satellites bearing an enormous Christmas Tree whose branches bore
flaming candles, gaudy crackers, and little presents for all. The
presents, I learnt, had been prepared with kindly thought by Miss
Souper (Mrs. Wilson's sister) and the tree had been made by Bowers of
pieces of stick and string with coloured paper to clothe its branches;
the whole erection was remarkably creditable and the distribution of
the presents caused much amusement.

Whilst revelry was the order of the day within our hut, the elements
without seemed desirous of celebrating the occasion with equal emphasis
and greater decorum. The eastern sky was massed with swaying auroral
light, the most vivid and beautiful display that I had ever seen--fold
on fold the arches and curtains of vibrating luminosity rose and spread
across the sky, to slowly fade and yet again spring to glowing life.

The brighter light seemed to flow, now to mass itself in wreathing
folds in one quarter, from which lustrous streamers shot upward, and
anon to run in waves through the system of some dimmer figure as if
to infuse new life within it.

It is impossible to witness such a beautiful phenomenon without a
sense of awe, and yet this sentiment is not inspired by its brilliancy
but rather by its delicacy in light and colour, its transparency, and
above all by its tremulous evanescence of form. There is no glittering
splendour to dazzle the eye, as has been too often described; rather
the appeal is to the imagination by the suggestion of something
wholly spiritual, something instinct with a fluttering ethereal life,
serenely confident yet restlessly mobile.

One wonders why history does not tell us of 'aurora' worshippers, so
easily could the phenomenon be considered the manifestation of 'god'
or 'demon.' To the little silent group which stood at gaze before such
enchantment it seemed profane to return to the mental and physical
atmosphere of our house. Finally when I stepped within, I was glad
to find that there had been a general movement bedwards, and in the
next half-hour the last of the roysterers had succumbed to slumber.

Thus, except for a few bad heads in the morning, ended the High
Festival of Midwinter.

There is little to be said for the artificial uplifting of animal
spirits, yet few could take great exception to so rare an outburst
in a long run of quiet days.

After all we celebrated the birth of a season which for weal or woe
must be numbered amongst the greatest in our lives.



CHAPTER XII

Awaiting the Crozier Party

_Friday, June_ 23--_Saturday, June_ 24.--Two quiet, uneventful days
and a complete return to routine.

_Sunday, June_ 25.--I find I have made no mention of Cherry-Garrard's
first number of the revived _South Polar Times_, presented to me on
Midwinter Day.

It is a very good little volume, bound by Day in a really charming
cover of carved venesta wood and sealskin. The contributors are
anonymous, but I have succeeded in guessing the identity of the
greater number.

The Editor has taken a statistical paper of my own on the plans
for the Southern Journey and a well-written serious article on the
Geological History of our region by Taylor. Except for editorial and
meteorological notes the rest is conceived in the lighter vein. The
verse is mediocre except perhaps for a quaint play of words in an
amusing little skit on the sleeping-bag argument; but an article
entitled 'Valhalla' appears to me to be altogether on a different
level. It purports to describe the arrival of some of our party at the
gates proverbially guarded by St. Peter; the humour is really delicious
and nowhere at all forced. In the jokes of a small community it is
rare to recognise one which would appeal to an outsider, but some
of the happier witticisms of this article seem to me fit for wider
circulation than our journal enjoys at present. Above all there is
distinct literary merit in it--a polish which leaves you unable to
suggest the betterment of a word anywhere.

I unhesitatingly attribute this effort to Taylor, but Wilson and
Garrard make Meares responsible for it. If they are right I shall
have to own that my judgment of attributes is very much at fault. I
must find out. [25]

A quiet day. Read Church Service as usual; in afternoon walked up the
Ramp with Wilson to have a quiet talk before he departs. I wanted to
get his ideas as to the scientific work done.

We agreed as to the exceptionally happy organisation of our party.

I took the opportunity to warn Wilson concerning the desirability of
complete understanding with Ponting and Taylor with respect to their
photographs and records on their return to civilisation.

The weather has been very mysterious of late; on the 23rd and 24th
it continuously threatened a blizzard, but now the sky is clearing
again with all signs of fine weather.

_Monday, June_ 26.--With a clear sky it was quite twilighty at
noon to-day. Already such signs of day are inspiriting. In the
afternoon the wind arose with drift and again the prophets predicted
a blizzard. After an hour or two the wind fell and we had a calm,
clear evening and night. The blizzards proper seem to be always
preceded by an overcast sky in accordance with Simpson's theory.

Taylor gave a most interesting lecture on the physiographic features
of the region traversed by his party in the autumn. His mind is very
luminous and clear and he treated the subject with a breadth of view
which was delightful. The illustrative slides were made from Debenham's
photographs, and many of them were quite beautiful. Ponting tells me
that Debenham knows quite a lot about photography and goes to work
in quite the right way.

The lecture being a précis of Taylor's report there is no need to
recapitulate its matter. With the pictures it was startling to realise
the very different extent to which tributary glaciers have carved the
channels in which they lie. The Canadian Glacier lies dead, but at
'grade' it has cut a very deep channel. The 'double curtain' hangs
at an angle of 25°, with practically no channel. Mention was made of
the difference of water found in Lake Bonney by me in December 1903
and the Western Party in February 1911. It seems certain that water
must go on accumulating in the lake during the two or three summer
months, and it is hard to imagine that all can be lost again by the
winter's evaporation. If it does, 'evaporation' becomes a matter of
primary importance.

There was an excellent picture showing the find of sponges on the
Koettlitz Glacier. Heaps of large sponges were found containing
corals and some shells, all representative of present-day fauna. How
on earth did they get to the place where found? There was a good
deal of discussion on the point and no very satisfactory solution
offered. Cannot help thinking that there is something in the thought
that the glacier may have been weighted down with rubble which finally
disengaged itself and allowed the ice to rise. Such speculations
are interesting.

Preparations for the start of the Crozier Party are now completed,
and the people will have to drag 253 lbs. per man--a big weight.

Day has made an excellent little blubber lamp for lighting; it has
an annular wick and talc chimney; a small circular plate over the
wick conducts the heat down and raises the temperature of combustion,
so that the result is a clear white flame.

We are certainly within measurable distance of using blubber in the
most effective way for both heating and lighting, and this is an
advance which is of very high importance to the future of Antarctic
Exploration.

_Tuesday, June_ 27.--The Crozier Party departed this morning
in good spirits--their heavy load was distributed on two 9-feet
sledges. Ponting photographed them by flashlight and attempted to get a
cinematograph picture by means of a flash candle. But when the candle
was ignited it was evident that the light would not be sufficient
for the purpose and there was not much surprise when the film proved
a failure. The three travellers found they could pull their load
fairly easily on the sea ice when the rest of us stood aside for the
trial. I'm afraid they will find much more difficulty on the Barrier,
but there was nothing now to prevent them starting, and off they went.

With helping contingent I went round the Cape. Taylor and Nelson
left at the Razor Back Island and report all well. Simpson, Meares
and Gran continued and have not yet returned.

Gran just back on ski; left party at 5 1/4 miles. Says Meares and
Simpson are returning on foot. Reports a bad bit of surface between
Tent Island and Glacier Tongue. It was well that the party had
assistance to cross this.

This winter travel is a new and bold venture, but the right men have
gone to attempt it. All good luck go with them.


Coal Consumption

Bowers reports that present consumption (midwinter) = 4 blocks per day
(100 lbs.).

An occasional block is required for the absolute magnetic hut. He
reports 8 1/2 tons used since landing. This is in excess of 4 blocks
per day as follows:


        8 1/2 tons in 150 days = 127 lbs. per diem.
                               = 889 lbs. per week, or nearly 8 cwt.
                               = 20 1/2 tons per year.


_Report August_ 4.

Used to date = 9 tons = 20,160 lbs.

Say 190 days at 106 lbs. per day.

Coal remaining 20 1/2 tons.

Estimate 8 tons to return of ship.

Total estimate for year, 17 tons. We should have 13 or 14 tons for
next year.


A FRESH MS. BOOK

_Quotations on the Flyleaf_

'Where the (Queen's) Law does not carry it is irrational to exact an
observance of other and weaker rules.'--RUDYARD KIPLING.

Confident of his good intentions but doubtful of his fortitude.

'So far as I can venture to offer an opinion on such a matter, the
purpose of our being in existence, the highest object that human
beings can set before themselves is not the pursuit of any such
chimera as the annihilation of the unknown; but it is simply the
unwearied endeavour to remove its boundaries a little further from
our little sphere of action.'--HUXLEY.

_Wednesday, June_ 28.--The temperature has been hovering around -30°
with a clear sky--at midday it was exceptionally light, and even two
hours after noon I was able to pick my way amongst the boulders of
the Ramp. We miss the Crozier Party. Lectures have ceased during its
absence, so that our life is very quiet.

_Thursday, June_ 29.--It seemed rather stuffy in the hut last night--I
found it difficult to sleep, and noticed a good many others in like
case. I found the temperature was only 50°, but that the small uptake
on the stove pipe was closed. I think it would be good to have a
renewal of air at bed time, but don't quite know how to manage this.

It was calm all night and when I left the hut at 8.30. At 9 the wind
suddenly rose to 40 m.p.h. and at the same moment the temperature rose
10°. The wind and temperature curves show this sudden simultaneous
change more clearly than usual. The curious circumstance is that
this blow comes out of a clear sky. This will be disturbing to our
theories unless the wind drops again very soon.

The wind fell within an hour almost as suddenly as it had arisen; the
temperature followed, only a little more gradually. One may well wonder
how such a phenomenon is possible. In the middle of a period of placid
calm and out of a clear sky there suddenly rushed upon one this volume
of comparatively warm air; it has come and gone like the whirlwind.

Whence comes it and whither goeth?

Went round the bergs after lunch on ski--splendid surface and quite
a good light.

We are now getting good records with the tide gauge after a great
deal of trouble. Day has given much of his time to the matter,
and after a good deal of discussion has pretty well mastered the
principles. We brought a self-recording instrument from New Zealand,
but this was passed over to Campbell. It has not been an easy matter
to manufacture one for our own use. The wire from the bottom weight
is led through a tube filled with paraffin as in _Discovery_ days,
and kept tight by a counter weight after passage through a block on
a stanchion rising 6 feet above the floe.

In his first instrument Day arranged for this wire to pass around a
pulley, the revolution of which actuated the pen of the recording
drum. This should have been successful but for the difficulty of
making good mechanical connection between the recorder and the
pulley. Backlash caused an unreliable record, and this arrangement
had to be abandoned. The motion of the wire was then made to actuate
the recorder through a hinged lever, and this arrangement holds, but
days and even weeks have been lost in grappling the difficulties of
adjustment between the limits of the tide and those of the recording
drum; then when all seemed well we found that the floe was not rising
uniformly with the water. It is hung up by the beach ice. When we
were considering the question of removing the whole apparatus to a
more distant point, a fresh crack appeared between it and the shore,
and on this 'hinge' the floe seems to be moving more freely.

_Friday, June_ 30, 1911.--The temperature is steadily falling; we are
descending the scale of negative thirties and to-day reached its limit,
-39°. Day has manufactured a current vane, a simple arrangement:
up to the present he has used this near the Cape. There is little
doubt, however, that the water movement is erratic and irregular
inside the islands, and I have been anxious to get observations which
will indicate the movement in the 'Strait.' I went with him to-day to
find a crack which I thought must run to the north from Inaccessible
Island. We discovered it about 2 to 2 1/2 miles out and found it to
be an ideal place for such work, a fracture in the ice sheet which is
constantly opening and therefore always edged with thin ice. Have told
Day that I think a bottle weighted so as to give it a small negative
buoyancy, and attached to a fine line, should give as good results as
his vane and would be much handier. He now proposes to go one better
and put an electric light in the bottle.

We found that our loose dogs had been attacking a seal, and then
came across a dead seal which had evidently been worried to death
some time ago. It appears Demetri saw more seal further to the north,
and this afternoon Meares has killed a large one as well as the one
which was worried this morning.

It is good to find the seals so close, but very annoying to find that
the dogs have discovered their resting-place.

The long spell of fine weather is very satisfactory.

_Saturday, July_ 1, 1911.--We have designed new ski boots and I
think they are going to be a success. My object is to stick to the
Huitfeldt binding for sledging if possible. One must wear finnesko on
the Barrier, and with finnesko alone a loose binding is necessary. For
this we brought 'Finon' bindings, consisting of leather toe straps
and thong heel binding. With this arrangement one does not have good
control of his ski and stands the chance of a chafe on the 'tendon
Achillis.' Owing to the last consideration many had decided to go
with toe strap alone as we did in the _Discovery_. This brought into
my mind the possibility of using the iron cross bar and snap heel
strap of the Huitfeldt on a suitable overshoe.

Evans, P.O., has arisen well to the occasion as a boot maker, and has
just completed a pair of shoes which are very nearly what we require.

The soles have two thicknesses of seal skin cured with alum, stiffened
at the foot with a layer of venesta board, and raised at the heel on
a block of wood. The upper part is large enough to contain a finnesko
and is secured by a simple strap. A shoe weighs 13 oz. against 2
lbs. for a single ski boot--so that shoe and finnesko together are
less weight than a boot.

If we can perfect this arrangement it should be of the greatest use
to us.

Wright has been swinging the pendulum in his cavern. Prodigious
trouble has been taken to keep the time, and this object has been
immensely helped by the telephone communication between the cavern,
the transit instrument, and the interior of the hut. The timekeeper is
perfectly placed. Wright tells me that his ice platform proves to be
five times as solid as the fixed piece of masonry used at Potsdam. The
only difficulty is the low temperature, which freezes his breath on
the glass window of the protecting dome. I feel sure these gravity
results are going to be very good.

The temperature has been hanging in the minus thirties all day with
calm and clear sky, but this evening a wind has sprung up without
rise of temperature. It is now -32°, with a wind of 25 m.p.h.--a
pretty stiff condition to face outside!

_Sunday, July_ 2.--There was wind last night, but this morning found
a settled calm again, with temperature as usual about -35°. The moon
is rising again; it came over the shoulder of Erebus about 5 P.M.,
in second quarter. It will cross the meridian at night, worse luck,
but such days as this will be pleasant even with a low moon; one is
very glad to think the Crozier Party are having such a peaceful time.

Sunday routine and nothing much to record.

_Monday, July_ 3.--Another quiet day, the sky more suspicious in
appearance. Thin stratus cloud forming and dissipating overhead,
curling stratus clouds over Erebus. Wind at Cape Crozier seemed
a possibility.

Our people have been far out on the floe. It is cheerful to see the
twinkling light of some worker at a water hole or hear the ring of
distant voices or swish of ski.

_Tuesday, July_ 4.--A day of blizzard and adventure.

The wind arose last night, and although the temperature advanced a
few degrees it remained at a very low point considering the strength
of the wind.

This forenoon it was blowing 40 to 45 m.p.h. with a temperature -25°
to -28°. No weather to be in the open.

In the afternoon the wind modified slightly. Taylor and Atkinson went
up to the Ramp thermometer screen. After this, entirely without my
knowledge, two adventurous spirits, Atkinson and Gran, decided to
start off over the floe, making respectively for the north and south
Bay thermometers, 'Archibald' and 'Clarence.' This was at 5.30; Gran
was back by dinner at 6.45, and it was only later that I learned that
he had gone no more than 200 or 300 yards from the land and that it
had taken him nearly an hour to get back again.

Atkinson's continued absence passed unnoticed until dinner was nearly
over at 7.15, although I had heard that the wind had dropped at the
beginning of dinner and that it remained very thick all round, with
light snow falling.

Although I felt somewhat annoyed, I had no serious anxiety at this
time, and as several members came out of the hut I despatched them
short distances to shout and show lanterns and arranged to have a
paraffin flare lit on Wind Vane Hill.

Evans, P.O., Crean and Keohane, being anxious for a walk, were sent
to the north with a lantern. Whilst this desultory search proceeded
the wind sprang up again from the south, but with no great force, and
meanwhile the sky showed signs of clearing and the moon appeared dimly
through the drifting clouds. With such a guide we momentarily looked
for the return of our wanderer, and with his continued absence our
anxiety grew. At 9.30 Evans, P.O., and his party returned without news
of him, and at last there was no denying the possibility of a serious
accident. Between 9.30 and 10 proper search parties were organised, and
I give the details to show the thoroughness which I thought necessary
to meet the gravity of the situation. I had by this time learnt that
Atkinson had left with comparatively light clothing and, still worse,
with leather ski boots on his feet; fortunately he had wind clothing.

P.O. Evans was away first with Crean, Keohane, and Demetri, a light
sledge, a sleeping-bag, and a flask of brandy. His orders were to
search the edge of the land and glacier through the sweep of the Bay to
the Barne Glacier and to Cape Barne beyond, then to turn east along an
open crack and follow it to Inaccessible Island. Evans (Lieut.), with
Nelson, Forde, and Hooper, left shortly after, similarly equipped,
to follow the shore of the South Bay in similar fashion, then turn
out to the Razor Back and search there. Next Wright, Gran, and Lashly
set out for the bergs to look thoroughly about them and from thence
pass round and examine Inaccessible Island. After these parties got
away, Meares and Debenham started with a lantern to search to and fro
over the surface of our promontory. Simpson and Oates went out in a
direct line over the Northern floe to the 'Archibald' thermometer,
whilst Ponting and Taylor re-examined the tide crack towards the
Barne Glacier. Meanwhile Day went to and fro Wind Vane Hill to light
at intervals upon its crest bundles of tow well soaked in petrol. At
length Clissold and I were left alone in the hut, and as the hours went
by I grew ever more alarmed. It was impossible for me to conceive how
an able man could have failed to return to the hut before this or by
any means found shelter in such clothing in such weather. Atkinson had
started for a point a little more than a mile away; at 10.30 he had
been five hours away; what conclusion could be drawn? And yet I felt
it most difficult to imagine an accident on open floe with no worse
pitfall than a shallow crack or steep-sided snow drift. At least I
could feel that every spot which was likely to be the scene of such an
accident would be searched. Thus 11 o'clock came without change, then
11.30 with its 6 hours of absence. But at 11.45 I heard voices from
the Cape, and presently the adventure ended to my extreme relief when
Meares and Debenham led our wanderer home. He was badly frostbitten
in the hand and less seriously on the face, and though a good deal
confused, as men always are on such occasions, he was otherwise well.

His tale is confused, but as far as one can gather he did not go more
than a quarter of a mile in the direction of the thermometer screen
before he decided to turn back. He then tried to walk with the wind
a little on one side on the bearing he had originally observed, and
after some time stumbled on an old fish trap hole, which he knew to
be 200 yards from the Cape. He made this 200 yards in the direction
he supposed correct, and found nothing. In such a situation had he
turned east he must have hit the land somewhere close to the hut and
so found his way to it. The fact that he did not, but attempted to
wander straight on, is clear evidence of the mental condition caused
by that situation. There can be no doubt that in a blizzard a man has
not only to safeguard the circulation in his limbs, but must struggle
with a sluggishness of brain and an absence of reasoning power which
is far more likely to undo him.

In fact Atkinson has really no very clear idea of what happened to him
after he missed the Cape. He seems to have wandered aimlessly up wind
till he hit an island; he walked all round this; says he couldn't
see a yard at this time; fell often into the tide crack; finally
stopped under the lee of some rocks; here got his hand frostbitten
owing to difficulty of getting frozen mit on again, finally got it on;
started to dig a hole to wait in. Saw something of the moon and left
the island; lost the moon and wanted to go back; could find nothing;
finally stumbled on another island, perhaps the same one; waited
again, again saw the moon, now clearing; shaped some sort of course
by it--then saw flare on Cape and came on rapidly--says he shouted to
someone on Cape quite close to him, greatly surprised not to get an
answer. It is a rambling tale to-night and a half thawed brain. It is
impossible to listen to such a tale without appreciating that it has
been a close escape or that there would have been no escape had the
blizzard continued. The thought that it would return after a short
lull was amongst the worst with me during the hours of waiting.

2 A.M.--The search parties have returned and all is well again, but
we must have no more of these very unnecessary escapades. Yet it is
impossible not to realise that this bit of experience has done more
than all the talking I could have ever accomplished to bring home to
our people the dangers of a blizzard.

_Wednesday, July_ 5.--Atkinson has a bad hand to-day, immense blisters
on every finger giving them the appearance of sausages. To-night
Ponting has photographed the hand.

As I expected, some amendment of Atkinson's tale as written last
night is necessary, partly due to some lack of coherency in the tale
as first told and partly a reconsideration of the circumstances by
Atkinson himself.

It appears he first hit Inaccessible Island, and got his hand
frostbitten before he reached it. It was only on arrival in its lee
that he discovered the frostbite. He must have waited there some
time, then groped his way to the western end thinking he was near
the Ramp. Then wandering away in a swirl of drift to clear some
irregularities at the ice foot, he completely lost the island when
he could only have been a few yards from it.

He seems in this predicament to have clung to the old idea of walking
up wind, and it must be considered wholly providential that on this
course he next struck Tent Island. It was round this island that he
walked, finally digging himself a shelter on its lee side under the
impression that it was Inaccessible Island. When the moon appeared he
seems to have judged its bearing well, and as he travelled homeward
he was much surprised to see the real Inaccessible Island appear on
his left. The distance of Tent Island, 4 to 5 miles, partly accounts
for the time he took in returning. Everything goes to confirm the
fact that he had a very close shave of being lost altogether.

For some time past some of the ponies have had great irritation of
the skin. I felt sure it was due to some parasite, though the Soldier
thought the food responsible and changed it.

To-day a tiny body louse was revealed under Atkinson's microscope
after capture from 'Snatcher's' coat. A dilute solution of carbolic is
expected to rid the poor beasts of their pests, but meanwhile one or
two of them have rubbed off patches of hair which they can ill afford
to spare in this climate. I hope we shall get over the trouble quickly.

The day has been gloriously fine again, with bright moonlight all the
afternoon. It was a wondrous sight to see Erebus emerge from soft filmy
clouds of mist as though some thin veiling had been withdrawn with
infinite delicacy to reveal the pure outline of this moonlit mountain.

_Thursday, July_ 6, _continued_.--The temperature has taken a
plunge--to -46° last night. It is now -45°, with a ten-mile breeze
from the south. Frostbiting weather!

Went for a short run on foot this forenoon and a longer one on ski
this afternoon. The surface is bad after the recent snowfall. A new
pair of sealskin overshoes for ski made by Evans seem to be a complete
success. He has modified the shape of the toe to fit the ski irons
better. I am very pleased with this arrangement.

I find it exceedingly difficult to settle down to solid work just at
present and keep putting off the tasks which I have set myself.

The sun has not yet risen a degree of the eleven degrees below our
horizon which it was at noon on Midwinter Day, and yet to-day there
was a distinct red in the northern sky. Perhaps such sunset colours
have something to do with this cold snap.

_Friday, July_ 7.--The temperature fell to -49° last night--our record
so far, and likely to remain so, one would think. This morning it was
fine and calm, temperature -45°. But this afternoon a 30-mile wind
sprang up from the S.E., and the temperature only gradually rose
to -30°, never passing above that point. I thought it a little too
strenuous and so was robbed of my walk.

The dogs' coats are getting pretty thick, and they seem to take
matters pretty comfortably. The ponies are better, I think, but I
shall be glad when we are sure of having rid them of their pest.

I was the victim of a very curious illusion to-day. On our small
heating stove stands a cylindrical ice melter which keeps up the
supply of water necessary for the dark room and other scientific
instruments. This iron container naturally becomes warm if it is not
fed with ice, and it is generally hung around with socks and mits which
require drying. I put my hand on the cylindrical vessel this afternoon
and withdrew it sharply with the sensation of heat. To verify the
impression I repeated the action two or three times, when it became
so strong that I loudly warned the owners of the socks, &c., of the
peril of burning to which they were exposed. Upon this Meares said,
'But they filled the melter with ice a few minutes ago,' and then,
coming over to feel the surface himself, added, 'Why, it's cold,
sir.' And indeed so it was. The slightly damp chilled surface of the
iron had conveyed to me the impression of excessive heat.

There is nothing intrinsically new in this observation; it has often
been noticed that metal surfaces at low temperatures give a sensation
of burning to the bare touch, but none the less it is an interesting
variant of the common fact.

Apropos. Atkinson is suffering a good deal from his hand: the frostbite
was deeper than I thought; fortunately he can now feel all his fingers,
though it was twenty-four hours before sensation returned to one
of them.

_Monday, July_ 10.--We have had the worst gale I have ever known in
these regions and have not yet done with it.

The wind started at about mid-day on Friday, and increasing in
violence reached an average of 60 miles for one hour on Saturday, the
gusts at this time exceeding 70 m.p.h. This force of wind, although
exceptional, has not been without parallel earlier in the year, but
the extraordinary feature of this gale was the long continuance of
a very cold temperature. On Friday night the thermometer registered
-39°. Throughout Saturday and the greater part of Sunday it did
not rise above -35°. Late yesterday it was in the minus twenties,
and to-day at length it has risen to zero.

Needless to say no one has been far from the hut. It was my turn for
duty on Saturday night, and on the occasions when I had to step out of
doors I was struck with the impossibility of enduring such conditions
for any length of time. One seemed to be robbed of breath as they
burst on one--the fine snow beat in behind the wind guard, and ten
paces against the wind were sufficient to reduce one's face to the
verge of frostbite. To clear the anemometer vane it is necessary to go
to the other end of the hut and climb a ladder. Twice whilst engaged
in this task I had literally to lean against the wind with head bent
and face averted and so stagger crab-like on my course. In those two
days of really terrible weather our thoughts often turned to absentees
at Cape Crozier with the devout hope that they may be safely housed.

They are certain to have been caught by this gale, but I trust
before it reached them they had managed to get up some sort of
shelter. Sometimes I have imagined them getting much more wind than
we do, yet at others it seems difficult to believe that the Emperor
penguins have chosen an excessively wind-swept area for their rookery.

To-day with the temperature at zero one can walk about outside without
inconvenience in spite of a 50-mile wind. Although I am loath to
believe it there must be some measure of acclimatisation, for it
is certain we should have felt to-day's wind severely when we first
arrived in McMurdo Sound.

_Tuesday, July_ 11.--Never was such persistent bad weather. To-day the
temperature is up to   5° to   7°, the wind 40 to 50 m.p.h., the air
thick with snow, and the moon a vague blue. This is the fourth day
of gale; if one reflects on the quantity of transported air (nearly
4,000 miles) one gets a conception of the transference which such a
gale effects and must conclude that potentially warm upper currents
are pouring into our polar area from more temperate sources.

The dogs are very gay and happy in the comparative warmth. I have been
going to and fro on the home beach and about the rocky knolls in its
environment--in spite of the wind it was very warm. I dug myself a
hole in a drift in the shelter of a large boulder and lay down in it,
and covered my legs with loose snow. It was so warm that I could have
slept very comfortably.

I have been amused and pleased lately in observing the manners
and customs of the persons in charge of our stores; quite a number
of secret caches exist in which articles of value are hidden from
public knowledge so that they may escape use until a real necessity
arises. The policy of every storekeeper is to have something up his
sleeve for a rainy day. For instance, Evans (P.O.), after thoroughly
examining the purpose of some individual who is pleading for a piece
of canvas, will admit that he may have a small piece somewhere which
could be used for it, when, as a matter of fact, he possesses quite
a number of rolls of that material.

Tools, metal material, leather, straps and dozens of items are
administered with the same spirit of jealous guardianship by Day,
Lashly, Oates and Meares, while our main storekeeper Bowers even
affects to bemoan imaginary shortages. Such parsimony is the best
guarantee that we are prepared to face any serious call.

_Wednesday, July_ 12.--All night and to-day wild gusts of wind shaking
the hut; long, ragged, twisted wind-cloud in the middle heights. A
watery moon shining through a filmy cirrostratus--the outlook
wonderfully desolate with its ghostly illumination and patchy clouds
of flying snow drift. It would be hardly possible for a tearing, raging
wind to make itself more visible. At Wind Vane Hill the anemometer has
registered 68 miles between 9 and 10 A.M.--a record. The gusts at the
hut frequently exceed 70 m.p.h.--luckily the temperature is up to 5°,
so that there is no hardship for the workers outside.

_Thursday, July_ 13.--The wind continued to blow throughout the night,
with squalls of even greater violence than before; a new record was
created by a gust of 77 m.p.h. shown by the anemometer.

The snow is so hard blown that only the fiercest gusts raise the
drifting particles--it is interesting to note the balance of nature
whereby one evil is eliminated by the excess of another.

For an hour after lunch yesterday the gale showed signs of moderation
and the ponies had a short walk over the floe. Out for exercise at this
time I was obliged to lean against the wind, my light overall clothes
flapping wildly and almost dragged from me; later when the wind rose
again it was quite an effort to stagger back to the hut against it.

This morning the gale still rages, but the sky is much clearer;
the only definite clouds are those which hang to the southward of
Erebus summit, but the moon, though bright, still exhibits a watery
appearance, showing that there is still a thin stratus above us.

The work goes on very steadily--the men are making crampons and
ski boots of the new style. Evans is constructing plans of the Dry
Valley and Koettlitz Glacier with the help of the Western Party. The
physicists are busy always, Meares is making dog harness, Oates ridding
the ponies of their parasites, and Ponting printing from his negatives.

Science cannot be served by 'dilettante' methods, but demands a mind
spurred by ambition or the satisfaction of ideals.

Our most popular game for evening recreation is chess; so many players
have developed that our two sets of chessmen are inadequate.

_Friday, July_ 14.--We have had a horrible fright and are not yet
out of the wood.

At noon yesterday one of the best ponies, 'Bones,' suddenly went off
his feed--soon after it was evident that he was distressed and there
could be no doubt that he was suffering from colic. Oates called my
attention to it, but we were neither much alarmed, remembering the
speedy recovery of 'Jimmy Pigg' under similar circumstances. Later
the pony was sent out for exercise with Crean. I passed him twice
and seemed to gather that things were well, but Crean afterwards told
me that he had had considerable trouble. Every few minutes the poor
beast had been seized with a spasm of pain, had first dashed forward
as though to escape it and then endeavoured to lie down. Crean had
had much difficulty in keeping him in, and on his legs, for he is
a powerful beast. When he returned to the stable he was evidently
worse, and Oates and Anton patiently dragged a sack to and fro
under his stomach. Every now and again he attempted to lie down,
and Oates eventually thought it wiser to let him do so. Once down,
his head gradually drooped until he lay at length, every now and again
twitching very horribly with the pain and from time to time raising
his head and even scrambling to his legs when it grew intense. I don't
think I ever realised before how pathetic a horse could be under such
conditions; no sound escapes him, his misery can only be indicated by
those distressing spasms and by dumb movements of the head turned with
a patient expression always suggestive of appeal. Although alarmed
by this time, remembering the care with which the animals are being
fed I could not picture anything but a passing indisposition. But as
hour after hour passed without improvement, it was impossible not to
realise that the poor beast was dangerously ill. Oates administered
an opium pill and later on a second, sacks were heated in the oven and
placed on the poor beast; beyond this nothing could be done except to
watch--Oates and Crean never left the patient. As the evening wore
on I visited the stable again and again, but only to hear the same
tale--no improvement. Towards midnight I felt very downcast. It is so
very certain that we cannot afford to lose a single pony--the margin
of safety has already been far overstepped, we are reduced to face
the circumstance that we must keep all the animals alive or greatly
risk failure.

So far everything has gone so well with them that my fears of a loss
had been lulled in a growing hope that all would be well--therefore
at midnight, when poor 'Bones' had continued in pain for twelve hours
and showed little sign of improvement, I felt my fleeting sense of
security rudely shattered.

It was shortly after midnight when I was told that the animal seemed
a little easier. At 2.30 I was again in the stable and found the
improvement had been maintained; the horse still lay on its side
with outstretched head, but the spasms had ceased, its eye looked
less distressed, and its ears pricked to occasional noises. As I
stood looking it suddenly raised its head and rose without effort to
its legs; then in a moment, as though some bad dream had passed, it
began to nose at some hay and at its neighbour. Within three minutes
it had drunk a bucket of water and had started to feed.

I went to bed at 3 with much relief. At noon to-day the immediate
cause of the trouble and an indication that there is still risk were
disclosed in a small ball of semi-fermented hay covered with mucus
and containing tape worms; so far not very serious, but unfortunately
attached to this mass was a strip of the lining of the intestine.

Atkinson, from a humanly comparative point of view, does not think
this is serious if great care is taken with the food for a week or so,
and so one can hope for the best.

Meanwhile we have had much discussion as to the first cause of the
difficulty. The circumstances possibly contributing are as follows:
fermentation of the hay, insufficiency of water, overheated stable,
a chill from exercise after the gale--I think all these may have had
a bearing on the case. It can scarcely be coincidence that the two
ponies which have suffered so far are those which are nearest the stove
end of the stable. In future the stove will be used more sparingly,
a large ventilating hole is to be made near it and an allowance of
water is to be added to the snow hitherto given to the animals. In
the food line we can only exercise such precautions as are possible,
but one way or another we ought to be able to prevent any more danger
of this description.

_Saturday, July_ 15.--There was strong wind with snow this morning
and the wind remained keen and cold in the afternoon, but to-night
it has fallen calm with a promising clear sky outlook. Have been
up the Ramp, clambering about in my sealskin overshoes, which seem
extraordinarily satisfactory.

Oates thinks a good few of the ponies have got worms and we are
considering means of ridding them. 'Bones' seems to be getting on
well, though not yet quite so buckish as he was before his trouble. A
good big ventilator has been fitted in the stable. It is not easy
to get over the alarm of Thursday night--the situation is altogether
too critical.

_Sunday, July_ 16.--Another slight alarm this morning. The pony
'China' went off his feed at breakfast time and lay down twice. He
was up and well again in half an hour; but what on earth is it that
is disturbing these poor beasts?

Usual Sunday routine. Quiet day except for a good deal of wind off
and on. The Crozier Party must be having a wretched time.

_Monday, July_ 17.--The weather still very unsettled--the wind comes
up with a rush to fade in an hour or two. Clouds chase over the sky
in similar fashion: the moon has dipped during daylight hours, and
so one way and another there is little to attract one out of doors.

Yet we are only nine days off the 'light value' of the day when we
left off football--I hope we shall be able to recommence the game in
that time.

I am glad that the light is coming for more than one reason. The gale
and consequent inaction not only affected the ponies, Ponting is not
very fit as a consequence--his nervous temperament is of the quality
to take this wintering experience badly--Atkinson has some difficulty
in persuading him to take exercise--he managed only by dragging him
out to his own work, digging holes in the ice. Taylor is another
backslider in the exercise line and is not looking well. If we can
get these people to run about at football all will be well. Anyway
the return of the light should cure all ailments physical and mental.

_Tuesday, July_ 18.--A very brilliant red sky at noon to-day and
enough light to see one's way about.

This fleeting hour of light is very pleasant, but of course dependent
on a clear sky, very rare. Went round the outer berg in the afternoon;
it was all I could do to keep up with 'Snatcher' on the homeward
round--speaking well for his walking powers.

_Wednesday, July_ 19.--Again calm and pleasant. The temperature is
gradually falling down to -35°. Went out to the old working crack
[26] north of Inaccessible Island--Nelson and Evans had had great
difficulty in rescuing their sounding sledge, which had been left
near here before the gale. The course of events is not very clear,
but it looks as though the gale pressed up the crack, raising broken
pieces of the thin ice formed after recent opening movements. These
raised pieces had become nuclei of heavy snow drifts, which in turn
weighing down the floe had allowed water to flow in over the sledge
level. It is surprising to find such a big disturbance from what
appears to be a simple cause. This crack is now joined, and the
contraction is taking on a new one which has opened much nearer to
us and seems to run to C. Barne.

We have noticed a very curious appearance of heavenly bodies when
setting in a north-westerly direction. About the time of midwinter the
moon observed in this position appeared in a much distorted shape of
blood red colour. It might have been a red flare or distant bonfire,
but could not have been guessed for the moon. Yesterday the planet
Venus appeared under similar circumstances as a ship's side-light
or Japanese lantern. In both cases there was a flickering in the
light and a change of colour from deep orange yellow to blood red,
but the latter was dominant.

_Thursday, July_ 20, _Friday_ 21, _Saturday_ 22.--There is very little
to record--the horses are going on well, all are in good form, at
least for the moment. They drink a good deal of water in the morning.

_Saturday, July_ 22, _continued_.--This and the better ventilation
of the stable make for improvement we think--perhaps the increase of
salt allowance is also beneficial.

To-day we have another raging blizzard--the wind running up to 72
m.p.h. in gusts--one way and another the Crozier Party must have had
a pretty poor time. [27] I am thankful to remember that the light
will be coming on apace now.

_Monday, July_ 24.--The blizzard continued throughout yesterday
(Sunday), in the evening reaching a record force of 82 m.p.h. The
vane of our anemometer is somewhat sheltered: Simpson finds the hill
readings 20 per cent. higher. Hence in such gusts as this the free
wind must reach nearly 100 m.p.h.--a hurricane force. To-day Nelson
found that his sounding sledge had been turned over. We passed a quiet
Sunday with the usual Service to break the week-day routine. During
my night watch last night I could observe the rapid falling of the
wind, which on dying away left a still atmosphere almost oppressively
warm at 7°. The temperature has remained comparatively high to-day. I
went to see the crack at which soundings were taken a week ago--then
it was several feet open with thin ice between--now it is pressed up
into a sharp ridge 3 to 4 feet high: the edge pressed up shows an 18
inch thickness--this is of course an effect of the warm weather.

_Tuesday, July_ 25, _Wednesday, July_ 26.--There is really very little
to be recorded in these days, life proceeds very calmly if somewhat
monotonously. Everyone seems fit, there is no sign of depression. To
all outward appearance the ponies are in better form than they have
ever been; the same may be said of the dogs with one or two exceptions.

The light comes on apace. To-day (Wednesday) it was very beautiful at
noon: the air was very clear and the detail of the Western Mountains
was revealed in infinitely delicate contrasts of light.

_Thursday, July_ 27, _Friday, July_ 28.--Calmer days: the sky rosier:
the light visibly advancing. We have never suffered from low spirits,
so that the presence of day raises us above a normal cheerfulness to
the realm of high spirits.

The light, merry humour of our company has never been eclipsed, the
good-natured, kindly chaff has never ceased since those early days
of enthusiasm which inspired them--they have survived the winter days
of stress and already renew themselves with the coming of spring. If
pessimistic moments had foreseen the growth of rifts in the bond forged
by these amenities, they stand prophetically falsified; there is no
longer room for doubt that we shall come to our work with a unity of
purpose and a disposition for mutual support which have never been
equalled in these paths of activity. Such a spirit should tide us
[over] all minor difficulties. It is a good omen.

_Saturday, July_ 29, _Sunday, July_ 30.--Two quiet days, temperature
low in the minus thirties--an occasional rush of wind lasting for
but a few minutes.

One of our best sledge dogs, 'Julick,' has disappeared. I'm afraid
he's been set on by the others at some distant spot and we shall see
nothing more but his stiffened carcass when the light returns. Meares
thinks the others would not have attacked him and imagines he has
fallen into the water in some seal hole or crack. In either case I'm
afraid we must be resigned to another loss. It's an awful nuisance.

Gran went to C. Royds to-day. I asked him to report on the open
water, and so he went on past the Cape. As far as I can gather he
got half-way to C. Bird before he came to thin ice; for at least 5
or 6 miles past C. Royds the ice is old and covered with wind-swept
snow. This is very unexpected. In the _Discovery_ first year the ice
continually broke back to the Glacier Tongue: in the second year it
must have gone out to C. Royds very early in the spring if it did
not go out in the winter, and in the _Nimrod_ year it was rarely fast
beyond C. Royds. It is very strange, especially as this has been the
windiest year recorded so far. Simpson says the average has exceeded
20 m.p.h. since the instruments were set up, and this figure has for
comparison 9 and 12 m.p.h. for the two _Discovery_ years. There remains
a possibility that we have chosen an especially wind-swept spot for
our station. Yet I can scarcely believe that there is generally more
wind here than at Hut Point.

I was out for two hours this morning--it was amazingly pleasant
to be able to see the inequalities of one's path, and the familiar
landmarks bathed in violet light. An hour after noon the northern
sky was intensely red.

_Monday, July_ 31.--It was overcast to-day and the light not quite
so good, but this is the last day of another month, and August means
the sun.

One begins to wonder what the Crozier Party is doing. It has been
away five weeks.

The ponies are getting buckish. Chinaman squeals and kicks in the
stable, Nobby kicks without squealing, but with even more purpose--last
night he knocked down a part of his stall. The noise of these animals
is rather trying at night--one imagines all sorts of dreadful things
happening, but when the watchman visits the stables its occupants
blink at him with a sleepy air as though the disturbance could not
possibly have been there!

There was a glorious northern sky to-day; the horizon was clear and the
flood of red light illuminated the under side of the broken stratus
cloud above, producing very beautiful bands of violet light. Simpson
predicts a blizzard within twenty-four hours--we are interested to
watch results.

_Tuesday, August_ 1.--The month has opened with a very beautiful
day. This morning I took a circuitous walk over our land 'estate,'
winding to and fro in gulleys filled with smooth ice patches or loose
sandy soil, with a twofold object. I thought I might find the remains
of poor Julick--in this I was unsuccessful; but I wished further to
test our new crampons, and with these I am immensely pleased--they
possess every virtue in a footwear designed for marching over smooth
ice--lightness, warmth, comfort, and ease in the putting on and off.

The light was especially good to-day; the sun was directly reflected
by a single twisted iridescent cloud in the north, a brilliant and
most beautiful object. The air was still, and it was very pleasant to
hear the crisp sounds of our workers abroad. The tones of voices, the
swish of ski or the chipping of an ice pick carry two or three miles
on such days--more than once to-day we could hear the notes of some
blithe singer--happily signalling the coming of the spring and the sun.

This afternoon as I sit in the hut I find it worthy of record that two
telephones are in use: the one keeping time for Wright who works at
the transit instrument, and the other bringing messages from Nelson
at his ice hole three-quarters of a mile away. This last connection
is made with a bare aluminium wire and earth return, and shows that
we should have little difficulty in completing our circuit to Hut
Point as is contemplated.


Account of the Winter Journey

_Wednesday, August_ 2.--The Crozier Party returned last night after
enduring for five weeks the hardest conditions on record. They looked
more weather-worn than anyone I have yet seen. Their faces were scarred
and wrinkled, their eyes dull, their hands whitened and creased with
the constant exposure to damp and cold, yet the scars of frostbite
were very few and this evil had never seriously assailed them. The
main part of their afflictions arose, and very obviously arose, from
sheer lack of sleep, and to-day after a night's rest our travellers
are very different in appearance and mental capacity.

The story of a very wonderful performance must be told by the
actors. It is for me now to give but an outline of the journey and
to note more particularly the effects of the strain which they have
imposed on themselves and the lessons which their experiences teach
for our future guidance.

Wilson is very thin, but this morning very much his keen, wiry
self--Bowers is quite himself to-day. Cherry-Garrard is slightly
puffy in the face and still looks worn. It is evident that he has
suffered most severely--but Wilson tells me that his spirit never
wavered for a moment. Bowers has come through best, all things
considered, and I believe he is the hardest traveller that ever
undertook a Polar journey, as well as one of the most undaunted;
more by hint than direct statement I gather his value to the party,
his untiring energy and the astonishing physique which enables him
to continue to work under conditions which are absolutely paralysing
to others. Never was such a sturdy, active, undefeatable little man.

So far as one can gather, the story of this journey in brief is much
as follows: The party reached the Barrier two days after leaving
C. Evans, still pulling their full load of 250 lbs. per man; the
snow surface then changed completely and grew worse and worse as they
advanced. For one day they struggled on as before, covering 4 miles,
but from this onward they were forced to relay, and found the half
load heavier than the whole one had been on the sea ice. Meanwhile
the temperature had been falling, and now for more than a week the
thermometer fell below -60°. On one night the minimum showed -71°,
and on the next -77°, 109° of frost. Although in this truly fearful
cold the air was comparatively still, every now and again little puffs
of wind came eddying across the snow plain with blighting effect. No
civilised being has ever encountered such conditions before with only
a tent of thin canvas to rely on for shelter. We have been looking
up the records to-day and find that Amundsen on a journey to the
N. magnetic pole in March encountered temperatures similar in degree
and recorded a minimum of 79°; but he was with Esquimaux who built
him an igloo shelter nightly; he had a good measure of daylight;
the temperatures given are probably 'unscreened' from radiation, and
finally, he turned homeward and regained his ship after five days'
absence. Our party went outward and remained absent for _five weeks_.

It took the best part of a fortnight to cross the coldest region,
and then rounding C. Mackay they entered the wind-swept area. Blizzard
followed blizzard, the sky was constantly overcast and they staggered
on in a light which was little better than complete darkness;
sometimes they found themselves high on the slopes of Terror on the
left of their track, and sometimes diving into the pressure ridges
on the right amidst crevasses and confused ice disturbance. Reaching
the foothills near C. Crozier, they ascended 800 feet, then packed
their belongings over a moraine ridge and started to build a hut. It
took three days to build the stone walls and complete the roof with
the canvas brought for the purpose. Then at last they could attend
to the object of the journey.

The scant twilight at midday was so short that they must start in the
dark and be prepared for the risk of missing their way in returning
without light. On the first day in which they set forth under these
conditions it took them two hours to reach the pressure ridges, and to
clamber over them roped together occupied nearly the same time; finally
they reached a place above the rookery where they could hear the
birds squawking, but from which they were quite unable to find a way
down. The poor light was failing and they returned to camp. Starting
again on the following day they wound their way through frightful ice
disturbances under the high basalt cliffs; in places the rock overhung,
and at one spot they had to creep through a small channel hollowed in
the ice. At last they reached the sea ice, but now the light was so
far spent they were obliged to rush everything. Instead of the 2000
or 3000 nesting birds which had been seen here in _Discovery_ days,
they could now only count about 100; they hastily killed and skinned
three to get blubber for their stove, and collecting six eggs, three
of which alone survived, they dashed for camp.

It is possible the birds are deserting this rookery, but it is also
possible that this early date found only a small minority of the
birds which will be collected at a later one. The eggs, which have not
yet been examined, should throw light on this point. Wilson observed
yet another proof of the strength of the nursing instinct in these
birds. In searching for eggs both he and Bowers picked up rounded
pieces of ice which these ridiculous creatures had been cherishing
with fond hope.

The light had failed entirely by the time the party were clear of
the pressure ridges on their return, and it was only by good luck
they regained their camp.

That night a blizzard commenced, increasing in fury from moment to
moment. They now found that the place chosen for the hut for shelter
was worse than useless. They had far better have built in the open,
for the fierce wind, instead of striking them directly, was deflected
on to them in furious whirling gusts. Heavy blocks of snow and rock
placed on the roof were whirled away and the canvas ballooned up,
tearing and straining at its securings--its disappearance could only
be a question of time. They had erected their tent with some valuables
inside close to the hut; it had been well spread and more than amply
secured with snow and boulders, but one terrific gust tore it up and
whirled it away. Inside the hut they waited for the roof to vanish,
wondering what they could do if it went, and vainly endeavouring to
make it secure. After fourteen hours it went, as they were trying
to pin down one corner. The smother of snow was on them, and they
could only dive for their sleeping-bags with a gasp. Bowers put his
head out once and said, 'We're all right,' in as near his ordinary
tones as he could compass. The others replied 'Yes, we're all right,'
and all were silent for a night and half a day whilst the wind howled
on; the snow entered every chink and crevasse of the sleeping-bags,
and the occupants shivered and wondered how it would all end.

This gale was the same (July 23) in which we registered our maximum
wind force, and it seems probable that it fell on C. Crozier even
more violently than on us.

The wind fell at noon the following day; the forlorn travellers crept
from their icy nests, made shift to spread their floor-cloth overhead,
and lit their primus. They tasted their first food for forty-eight
hours and began to plan a means to build a shelter on the homeward
route. They decided that they must dig a large pit nightly and cover
it as best they could with their floorcloth. But now fortune befriended
them; a search to the north revealed the tent lying amongst boulders a
quarter of a mile away, and, strange to relate, practically uninjured,
a fine testimonial for the material used in its construction. On the
following day they started homeward, and immediately another blizzard
fell on them, holding them prisoners for two days. By this time the
miserable condition of their effects was beyond description. The
sleeping-bags were far too stiff to be rolled up, in fact they were
so hard frozen that attempts to bend them actually split the skins;
the eiderdown bags inside Wilson's and C.-G.'s reindeer covers served
but to fitfully stop the gaps made by such rents. All socks, finnesko,
and mits had long been coated with ice; placed in breast pockets or
inside vests at night they did not even show signs of thawing, much
less of drying. It sometimes took C.-G. three-quarters of an hour to
get into his sleeping-bag, so flat did it freeze and so difficult was
it to open. It is scarcely possible to realise the horrible discomforts
of the forlorn travellers as they plodded back across the Barrier
with the temperature again constantly below -60°. In this fashion
they reached Hut Point and on the following night our home quarters.

Wilson is disappointed at seeing so little of the penguins, but to me
and to everyone who has remained here the result of this effort is the
appeal it makes to our imagination as one of the most gallant stories
in Polar History. That men should wander forth in the depth of a Polar
night to face the most dismal cold and the fiercest gales in darkness
is something new; that they should have persisted in this effort in
spite of every adversity for five full weeks is heroic. It makes a
tale for our generation which I hope may not be lost in the telling.

Moreover the material results are by no means despicable. We shall
know now when that extraordinary bird the Emperor penguin lays its
eggs, and under what conditions; but even if our information remains
meagre concerning its embryology, our party has shown the nature of
the conditions which exist on the Great Barrier in winter. Hitherto we
have only imagined their severity; now we have proof, and a positive
light is thrown on the local climatology of our Strait.


Experience of Sledging Rations and Equipment

For our future sledge work several points have been most satisfactorily
settled. The party went on a very simple food ration in different
and extreme proportions; they took pemmican, butter, biscuit and
tea only. After a short experience they found that Wilson, who had
arranged for the greatest quantity of fat, had too much of it, and
C.-G., who had gone for biscuit, had more than he could eat. A middle
course was struck which gave a general proportion agreeable to all, and
at the same time suited the total quantities of the various articles
carried. In this way we have arrived at a simple and suitable ration
for the inland plateau. The only change suggested is the addition
of cocoa for the evening meal. The party contented themselves with
hot water, deeming that tea might rob them of their slender chance
of sleep.

On sleeping-bags little new can be said--the eiderdown bag may be a
useful addition for a short time on a spring journey, but they soon
get iced up.

Bowers did not use an eiderdown bag throughout, and in some miraculous
manner he managed to turn his reindeer bag two or three times during
the journey. The following are the weights of sleeping-bags before
and after:


                                    Starting Weight.    Final Weight.
    Wilson, reindeer and eiderdown  17                  40
    Bowers, reindeer only           17                  33
    C.-Garrard, reindeer and
    eiderdown                       18                  45


This gives some idea of the ice collected.

The double tent has been reported an immense success. It weighed about
35 lbs. at starting and 60 lbs. on return: the ice mainly collected
on the inner tent.

The crampons are much praised, except by Bowers, who has an eccentric
attachment to our older form. We have discovered a hundred details
of clothes, mits, and footwear: there seems no solution to the
difficulties which attach to these articles in extreme cold; all Wilson
can say, speaking broadly, is 'the gear is excellent, excellent.' One
continues to wonder as to the possibilities of fur clothing as made by
the Esquimaux, with a sneaking feeling that it may outclass our more
civilised garb. For us this can only be a matter of speculation, as it
would have been quite impossible to have obtained such articles. With
the exception of this radically different alternative, I feel sure
we are as near perfection as experience can direct.

At any rate we can now hold that our system of clothing has come
through a severer test than any other, fur included.

_Effect of Journey_.--Wilson lost 3 1/2 lbs.; Bowers lost 2 1/2 lbs.;
C.-Garrard lost 1 lb.




CHAPTER XIII

The Return of the Sun

_Thursday, August_ 3.--We have had such a long spell of fine clear
weather without especially low temperatures that one can scarcely
grumble at the change which we found on waking this morning, when
the canopy of stratus cloud spread over us and the wind came in
those fitful gusts which promise a gale. All day the wind force has
been slowly increasing, whilst the temperature has risen to -15°,
but there is no snow falling or drifting as yet. The steam cloud of
Erebus was streaming away to the N.W. this morning; now it is hidden.

Our expectations have been falsified so often that we feel ourselves
wholly incapable as weather prophets--therefore one scarce dares
to predict a blizzard even in face of such disturbance as exists. A
paper handed to Simpson by David, [28] and purporting to contain a
description of approaching signs, together with the cause and effect
of our blizzards, proves equally hopeless. We have not obtained a
single scrap of evidence to verify its statements, and a great number
of our observations definitely contradict them. The plain fact is
that no two of our storms have been heralded by the same signs.

The low Barrier temperatures experienced by the Crozier Party has
naturally led to speculation on the situation of Amundsen and his
Norwegians. If his thermometers continuously show temperatures below
-60°, the party will have a pretty bad winter and it is difficult to
see how he will keep his dogs alive. I should feel anxious if Campbell
was in that quarter. [29]

_Saturday, August_ 5.--The sky has continued to wear a disturbed
appearance, but so far nothing has come of it. A good deal of light
snow has been falling to-day; a brisk northerly breeze is drifting
it along, giving a very strange yet beautiful effect in the north,
where the strong red twilight filters through the haze.

The Crozier Party tell a good story of Bowers, who on their return
journey with their recovered tent fitted what he called a 'tent
downhaul' and secured it round his sleeping-bag and himself. If the
tent went again, he determined to go with it.

Our lecture programme has been renewed. Last night Simpson gave a
capital lecture on general meteorology. He started on the general
question of insolation, giving various tables to show proportion of
sun's heat received at the polar and equatorial regions. Broadly, in
latitude 80° one would expect about 22 per cent, of the heat received
at a spot on the equator.

He dealt with the temperature question by showing interesting tabular
comparisons between northern and southern temperatures at given
latitudes. So far as these tables go they show the South Polar summer
to be 15° colder than the North Polar, but the South Polar winter 3°
warmer than the North Polar, but of course this last figure would be
completely altered if the observer were to winter on the Barrier. I
fancy Amundsen will not concede those 3°!!

From temperatures our lecturer turned to pressures and the upward
turn of the gradient in high southern latitudes, as shown by the
_Discovery_ Expedition. This bears of course on the theory which
places an anticyclone in the South Polar region. Lockyer's theories
came under discussion; a good many facts appear to support them. The
westerly winds of the Roaring Forties are generally understood to be a
succession of cyclones. Lockyer's hypothesis supposes that there are
some eight or ten cyclones continually revolving at a rate of about
10° of longitude a day, and he imagines them to extend from the 40th
parallel to beyond the 60th, thus giving the strong westerly winds
in the forties and easterly and southerly in 60° to 70°. Beyond 70°
there appears to be generally an irregular outpouring of cold air from
the polar area, with an easterly component significant of anticyclone
conditions.

Simpson evolved a new blizzard theory on this. He supposes the surface
air intensely cooled over the continental and Barrier areas, and the
edge of this cold region lapped by warmer air from the southern limits
of Lockyer's cyclones. This would produce a condition of unstable
equilibrium, with great potentiality for movement. Since, as we have
found, volumes of cold air at different temperatures are very loath
to mix, the condition could not be relieved by any gradual process,
but continues until the stream is released by some minor cause, when,
the ball once started, a huge disturbance results. It seems to be
generally held that warm air is passing polewards from the equator
continuously at the high levels. It is this potentially warm air
which, mixed by the disturbance with the cold air of the interior,
gives to our winds so high a temperature.

Such is this theory--like its predecessor it is put up for cockshies,
and doubtless by our balloon work or by some other observations it
will be upset or modified. Meanwhile it is well to keep one's mind
alive with such problems, which mark the road of advance.

_Sunday, August_ 6.--Sunday with its usual routine. Hymn singing has
become a point on which we begin to take some pride to ourselves. With
our full attendance of singers we now get a grand volume of sound.

The day started overcast. Chalky is an excellent adjective to describe
the appearance of our outlook when the light is much diffused and
shadows poor; the scene is dull and flat.

In the afternoon the sky cleared, the moon over Erebus gave a straw
colour to the dissipating clouds. This evening the air is full of ice
crystals and a stratus forms again. This alternation of clouded and
clear skies has been the routine for some time now and is accompanied
by the absence of wind which is delightfully novel.

The blood of the Crozier Party, tested by Atkinson, shows a very slight
increase of acidity--such was to be expected, and it is pleasing to
note that there is no sign of scurvy. If the preserved foods had
tended to promote the disease, the length of time and severity of
conditions would certainly have brought it out. I think we should be
safe on the long journey.

I have had several little chats with Wilson on the happenings of
the journey. He says there is no doubt Cherry-Garrard felt the
conditions most severely, though he was not only without complaint,
but continuously anxious to help others.

Apropos, we both conclude that it is the younger people that have the
worst time; Gran, our youngest member (23), is a very clear example,
and now Cherry-Garrard at 26.

Wilson (39) says he never felt cold less than he does now; I suppose
that between 30 and 40 is the best all round age. Bowers is a wonder of
course. He is 29. When past the forties it is encouraging to remember
that Peary was 52!!

_Thursday, August_ 10.--There has been very little to record of late
and my pen has been busy on past records.

The weather has been moderately good and as before wholly
incomprehensible. Wind has come from a clear sky and from a clouded
one; we had a small blow on Tuesday but it never reached gale force;
it came without warning, and every sign which we have regarded as a
warning has proved a bogey. The fact is, one must always be prepared
for wind and never expect it.

The daylight advances in strides. Day has fitted an extra sash to
our window and the light admitted for the first time through triple
glass. With this device little ice collects inside.

The ponies are very fit but inclined to be troublesome: the quiet
beasts develop tricks without rhyme or reason. Chinaman still kicks and
squeals at night. Anton's theory is that he does it to warm himself,
and perhaps there is something in it. When eating snow he habitually
takes too large a mouthful and swallows it; it is comic to watch him,
because when the snow chills his inside he shuffles about with all four
legs and wears a most fretful, aggrieved expression: but no sooner has
the snow melted than he seizes another mouthful. Other ponies take
small mouthfuls or melt a large one on their tongues--this act also
produces an amusing expression. Victor and Snippets are confirmed
wind suckers. They are at it all the time when the manger board is
in place, but it is taken down immediately after feeding time, and
then they can only seek vainly for something to catch hold of with
their teeth. 'Bones' has taken to kicking at night for no imaginable
reason. He hammers away at the back of his stall merrily; we have
covered the boards with several layers of sacking, so that the noise
is cured, if not the habit. The annoying part of these tricks is that
they hold the possibility of damage to the pony. I am glad to say
all the lice have disappeared; the final conquest was effected with
a very simple remedy--the infected ponies were washed with water in
which tobacco had been steeped. Oates had seen this decoction used
effectively with troop horses. The result is the greater relief,
since we had run out of all the chemicals which had been used for
the same purpose.

I have now definitely told off the ponies for the Southern Journey, and
the new masters will take charge on September 1. They will continually
exercise the animals so as to get to know them as well as possible. The
arrangement has many obvious advantages. The following is the order:


    Bowers          Victor.     Evans (P.O.)        Snatcher.
    Wilson          Nobby.      Crean               Bones.
    Atkinson        Jehu.       Keohane             Jimmy Pigg.
    Wright          Chinaman.   Oates               Christopher.
    Cherry-Garrard  Michael.    Myself & Oates      Snippets.


The first balloon of the season was sent up yesterday by Bowers and
Simpson. It rose on a southerly wind, but remained in it for 100 feet
or less, then for 300 or 400 feet it went straight up, and after that
directly south over Razor Back Island. Everything seemed to go well,
the thread, on being held, tightened and then fell slack as it should
do. It was followed for two miles or more running in a straight line
for Razor Back, but within a few hundred yards of the Island it came
to an end. The searchers went round the Island to try and recover the
clue, but without result. Almost identically the same thing happened
after the last ascent made, and we are much puzzled to find the cause.

The continued proximity of the south moving air currents above is
very interesting.

The Crozier Party are not right yet, their feet are exceedingly sore,
and there are other indications of strain. I must almost except Bowers,
who, whatever his feelings, went off as gaily as usual on the search
for the balloon.

Saw a very beautiful effect on my afternoon walk yesterday: the full
moon was shining brightly from a quarter exactly opposite to the fading
twilight and the icebergs were lit on one side by the yellow lunar
light and on the other by the paler white daylight. The first seemed
to be gilded, while the diffused light of day gave to the other a deep,
cold, greenish-blue colour--the contrast was strikingly beautiful.

_Friday, August_ 11.--The long-expected blizzard came in the night;
it is still blowing hard with drift.

Yesterday evening Oates gave his second lecture on 'Horse
management.' He was brief and a good deal to the point. 'Not born
but made' was his verdict on the good manager of animals. 'The horse
has no reasoning power at all, but an excellent memory'; sights and
sounds recall circumstances under which they were previously seen or
heard. It is no use shouting at a horse: ten to one he will associate
the noise with some form of trouble, and getting excited, will set out
to make it. It is ridiculous for the rider of a bucking horse to shout
'Whoa!'--'I know,' said the Soldier, 'because I have done it.' Also
it is to be remembered that loud talk to one horse may disturb other
horses. The great thing is to be firm and quiet.

A horse's memory, explained the Soldier, warns it of events to come. He
gave instances of hunters and race-horses which go off their feed and
show great excitement in other ways before events for which they are
prepared; for this reason every effort should be made to keep the
animals quiet in camp. Rugs should be put on directly after a halt
and not removed till the last moment before a march.

After a few hints on leading the lecturer talked of possible
improvements in our wintering arrangements. A loose box for each
animal would be an advantage, and a small amount of litter on which
he could lie down. Some of our ponies lie down, but rarely for
more than 10 minutes--the Soldier thinks they find the ground too
cold. He thinks it would be wise to clip animals before the winter
sets in. He is in doubt as to the advisability of grooming. He passed
to the improvements preparing for the coming journey--the nose bags,
picketing lines, and rugs. He proposes to bandage the legs of all
ponies. Finally he dealt with the difficult subjects of snow blindness
and soft surfaces: for the first he suggested dyeing the forelocks,
which have now grown quite long. Oates indulges a pleasant conceit in
finishing his discourses with a merry tale. Last night's tale evoked
shouts of laughter, but, alas! it is quite unprintable! Our discussion
hinged altogether on the final subjects of the lecture as concerning
snow blindness--the dyed forelocks seem inadequate, and the best
suggestion seems the addition of a sun bonnet rather than blinkers,
or, better still, a peak over the eyes attached to the headstall. I
doubt if this question will be difficult to settle, but the snow-shoe
problem is much more serious. This has been much in our minds of late,
and Petty Officer Evans has been making trial shoes for Snatcher on
vague ideas of our remembrance of the shoes worn for lawn mowing.

Besides the problem of the form of the shoes, comes the question of
the means of attachment. All sorts of suggestions were made last night
as to both points, and the discussion cleared the air a good deal. I
think that with slight modification our present pony snow-shoes made
on the grating or racquet principle may prove best after all. The only
drawback is that they are made for very soft snow and unnecessarily
large for the Barrier; this would make them liable to be strained on
hard patches. The alternative seems to be to perfect the principle
of the lawn mowing shoe, which is little more than a stiff bag over
the hoof.

Perhaps we shall come to both kinds: the first for the quiet animals
and the last for the more excitable. I am confident the matter is of
first importance.

_Monday, August_ 14.--Since the comparatively short storm of Friday, in
which we had a temperature of -30° with a 50 m.p.h. wind, we have had
two delightfully calm days, and to-day there is every promise of the
completion of a third. On such days the light is quite good for three
to four hours at midday and has a cheering effect on man and beast.

The ponies are so pleased that they seize the slightest opportunity
to part company with their leaders and gallop off with tail and heels
flung high. The dogs are equally festive and are getting more exercise
than could be given in the dark. The two Esquimaux dogs have been taken
in hand by Clissold, as I have noted before. He now takes them out with
a leader borrowed from Meares, usually little 'Noogis.' On Saturday
the sledge capsized at the tide crack; Clissold was left on the snow
whilst the team disappeared in the distance. Noogis returned later,
having eaten through his harness, and the others were eventually found
some two miles away, 'foul' of an ice hummock. Yesterday Clissold
took the same team to Cape Royds; they brought back a load of 100
lbs. a dog in about two hours. It would have been a good performance
for the best dogs in the time, and considering that Meares pronounced
these two dogs useless, Clissold deserves a great deal of credit.

Yesterday we had a really successful balloon ascent: the balloon ran
out four miles of thread before it was released, and the instrument
fell without a parachute. The searchers followed the clue about 2 1/2
miles to the north, when it turned and came back parallel to itself,
and only about 30 yards distant from it. The instrument was found
undamaged and with the record properly scratched.

Nelson has been out a good deal more of late. He has got a good little
run of serial temperatures with water samples, and however meagre
his results, they may be counted as exceedingly accurate; his methods
include the great scientific care which is now considered necessary
for this work, and one realises that he is one of the few people who
have been trained in it. Yesterday he got his first net haul from
the bottom, with the assistance of Atkinson and Cherry-Garrard.

Atkinson has some personal interest in the work. He has been
getting remarkable results himself and has discovered a host of new
parasites in the seals; he has been trying to correlate these with
like discoveries in the fishes, in hope of working out complete life
histories in both primary and secondary hosts.

But the joint hosts of the fishes may be the mollusca or other
creatures on which they feed, and hence the new fields for Atkinson
in Nelson's catches. There is a relative simplicity in the round of
life in its higher forms in these regions that would seem especially
hopeful for the parasitologist.

My afternoon walk has become a pleasure; everything is beautiful in
this half light and the northern sky grows redder as the light wanes.

_Tuesday, August_ 15.--The instrument recovered from the balloon shows
an ascent of 2 1/2 miles, and the temperature at that height only 5°
or 6° C. below that at the surface. If, as one must suppose, this
layer extends over the Barrier, it would there be at a considerably
higher temperature than the surface Simpson has imagined a very cold
surface layer on the Barrier.

The acetylene has suddenly failed, and I find myself at this moment
writing by daylight for the first time.

The first addition to our colony came last night, when 'Lassie'
produced six or seven puppies--we are keeping the family very quiet
and as warm as possible in the stable.

It is very pleasant to note the excellent relations which our young
Russians have established with other folk; they both work very hard,
Anton having most to do. Demetri is the more intelligent and begins
to talk English fairly well. Both are on the best terms with their
mess-mates, and it was amusing last night to see little Anton jamming
a felt hat over P.O. Evans' head in high good humour.

Wright lectured on radium last night.

The transformation of the radio-active elements suggestive of
the transmutation of metals was perhaps the most interesting idea
suggested, but the discussion ranged mainly round the effect which
the discovery of radio-activity has had on physics and chemistry
in its bearing on the origin of matter, on geology as bearing on the
internal heat of the earth, and on medicine in its curative powers. The
geologists and doctors admitted little virtue to it, but of course
the physicists boomed their own wares, which enlivened the debate.

_Thursday, August_ 17.--The weather has been extremely kind to us of
late; we haven't a single grumble against it. The temperature hovers
pretty constantly at about -35°, there is very little wind and the
sky is clear and bright. In such weather one sees well for more than
three hours before and after noon, the landscape unfolds itself, and
the sky colours are always delicate and beautiful. At noon to-day
there was bright sunlight on the tops of the Western Peaks and on
the summit and steam of Erebus--of late the vapour cloud of Erebus
has been exceptionally heavy and fantastic in form.

The balloon has become a daily institution. Yesterday the instrument
was recovered in triumph, but to-day the threads carried the searchers
in amongst the icebergs and soared aloft over their crests--anon the
clue was recovered beyond, and led towards Tent Island, then towards
Inaccessible, then back to the bergs. Never was such an elusive
thread. Darkness descended with the searchers on a strong scent for
the Razor Backs: Bowers returned full of hope.

The wretched Lassie has killed every one of her litter. She is mother
for the first time, and possibly that accounts for it. When the poor
little mites were alive she constantly left them, and when taken
back she either trod on them or lay on them, till not one was left
alive. It is extremely annoying.

As the daylight comes, people are busier than ever. It does one good
to see so much work going on.

_Friday, August_ 18.--Atkinson lectured on 'Scurvy' last night. He
spoke clearly and slowly, but the disease is anything but precise. He
gave a little summary of its history afloat and the remedies long in
use in the Navy.

He described the symptoms with some detail. Mental depression,
debility, syncope, petechiae, livid patches, spongy gums, lesions,
swellings, and so on to things that are worse. He passed to some of the
theories held and remedies tried in accordance with them. Ralph came
nearest the truth in discovering decrease of chlorine and alkalinity
of urine. Sir Almroth Wright has hit the truth, he thinks, in finding
increased acidity of blood--acid intoxication--by methods only possible
in recent years.

This acid condition is due to two salts, sodium hydrogen carbonate
and sodium hydrogen phosphate; these cause the symptoms observed
and infiltration of fat in organs, leading to feebleness of heart
action. The method of securing and testing serum of patient was
described (titration, a colorimetric method of measuring the percentage
of substances in solution), and the test by litmus paper of normal
or super-normal solution. In this test the ordinary healthy man shows
normal 30 to 50: the scurvy patient normal 90.

Lactate of sodium increases alkalinity of blood, but only within
narrow limits, and is the only chemical remedy suggested.

So far for diagnosis, but it does not bring us much closer to the
cause, preventives, or remedies. Practically we are much as we were
before, but the lecturer proceeded to deal with the practical side.

In brief, he holds the first cause to be tainted food, but secondary
or contributory causes may be even more potent in developing the
disease. Damp, cold, over-exertion, bad air, bad light, in fact
any condition exceptional to normal healthy existence. Remedies
are merely to change these conditions for the better. Dietetically,
fresh vegetables are the best curatives--the lecturer was doubtful of
fresh meat, but admitted its possibility in polar climate; lime juice
only useful if regularly taken. He discussed lightly the relative
values of vegetable stuffs, doubtful of those containing abundance
of phosphates such as lentils. He touched theory again in continuing
the cause of acidity to bacterial action--and the possibility of
infection in epidemic form. Wilson is evidently slow to accept the
'acid intoxication' theory; his attitude is rather 'non proven.' His
remarks were extremely sound and practical as usual. He proved the
value of fresh meat in polar regions.

Scurvy seems very far away from us this time, yet after our _Discovery_
experience, one feels that no trouble can be too great or no precaution
too small to be adopted to keep it at bay. Therefore such an evening
as last was well spent.

It is certain we shall not have the disease here, but one cannot
foresee equally certain avoidance in the southern journey to come. All
one can do is to take every possible precaution.

Ran over to Tent Island this afternoon and climbed to the top--I have
not been there since 1903. Was struck with great amount of loose sand;
it seemed to get smaller in grain from S. to N. Fine view from top
of island: one specially notices the gap left by the breaking up of
the Glacier Tongue.

The distance to the top of the island and back is between 7 and
8 statute miles, and the run in this weather is fine healthy
exercise. Standing on the island to-day with a glorious view of
mountains, islands, and glaciers, I thought how very different must be
the outlook of the Norwegians. A dreary white plain of Barrier behind
and an uninviting stretch of sea ice in front. With no landmarks,
nothing to guide if the light fails, it is probable that they venture
but a very short distance from their hut.

The prospects of such a situation do not smile on us.

The weather remains fine--this is the sixth day without wind.

_Sunday, August_ 20.--The long-expected blizzard came yesterday--a
good honest blow, the drift vanishing long before the wind. This and
the rise of temperature (to 2°) has smoothed and polished all ice
or snow surfaces. A few days ago I could walk anywhere in my soft
finnesko with sealskin soles; to-day it needed great caution to
prevent tumbles. I think there has been a good deal of ablation.

The sky is clear to-day, but the wind still strong though warm. I
went along the shore of the North Bay and climbed to the glacier over
one of the drifted faults in the ice face. It is steep and slippery,
but by this way one can arrive above the Ramp without touching rock
and thus avoid cutting soft footwear.

The ice problems in our neighbourhood become more fascinating and
elusive as one re-examines them by the returning light; some will
be solved.

_Monday, August_ 21.--Weights and measurements last evening. We have
remained surprisingly constant. There seems to have been improvement
in lung power and grip is shown by spirometer and dynamometer, but
weights have altered very little. I have gone up nearly 3 lbs. in
winter, but the increase has occurred during the last month, when I
have been taking more exercise. Certainly there is every reason to
be satisfied with the general state of health.

The ponies are becoming a handful. Three of the four exercised to-day
so far have run away--Christopher and Snippets broke away from Oates
and Victor from Bowers. Nothing but high spirits, there is no vice in
these animals; but I fear we are going to have trouble with sledges
and snow-shoes. At present the Soldier dare not issue oats or the
animals would become quite unmanageable. Bran is running low; he
wishes he had more of it.

_Tuesday, August_ 22.--I am renewing study of glacier problems;
the face of the ice cliff 300 yards east of the homestead is full of
enigmas. Yesterday evening Ponting gave us a lecture on his Indian
travels. He is very frank in acknowledging his debt to guide-books
for information, nevertheless he tells his story well and his slides
are wonderful. In personal reminiscence he is distinctly dramatic--he
thrilled us a good deal last night with a vivid description of a
sunrise in the sacred city of Benares. In the first dim light the
waiting, praying multitude of bathers, the wonderful ritual and its
incessant performance; then, as the sun approaches, the hush--the
effect of thousands of worshippers waiting in silence--a silence
to be felt. Finally, as the first rays appear, the swelling roar
of a single word from tens of thousands of throats: 'Ambah!' It was
artistic to follow this picture of life with the gruesome horrors of
the ghat. This impressionist style of lecturing is very attractive
and must essentially cover a great deal of ground. So we saw Jeypore,
Udaipore, Darjeeling, and a confusing number of places--temples,
monuments and tombs in profusion, with remarkable pictures of the
wonderful Taj Mahal--horses, elephants, alligators, wild boars, and
flamingoes--warriors, fakirs, and nautch girls--an impression here
and an impression there.

It is worth remembering how attractive this style can be--in lecturing
one is inclined to give too much attention to connecting links which
join one episode to another. A lecture need not be a connected story;
perhaps it is better it should not be.

It was my night on duty last night and I watched the oncoming of a
blizzard with exceptional beginnings. The sky became very gradually
overcast between 1 and 4 A.M. About 2.30 the temperature rose on a
steep grade from -20° to -3°; the barometer was falling, rapidly for
these regions. Soon after 4 the wind came with a rush, but without
snow or drift. For a time it was more gusty than has ever yet been
recorded even in this region. In one gust the wind rose from 4 to 68
m.p.h. and fell again to 20 m.p.h. within a minute; another reached 80
m.p.h., but not from such a low point of origin. The effect in the hut
was curious; for a space all would be quiet, then a shattering blast
would descend with a clatter and rattle past ventilator and chimneys,
so sudden, so threatening, that it was comforting to remember the solid
structure of our building. The suction of such a gust is so heavy that
even the heavy snow-covered roof of the stable, completely sheltered
on the lee side of the main building, is violently shaken--one could
well imagine the plight of our adventurers at C. Crozier when their
roof was destroyed. The snow which came at 6 lessened the gustiness
and brought the ordinary phenomena of a blizzard. It is blowing hard
to-day, with broken windy clouds and roving bodies of drift. A wild
day for the return of the sun. Had it been fine to-day we should have
seen the sun for the first time; yesterday it shone on the lower
foothills to the west, but to-day we see nothing but gilded drift
clouds. Yet it is grand to have daylight rushing at one.

_Wednesday, August_ 23.--We toasted the sun in champagne last night,
coupling Victor Campbell's name as his birthday coincides. The return
of the sun could not be appreciated as we have not had a glimpse of
it, and the taste of the champagne went wholly unappreciated; it was
a very mild revel. Meanwhile the gale continues. Its full force broke
last night with an average of nearly 70 m.p.h. for some hours: the
temperature has been up to 10° and the snowfall heavy. At seven this
morning the air was thicker with whirling drift than it has ever been.

It seems as though the violence of the storms which succeed our rare
spells of fine weather is in proportion to the duration of the spells.

_Thursday, August_ 24.--Another night and day of furious wind
and drift, and still no sign of the end. The temperature has been
as high as 16°. Now and again the snow ceases and then the drift
rapidly diminishes, but such an interval is soon followed by fresh
clouds of snow. It is quite warm outside, one can go about with
head uncovered--which leads me to suppose that one does get hardened
to cold to some extent--for I suppose one would not wish to remain
uncovered in a storm in England if the temperature showed 16 degrees
of frost. This is the third day of confinement to the hut: it grows
tedious, but there is no help, as it is too thick to see more than
a few yards out of doors.

_Friday, August_ 25.--The gale continued all night and it blows hard
this morning, but the sky is clear, the drift has ceased, and the few
whale-back clouds about Erebus carry a promise of improving conditions.

Last night there was an intensely black cloud low on the northern
horizon--but for earlier experience of the winter one would have sworn
to it as a water sky; but I think the phenomenon is due to the shadow
of retreating drift clouds. This morning the sky is clear to the north,
so that the sea ice cannot have broken out in the Sound.

During snowy gales it is almost necessary to dress oneself in wind
clothes if one ventures outside for the briefest periods--exposed
woollen or cloth materials become heavy with powdery crystals in a
minute or two, and when brought into the warmth of the hut are soon
wringing wet. Where there is no drift it is quicker and easier to
slip on an overcoat.

It is not often I have a sentimental attachment for articles of
clothing, but I must confess an affection for my veteran uniform
overcoat, inspired by its persistent utility. I find that it
is twenty-three years of age and can testify to its strenuous
existence. It has been spared neither rain, wind, nor salt sea spray,
tropic heat nor Arctic cold; it has outlived many sets of buttons,
from their glittering gilded youth to green old age, and it supports
its four-stripe shoulder straps as gaily as the single lace ring
of the early days which proclaimed it the possession of a humble
sub-lieutenant. Withal it is still a very long way from the fate of
the 'one-horse shay.'

Taylor gave us his final physiographical lecture last night. It was
completely illustrated with slides made from our own negatives,
Ponting's Alpine work, and the choicest illustrations of certain
scientific books. The preparation of the slides had involved a good
deal of work for Ponting as well as for the lecturer. The lecture
dealt with ice erosion, and the pictures made it easy to follow
the comparison of our own mountain forms and glacial contours with
those that have received so much attention elsewhere. Noticeable
differences are the absence of moraine material on the lower surfaces
of our glaciers, their relatively insignificant movement, their
steep sides, &c.... It is difficult to convey the bearing of the
difference or similarity of various features common to the pictures
under comparison without their aid. It is sufficient to note that the
points to which the lecturer called attention were pretty obvious
and that the lecture was exceedingly instructive. The origin of
'cirques' or 'cwms,' of which we have remarkably fine examples,
is still a little mysterious--one notes also the requirement of
observation which might throw light on the erosion of previous ages.

After Taylor's effort Ponting showed a number of very beautiful slides
of Alpine scenery--not a few are triumphs of the photographer's art. As
a wind-up Ponting took a flashlight photograph of our hut converted
into a lecture hall: a certain amount of faking will be required,
but I think this is very allowable under the circumstances.

Oates tells me that one of the ponies, 'Snippets,' will eat
blubber! the possible uses of such an animal are remarkable!

The gravel on the north side of the hut against which the stable is
built has been slowly but surely worn down, leaving gaps under the
boarding. Through these gaps and our floor we get an unpleasantly
strong stable effluvium, especially when the wind is strong. We are
trying to stuff the holes up, but have not had much success so far.

_Saturday, August_ 26.--A dying wind and clear sky yesterday, and
almost calm to-day. The noon sun is cut off by the long low foot
slope of Erebus which runs to Cape Royds. Went up the Ramp at noon
yesterday and found no advantage--one should go over the floe to
get the earliest sight, and yesterday afternoon Evans caught a last
glimpse of the upper limb from that situation, whilst Simpson saw
the same from Wind Vane Hill.

The ponies are very buckish and can scarcely be held in at exercise;
it seems certain that they feel the return of daylight. They were
out in morning and afternoon yesterday. Oates and Anton took out
Christopher and Snippets rather later. Both ponies broke away within
50 yards of the stable and galloped away over the floe. It was nearly
an hour before they could be rounded up. Such escapades are the result
of high spirits; there is no vice in the animals.

We have had comparatively little aurora of late, but last night was
an exception; there was a good display at 3 A.M.

P.M.--Just before lunch the sunshine could be seen gilding the floe,
and Ponting and I walked out to the bergs. The nearest one has been
overturned and is easily climbed. From the top we could see the
sun clear over the rugged outline of C. Barne. It was glorious to
stand bathed in brilliant sunshine once more. We felt very young,
sang and cheered--we were reminded of a bright frosty morning in
England--everything sparkled and the air had the same crisp feel. There
is little new to be said of the return of the sun in polar regions,
yet it is such a very real and important event that one cannot pass
it in silence. It changes the outlook on life of every individual,
foul weather is robbed of its terrors; if it is stormy to-day it will
be fine to-morrow or the next day, and each day's delay will mean a
brighter outlook when the sky is clear.

Climbed the Ramp in the afternoon, the shouts and songs of men and
the neighing of horses borne to my ears as I clambered over its kopjes.

We are now pretty well convinced that the Ramp is a moraine resting
on a platform of ice.

The sun rested on the sunshine recorder for a few minutes, but
made no visible impression. We did not get our first record in the
_Discovery_ until September. It is surprising that so little heat
should be associated with such a flood of light.

_Sunday, August_ 27.--Overcast sky and chill south-easterly
wind. Sunday routine, no one very active. Had a run to South Bay over
'Domain.'

_Monday, August_ 28.--Ponting and Gran went round the bergs late
last night. On returning they saw a dog coming over the floe from the
north. The animal rushed towards and leapt about them with every sign
of intense joy. Then they realised that it was our long lost Julick.

His mane was crusted with blood and he smelt strongly of seal
blubber--his stomach was full, but the sharpness of back-bone showed
that this condition had only been temporary, daylight he looks very
fit and strong, and he is evidently very pleased to be home again.

We are absolutely at a loss to account for his adventures. It
is exactly a month since he was missed--what on earth can have
happened to him all this time? One would give a great deal to hear
his tale. Everything is against the theory that he was a wilful
absentee--his previous habits and his joy at getting back. If he wished
to get back, he cannot have been lost anywhere in the neighbourhood,
for, as Meares says, the barking of the station dogs can be heard
at least 7 or 8 miles away in calm weather, besides which there are
tracks everywhere and unmistakable landmarks to guide man or beast. I
cannot but think the animal has been cut off, but this can only have
happened by his being carried away on broken sea ice, and as far as
we know the open water has never been nearer than 10 or 12 miles at
the least. It is another enigma.

On Saturday last a balloon was sent up. The thread was found broken
a mile away. Bowers and Simpson walked many miles in search of the
instrument, but could find no trace of it. The theory now propounded
is that if there is strong differential movement in air currents,
the thread is not strong enough to stand the strain as the balloon
passes from one current to another. It is amazing, and forces the
employment of a new system. It is now proposed to discard the thread
and attach the instrument to a flag and staff, which it is hoped will
plant itself in the snow on falling.

The sun is shining into the hut windows--already sunbeams rest on
the opposite walls.

I have mentioned the curious cones which are the conspicuous feature
of our Ramp scenery--they stand from 8 to 20 feet in height, some
irregular, but a number quite perfectly conical in outline. To-day
Taylor and Gran took pick and crowbar and started to dig into
one of the smaller ones. After removing a certain amount of loose
rubble they came on solid rock, kenyte, having two or three irregular
cracks traversing the exposed surface. It was only with great trouble
they removed one or two of the smallest fragments severed by these
cracks. There was no sign of ice. This gives a great 'leg up' to the
'debris' cone theory.

Demetri and Clissold took two small teams of dogs to Cape Royds
to-day. They found some dog footprints near the hut, but think these
were not made by Julick. Demetri points far to the west as the scene
of that animal's adventures. Parties from C. Royds always bring a
number of illustrated papers which must have been brought down by
the _Nimrod_ on her last visit. The ostensible object is to provide
amusement for our Russian companions, but as a matter of fact everyone
finds them interesting.

_Tuesday, August_ 29.--I find that the card of the sunshine recorder
showed an hour and a half's burn yesterday and was very faintly
marked on Saturday; already, therefore, the sun has given us warmth,
even if it can only be measured instrumentally.

Last night Meares told us of his adventures in and about Lolo land,
a wild Central Asian country nominally tributary to Lhassa. He had no
pictures and very makeshift maps, yet he held us really entranced for
nearly two hours by the sheer interest of his adventures. The spirit
of the wanderer is in Meares' blood: he has no happiness but in the
wild places of the earth. I have never met so extreme a type. Even
now he is looking forward to getting away by himself to Hut Point,
tired already of our scant measure of civilisation.

He has keen natural powers of observation for all practical facts and
a quite prodigious memory for such things, but a lack of scientific
training causes the acceptance of exaggerated appearances, which
so often present themselves to travellers when unfamiliar objects
are first seen. For instance, when the spoor of some unknown beast
is described as 6 inches across, one shrewdly guesses that a cold
scientific measurement would have reduced this figure by nearly a half;
so it is with mountains, cliffs, waterfalls, &c. With all deduction
on this account the lecture was extraordinarily interesting. Meares
lost his companion and leader, poor Brook, on the expedition which
he described to us. The party started up the Yangtse, travelling from
Shanghai to Hankow and thence to Ichang by steamer--then by house-boat
towed by coolies through wonderful gorges and one dangerous rapid to
Chunking and Chengtu. In those parts the travellers always took the
three principal rooms of the inn they patronised, the cost 150 cash,
something less than fourpence--oranges 20 a penny--the coolies with
100 lb. loads would cover 30 to 40 miles a day--salt is got in bores
sunk with bamboos to nearly a mile in depth; it takes two or three
generations to sink a bore. The lecturer described the Chinese frontier
town Quanchin, its people, its products, chiefly medicinal musk pods
from musk deer. Here also the wonderful ancient damming of the river,
and a temple to the constructor, who wrote, twenty centuries ago,
'dig out your ditches, but keep your banks low.' On we were taken
along mountain trails over high snow-filled passes and across rivers
on bamboo bridges to Wassoo, a timber centre from which great rafts of
lumber are shot down the river, over fearsome rapids, freighted with
Chinamen. 'They generally come through all right,' said the lecturer.

Higher up the river (Min) live the peaceful Ching Ming people,
an ancient aboriginal stock, and beyond these the wild tribes, the
Lolo themselves. They made doubtful friends with a chief preparing
for war. Meares described a feast given to them in a barbaric hall
hung with skins and weapons, the men clad in buckskin dyed red,
and bristling with arms; barbaric dishes, barbaric music. Then the
hunt for new animals; the Chinese Tarkin, the parti-coloured bear,
blue mountain sheep, the golden-haired monkey, and talk of new fruits
and flowers and a host of little-known birds.

More adventures among the wild tribes of the mountains; the white
lamas, the black lamas and phallic worship. Curious prehistoric caves
with ancient terra-cotta figures resembling only others found in
Japan and supplying a curious link. A feudal system running with well
oiled wheels, the happiest of communities. A separation (temporary)
from Brook, who wrote in his diary that tribes were very friendly and
seemed anxious to help him, and was killed on the day following--the
truth hard to gather--the recovery of his body, &c.

As he left the country the Nepaulese ambassador arrives, returning
from Pekin with large escort and bound for Lhassa: the ambassador
half demented: and Meares, who speaks many languages, is begged by
ambassador and escort to accompany the party. He is obliged to miss
this chance of a lifetime.

This is the meagrest outline of the tale which Meares adorned with a
hundred incidental facts--for instance, he told us of the Lolo trade
in green waxfly--the insect is propagated seasonally by thousands of
Chinese who subsist on the sale of the wax produced, but all insects
die between seasons. At the commencement of each season there is a
market to which the wild hill Lolos bring countless tiny bamboo boxes,
each containing a male and female insect, the breeding of which is
their share in the industry.

We are all adventurers here, I suppose, and wild doings in wild
countries appeal to us as nothing else could do. It is good to know
that there remain wild corners of this dreadfully civilised world.

We have had a bright fine day. This morning a balloon was sent up
without thread and with the flag device to which I have alluded. It
went slowly but steadily to the north and so over the Barne Glacier. It
was difficult to follow with glasses frequently clouding with the
breath, but we saw the instrument detached when the slow match burned
out. I'm afraid there is no doubt it fell on the glacier and there
is little hope of recovering it. We have now decided to use a thread
again, but to send the bobbin up with the balloon, so that it unwinds
from that end and there will be no friction where it touches the snow
or rock.

This investigation of upper air conditions is proving a very difficult
matter, but we are not beaten yet.

_Wednesday, August_ 30.--Fine bright day. The thread of the balloon
sent up to-day broke very short off through some fault in the cage
holding the bobbin. By good luck the instrument was found in the
North Bay, and held a record.

This is the fifth record showing a constant inversion of temperature
for a few hundred feet and then a gradual fall, so that the temperature
of the surface is not reached again for 2000 or 3000 feet. The
establishment of this fact repays much of the trouble caused by
the ascents.

_Thursday, August_ 31.--Went round about the Domain and Ramp with
Wilson. We are now pretty well decided as to certain matters that
puzzled us at first. The Ramp is undoubtedly a moraine supported on
the decaying end of the glacier. A great deal of the underlying ice is
exposed, but we had doubts as to whether this ice was not the result
of winter drifting and summer thawing. We have a little difference of
opinion as to whether this morainic material has been brought down in
surface layers or pushed up from the bottom ice layers, as in Alpine
glaciers. There is no doubt that the glacier is retreating with
comparative rapidity, and this leads us to account for the various
ice slabs about the hut as remains of the glacier, but a puzzling
fact confronts this proposition in the discovery of penguin feathers
in the lower strata of ice in both ice caves. The shifting of levels
in the morainic material would account for the drying up of some
lakes and the terrace formations in others, whilst curious trenches
in the ground are obviously due to cracks in the ice beneath. We are
now quite convinced that the queer cones on the Ramp are merely the
result of the weathering of big blocks of agglomerate. As weathering
results they appear unique. We have not yet a satisfactory explanation
of the broad roadway faults that traverse every small eminence in our
immediate region. They must originate from the unequal weathering of
lava flows, but it is difficult to imagine the process. The dip of the
lavas on our Cape corresponds with that of the lavas of Inaccessible
Island, and points to an eruptive centre to the south and not towards
Erebus. Here is food for reflection for the geologists.

The wind blew quite hard from the N.N.W. on Wednesday night, fell
calm in the day, and came from the S.E. with snow as we started to
return from our walk; there was a full blizzard by the time we reached
the hut.



CHAPTER XIV

Preparations: The Spring Journey

_Friday, September_ 1.--A very windy night, dropping to gusts in
morning, preceding beautifully calm, bright day. If September holds
as good as August we shall not have cause of complaint. Meares and
Demetri started for Hut Point just before noon. The dogs were in fine
form. Demetri's team came over the hummocky tide crack at full gallop,
depositing the driver on the snow. Luckily some of us were standing
on the floe. I made a dash at the bow of the sledge as it dashed
past and happily landed on top; Atkinson grasped at the same object,
but fell, and was dragged merrily over the ice. The weight reduced
the pace, and others soon came up and stopped the team. Demetri was
very crestfallen. He is extremely active and it's the first time he's
been unseated.

There is no real reason for Meares' departure yet awhile, but he
chose to go and probably hopes to train the animals better when he
has them by themselves. As things are, this seems like throwing out
the advance guard for the summer campaign.

I have been working very hard at sledging figures with Bowers' able
assistance. The scheme develops itself in the light of these figures,
and I feel that our organisation will not be found wanting, yet there
is an immense amount of detail, and every arrangement has to be more
than usually elastic to admit of extreme possibilities of the full
success or complete failure of the motors.

I think our plan will carry us through without the motors (though
in that case nothing else must fail), and will take full advantage
of such help as the motors may give. Our spring travelling is to
be limited order. E. Evans, Gran, and Forde will go out to find and
re-mark 'Corner Camp.' Meares will then carry out as much fodder as
possible with the dogs. Simpson, Bowers, and I are going to stretch
our legs across to the Western Mountains. There is no choice but to
keep the rest at home to exercise the ponies. It's not going to be a
light task to keep all these frisky little beasts in order, as their
food is increased. To-day the change in masters has taken place:
by the new arrangement


        Wilson takes Nobby
        Cherry-Garrard takes Michael
        Wright takes Chinaman
        Atkinson takes Jehu.


The new comers seem very pleased with their animals, though they are
by no means the pick of the bunch.

_Sunday, September_ 3.--The weather still remains fine, the temperature
down in the minus thirties. All going well and everyone in splendid
spirits. Last night Bowers lectured on Polar clothing. He had worked
the subject up from our Polar library with critical and humorous
ability, and since his recent journey he must be considered as
entitled to an authoritative opinion of his own. The points in our
clothing problems are too technical and too frequently discussed
to need special notice at present, but as a result of a new study
of Arctic precedents it is satisfactory to find it becomes more and
more evident that our equipment is the best that has been devised for
the purpose, always excepting the possible alternative of skins for
spring journeys, an alternative we have no power to adopt. In spite
of this we are making minor improvements all the time.

_Sunday, September_ 10.--A whole week since the last entry in my
diary. I feel very negligent of duty, but my whole time has been
occupied in making detailed plans for the Southern journey. These are
finished at last, I am glad to say; every figure has been checked
by Bowers, who has been an enormous help to me. If the motors are
successful, we shall have no difficulty in getting to the Glacier,
and if they fail, we shall still get there with any ordinary degree of
good fortune. To work three units of four men from that point onwards
requires no small provision, but with the proper provision it should
take a good deal to stop the attainment of our object. I have tried to
take every reasonable possibility of misfortune into consideration,
and to so organise the parties as to be prepared to meet them. I
fear to be too sanguine, yet taking everything into consideration I
feel that our chances ought to be good. The animals are in splendid
form. Day by day the ponies get fitter as their exercise increases,
and the stronger, harder food toughens their muscles. They are
very different animals from those which we took south last year,
and with another month of training I feel there is not one of them
but will make light of the loads we shall ask them to draw. But we
cannot spare any of the ten, and so there must always be anxiety of
the disablement of one or more before their work is done.

E. R. Evans, Forde, and Gran left early on Saturday for Corner Camp. I
hope they will have no difficulty in finding it. Meares and Demetri
came back from Hut Point the same afternoon--the dogs are wonderfully
fit and strong, but Meares reports no seals up in the region, and as he
went to make seal pemmican, there was little object in his staying. I
leave him to come and go as he pleases, merely setting out the work
he has to do in the simplest form. I want him to take fourteen bags
of forage (130 lbs. each) to Corner Camp before the end of October
and to be ready to start for his supporting work soon after the pony
party--a light task for his healthy teams. Of hopeful signs for the
future none are more remarkable than the health and spirit of our
people. It would be impossible to imagine a more vigorous community,
and there does not seem to be a single weak spot in the twelve good
men and true who are chosen for the Southern advance. All are now
experienced sledge travellers, knit together with a bond of friendship
that has never been equalled under such circumstances. Thanks to
these people, and more especially to Bowers and Petty Officer Evans,
there is not a single detail of our equipment which is not arranged
with the utmost care and in accordance with the tests of experience.

It is good to have arrived at a point where one can run over facts
and figures again and again without detecting a flaw or foreseeing
a difficulty.

I do not count on the motors--that is a strong point in our case--but
should they work well our earlier task of reaching the Glacier will
be made quite easy. Apart from such help I am anxious that these
machines should enjoy some measure of success and justify the time,
money, and thought which have been given to their construction. I
am still very confident of the possibility of motor traction, whilst
realising that reliance cannot be placed on it in its present untried
evolutionary state--it is satisfactory to add that my own view is the
most cautious one held in our party. Day is quite convinced he will go
a long way and is prepared to accept much heavier weights than I have
given him. Lashly's opinion is perhaps more doubtful, but on the whole
hopeful. Clissold is to make the fourth man of the motor party. I have
already mentioned his mechanical capabilities. He has had a great deal
of experience with motors, and Day is delighted to have his assistance.

We had two lectures last week--the first from Debenham dealing with
General Geology and having special reference to the structures of
our region. It cleared up a good many points in my mind concerning
the gneissic base rocks, the Beacon sand-stone, and the dolerite
intrusions. I think we shall be in a position to make fairly good
field observations when we reach the southern land.

The scientific people have taken keen interest in making their
lectures interesting, and the custom has grown of illustrating
them with lantern slides made from our own photographs, from books,
or from drawings of the lecturer. The custom adds to the interest
of the subject, but robs the reporter of notes. The second weekly
lecture was given by Ponting. His store of pictures seems unending
and has been an immense source of entertainment to us during the
winter. His lectures appeal to all and are fully attended. This time
we had pictures of the Great Wall and other stupendous monuments of
North China. Ponting always manages to work in detail concerning the
manners and customs of the peoples in the countries of his travels;
on Friday he told us of Chinese farms and industries, of hawking and
other sports, most curious of all, of the pretty amusement of flying
pigeons with aeolian whistling pipes attached to their tail feathers.

Ponting would have been a great asset to our party if only on account
of his lectures, but his value as pictorial recorder of events
becomes daily more apparent. No expedition has ever been illustrated
so extensively, and the only difficulty will be to select from the
countless subjects that have been recorded by his camera--and yet not
a single subject is treated with haste; the first picture is rarely
counted good enough, and in some cases five or six plates are exposed
before our very critical artist is satisfied.

This way of going to work would perhaps be more striking if it were not
common to all our workers here; a very demon of unrest seems to stir
them to effort and there is now not a single man who is not striving
his utmost to get good results in his own particular department.

It is a really satisfactory state of affairs all round. If the
Southern journey comes off, nothing, not even priority at the Pole,
can prevent the Expedition ranking as one of the most important that
ever entered the polar regions.

On Friday Cherry-Garrard produced the second volume of the S.P.T.--on
the whole an improvement on the first. Poor Cherry perspired over
the editorial, and it bears the signs of labour--the letterpress
otherwise is in the lighter strain: Taylor again the most important
contributor, but now at rather too great a length; Nelson has supplied
a very humorous trifle; the illustrations are quite delightful, the
highwater mark of Wilson's ability. The humour is local, of course,
but I've come to the conclusion that there can be no other form of
popular journal.

The weather has not been good of late, but not sufficiently bad to
interfere with exercise, &c.

_Thursday, September_ 14.--Another interregnum. I have been
exceedingly busy finishing up the Southern plans, getting instruction
in photographing, and preparing for our jaunt to the west. I held
forth on the 'Southern Plans' yesterday; everyone was enthusiastic,
and the feeling is general that our arrangements are calculated to
make the best of our resources. Although people have given a good
deal of thought to various branches of the subject, there was not a
suggestion offered for improvement. The scheme seems to have earned
full confidence: it remains to play the game out.

The last lectures of the season have been given. On Monday Nelson
gave us an interesting little resume of biological questions, tracing
the evolutionary development of forms from the simplest single-cell
animals.

To-night Wright tackled 'The Constitution of Matter' with the latest
ideas from the Cavendish Laboratory: it was a tough subject, yet one
carries away ideas of the trend of the work of the great physicists,
of the ends they achieve and the means they employ. Wright is inclined
to explain matter as velocity; Simpson claims to be with J.J. Thomson
in stressing the fact that gravity is not explained.

These lectures have been a real amusement and one would be sorry
enough that they should end, were it not for so good a reason.

I am determined to make some better show of our photographic work
on the Southern trip than has yet been accomplished--with Ponting
as a teacher it should be easy. He is prepared to take any pains
to ensure good results, not only with his own work but with that of
others--showing indeed what a very good chap he is.

To-day I have been trying a colour screen--it is an extraordinary
addition to one's powers.

To-morrow Bowers, Simpson, Petty Officer Evans, and I are off to
the west. I want to have another look at the Ferrar Glacier, to
measure the stakes put out by Wright last year, to bring my sledging
impressions up to date (one loses details of technique very easily),
and finally to see what we can do with our cameras. I haven't decided
how long we shall stay away or precisely where we shall go; such
vague arrangements have an attractive side.

We have had a fine week, but the temperature remains low in the
twenties, and to-day has dropped to -35°. I shouldn't wonder if we
get a cold snap.

_Sunday, October_ 1.--Returned on Thursday from a remarkably
pleasant and instructive little spring journey, after an absence
of thirteen days from September 15. We covered 152 geographical
miles by sledging (175 statute miles) in 10 marching days. It took
us 2 1/2 days to reach Butter Point (28 1/2 miles geog.), carrying a
part of the Western Party stores which brought our load to 180 lbs. a
man. Everything very comfortable; double tent great asset. The 16th:
a most glorious day till 4 P.M., then cold southerly wind. We captured
many frost-bites. Surface only fairly good; a good many heaps of loose
snow which brought sledge up standing. There seems a good deal more
snow this side of the Strait; query, less wind.

Bowers insists on doing all camp work; he is a positive wonder. I
never met such a sledge traveller.

The sastrugi all across the strait have been across, the main S. by
E. and the other E.S.E., but these are a great study here; the hard
snow is striated with long wavy lines crossed with lighter wavy
lines. It gives a sort of herringbone effect.

After depositing this extra load we proceeded up the Ferrar Glacier;
curious low ice foot on left, no tide crack, sea ice very thinly
covered with snow. We are getting delightfully fit. Bowers treasure
all round, Evans much the same. Simpson learning fast. Find the camp
life suits me well except the turning out at night! three times last
night. We were trying nose nips and face guards, marching head to
wind all day.

We reached Cathedral Rocks on the 19th. Here we found the stakes placed
by Wright across the glacier, and spent the remainder of the day and
the whole of the 20th in plotting their position accurately. (Very
cold wind down glacier increasing. In spite of this Bowers wrestled
with theodolite. He is really wonderful. I have never seen anyone
who could go on so long with bare fingers. My own fingers went
every few moments.)We saw that there had been movement and roughly
measured it as about 30 feet. (The old Ferrar Glacier is more lively
than we thought.) After plotting the figures it turns out that the
movement varies from 24 to 32 feet at different stakes--this is 7 1/2
months. This is an extremely important observation, the first made on
the movement of the coastal glaciers; it is more than I expected to
find, but small enough to show that the idea of comparative stagnation
was correct. Bowers and I exposed a number of plates and films in
the glacier which have turned out very well, auguring well for the
management of the camera on the Southern journey.

On the 21st we came down the glacier and camped at the northern
end of the foot. (There appeared to be a storm in the Strait;
cumulus cloud over Erebus and the whalebacks. Very stormy look
over Lister occasionally and drift from peaks; but all smiling in
our Happy Valley. Evidently this is a very favoured spot.) From
thence we jogged up the coast on the following days, dipping into
New Harbour and climbing the moraine, taking angles and collecting
rock specimens. At Cape Bernacchi we found a quantity of pure quartz
_in situ_, and in it veins of copper ore. I got a specimen with two
or three large lumps of copper included. This is the first find of
minerals suggestive of the possibility of working.

The next day we sighted a long, low ice wall, and took it at first
for a long glacier tongue stretching seaward from the land. As we
approached we saw a dark mark on it. Suddenly it dawned on us that
the tongue was detached from the land, and we turned towards it half
recognising familiar features. As we got close we saw similarity to
our old Erebus Glacier Tongue, and finally caught sight of a flag
on it, and suddenly realised that it might be the piece broken off
our old Erebus Glacier Tongue. Sure enough it was; we camped near
the outer end, and climbing on to it soon found the depot of fodder
left by Campbell and the line of stakes planted to guide our ponies
in the autumn. So here firmly anchored was the huge piece broken
from the Glacier Tongue in March, a huge tract about 2 miles long,
which has turned through half a circle, so that the old western end
is now towards the east. Considering the many cracks in the ice mass
it is most astonishing that it should have remained intact throughout
its sea voyage.

At one time it was suggested that the hut should be placed on this
Tongue. What an adventurous voyage the occupants would have had! The
Tongue which was 5 miles south of C. Evans is now 40 miles W.N.W. of
it.

From the Glacier Tongue we still pushed north. We reached Dunlop
Island on the 24th just before the fog descended on us, and got a
view along the stretch of coast to the north which turns at this point.

Dunlop Island has undoubtedly been under the sea. We found regular
terrace beaches with rounded waterworn stones all over it; its height
is 65 feet. After visiting the island it was easy for us to trace the
same terrace formation on the coast; in one place we found waterworn
stones over 100 feet above sea-level. Nearly all these stones are
erratic and, unlike ordinary beach pebbles, the under sides which
lie buried have remained angular.

Unlike the region of the Ferrar Glacier and New Harbour, the coast
to the north of C. Bernacchi runs on in a succession of rounded bays
fringed with low ice walls. At the headlands and in irregular spots
the gneissic base rock and portions of moraines lie exposed, offering
a succession of interesting spots for a visit in search of geological
specimens. Behind this fringe there is a long undulating plateau of
snow rounding down to the coast; behind this again are a succession
of mountain ranges with deep-cut valleys between. As far as we went,
these valleys seem to radiate from the region of the summit reached
at the head of the Ferrar Glacier.

As one approaches the coast, the 'tablecloth' of snow in the foreground
cuts off more and more of the inland peaks, and even at a distance
it is impossible to get a good view of the inland valleys. To explore
these over the ice cap is one of the objects of the Western Party.

So far, I never imagined a spring journey could be so pleasant.

On the afternoon of the 24th we turned back, and covering nearly
eleven miles, camped inside the Glacier Tongue. After noon on the
25th we made a direct course for C. Evans, and in the evening camped
well out in the Sound. Bowers got angles from our lunch camp and I
took a photographic panorama, which is a good deal over exposed.

We only got 2 1/2 miles on the 26th when a heavy blizzard descended
on us. We went on against it, the first time I have ever attempted
to march into a blizzard; it was quite possible, but progress very
slow owing to wind resistance. Decided to camp after we had done
two miles. Quite a job getting up the tent, but we managed to do so,
and get everything inside clear of snow with the help of much sweeping.

With care and extra fuel we have managed to get through the snowy part
of the blizzard with less accumulation of snow than I ever remember,
and so everywhere all round experience is helping us. It continued
to blow hard throughout the 27th, and the 28th proved the most
unpleasant day of the trip. We started facing a very keen, frostbiting
wind. Although this slowly increased in force, we pushed doggedly
on, halting now and again to bring our frozen features round. It
was 2 o'clock before we could find a decent site for a lunch camp
under a pressure ridge. The fatigue of the prolonged march told on
Simpson, whose whole face was frostbitten at one time--it is still
much blistered. It came on to drift as we sat in our tent, and again
we were weather-bound. At 3 the drift ceased, and we marched on,
wind as bad as ever; then I saw an ominous yellow fuzzy appearance
on the southern ridges of Erebus, and knew that another snowstorm
approached. Foolishly hoping it would pass us by I kept on until
Inaccessible Island was suddenly blotted out. Then we rushed for a
camp site, but the blizzard was on us. In the driving snow we found
it impossible to set up the inner tent, and were obliged to unbend
it. It was a long job getting the outer tent set, but thanks to Evans
and Bowers it was done at last. We had to risk frostbitten fingers and
hang on to the tent with all our energy: got it secured inch by inch,
and not such a bad speed all things considered. We had some cocoa and
waited. At 9 P.M. the snow drift again took off, and we were now so
snowed up, we decided to push on in spite of the wind.

We arrived in at 1.15 A.M., pretty well done. The wind never let
up for an instant; the temperature remained about -16°, and the 21
statute miles which we marched in the day must be remembered amongst
the most strenuous in my memory.

Except for the last few days, we enjoyed a degree of comfort which I
had not imagined impossible on a spring journey. The temperature was
not particularly high, at the mouth of the Ferrar it was -40°, and it
varied between -15° and -40° throughout. Of course this is much higher
than it would be on the Barrier, but it does not in itself promise much
comfort. The amelioration of such conditions we owe to experience. We
used one-third more than the summer allowance of fuel. This, with our
double tent, allowed a cosy hour after breakfast and supper in which
we could dry our socks, &c., and put them on in comfort. We shifted
our footgear immediately after the camp was pitched, and by this
means kept our feet glowingly warm throughout the night. Nearly all
the time we carried our sleeping-bags open on the sledges. Although
the sun does not appear to have much effect, I believe this device
is of great benefit even in the coldest weather--certainly by this
means our bags were kept much freer of moisture than they would have
been had they been rolled up in the daytime. The inner tent gets a
good deal of ice on it, and I don't see any easy way to prevent this.

The journey enables me to advise the Geological Party on their best
route to Granite Harbour: this is along the shore, where for the main
part the protection of a chain of grounded bergs has preserved the
ice from all pressure. Outside these, and occasionally reaching to
the headlands, there is a good deal of pressed up ice of this season,
together with the latest of the old broken pack. Travelling through
this is difficult, as we found on our return journey. Beyond this
belt we passed through irregular patches where the ice, freezing at
later intervals in the season, has been much screwed. The whole shows
the general tendency of the ice to pack along the coast.

The objects of our little journey were satisfactorily accomplished,
but the greatest source of pleasure to me is to realise that I have
such men as Bowers and P.O. Evans for the Southern journey. I do
not think that harder men or better sledge travellers ever took the
trail. Bowers is a little wonder. I realised all that he must have
done for the C. Crozier Party in their far severer experience.

In spite of the late hour of our return everyone was soon afoot, and
I learned the news at once. E.R. Evans, Gran, and Forde had returned
from the Corner Camp journey the day after we left. They were away six
nights, four spent on the Barrier under very severe conditions--the
minimum for one night registered -73°.

I am glad to find that Corner Camp showed up well; in fact, in more
than one place remains of last year's pony walls were seen. This
removes all anxiety as to the chance of finding the One Ton Camp.

On this journey Forde got his hand badly frostbitten. I am annoyed
at this, as it argues want of care; moreover there is a good chance
that the tip of one of the fingers will be lost, and if this happens
or if the hand is slow in recovery, Forde cannot take part in the
Western Party. I have no one to replace him.

E.R. Evans looks remarkably well, as also Gran.

The ponies look very well and all are reported to be very buckish.

_Wednesday, October_ 3.--We have had a very bad weather spell. Friday,
the day after we returned, was gloriously fine--it might have been
a December day, and an inexperienced visitor might have wondered why
on earth we had not started to the South, Saturday supplied a reason;
the wind blew cold and cheerless; on Sunday it grew worse, with very
thick snow, which continued to fall and drift throughout the whole
of Monday. The hut is more drifted up than it has ever been, huge
piles of snow behind every heap of boxes, &c., all our paths a foot
higher; yet in spite of this the rocks are rather freer of snow. This
is due to melting, which is now quite considerable. Wilson tells me
the first signs of thaw were seen on the 17th.

Yesterday the weather gradually improved, and to-day has been fine and
warm again. One fine day in eight is the record immediately previous
to this morning.

E.R. Evans, Debenham, and Gran set off to the Turk's Head on Friday
morning, Evans to take angles and Debenham to geologise; they have been
in their tent pretty well all the time since, but have managed to get
through some work. Gran returned last night for more provisions and set
off again this morning, Taylor going with him for the day. Debenham has
just returned for food. He is immensely pleased at having discovered a
huge slicken-sided fault in the lavas of the Turk's Head. This appears
to be an unusual occurrence in volcanic rocks, and argues that they
are of  considerable age. He has taken a heap of photographs and is
greatly pleased with all his geological observations. He is building
up much evidence to show volcanic disturbance independent of Erebus
and perhaps prior to its first upheaval.

Meares has been at Hut Point for more than a week; seals seem to be
plentiful there now. Demetri was back with letters on Friday and left
on Sunday. He is an excellent boy, full of intelligence.

Ponting has been doing some wonderfully fine cinematograph work. My
incursion into photography has brought me in close touch with him
and I realise what a very good fellow he is; no pains are too great
for him to take to help and instruct others, whilst his enthusiasm
for his own work is unlimited.

His results are wonderfully good, and if he is able to carry out the
whole of his programme, we shall have a cinematograph and photographic
record which will be absolutely new in expeditionary work.

A very serious bit of news to-day. Atkinson says that Jehu is still too
weak to pull a load. The pony was bad on the ship and almost died after
swimming ashore from the ship--he was one of the ponies returned by
Campbell. He has been improving the whole of the winter and Oates has
been surprised at the apparent recovery; he looks well and feeds well,
though a very weedily built animal compared with the others. I had
not expected him to last long, but it will be a bad blow if he fails
at the start. I'm afraid there is much pony trouble in store for us.

Oates is having great trouble with Christopher, who didn't at all
appreciate being harnessed on Sunday, and again to-day he broke away
and galloped off over the floe.

On such occasions Oates trudges manfully after him, rounds him up to
within a few hundred yards of the stable and approaches cautiously;
the animal looks at him for a minute or two and canters off over the
floe again. When Christopher and indeed both of them have had enough
of the game, the pony calmly stops at the stable door. If not too
late he is then put into the sledge, but this can only be done by
tying up one of his forelegs; when harnessed and after he has hopped
along on three legs for a few paces, he is again allowed to use the
fourth. He is going to be a trial, but he is a good strong pony and
should do yeoman service.

Day is increasingly hopeful about the motors. He is an ingenious person
and has been turning up new rollers out of a baulk of oak supplied by
Meares, and with Simpson's small motor as a lathe. The motors _may_
save the situation. I have been busy drawing up instructions and
making arrangements for the ship, shore station, and sledge parties
in the coming season. There is still much work to be done and much,
far too much, writing before me.

Time simply flies and the sun steadily climbs the heavens. Breakfast,
lunch, and supper are now all enjoyed by sunlight, whilst the night
is no longer dark.


Notes at End of Volume

'When they after their headstrong manner, conclude that it is
their duty to rush on their journey all weathers; ... '--'Pilgrim's
Progress.'


    'Has any grasped the low grey mist which stands
    Ghostlike at eve above the sheeted lands.'

A bad attack of integrity!!


    'Who is man and what his place,
    Anxious asks the heart perplext,
    In the recklessness of space,
    Worlds with worlds thus intermixt,
    What has he, this atom creature,
    In the infinitude of nature?'

                            F.T. PALGRAVE.

It is a good lesson--though it may be a hard one--for a man who
had dreamed of a special (literary) fame and of making for himself
a rank among the world's dignitaries by such means, to slip aside
out of the narrow circle in which his claims are recognised, and to
find how utterly devoid of significance beyond that circle is all he
achieves and all he aims at.

He might fail from want of skill or strength, but deep in his sombre
soul he vowed that it should never be from want of heart.

'Every durable bond between human beings is founded in or heightened
by some element of competition.'--R.L. STEVENSON.

'All natural talk is a festival of ostentation.'--R.L. STEVENSON.

'No human being ever spoke of scenery for two minutes together,
which makes me suspect we have too much of it in literature. The
weather is regarded as the very nadir and scoff of conversational
topics.'--R.L. STEVENSON.



CHAPTER XV

The Last Weeks at Cape Evans

_Friday, October_ 6.--With the rise of temperature there has been
a slight thaw in the hut; the drips come down the walls and one has
found my diary, as its pages show. The drips are already decreasing,
and if they represent the whole accumulation of winter moisture it
is extraordinarily little, and speaks highly for the design of the
hut. There cannot be very much more or the stains would be more
significant.

Yesterday I had a good look at Jehu and became convinced that he
is useless; he is much too weak to pull a load, and three weeks
can make no difference. It is necessary to face the facts and I've
decided to leave him behind--we must do with nine ponies. Chinaman is
rather a doubtful quantity and James Pigg is not a tower of strength,
but the other seven are in fine form and must bear the brunt of the
work somehow.

If we suffer more loss we shall depend on the motor, and
then! ... well, one must face the bad as well as the good.

It is some comfort to know that six of the animals at least are in
splendid condition--Victor, Snippets, Christopher, Nobby, Bones are
as fit as ponies could well be and are naturally strong, well-shaped
beasts, whilst little Michael, though not so shapely, is as strong
as he will ever be.

To-day Wilson, Oates, Cherry-Garrard, and Crean have gone to Hut
Point with their ponies, Oates getting off with Christopher after
some difficulty. At 5 o'clock the Hut Point telephone bell suddenly
rang (the line was laid by Meares some time ago, but hitherto there
has been no communication). In a minute or two we heard a voice, and
behold! communication was established. I had quite a talk with Meares
and afterwards with Oates. Not a very wonderful fact, perhaps, but it
seems wonderful in this primitive land to be talking to one's fellow
beings 15 miles away. Oates told me that the ponies had arrived in
fine order, Christopher a little done, but carrying the heaviest load.

If we can keep the telephone going it will be a great boon, especially
to Meares later in the season.

The weather is extraordinarily unsettled; the last two days have been
fairly fine, but every now and again we get a burst of wind with drift,
and to-night it is overcast and very gloomy in appearance.

The photography craze is in full swing. Ponting's mastery is ever
more impressive, and his pupils improve day by day; nearly all of
us have produced good negatives. Debenham and Wright are the most
promising, but Taylor, Bowers and I are also getting the hang of the
tricky exposures.

_Saturday, October_ 7.--As though to contradict the suggestion
of incompetence, friend 'Jehu' pulled with a will this morning--he
covered 3 1/2 miles without a stop, the surface being much worse than
it was two days ago. He was not at all distressed when he stopped. If
he goes on like this he comes into practical politics again, and
I am arranging to give 10-feet sledges to him and Chinaman instead
of 12-feet. Probably they will not do much, but if they go on as at
present we shall get something out of them.

Long and cheerful conversations with Hut Point and of course an
opportunity for the exchange of witticisms. We are told it was blowing
and drifting at Hut Point last night, whereas here it was calm and
snowing; the wind only reached us this afternoon.

_Sunday, October_ 8.--A very beautiful day. Everyone out and about
after Service, all ponies going well. Went to Pressure Ridge with
Ponting and took a number of photographs.

So far good, but the afternoon has brought much worry. About five
a telephone message from Nelson's igloo reported that Clissold had
fallen from a berg and hurt his back. Bowers organised a sledge
party in three minutes, and fortunately Atkinson was on the spot and
able to join it. I posted out over the land and found Ponting much
distressed and Clissold practically insensible. At this moment the
Hut Point ponies were approaching and I ran over to intercept one
in case of necessity. But the man# party was on the spot first, and
after putting the patient in a sleeping-bag, quickly brought him home
to the hut. It appears that Clissold was acting as Ponting's 'model'
and that the two had been climbing about the berg to get pictures. As
far as I can make out Ponting did his best to keep Clissold in safety
by lending him his crampons and ice axe, but the latter seems to have
missed his footing after one of his 'poses'; he slid over a rounded
surface of ice for some 12 feet, then dropped 6 feet on to a sharp
angle in the wall of the berg.

He must have struck his back and head; the latter is contused and he
is certainly suffering from slight concussion. He complained of his
back before he grew unconscious and groaned a good deal when moved in
the hut. He came to about an hour after getting to the hut, and was
evidently in a good deal of pain; neither Atkinson nor Wilson thinks
there is anything very serious, but he has not yet been properly
examined and has had a fearful shock at the least. I still feel very
anxious. To-night Atkinson has injected morphia and will watch by
his patient.

Troubles rarely come singly, and it occurred to me after Clissold had
been brought in that Taylor, who had been bicycling to the Turk's Head,
was overdue. We were relieved to hear that with glasses two figures
could be seen approaching in South Bay, but at supper Wright appeared
very hot and said that Taylor was exhausted in South Bay--he wanted
brandy and hot drink. I thought it best to despatch another relief
party, but before they were well round the point Taylor was seen
coming over the land. He was fearfully done. He must have pressed on
towards his objective long after his reason should have warned him
that it was time to turn; with this and a good deal of anxiety about
Clissold, the day terminates very unpleasantly.

_Tuesday, October_ 10.--Still anxious about Clissold. He has passed
two fairly good nights but is barely able to move. He is unnaturally
irritable, but I am told this is a symptom of concussion. This morning
he asked for food, which is a good sign, and he was anxious to know
if his sledging gear was being got ready. In order not to disappoint
him he was assured that all would be ready, but there is scarce a
slender chance that he can fill his place in the programme.

Meares came from Hut Point yesterday at the front end of a
blizzard. Half an hour after his arrival it was as thick as a hedge. He
reports another loss--Deek, one of the best pulling dogs, developed
the same symptoms which have so unaccountably robbed us before, spent
a night in pain, and died in the morning. Wilson thinks the cause is a
worm which gets into the blood and thence to the brain. It is trying,
but I am past despondency. Things must take their course.

Forde's fingers improve, but not very rapidly; it is hard to have
two sick men after all the care which has been taken.

The weather is very poor--I had hoped for better things this month. So
far we have had more days with wind and drift than without. It
interferes badly with the ponies' exercise.

_Friday, October_ 13.--The past three days have seen a marked
improvement in both our invalids. Clissold's inside has been got into
working order after a good deal of difficulty; he improves rapidly
in spirits as well as towards immunity from pain. The fiction of
his preparation to join the motor sledge party is still kept up, but
Atkinson says there is not the smallest chance of his being ready. I
shall have to be satisfied if he practically recovers by the time we
leave with the ponies.

Forde's hand took a turn for the better two days ago and he maintains
this progress. Atkinson thinks he will be ready to start in ten days'
time, but the hand must be carefully nursed till the weather becomes
really summery.

The weather has continued bad till to-day, which has been perfectly
beautiful. A fine warm sun all day--so warm that one could sit about
outside in the afternoon, and photographic work was a real pleasure.

The ponies have been behaving well, with exceptions. Victor is now
quite easy to manage, thanks to Bowers' patience. Chinaman goes along
very steadily and is not going to be the crock we expected. He has
a slow pace which may be troublesome, but when the weather is fine
that won't matter if he can get along steadily.

The most troublesome animal is Christopher. He is only a source of
amusement as long as there is no accident, but I am always a little
anxious that he will kick or bite someone. The curious thing is that
he is quiet enough to handle for walking or riding exercise or in the
stable, but as soon as a sledge comes into the programme he is seized
with a very demon of viciousness, and bites and kicks with every intent
to do injury. It seems to be getting harder rather than easier to get
him into the traces; the last two turns, he has had to be thrown,
as he is unmanageable even on three legs. Oates, Bowers, and Anton
gather round the beast and lash up one foreleg, then with his head
held on both sides Oates gathers back the traces; quick as lightning
the little beast flashes round with heels flying aloft. This goes on
till some degree of exhaustion gives the men a better chance. But,
as I have mentioned, during the last two days the period has been so
prolonged that Oates has had to hasten matters by tying a short line
to the other foreleg and throwing the beast when he lashes out. Even
when on his knees he continues to struggle, and one of those nimble
hind legs may fly out at any time. Once in the sledge and started on
three legs all is well and the fourth leg can be released. At least,
all has been well until to-day, when quite a comedy was enacted. He
was going along quietly with Oates when a dog frightened him: he
flung up his head, twitched the rope out of Oates' hands and dashed
away. It was not a question of blind fright, as immediately after
gaining freedom he set about most systematically to get rid of his
load. At first he gave sudden twists, and in this manner succeeded
in dislodging two bales of hay; then he caught sight of other sledges
and dashed for them. They could scarcely get out of his way in time;
the fell intention was evident all through, to dash his load against
some other pony and sledge and so free himself of it. He ran for Bowers
two or three times with this design, then made for Keohane, never going
off far and dashing inward with teeth bared and heels flying all over
the place. By this time people were gathering round, and first one and
then another succeeded in clambering on to the sledge as it flew by,
till Oates, Bowers, Nelson, and Atkinson were all sitting on it. He
tried to rid himself of this human burden as he had of the hay bales,
and succeeded in dislodging Atkinson with violence, but the remainder
dug their heels into the snow and finally the little brute was tired
out. Even then he tried to savage anyone approaching his leading line,
and it was some time before Oates could get hold of it. Such is the
tale of Christopher. I am exceedingly glad there are not other ponies
like him. These capers promise trouble, but I think a little soft
snow on the Barrier may effectually cure them.

E.R. Evans and Gran return to-night. We received notice of their
departure from Hut Point through the telephone, which also informed
us that Meares had departed for his first trip to Corner Camp. Evans
says he carried eight bags of forage and that the dogs went away at
a great pace.

In spite of the weather Evans has managed to complete his survey
to Hut Point. He has evidently been very careful with it and has
therefore done a very useful bit of work.

_Sunday, October_ 15.--Both of our invalids progress
favourably. Clissold has had two good nights without the aid of drugs
and has recovered his good spirits; pains have departed from his back.

The weather is very decidedly warmer and for the past three days
has been fine. The thermometer stands but a degree or two below zero
and the air feels delightfully mild. Everything of importance is now
ready for our start and the ponies improve daily.

Clissold's work of cooking has fallen on Hooper and Lashly, and it
is satisfactory to find that the various dishes and bread bakings
maintain their excellence. It is splendid to have people who refuse
to recognise difficulties.

_Tuesday, October_ 17.--Things not going very well; with ponies
all pretty well. Animals are improving in form rapidly, even Jehu,
though I have ceased to count on that animal. To-night the motors
were to be taken on to the floe. The drifts make the road very
uneven, and the first and best motor overrode its chain; the chain
was replaced and the machine proceeded, but just short of the floe
was thrust to a steep inclination by a ridge, and the chain again
overrode the sprockets; this time by ill fortune Day slipped at the
critical moment and without intention jammed the throttle full on. The
engine brought up, but there was an ominous trickle of oil under the
back axle, and investigation showed that the axle casing (aluminium)
had split. The casing has been stripped and brought into the hut;
we may be able to do something to it, but time presses. It all goes
to show that we want more experience and workshops.

I am secretly convinced that we shall not get much help from the
motors, yet nothing has ever happened to them that was unavoidable. A
little more care and foresight would make them splendid allies. The
trouble is that if they fail, no one will ever believe this.

Meares got back from Corner Camp at 8 A.M. Sunday morning--he got
through on the telephone to report in the afternoon. He must have
made the pace, which is promising for the dogs. Sixty geographical
miles in two days and a night is good going--about as good as can be.

I have had to tell Clissold that he cannot go out with the Motor Party,
to his great disappointment. He improves very steadily, however, and
I trust will be fit before we leave with the ponies. Hooper replaces
him with the motors. I am kept very busy writing and preparing details.

We have had two days of northerly wind, a very unusual occurrence;
yesterday it was blowing S.E., force 8, temp. -16°, whilst here
the wind was north, force 4, temp. -6°. This continued for some
hours--a curious meteorological combination. We are pretty certain
of a southerly blizzard to follow, I should think.

_Wednesday, October_ 18.--The southerly blizzard has burst on us. The
air is thick with snow.

A close investigation of the motor axle case shows that repair is
possible. It looks as though a good strong job could be made of
it. Yesterday Taylor and Debenham went to Cape Royds with the object
of staying a night or two.

_Sunday, October_ 22.--The motor axle case was completed by Thursday
morning, and, as far as one can see, Day made a very excellent job
of it. Since that the Motor Party has been steadily preparing for
its departure. To-day everything is ready. The loads are ranged on
the sea ice, the motors are having a trial run, and, all remaining
well with the weather, the party will get away to-morrow.

Meares and Demetri came down on Thursday through the last of the
blizzard. At one time they were running without sight of the leading
dogs--they did not see Tent Island at all, but burst into sunshine
and comparative calm a mile from the station. Another of the best of
the dogs, 'Czigane,' was smitten with the unaccountable sickness;
he was given laxative medicine and appears to be a little better,
but we are still anxious. If he really has the disease, whatever it
may be, the rally is probably only temporary and the end will be swift.

The teams left on Friday afternoon, Czigane included; to-day Meares
telephones that he is setting out for his second journey to Corner
Camp without him. On the whole the weather continues wretchedly bad;
the ponies could not be exercised either on Thursday or Friday; they
were very fresh yesterday and to-day in consequence. When unexercised,
their allowance of oats has to be cut down. This is annoying, as
just at present they ought to be doing a moderate amount of work and
getting into condition on full rations.

The temperature is up to zero about; this probably means about -20°
on the Barrier. I wonder how the motors will face the drop if and when
they encounter it. Day and Lashly are both hopeful of the machines,
and they really ought to do something after all the trouble that has
been taken.

The wretched state of the weather has prevented the transport of
emergency stores to Hut Point. These stores are for the returning
depots and to provision the _Discovery_ hut in case the _Terra Nova_
does not arrive. The most important stores have been taken to the
Glacier Tongue by the ponies to-day.

In the transport department, in spite of all the care I have taken to
make the details of my plan clear by lucid explanation, I find that
Bowers is the only man on whom I can thoroughly rely to carry out the
work without mistake, with its arrays of figures. For the practical
consistent work of pony training Oates is especially capable, and
his heart is very much in the business.

'_October,_ 1911.--I don't know what to think of Amundsen's chances. If
he gets to the Pole, it must be before we do, as he is bound to travel
fast with dogs and pretty certain to start early. On this account
I decided at a very early date to act exactly as I should have done
had he not existed. Any attempt to race must have wrecked my plan,
besides which it doesn't appear the sort of thing one is out for.

'Possibly you will have heard something before this reaches
you. Oh! and there are all sorts of possibilities. In any case you can
rely on my not doing or saying anything foolish--only I'm afraid you
must be prepared for the chance of finding our venture much belittled.

'After all, it is the work that counts, not the applause that follows.

'Words must always fail me when I talk of Bill Wilson. I believe he
really is the finest character I ever met--the closer one gets to him
the more there is to admire. Every quality is so solid and dependable;
cannot you imagine how that counts down here? Whatever the matter,
one knows Bill will be sound, shrewdly practical, intensely loyal
and quite unselfish. Add to this a wider knowledge of persons and
things than is at first guessable, a quiet vein of humour and really
consummate tact, and you have some idea of his values. I think he is
the most popular member of the party, and that is saying much.

'Bowers is all and more than I ever expected of him. He is a positive
treasure, absolutely trustworthy and prodigiously energetic. He
is about the hardest man amongst us, and that is saying a good
deal--nothing seems to hurt his tough little body and certainly
no hardship daunts his spirit. I shall have a hundred little
tales to tell you of his indefatigable zeal, his unselfishness,
and his inextinguishable good humour. He surprises always, for his
intelligence is of quite a high order and his memory for details most
exceptional. You can imagine him, as he is, an indispensable assistant
to me in every detail concerning the management and organisation of
our sledging work and a delightful companion on the march.

'One of the greatest successes is Wright. He is very thorough and
absolutely ready for anything. Like Bowers he has taken to sledging
like a duck to water, and although he hasn't had such severe testing,
I believe he would stand it pretty nearly as well. Nothing ever seems
to worry him, and I can't imagine he ever complained of anything in
his life.

'I don't think I will give such long descriptions of the others,
though most of them deserve equally high praise. Taken all round
they are a perfectly excellent lot.'

The Soldier is very popular with all--a delightfully humorous cheery
old pessimist--striving with the ponies night and day and bringing
woeful accounts of their small ailments into the hut.

X.... has a positive passion for helping others--it is extraordinary
what pains he will take to do a kind thing unobtrusively.

'One sees the need of having one's heart in one's work. Results can
only be got down here by a man desperately eager to get them.

'Y.... works hard at his own work, taking extraordinary pains with it,
but with an astonishing lack of initiative he makes not the smallest
effort to grasp the work of others; it is a sort of character which
plants itself in a corner and will stop there.

'The men are equally fine. Edgar Evans has proved a useful member
of our party; he looks after our sledges and sledge equipment with
a care of management and a fertility of resource which is truly
astonishing--on 'trek' he is just as sound and hard as ever and has
an inexhaustible store of anecdote.

'Crean is perfectly happy, ready to do anything and go anywhere, the
harder the work, the better. Evans and Crean are great friends. Lashly
is his old self in every respect, hard working to the limit, quiet,
abstemious, and determined. You see altogether I have a good set of
people with me, and it will go hard if we don't achieve something.

'The study of individual character is a pleasant pastime in such
a mixed community of thoroughly nice people, and the study of
relationships and interactions is fascinating--men of the most
diverse upbringings and experience are really pals with one another,
and the subjects which would be delicate ground of discussion between
acquaintances are just those which are most freely used for jests. For
instance the Soldier is never tired of girding at Australia, its
people and institutions, and the Australians retaliate by attacking
the hide-bound prejudices of the British army. I have never seen a
temper lost in these discussions. So as I sit here I am very satisfied
with these things. I think that it would have been difficult to
better the organisation of the party--every man has his work and is
especially adapted for it; there is no gap and no overlap--it is all
that I desired, and the same might be said of the men selected to do
the work.'

It promised to be very fine to-day, but the wind has already sprung
up and clouds are gathering again. There was a very beautiful curved
'banner' cloud south of Erebus this morning, perhaps a warning of
what is to come.

Another accident! At one o'clock 'Snatcher,' one of the three ponies
laying the depot, arrived with single trace and dangling sledge in a
welter of sweat. Forty minutes after P.O. Evans, his driver, came in
almost as hot; simultaneously Wilson arrived with Nobby and a tale of
events not complete. He said that after the loads were removed Bowers
had been holding the three ponies, who appeared to be quiet; suddenly
one had tossed his head and all three had stampeded--Snatcher making
for home, Nobby for the Western Mountains, Victor, with Bowers still
hanging to him, in an indefinite direction. Running for two miles,
he eventually rounded up Nobby west of Tent Island and brought him
in._20_ Half an hour after Wilson's return, Bowers came in with Victor
distressed, bleeding at the nose, from which a considerable fragment
hung semi-detached. Bowers himself was covered with blood and supplied
the missing link--the cause of the incident. It appears that the
ponies were fairly quiet when Victor tossed his head and caught his
nostril in the trace hook on the hame of Snatcher's harness. The hook
tore skin and flesh and of course the animal got out of hand. Bowers
hung to him, but couldn't possibly keep hold of the other two as
well. Victor had bled a good deal, and the blood congealing on the
detached skin not only gave the wound a dismal appearance but greatly
increased its irritation. I don't know how Bowers managed to hang
on to the frightened animal; I don't believe anyone else would have
done so. On the way back the dangling weight on the poor creature's
nose would get on the swing and make him increasingly restive; it
was necessary to stop him repeatedly. Since his return the piece of
skin has been snipped off and proves the wound not so serious as
it looked. The animal is still trembling, but quite on his feed,
which is a good sign. I don't know why our Sundays should always
bring these excitements.

Two lessons arise. Firstly, however quiet the animals appear, they
must not be left by their drivers; no chance must be taken; secondly,
the hooks on the hames of the harness must be altered in shape.

I suppose such incidents as this were to be expected, one cannot have
ponies very fresh and vigorous and expect them to behave like lambs,
but I shall be glad when we are off and can know more definitely what
resources we can count on.

Another trying incident has occurred. We have avoided football this
season especially to keep clear of accidents, but on Friday afternoon
a match was got up for the cinematograph and Debenham developed a
football knee (an old hurt, I have since learnt, or he should not
have played). Wilson thinks it will be a week before he is fit to
travel, so here we have the Western Party on our hands and wasting
the precious hours for that period. The only single compensation
is that it gives Forde's hand a better chance. If this waiting were
to continue it looks as though we should become a regular party of
'crocks.' Clissold was out of the hut for the first time to-day;
he is better but still suffers in his back.


The Start of the Motor Sledges

_Tuesday, October_ 24.--Two fine days for a wonder. Yesterday the
motors seemed ready to start and we all went out on the floe to give
them a 'send off.' But the inevitable little defects cropped up,
and the machines only got as far as the Cape. A change made by Day
in the exhaust arrangements had neglected the heating jackets of the
carburetters; one float valve was bent and one clutch troublesome. Day
and Lashly spent the afternoon making good these defects in a
satisfactory manner.

This morning the engines were set going again, and shortly after 10
A.M. a fresh start was made. At first there were a good many stops,
but on the whole the engines seemed to be improving all the time. They
are not by any means working up to full power yet, and so the pace
is very slow. The weights seem to me a good deal heavier than we
bargained for. Day sets his motor going, climbs off the car, and walks
alongside with an occasional finger on the throttle. Lashly hasn't
yet quite got hold of the nice adjustments of his control levers,
but I hope will have done so after a day's practice.

The only alarming incident was the slipping of the chains when Day
tried to start on some ice very thinly covered with snow. The starting
effort on such heavily laden sledges is very heavy, but I thought
the grip of the pattens and studs would have been good enough on any
surface. Looking at the place afterwards I found that the studs had
grooved the ice.

Now as I write at 12.30 the machines are about a mile out in the
South Bay; both can be seen still under weigh, progressing steadily
if slowly.

I find myself immensely eager that these tractors should succeed,
even though they may not be of great help to our southern advance. A
small measure of success will be enough to show their possibilities,
their ability to revolutionise Polar transport. Seeing the machines at
work to-day, and remembering that every defect so far shown is purely
mechanical, it is impossible not to be convinced of their value. But
the trifling mechanical defects and lack of experience show the risk
of cutting out trials. A season of experiment with a small workshop
at hand may be all that stands between success and failure.

At any rate before we start we shall certainly know if the worst has
happened, or if some measure of success attends this unique effort.

The ponies are in fine form. Victor, practically recovered from his
wound, has been rushing round with a sledge at a great rate. Even Jehu
has been buckish, kicking up his heels and gambolling awkwardly. The
invalids progress, Clissold a little alarmed about his back, but
without cause.

Atkinson and Keohane have turned cooks, and do the job splendidly.

This morning Meares announced his return from Corner Camp, so that all
stores are now out there. The run occupied the same time as the first,
when the routine was: first day 17 miles out; second day 13 out, and 13
home; early third day run in. If only one could trust the dogs to keep
going like this it would be splendid. On the whole things look hopeful.

1 P.M. motors reported off Razor Back Island, nearly 3 miles out--come,
come!

_Thursday, October_ 26.--Couldn't see the motors yesterday till I
walked well out on the South Bay, when I discovered them with glasses
off the Glacier Tongue. There had been a strong wind in the forenoon,
but it seemed to me they ought to have got further--annoyingly
the telephone gave no news from Hut Point, evidently something was
wrong. After dinner Simpson and Gran started for Hut Point.

This morning Simpson has just rung up. He says the motors are in
difficulties with the surface. The trouble is just that which I
noted as alarming on Monday--the chains slip on the very light snow
covering of hard ice. The engines are working well, and all goes well
when the machines get on to snow.

I have organised a party of eight men including myself, and we are
just off to see what can be done to help.

_Friday, October_ 27.--We were away by 10.30 yesterday. Walked to the
Glacier Tongue with gloomy forebodings; but for one gust a beautifully
bright inspiriting day. Seals were about and were frequently mistaken
for the motors. As we approached the Glacier Tongue, however, and
became more alive to such mistakes, we realised that the motors were
not in sight. At first I thought they must have sought better surface
on the other side of the Tongue, but this theory was soon demolished
and we were puzzled to know what had happened. At length walking
onward they were descried far away over the floe towards Hut Point;
soon after we saw good firm tracks over a snow surface, a pleasant
change from the double tracks and slipper places we had seen on the
bare ice. Our spirits went up at once, for it was not only evident
that the machines were going, but that they were negotiating a very
rough surface without difficulty. We marched on and overtook them
about 2 1/2 miles from Hut Point, passing Simpson and Gran returning
to Cape Evans. From the motors we learnt that things were going
pretty well. The engines were working well when once in tune, but
the cylinders, especially the two after ones, tended to get too hot,
whilst the fan or wind playing on the carburetter tended to make it
too cold. The trouble was to get a balance between the two, and this
is effected by starting up the engines, then stopping and covering
them and allowing the heat to spread by conductivity--of course,
a rather clumsy device. We camped ahead of the motors as they camped
for lunch. Directly after, Lashly brought his machine along on low
gear and without difficulty ran it on to Cape Armitage. Meanwhile
Day was having trouble with some bad surface; we had offered help and
been refused, and with Evans alone his difficulties grew, whilst the
wind sprang up and the snow started to drift. We had walked into the
hut and found Meares, but now we all came out again. I sent for Lashly
and Hooper and went back to help Day along. We had exasperating delays
and false starts for an hour and then suddenly the machine tuned up,
and off she went faster than one could walk, reaching Cape Armitage
without further hitch. It was blizzing by this time; the snow flew
by. We all went back to the hut; Meares and Demetri have been busy,
the hut is tidy and comfortable and a splendid brick fireplace had
just been built with a brand new stove-pipe leading from it directly
upward through the roof. This is really a most creditable bit of
work. Instead of the ramshackle temporary structures of last season
we have now a solid permanent fireplace which should last for many
a year. We spent a most comfortable night.

This morning we were away over the floe about 9 A.M. I was anxious to
see how the motors started up and agreeably surprised to find that
neither driver took more than 20 to 30 minutes to get his machine
going, in spite of the difficulties of working a blow lamp in a keen
cold wind.

Lashly got away very soon, made a short run of about 1/2 mile,
and then after a short halt to cool, a long non-stop for quite 3
miles. The Barrier, five geographical miles from Cape Armitage, now
looked very close, but Lashly had overdone matters a bit, run out of
lubricant and got his engine too hot. The next run yielded a little
over a mile, and he was forced to stop within a few hundred yards of
the snow slope leading to the Barrier and wait for more lubricant,
as well as for the heat balance in his engine to be restored.

This motor was going on second gear, and this gives a nice easy
walking speed, 2 1/2 to 3 miles an hour; it would be a splendid rate
of progress if it was not necessary to halt for cooling. This is the
old motor which was used in Norway; the other machine has modified
gears. [30]

Meanwhile Day had had the usual balancing trouble and had dropped to
a speck, but towards the end of our second run it was evident he had
overcome these and was coming along at a fine speed. One soon saw that
the men beside the sledges were running. To make a long story short,
he stopped to hand over lubricating oil, started at a gallop again,
and dashed up the slope without a hitch on his top speed--the first
man to run a motor on the Great Barrier! There was great cheering
from all assembled, but the motor party was not wasting time on
jubilation. On dashed the motor, and it and the running men beside
it soon grew small in the distance. We went back to help Lashly,
who had restarted his engine. If not so dashingly, on account of his
slower speed, he also now took the slope without hitch and got a last
handshake as he clattered forward. His engine was not working so well
as the other, but I think mainly owing to the first overheating and
a want of adjustment resulting therefrom.

Thus the motors left us, travelling on the best surface they have yet
encountered--hard windswept snow without sastrugi--a surface which
Meares reports to extend to Corner Camp at least.

Providing there is no serious accident, the engine troubles will
gradually be got over; of that I feel pretty confident. Every day
will see improvement as it has done to date, every day the men will
get greater confidence with larger experience of the machines and the
conditions. But it is not easy to foretell the extent of the result of
older and earlier troubles with the rollers. The new rollers turned
up by Day are already splitting, and one of Lashly's chains is in a
bad way; it may be possible to make temporary repairs good enough to
cope with the improved surface, but it seems probable that Lashly's
car will not get very far.

It is already evident that had the rollers been metal cased and the
runners metal covered, they would now be as good as new. I cannot
think why we had not the sense to have this done. As things are I
am satisfied we have the right men to deal with the difficulties of
the situation.

The motor programme is not of vital importance to our plan and it
is possible the machines will do little to help us, but already they
have vindicated themselves. Even the seamen, who have remained very
sceptical of them, have been profoundly impressed. Evans said, 'Lord,
sir, I reckon if them things can go on like that you wouldn't want
nothing else'--but like everything else of a novel nature, it is the
actual sight of them at work that is impressive, and nothing short
of a hundred miles over the Barrier will carry conviction to outsiders.

Parting with the motors, we made haste back to Hut Point and had
tea there. My feet had got very sore with the unaccustomed soft
foot-gear and crinkly surface, but we decided to get back to Cape
Evans. We came along in splendid weather, and after stopping for a
cup of tea at Razor Back, reached the hut at 9 P.M., averaging 3 1/2
stat. miles an hour. During the day we walked 26 1/2 stat. miles,
not a bad day's work considering condition, but I'm afraid my feet
are going to suffer for it.

_Saturday, October_ 28.--My feet sore and one 'tendon Achillis'
strained (synovitis); shall be right in a day or so, however. Last
night tremendous row in the stables. Christopher and Chinaman
discovered fighting. Gran nearly got kicked. These ponies are getting
above themselves with their high feeding. Oates says that Snippets
is still lame and has one leg a little 'heated'; not a pleasant item
of news. Debenham is progressing but not very fast; the Western Party
will leave after us, of that there is no doubt now. It is trying that
they should be wasting the season in this way. All things considered,
I shall be glad to get away and put our fortune to the test.

_Monday, October_ 30.--We had another beautiful day yesterday, and
one began to feel that the summer really had come; but to-day, after a
fine morning, we have a return to blizzard conditions. It is blowing
a howling gale as I write. Yesterday Wilson, Crean, P.O. Evans, and
I donned our sledging kit and camped by the bergs for the benefit of
Ponting and his cinematograph; he got a series of films which should
be about the most interesting of all his collection. I imagine nothing
will take so well as these scenes of camp life.

On our return we found Meares had returned; he and the dogs well. He
told us that (Lieut.) Evans had come into Hut Point on Saturday
to fetch a personal bag left behind there. Evans reported that
Lashly's motor had broken down near Safety Camp; they found the big
end smashed up in one cylinder and traced it to a faulty casting;
they luckily had spare parts, and Day and Lashly worked all night
on repairs in a temperature of -25°. By the morning repairs were
completed and they had a satisfactory trial run, dragging on loads
with both motors. Then Evans found out his loss and returned on ski,
whilst, as I gather, the motors proceeded; I don't quite know how,
but I suppose they ran one on at a time.

On account of this accident and because some of our hardest worked
people were badly hit by the two days' absence helping the machines,
I have decided to start on Wednesday instead of to-morrow. If the
blizzard should blow out, Atkinson and Keohane will set off to-morrow
for Hut Point, so that we may see how far Jehu is to be counted on.

_Tuesday, October_ 31.--The blizzard has blown itself out this morning,
and this afternoon it has cleared; the sun is shining and the wind
dropping. Meares and Ponting are just off to Hut Point. Atkinson
and Keohane will probably leave in an hour or so as arranged, and
if the weather holds, we shall all get off to-morrow. So here end
the entries in this diary with the first chapter of our History. The
future is in the lap of the gods; I can think of nothing left undone
to deserve success.



CHAPTER XVI

Southern Journey: The Barrier Stage

_November_ 1.--Last night we heard that Jehu had reached Hut Point in
about 5 1/2 hours. This morning we got away in detachments--Michael,
Nobby, Chinaman were first to get away about 11 A.M. The little devil
Christopher was harnessed with the usual difficulty and started in
kicking mood, Oates holding on for all he was worth.

Bones ambled off gently with Crean, and I led Snippets in his wake. Ten
minutes after Evans and Snatcher passed at the usual full speed.

The wind blew very strong at the Razor Back and the sky was
threatening--the ponies hate the wind. A mile south of this island
Bowers and Victor passed me, leaving me where I best wished to be--at
the tail of the line.

About this place I saw that one of the animals ahead had stopped and
was obstinately refusing to go forward again. I had a great fear it
was Chinaman, the unknown quantity, but to my relief found it was
my old friend 'Nobby' in obstinate mood. As he is very strong and
fit the matter was soon adjusted with a little persuasion from Anton
behind. Poor little Anton found it difficult to keep the pace with
short legs.

Snatcher soon led the party and covered the distance in four
hours. Evans said he could see no difference at the end from the
start--the little animal simply romped in. Bones and Christopher
arrived almost equally fresh, in fact the latter had been bucking
and kicking the whole way. For the present there is no end to his
devilment, and the great consideration is how to safeguard Oates. Some
quiet ponies should always be near him, a difficult matter to arrange
with such varying rates of walking. A little later I came up to
a batch, Bowers, Wilson, Cherry, and Wright, and was happy to see
Chinaman going very strong. He is not fast, but very steady, and I
think should go a long way.

Victor and Michael forged ahead again, and the remaining three of us
came in after taking a little under five hours to cover the distance.

We were none too soon, as the weather had been steadily getting worse,
and soon after our arrival it was blowing a gale.

_Thursday, November_ 2.--Hut Point. The march teaches a good deal
as to the paces of the ponies. It reminded me of a regatta or a
somewhat disorganised fleet with ships of very unequal speed. The
plan of further advance has now been evolved. We shall start in
three parties--the very slow ponies, the medium paced, and the
fliers. Snatcher starting last will probably overtake the leading
unit. All this requires a good deal of arranging. We have decided to
begin night marching, and shall get away after supper, I hope. The
weather is hourly improving, but at this season that does not count
for much. At present our ponies are very comfortably stabled. Michael,
Chinaman and James Pigg are actually in the hut. Chinaman kept us alive
last night by stamping on the floor. Meares and Demetri are here with
the dog team, and Ponting with a great photographic outfit. I fear
he won't get much chance to get results.

_Friday, November_ 3.--Camp 1. A keen wind with some drift at Hut
Point, but we sailed away in detachments. Atkinson's party, Jehu,
Chinaman and Jimmy Pigg led off at eight. Just before ten Wilson,
Cherry-Garrard and I left. Our ponies marched steadily and well
together over the sea ice. The wind dropped a good deal, but the
temperature with it, so that the little remaining was very cutting. We
found Atkinson at Safety Camp. He had lunched and was just ready to
march out again; he reports Chinaman and Jehu tired. Ponting arrived
soon after we had camped with Demetri and a small dog team. The
cinematograph was up in time to catch the flying rearguard which came
along in fine form, Snatcher leading and being stopped every now and
again--a wonderful little beast. Christopher had given the usual
trouble when harnessed, but was evidently subdued by the Barrier
Surface. However, it was not thought advisable to halt him, and so
the party fled through in the wake of the advance guard.

After lunch we packed up and marched on steadily as before. I don't
like these midnight lunches, but for man the march that follows is
pleasant when, as to-day, the wind falls and the sun steadily increases
its heat. The two parties in front of us camped 5 miles beyond Safety
Camp, and we reached their camp some half or three-quarters of an hour
later. All the ponies are tethered in good order, but most of them are
tired--Chinaman and Jehu _very tired_. Nearly all are inclined to be
off feed, but this is very temporary, I think. We have built walls,
but there is no wind and the sun gets warmer every minute.

_Mirage_.--Very marked waving effect to east. Small objects greatly
exaggerated and showing as dark vertical lines.

1 P.M.--Feeding time. Woke the party, and Oates served out the
rations--all ponies feeding well. It is a sweltering day, the air
breathless, the glare intense--one loses sight of the fact that
the temperature is low (-22°)--one's mind seeks comparison in hot
sunlit streets and scorching pavements, yet six hours ago my thumb
was frostbitten. All the inconveniences of frozen footwear and damp
clothes and sleeping-bags have vanished entirely.

A petrol tin is near the camp and a note stating that the motor passed
at 9 P.M. 28th, going strong--they have 4 to 5 days' lead and should
surely keep it.

'Bones has eaten Christopher's goggles.'

This announcement by Crean, meaning that Bones had demolished the
protecting fringe on Christopher's bridle. These fringes promise very
well--Christopher without his is blinking in the hot sun.

_Saturday, November_ 4.--Camp 2. Led march--started in what I think
will now become the settled order. Atkinson went at 8, ours at 10,
Bowers, Oates and Co. at 11.15. Just after starting picked up cheerful
note and saw cheerful notices saying all well with motors, both
going excellently. Day wrote 'Hope to meet in 80° 30' (Lat.).' Poor
chap, within 2 miles he must have had to sing a different tale. It
appears they had a bad ground on the morning of the 29th. I suppose
the surface was bad and everything seemed to be going wrong. They
'dumped' a good deal of petrol and lubricant. Worse was to follow. Some
4 miles out we met a tin pathetically inscribed, 'Big end Day's motor
No. 2 cylinder broken.' Half a mile beyond, as I expected, we found
the motor, its tracking sledges and all. Notes from Evans and Day
told the tale. The only spare had been used for Lashly's machine,
and it would have taken a long time to strip Day's engine so that
it could run on three cylinders. They had decided to abandon it and
push on with the other alone. They had taken the six bags of forage
and some odds and ends, besides their petrol and lubricant. So the
dream of great help from the machines is at an end! The track of the
remaining motor goes steadily forward, but now, of course, I shall
expect to see it every hour of the march.

The ponies did pretty well--a cruel soft surface most of the time,
but light loads, of course. Jehu is better than I expected to find him,
Chinaman not so well. They are bad crocks both of them.

It was pretty cold during the night, -7° when we camped, with a crisp
breeze blowing. The ponies don't like it, but now, as I write, the
sun is shining through a white haze, the wind has dropped, and the
picketing line is comfortable for the poor beasts.

This, 1 P.M., is the feeding hour--the animals are not yet on feed,
but they are coming on.

The wind vane left here in the spring shows a predominance of wind
from the S.W. quarter. Maximum scratching, about S.W. by W.

_Sunday, November_ 5.--Camp 3. 'Corner Camp.' We came over the last
lap of the first journey in good order--ponies doing well in soft
surface, but, of course, lightly loaded. To-night will show what we
can do with the heavier weights. A very troubled note from Evans
(with motor) written on morning of 2nd, saying maximum speed was
about 7 miles per day. They have taken on nine bags of forage, but
there are three black dots to the south which we can only imagine are
the deserted motor with its loaded sledges. The men have gone on as
a supporting party, as directed. It is a disappointment. I had hoped
better of the machines once they got away on the Barrier Surface.

The appetites of the ponies are very fanciful. They do not like
the oil cake, but for the moment seem to take to some fodder left
here. However, they are off that again to-day. It is a sad pity they
won't eat well now, because later on one can imagine how ravenous
they will become. Chinaman and Jehu will not go far I fear.

_Monday, November_ 6.--Camp 4. We started in the usual order,
arranging so that full loads should be carried if the black dots
to the south prove to be the motor. On arrival at these we found
our fears confirmed. A note from Evans stated a recurrence of the
old trouble. The big end of No. 1 cylinder had cracked, the machine
otherwise in good order. Evidently the engines are not fitted for
working in this climate, a fact that should be certainly capable of
correction. One thing is proved; the system of propulsion is altogether
satisfactory. The motor party has proceeded as a man-hauling party
as arranged.

With their full loads the ponies did splendidly, even Jehu and Chinaman
with loads over 450 lbs. stepped out well and have finished as fit as
when they started. Atkinson and Wright both think that these animals
are improving.

The better ponies made nothing of their loads, and my own Snippets
had over 700 lbs., sledge included. Of course, the surface is greatly
improved; it is that over which we came well last year. We are all
much cheered by this performance. It shows a hardening up of ponies
which have been well trained; even Oates is pleased!

As we came to camp a blizzard threatened, and we built snow
walls. One hour after our arrival the wind was pretty strong, but
there was not much snow. This state of affairs has continued, but
the ponies seem very comfortable. Their new rugs cover them well and
the sheltering walls are as high as the animals, so that the wind is
practically unfelt behind them. The protection is a direct result of
our experience of last year, and it is good to feel that we reaped
some reward for that disastrous journey. I am writing late in the day
and the wind is still strong. I fear we shall not be able to go on
to-night. Christopher gave great trouble again last night--the four
men had great difficulty in getting him into his sledge; this is a
nuisance which I fear must be endured for some time to come.

The temperature, -5°, is lower than I like in a blizzard. It feels
chilly in the tent, but the ponies don't seem to mind the wind much.

The incidence of this blizzard had certain characters worthy of note:--

Before we started from Corner Camp there was a heavy collection of
cloud about Cape Crozier and Mount Terror, and a black line of stratus
low on the western slopes of Erebus. With us the sun was shining and
it was particularly warm and pleasant. Shortly after we started mist
formed about us, waxing and waning in density; a slight southerly
breeze sprang up, cumulo-stratus cloud formed overhead with a rather
windy appearance (radial E. and W.).

At the first halt (5 miles S.) Atkinson called my attention to a
curious phenomenon. Across the face of the low sun the strata of
mist could be seen rising rapidly, lines of shadow appearing to be
travelling upwards against the light. Presumably this was sun-warmed
air. The accumulation of this gradually overspread the sky with a
layer of stratus, which, however, never seemed to be very dense;
the position of the sun could always be seen. Two or three hours
later the wind steadily increased in force, with the usual gusty
characteristic. A noticeable fact was that the sky was clear and
blue above the southern horizon, and the clouds seemed to be closing
down on this from time to time. At intervals since, it has lifted,
showing quite an expanse of clear sky. The general appearance is
that the disturbance is created by conditions about us, and is
rather spreading from north to south than coming up with the wind,
and this seems rather typical. On the other hand, this is not a bad
snow blizzard; although the wind holds, the land, obscured last night,
is now quite clear and the Bluff has no mantle.

[Added in another hand, probably dictated:

Before we felt any air moving, during our A.M. march and the greater
part of the previous march, there was dark cloud over Ross Sea off
the Barrier, which continued over the Eastern Barrier to the S.E. as
a heavy stratus, with here and there an appearance of wind. At the
same time, due south of us, dark lines of stratus were appearing,
miraged on the horizon, and while we were camping after our A.M. march,
these were obscured by banks of white fog (or drift?), and the wind
increasing the whole time. My general impression was that the storm
came up from the south, but swept round over the eastern part of the
Barrier before it became general and included the western part where
we were.]

_Tuesday, November_ 7.--Camp 4. The blizzard has continued
throughout last night and up to this time of writing, late in
the afternoon. Starting mildly, with broken clouds, little snow,
and gleams of sunshine, it grew in intensity until this forenoon,
when there was heavy snowfall and the sky overspread with low nimbus
cloud. In the early afternoon the snow and wind took off, and the
wind is dropping now, but the sky looks very lowering and unsettled.

Last night the sky was so broken that I made certain the end of the
blow had come. Towards morning the sky overhead and far to the north
was quite clear. More cloud obscured the sun to the south and low
heavy banks hung over Ross Island. All seemed hopeful, except that I
noted with misgiving that the mantle on the Bluff was beginning to
form. Two hours later the whole sky was overcast and the blizzard
had fully developed.

This Tuesday evening it remains overcast, but one cannot see that
the clouds are travelling fast. The Bluff mantle is a wide low bank
of stratus not particularly windy in appearance; the wind is falling,
but the sky still looks lowering to the south and there is a general
appearance of unrest. The temperature has been -10° all day.

The ponies, which had been so comparatively comfortable in the earlier
stages, were hit as usual when the snow began to fall.

We have done everything possible to shelter and protect them, but
there seems no way of keeping them comfortable when the snow is thick
and driving fast. We men are snug and comfortable enough, but it is
very evil to lie here and know that the weather is steadily sapping
the strength of the beasts on which so much depends. It requires much
philosophy to be cheerful on such occasions.

In the midst of the drift this forenoon the dog party came up and
camped about a quarter of a mile to leeward. Meares has played too much
for safety in catching us so soon, but it is satisfactory to find the
dogs will pull the loads and can be driven to face such a wind as we
have had. It shows that they ought to be able to help us a good deal.

The tents and sledges are badly drifted up, and the drifts behind the
pony walls have been dug out several times. I shall be glad indeed to
be on the march again, and oh! for a little sun. The ponies are all
quite warm when covered by their rugs. Some of the fine drift snow
finds its way under the rugs, and especially under the broad belly
straps; this melts and makes the coat wet if allowed to remain. It
is not easy to understand at first why the blizzard should have such
a withering effect on the poor beasts. I think it is mainly due to
the exceeding fineness of the snow particles, which, like finely
divided powder, penetrate the hair of the coat and lodge in the
inner warmths. Here it melts, and as water carries off the animal
heat. Also, no doubt, it harasses the animals by the bombardment of
the fine flying particles on tender places such as nostrils, eyes,
and to lesser extent ears. In this way it continually bothers them,
preventing rest. Of all things the most important for horses is that
conditions should be placid whilst they stand tethered.

_Wednesday, November_ 8.--Camp 5. Wind with overcast threatening sky
continued to a late hour last night. The question of starting was open
for a long time, and many were unfavourable. I decided we must go,
and soon after midnight the advance guard got away. To my surprise,
when the rugs were stripped from the 'crocks' they appeared quite
fresh and fit. Both Jehu and Chinaman had a skittish little run. When
their heads were loose Chinaman indulged in a playful buck. All three
started with their loads at a brisk pace. It was a great relief
to find that they had not suffered at all from the blizzard. They
went out six geographical miles, and our section going at a good
round pace found them encamped as usual. After they had gone, we
waited for the rearguard to come up and joined with them. For the
next 5 miles the bunch of seven kept together in fine style, and
with wind dropping, sun gaining in power, and ponies going well,
the march was a real pleasure. One gained confidence every moment
in the animals; they brought along their heavy loads without a hint
of tiredness. All take the patches of soft snow with an easy stride,
not bothering themselves at all. The majority halt now and again to
get a mouthful of snow, but little Christopher goes through with a
non-stop run. He gives as much trouble as ever at the start, showing
all sorts of ingenious tricks to escape his harness. Yesterday when
brought to his knees and held, he lay down, but this served no end,
for before he jumped to his feet and dashed off the traces had been
fixed and he was in for the 13 miles of steady work. Oates holds like
grim death to his bridle until the first freshness is worn off, and
this is no little time, for even after 10 miles he seized a slight
opportunity to kick up. Some four miles from this camp Evans loosed
Snatcher momentarily. The little beast was off at a canter at once and
on slippery snow; it was all Evans could do to hold to the bridle. As
it was he dashed across the line, somewhat to its danger.

Six hundred yards from this camp there was a bale of forage. Bowers
stopped and loaded it on his sledge, bringing his weights to nearly
800 lbs. His pony Victor stepped out again as though nothing had been
added. Such incidents are very inspiriting. Of course, the surface
is very good; the animals rarely sink to the fetlock joint, and for
a good part of the time are borne up on hard snow patches without
sinking at all. In passing I mention that there are practically no
places where ponies sink to their hocks as described by Shackleton. On
the only occasion last year when our ponies sank to their hocks in
one soft patch, they were unable to get their loads on at all. The
feathering of the fetlock joint is borne up on the snow crust and its
upward bend is indicative of the depth of the hole made by the hoof;
one sees that an extra inch makes a tremendous difference.

We are picking up last year's cairns with great ease, and all show
up very distinctly. This is extremely satisfactory for the homeward
march. What with pony walls, camp sites and cairns, our track should
be easily followed the whole way. Everyone is as fit as can be. It
was wonderfully warm as we camped this morning at 11 o'clock; the
wind has dropped completely and the sun shines gloriously. Men and
ponies revel in such weather. One devoutly hopes for a good spell of
it as we recede from the windy northern region. The dogs came up soon
after we had camped, travelling easily.

_Thursday, November_ 9.--Camp 6. Sticking to programme, we are going a
little over the 10 miles (geo.) nightly. Atkinson started his party at
11 and went on for 7 miles to escape a cold little night breeze which
quickly dropped. He was some time at his lunch camp, so that starting
to join the rearguard we came in together the last 2 miles. The
experience showed that the slow advance guard ponies are forced out
of their place by joining with the others, whilst the fast rearguard
is reduced in speed. Obviously it is not an advantage to be together,
yet all the ponies are doing well. An amusing incident happened when
Wright left his pony to examine his sledgemeter. Chinaman evidently
didn't like being left behind and set off at a canter to rejoin the
main body. Wright's long legs barely carried him fast enough to stop
this fatal stampede, but the ridiculous sight was due to the fact
that old Jehu caught the infection and set off at a sprawling canter
in Chinaman's wake. As this is the pony we thought scarcely capable
of a single march at start, one is agreeably surprised to find him
still displaying such commendable spirit. Christopher is troublesome
as ever at the start; I fear that signs of tameness will only indicate
absence of strength. The dogs followed us so easily over the 10 miles
that Meares thought of going on again, but finally decided that the
present easy work is best.

Things look hopeful. The weather is beautiful--temp. -12°, with
a bright sun. Some stratus cloud about Discovery and over White
Island. The sastrugi about here are very various in direction and the
surface a good deal ploughed up, showing that the Bluff influences
the wind direction even out as far as this camp. The surface is hard;
I take it about as good as we shall get.

There is an annoying little southerly wind blowing now, and this
serves to show the beauty of our snow walls. The ponies are standing
under their lee in the bright sun as comfortable as can possibly be.

_Friday, November_ 10.--Camp 7. A very horrid march. A strong head wind
during the first part--5 miles (geo.)--then a snowstorm. Wright leading
found steering so difficult after three miles (geo.) that the party
decided to camp. Luckily just before camping he rediscovered Evans'
track (motor party) so that, given decent weather, we shall be able
to follow this. The ponies did excellently as usual, but the surface
is good distinctly. The wind has dropped and the weather is clearing
now that we have camped. It is disappointing to miss even 1 1/2 miles.

Christopher was started to-day by a ruse. He was harnessed behind his
wall and was in the sledge before he realised. Then he tried to bolt,
but Titus hung on.

_Saturday, November_ 11.--Camp 8. It cleared somewhat just before the
start of our march, but the snow which had fallen in the day remained
soft and flocculent on the surface. Added to this we entered on an
area of soft crust between a few scattered hard sastrugi. In pits
between these in places the snow lay in sandy heaps. A worse set of
conditions for the ponies could scarcely be imagined. Nevertheless they
came through pretty well, the strong ones excellently, but the crocks
had had enough at 9 1/2 miles. Such a surface makes one anxious in
spite of the rapidity with which changes take place. I expected these
marches to be a little difficult, but not near so bad as to-day. It
is snowing again as we camp, with a slight north-easterly breeze. It
is difficult to make out what is happening to the weather--it is all
part of the general warming up, but I wish the sky would clear. In
spite of the surface, the dogs ran up from the camp before last,
over 20 miles, in the night. They are working splendidly so far.

_Sunday, November_ 12.--Camp 9. Our marches are uniformly horrid
just at present. The surface remains wretched, not quite so heavy
as yesterday, perhaps, but very near it at times. Five miles out the
advance party came straight and true on our last year's Bluff depot
marked with a flagstaff. Here following I found a note from Evans,
cheerful in tone, dated 7 A.M. 7th inst. He is, therefore, the best
part of five days ahead of us, which is good. Atkinson camped a mile
beyond this cairn and had a very gloomy account of Chinaman. Said
he couldn't last more than a mile or two. The weather was horrid,
overcast, gloomy, snowy. One's spirits became very low. However,
the crocks set off again, the rearguard came up, passed us in camp,
and then on the march about 3 miles on, so that they camped about
the same time. The Soldier thinks Chinaman will last for a good many
days yet, an extraordinary confession of hope for him. The rest of
the animals are as well as can be expected--Jehu rather better. These
weather appearances change every minute. When we camped there was a
chill northerly breeze, a black sky, and light falling snow. Now the
sky is clearing and the sun shining an hour later. The temperature
remains about -10° in the daytime.

_Monday, November 13_.--Camp 10. Another horrid march in a terrible
light, surface very bad. Ponies came through all well, but they are
being tried hard by the surface conditions. We followed tracks most
of the way, neither party seeing the other except towards camping
time. The crocks did well, all repeatedly. Either the whole sky has
been clear, or the overhanging cloud has lifted from time to time to
show the lower rocks. Had we been dependent on land marks we should
have fared ill. Evidently a good system of cairns is the best possible
travelling arrangement on this great snow plain. Meares and Demetri
up with the dogs as usual very soon after we camped.

This inpouring of warm moist air, which gives rise to this
heavy surface deposit at this season, is certainly an interesting
meteorological fact, accounting as it does for the very sudden change
in Barrier conditions from spring to summer.

_Wednesday, November_ 15.--Camp 12. Found our One Ton Camp without
any difficulty [130 geographical miles from Cape Evans]. About 7 or
8 miles. After 5 1/2 miles to lunch camp, Chinaman was pretty tired,
but went on again in good form after the rest. All the other ponies
made nothing of the march, which, however, was over a distinctly better
surface. After a discussion we had decided to give the animals a day's
rest here, and then to push forward at the rate of 13 geographical
miles a day. Oates thinks the ponies will get through, but that they
have lost condition quicker than he expected. Considering his usually
pessimistic attitude this must be thought a hopeful view. Personally
I am much more hopeful. I think that a good many of the beasts are
actually in better form than when they started, and that there is no
need to be alarmed about the remainder, always excepting the weak
ones which we have always regarded with doubt. Well, we must wait
and see how things go.

A note from Evans dated the 9th, stating his party has gone on to 80°
30', carrying four boxes of biscuit. He has done something over 30
miles (geo.) in 2 1/2 days--exceedingly good going. I only hope he
has built lots of good cairns.

It was a very beautiful day yesterday, bright sun, but as we marched,
towards midnight, the sky gradually became overcast; very beautiful
halo rings formed around the sun. Four separate rings were very
distinct. Wilson descried a fifth--the orange colour with blue
interspace formed very fine contrasts. We now clearly see the corona
ring on the snow surface. The spread of stratus cloud overhead was very
remarkable. The sky was blue all around the horizon, but overhead a
cumulo-stratus grew early; it seemed to be drifting to the south and
later to the east. The broken cumulus slowly changed to a uniform
stratus, which seems to be thinning as the sun gains power. There
is a very thin light fall of snow crystals, but the surface deposit
seems to be abating the evaporation for the moment, outpacing the
light snowfall. The crystals barely exist a moment when they light
on our equipment, so that everything on and about the sledges is
drying rapidly. When the sky was clear above the horizon we got a
good view of the distant land all around to the west; white patches
of mountains to the W.S.W. must be 120 miles distant. During the night
we saw Discovery and the Royal Society Range, the first view for many
days, but we have not seen Erebus for a week, and in that direction
the clouds seem ever to concentrate. It is very interesting to watch
the weather phenomena of the Barrier, but one prefers the sunshine
to days such as this, when everything is blankly white and a sense
of oppression is inevitable.

The temperature fell to -15° last night, with a clear sky; it rose
to 0° directly the sky covered and is now just 16° to 20°. Most of
us are using goggles with glass of light green tint. We find this
colour very grateful to the eyes, and as a rule it is possible to
see everything through them even more clearly than with naked vision.

The hard sastrugi are now all from the W.S.W. and our cairns are
drifted up by winds from that direction; mostly, though, there has
evidently been a range of snow-bearing winds round to south. This
observation holds from Corner Camp to this camp, showing that
apparently all along the coast the wind comes from the land. The
minimum thermometer left here shows -73°, rather less than expected;
it has been excellently exposed and evidently not at all drifted up
with snow at any time. I cannot find the oats I scattered here--rather
fear the drift has covered them, but other evidences show that the
snow deposit has been very small.

_Thursday, November_ 16.--Camp 12. Resting. A stiff little southerly
breeze all day, dropping towards evening. The temperature -15°. Ponies
pretty comfortable in rugs and behind good walls. We have reorganised
the loads, taking on about 580 lbs. with the stronger ponies, 400
odd with the others.

_Friday, November_ 17.--Camp 13. Atkinson started about 8.30. We came
on about 11, the whole of the remainder. The lunch camp was 7 1/2
miles. Atkinson left as we came in. He was an hour before us at the
final camp, 13 1/4 (geo.) miles. On the whole, and considering the
weights, the ponies did very well, but the surface was comparatively
good. Christopher showed signs of trouble at start, but was coaxed
into position for the traces to be hooked. There was some ice on his
runner and he had a very heavy drag, therefore a good deal done on
arrival; also his load seems heavier and deader than the others. It
is early days to wonder whether the little beasts will last; one can
only hope they will, but the weakness of breeding and age is showing
itself already.

The crocks have done wonderfully, so there is really no saying how long
or well the fitter animals may go. We had a horribly cold wind on the
march. Temp. -18°, force 3. The sun was shining but seemed to make
little difference. It is still shining brightly, temp. 11°. Behind
the pony walls it is wonderfully warm and the animals look as snug
as possible.

_Saturday, November_ 18.--Camp 14. The ponies are not pulling well. The
surface is, if anything, a little worse than yesterday, but I should
think about the sort of thing we shall have to expect henceforward. I
had a panic that we were carrying too much food and this morning we
have discussed the matter and decided we can leave a sack. We have
done the usual 13 miles (geog.) with a few hundred yards to make the 15
statute. The temperature was -21° when we camped last night, now it is
-3°. The crocks are going on, very wonderfully. Oates gives Chinaman
at least three days, and Wright says he may go for a week. This is
slightly inspiriting, but how much better would it have been to have
had ten really reliable beasts. It's touch and go whether we scrape
up to the Glacier; meanwhile we get along somehow. At any rate the
bright sunshine makes everything look more hopeful.

_Sunday, November_ 19.--Camp 15. We have struck a real bad surface,
sledges pulling well over it, but ponies sinking very deep. The
result is to about finish Jehu. He was terribly done on getting in
to-night. He may go another march, but not more, I think. Considering
the surface the other ponies did well. The ponies occasionally sink
halfway to the hock, little Michael once or twice almost to the hock
itself. Luckily the weather now is glorious for resting the animals,
which are very placid and quiet in the brilliant sun. The sastrugi are
confused, the underlying hard patches appear as before to have been
formed by a W.S.W. wind, but there are some surface waves pointing
to a recent south-easterly wind. Have been taking some photographs,
Bowers also.

_Monday, November_ 20.--Camp 16. The surface a little better. Sastrugi
becoming more and more definite from S.E. Struck a few hard patches
which made me hopeful of much better things, but these did not last
long. The crocks still go. Jehu seems even a little better than
yesterday, and will certainly go another march. Chinaman reported
bad the first half march, but bucked up the second. The dogs found
the surface heavy. To-morrow I propose to relieve them of a forage
bag. The sky was slightly overcast during the march, with radiating
cirro-stratus S.S.W.-N.N.E. Now very clear and bright again. Temp,
at night -14°, now   4°. A very slight southerly breeze, from which
the walls protect the animals well. I feel sure that the long day's
rest in the sun is very good for all of them.

Our ponies marched very steadily last night. They seem to take the
soft crusts and difficult plodding surface more easily. The loss of
condition is not so rapid as noticed to One Ton Camp, except perhaps
in Victor, who is getting to look very gaunt. Nobby seems fitter and
stronger than when he started; he alone is ready to go all his feed
at any time and as much more as he can get. The rest feel fairly well,
but they are getting a very big strong ration. I am beginning to feel
more hopeful about them. Christopher kicked the bow of his sledge in
towards the end of the march. He must have a lot left in him though.

_Tuesday, November_ 21.--Camp 17. Lat. 80° 35'. The surface decidedly
better and the ponies very steady on the march. None seem overtired,
and now it is impossible not to take a hopeful view of their prospect
of pulling through. (Temp. -14°, night.) The only circumstance to be
feared is a reversion to bad surfaces, and that ought not to happen on
this course. We marched to the usual lunch camp and saw a large cairn
ahead. Two miles beyond we came on the Motor Party in Lat. 80° 32'. We
learned that they had been waiting for six days. They all look very
fit, but declare themselves to be very hungry. This is interesting as
showing conclusively that a ration amply sufficient for the needs of
men leading ponies is quite insufficient for men doing hard pulling
work; it therefore fully justifies the provision which we have made
for the Summit work. Even on that I have little doubt we shall soon
get hungry. Day looks very thin, almost gaunt, but fit. The weather
is beautiful--long may it so continue. (Temp. +6°, 11 A.M.)

It is decided to take on the Motor Party in advance for three days,
then Day and Hooper return. We hope Jehu will last three days; he will
then be finished in any case and fed to the dogs. It is amusing to
see Meares looking eagerly for the chance of a feed for his animals;
he has been expecting it daily. On the other hand, Atkinson and Oates
are eager to get the poor animal beyond the point at which Shackleton
killed his first beast. Reports on Chinaman are very favourable,
and it really looks as though the ponies are going to do what is
hoped of them.

_Wednesday, November_ 22.--Camp 18. Everything much the same. The
ponies thinner but not much weaker. The crocks still going along. Jehu
is now called 'The Barrier Wonder' and Chinaman 'The Thunderbolt.' Two
days more and they will be well past the spot at which Shackleton
killed his first animal. Nobby keeps his pre-eminence of condition and
has now the heaviest load by some 50 lbs.; most of the others are under
500 lbs. load, and I hope will be eased further yet. The dogs are in
good form still, and came up well with their loads this morning (night
temp. -14°). It looks as though we ought to get through to the Glacier
without great difficulty. The weather is glorious and the ponies
can make the most of their rest during the warmest hours, but they
certainly lose in one way by marching at night. The surface is much
easier for the sledges when the sun is warm, and for about three hours
before and after midnight the friction noticeably increases. It is
just a question whether this extra weight on the loads is compensated
by the resting temperature. We are quite steady on the march now, and
though not fast yet get through with few stops. The animals seem to be
getting accustomed to the steady, heavy plod and take the deep places
less fussily. There is rather an increased condition of false crust,
that is, a crust which appears firm till the whole weight of the animal
is put upon it, when it suddenly gives some three or four inches. This
is very trying for the poor beasts. There are also more patches in
which the men sink, so that walking is getting more troublesome,
but, speaking broadly, the crusts are not comparatively bad and the
surface is rather better than it was. If the hot sun continues this
should still further improve. One cannot see any reason why the crust
should change in the next 100 miles. (Temp. + 2°.)

The land is visible along the western horizon in patches. Bowers
points out a continuous dark band. Is this the dolerite sill?

_Thursday, November_ 23.--Camp 19. Getting along. I think the
ponies will get through; we are now 150 geographical miles from
the Glacier. But it is still rather touch and go. If one or more
ponies were to go rapidly down hill we might be in queer street. The
surface is much the same I think; before lunch there seemed to be a
marked improvement, and after lunch the ponies marched much better,
so that one supposed a betterment of the friction. It is banking up
to the south (T. +9°) and I'm afraid we may get a blizzard. I hope to
goodness it is not going to stop one marching; forage won't allow that.

_Friday, November 24._--Camp 20. There was a cold wind changing from
south to S.E. and overcast sky all day yesterday. A gloomy start to our
march, but the cloud rapidly lifted, bands of clear sky broke through
from east to west, and the remnants of cloud dissipated. Now the sun
is very bright and warm. We did the usual march very easily over a
fairly good surface, the ponies now quite steady and regular. Since
the junction with the Motor Party the procedure has been for the
man-hauling people to go forward just ahead of the crocks, the other
party following 2 or 3 hours later. To-day we closed less than usual,
so that the crocks must have been going very well. However, the fiat
had already gone forth, and this morning after the march poor old
Jehu was led back on the track and shot. After our doubts as to his
reaching Hut Point, it is wonderful to think that he has actually
got eight marches beyond our last year limit and could have gone
more. However, towards the end he was pulling very little, and on the
whole it is merciful to have ended his life. Chinaman seems to improve
and will certainly last a good many days yet. The rest show no signs
of flagging and are only moderately hungry. The surface is tiring for
walking, as one sinks two or three inches nearly all the time. I feel
we ought to get through now. Day and Hooper leave us to-night.

_Saturday, November 25._--Camp 21. The surface during the first
march was very heavy owing to a liberal coating of ice crystals; it
improved during the second march becoming quite good towards the end
(T.-2°). Now that it is pretty warm at night it is obviously desirable
to work towards day marching. We shall start 2 hours later to-night
and again to-morrow night.

Last night we bade farewell to Day and Hooper and set out with the
new organisation (T.-8°). All started together, the man-haulers,
Evans, Lashly, and Atkinson, going ahead with their gear on the
10-ft. sledge. Chinaman and James Pigg next, and the rest some
ten minutes behind. We reached the lunch camp together and started
therefrom in the same order, the two crocks somewhat behind, but
not more than 300 yards at the finish, so we all got into camp very
satisfactorily together. The men said the first march was extremely
heavy (T.-(-2°).

The sun has been shining all night, but towards midnight light mist
clouds arose, half obscuring the leading parties. Land can be dimly
discerned nearly ahead. The ponies are slowly tiring, but we lighten
loads again to-morrow by making another depôt. Meares has just come up
to report that Jehu made four feeds for the dogs. He cut up very well
and had quite a lot of fat on him. Meares says another pony will carry
him to the Glacier. This is very good hearing. The men are pulling
with ski sticks and say that they are a great assistance. I think of
taking them up the Glacier. Jehu has certainly come up trumps after
all, and Chinaman bids fair to be even more valuable. Only a few more
marches to feel safe in getting to our first goal.

_Sunday, November_ 26.--Camp 22. Lunch camp. Marched here fairly
easily, comparatively good surface. Started at 1 A.M. (midnight,
local time). We now keep a steady pace of 2 miles an hour, very good
going. The sky was slightly overcast at start and between two and three
it grew very misty. Before we camped we lost sight of the men-haulers
only 300 yards ahead. The sun is piercing the mist. Here in Lat. 81°
35' we are leaving our 'Middle Barrier Depôt,' one week for each re
unit as at Mount Hooper.

Camp 22.--Snow began falling during the second march; it is blowing
from the W.S.W., force 2 to 3, with snow pattering on the tent,
a kind of summery blizzard that reminds one of April showers at
home. The ponies came well on the second march and we shall start
2 hours later again to-morrow, i.e. at 3 A.M. (T.+13°). From this
it will be a very short step to day routine when the time comes for
man-hauling. The sastrugi seem to be gradually coming more to the
south and a little more confused; now and again they are crossed with
hard westerly sastrugi. The walking is tiring for the men, one's feet
sinking 2 or 3 inches at each step. Chinaman and Jimmy Pigg kept up
splendidly with the other ponies. It is always rather dismal work
walking over the great snow plain when sky and surface merge in one
pall of dead whiteness, but it is cheering to be in such good company
with everything going on steadily and well. The dogs came up as we
camped. Meares says the best surface he has had yet.

_Monday, November_ 27.--Camp 23. (T. +8°, 12 P.M.; +2°, 3 A.M.; +13°,
11 A.M.; +17°, 3 P.M.) Quite the most trying march we have had. The
surface very poor at start. The advance party got away in front but
made heavy weather of it, and we caught them up several times. This
threw the ponies out of their regular work and prolonged the march. It
grew overcast again, although after a summery blizzard all yesterday
there was promise of better things. Starting at 3 A.M. we did not
get to lunch camp much before 9. The second march was even worse. The
advance party started on ski, the leading marks failed altogether, and
they had the greatest difficulty in keeping a course. At the midcairn
building halt the snow suddenly came down heavily, with a rise of
temperature, and the ski became hopelessly clogged (bad fahrer,
as the Norwegians say). At this time the surface was unspeakably
heavy for pulling, but in a few minutes a south wind sprang up and a
beneficial result was immediately felt. Pulling on foot, the advance
had even greater difficulty in going straight until the last half
mile, when the sky broke slightly. We got off our march, but under
the most harassing circumstances and with the animals very tired. It
is snowing hard again now, and heaven only knows when it will stop.

If it were not for the surface and bad light, things would not be
so bad. There are few sastrugi and little deep snow. For the most
part men and ponies sink to a hard crust some 3 or 4 inches beneath
the soft upper snow. Tiring for the men, but in itself more even,
and therefore less tiring for the animals. Meares just come up and
reporting very bad surface. We shall start 1 hour later to-morrow,
i.e. at 4 A.M., making 5 hours' delay on the conditions of three days
ago. Our forage supply necessitates that we should plug on the 13
(geographical) miles daily under all conditions, so that we can only
hope for better things. It is several days since we had a glimpse
of land, which makes conditions especially gloomy. A tired animal
makes a tired man, I find, and none of us are very bright now after
the day's march, though we have had ample sleep of late.

_Tuesday, November_ 28.--Camp 24. The most dismal start
imaginable. Thick as a hedge, snow falling and drifting with keen
southerly wind. The men pulled out at 3.15 with Chinaman and James
Pigg. We followed at 4.20, just catching the party at the lunch camp at
8.30. Things got better half way; the sky showed signs of clearing and
the steering improved. Now, at lunch, it is getting thick again. When
will the wretched blizzard be over? The walking is better for ponies,
worse for men; there is nearly everywhere a hard crust some 3 to 6
inches down. Towards the end of the march we crossed a succession
of high hard south-easterly sastrugi, widely dispersed. I don't know
what to make of these.

Second march almost as horrid as the first. Wind blowing strong from
the south, shifting to S.E. as the snowstorms fell on us, when we
could see little or nothing, and the driving snow hit us stingingly
in the face. The general impression of all this dirty weather is that
it spreads in from the S.E. We started at 4 A.M., and I think I shall
stick to that custom for the present. These last four marches have
been fought for, but completed without hitch, and, though we camped
in a snowstorm, there is a more promising look in the sky, and if
only for a time the wind has dropped and the sun shines brightly,
dispelling some of the gloomy results of the distressing marching.

Chinaman, 'The Thunderbolt,' has been shot to-night. Plucky little
chap, he has stuck it out well and leaves the stage but a few days
before his fellows. We have only four bags of forage (each one 30
lbs.) left, but these should give seven marches with all the remaining
animals, and we are less than 90 miles from the Glacier. Bowers tells
me that the barometer was phenomenally low both during this blizzard
and the last. This has certainly been the most unexpected and trying
summer blizzard yet experienced in this region. I only trust it is
over. There is not much to choose between the remaining ponies. Nobby
and Bones are the strongest, Victor and Christopher the weakest,
but all should get through. The land doesn't show up yet.

_Wednesday, November_ 29.--Camp 25. Lat. 82° 21'. Things much
better. The land showed up late yesterday; Mount Markham, a magnificent
triple peak, appearing wonderfully close, Cape Lyttelton and Cape
Goldie. We did our march in good time, leaving about 4.20, and getting
into this camp at 1.15. About  7 1/2 hours on the march. I suppose
our speed throughout averages 2 stat. miles an hour.

The land showed hazily on the march, at times looking remarkably
near. Sheety white snowy stratus cloud hung about overhead during
the first march, but now the sky is clearing, the sun very warm and
bright. Land shows up almost ahead now, our pony goal less than 70
miles away. The ponies are tired, but I believe all have five days'
work left in them, and some a great deal more. Chinaman made four feeds
for the dogs, and I suppose we can count every other pony as a similar
asset. It follows that the dogs can be employed, rested, and fed well
on the homeward track. We could really get though now with their help
and without much delay, yet every consideration makes it desirable
to save the men from heavy hauling as long as possible. So I devoutly
hope the 70 miles will come in the present order of things. Snippets
and Nobby now walk by themselves, following in the tracks well. Both
have a continually cunning eye on their driver, ready to stop the
moment he pauses. They eat snow every few minutes. It's a relief not
having to lead an animal; such trifles annoy one on these marches,
the animal's vagaries, his everlasting attempts to eat his head rope,
&c. Yet all these animals are very full of character. Some day I must
write of them and their individualities.

The men-haulers started  1 1/2 hours before us and got here a good
hour ahead, travelling easily throughout. Such is the surface
with the sun on it, justifying my decision to work towards day
marching. Evans has suggested the word 'glide' for the quality of
surface indicated. 'Surface' is more comprehensive, and includes
the crusts and liability to sink in them. From this point of view the
surface is distinctly bad. The ponies plough deep all the time, and the
men most of the time. The sastrugi are rather more clearly S.E.; this
would be from winds sweeping along the coast. We have a recurrence of
'sinking crusts'--areas which give way with a report. There has been
little of this since we left One Ton Camp until yesterday and to-day,
when it is again very marked. Certainly the open Barrier conditions are
different from those near the coast. Altogether things look much better
and everyone is in excellent spirits. Meares has been measuring the
holes made by ponies' hooves and finds an average of about 8 inches
since we left One Ton Camp. He finds many holes a foot deep. This
gives a good indication of the nature of the work. In Bowers' tent
they had some of Chinaman's undercut in their hoosh yesterday, and
say it was excellent. I am cook for the present. Have been discussing
pony snowshoes. I wish to goodness the animals would wear them--it
would save them any amount of labour in such surfaces as this.

_Thursday, November_ 30.--Camp 26. A very pleasant day for marching,
but a very tiring march for the poor animals, which, with the exception
of Nobby, are showing signs of failure all round. We were slower by
half an hour or more than yesterday. Except that the loads are light
now and there are still eight animals left, things don't look too
pleasant, but we should be less than 60 miles from our first point
of aim. The surface was much worse to-day, the ponies sinking to
their knees very often. There were a few harder patches towards the
end of the march. In spite of the sun there was not much 'glide' on
the snow. The dogs are reported as doing very well. They are going
to be a great standby, no doubt. The land has been veiled in thin
white mist; it appeared at intervals after we camped and I had taken
a couple of photographs.

_Friday, December_ 1.--Camp 27. Lat. 82° 47'. The ponies are tiring
pretty rapidly. It is a question of days with all except Nobby. Yet
they are outlasting the forage, and to-night against some opinion I
decided Christopher must go. He has been shot; less regret goes with
him than the others, in remembrance of all the trouble he gave at the
outset, and the unsatisfactory way he has gone of late. Here we leave
a depôt [31] so that no extra weight is brought on the other ponies;
in fact there is a slight diminution. Three more marches ought to
bring us through. With the seven crocks and the dog teams we _must_
get through I think. The men alone ought not to have heavy loads on
the surface, which is extremely trying.

Nobby was tried in snowshoes this morning, and came along splendidly
on them for about four miles, then the wretched affairs racked and had
to be taken off. There is no doubt that these snowshoes are _the_ thing
for ponies, and had ours been able to use them from the beginning they
would have been very different in appearance at this moment. I think
the sight of land has helped the animals, but not much. We started in
bright warm sunshine and with the mountains wonderfully clear on our
right hand, but towards the end of the march clouds worked up from the
east and a thin broken cumulo-stratus now overspreads the sky, leaving
the land still visible but dull. A fine glacier descends from Mount
Longstaff. It has cut very deep and the walls stand at an angle of at
least 50°. Otherwise, although there are many cwms on the lower ranges,
the mountains themselves seem little carved. They are rounded massive
structures. A cliff of light yellow-brown rock appears opposite us,
flanked with black or dark brown rock, which also appears under the
lighter colour. One would be glad to know what nature of rock these
represent. There is a good deal of exposed rock on the next range also.

_Saturday, December_ 2.--Camp 28. Lat. 83°. Started under very bad
weather conditions. The stratus spreading over from the S.E. last night
meant mischief, and all day we marched in falling snow with a horrible
light. The ponies went poorly on the first march, when there was little
or no wind and a high temperature. They were sinking deep on a wretched
surface. I suggested to Oates that he should have a roving commission
to watch the animals, but he much preferred to lead one, so I handed
over Snippets very willingly and went on ski myself. It was very easy
work for me and I took several photographs of the ponies plunging
along--the light very strong at 3 (Watkins actinometer). The ponies
did much better on the second march, both surface and glide improved;
I went ahead and found myself obliged to take a very steady pace to
keep the lead, so we arrived in camp in flourishing condition. Sad to
have to order Victor's end--poor Bowers feels it. He is in excellent
condition and will provide five feeds for the dogs. (Temp. + 17°.) We
must kill now as the forage is so short, but we have reached the 83rd
parallel and are practically safe to get through. To-night the sky is
breaking and conditions generally more promising--it is dreadfully
dismal work marching through the blank wall of white, and we should
have very great difficulty if we had not a party to go ahead and show
the course. The dogs are doing splendidly and will take a heavier
load from to-morrow. We kill another pony to-morrow night if we get
our march off, and shall then have nearly three days' food for the
other five. In fact everything looks well if the weather will only
give us a chance to see our way to the Glacier. Wild, in his Diary of
Shackleton's Journey, remarks on December 15, that it is the first day
for a month that he could not record splendid weather. With us a fine
day has been the exception so far. However, we have not lost a march
yet. It was so warm when we camped that the snow melted as it fell,
and everything got sopping wet. Oates came into my tent yesterday,
exchanging with Cherry-Garrard.

The lists now: Self, Wilson, Oates, and Keohane. Bowers, P.O. Evans,
Cherry and Crean.

Man-haulers: E. R. Evans, Atkinson, Wright, and Lashly. We have all
taken to horse meat and are so well fed that hunger isn't thought of.

_Sunday, December_ 3.--Camp 29. Our luck in weather is preposterous. I
roused the hands at 2.30 A.M., intending to get away at 5. It was
thick and snowy, yet we could have got on; but at breakfast the
wind increased, and by 4.30 it was blowing a full gale from the
south. The pony wall blew down, huge drifts collected, and the sledges
were quickly buried. It was the strongest wind I have known here in
summer. At 11 it began to take off. At 12.30 we got up and had lunch
and got ready to start. The land appeared, the clouds broke, and
by 1.30 we were in bright sunshine. We were off at 2 P.M., the land
showing all round, and, but for some cloud to the S.E., everything
promising. At 2.15 I saw the south-easterly cloud spreading up;
it blotted out the land 30 miles away at 2.30 and was on us before
3. The sun went out, snow fell thickly, and marching conditions became
horrible. The wind increased from the S.E., changed to S.W., where
it hung for a time, and suddenly shifted to W.N.W. and then N.N.W.,
from which direction it is now blowing with falling and drifting
snow. The changes of conditions are inconceivably rapid, perfectly
bewildering. In spite of all these difficulties we have managed to
get 11 1/2 miles south and to this camp at 7 P.M.-the conditions of
marching simply horrible.

The man-haulers led out 6 miles (geo.) and then camped. I think
they had had enough of leading. We passed them, Bowers and I ahead
on ski. We steered with compass, the drifting snow across our ski,
and occasional glimpse of south-easterly sastrugi under them, till
the sun showed dimly for the last hour or so. The whole weather
conditions seem thoroughly disturbed, and if they continue so when we
are on the Glacier, we shall be very awkwardly placed. It is really
time the luck turned in our favour--we have had all too little of
it. Every mile seems to have been hardly won under such conditions. The
ponies did splendidly and the forage is lasting a little better than
expected. Victor was found to have quite a lot of fat on him and the
others are pretty certain to have more, so that vwe should have no
difficulty whatever as regards transport if only the weather was kind.

_Monday, December_ 4.--Camp 29, 9 A.M. I roused the party at
6. During the night the wind had changed from N.N.W. to S.S.E.; it
was not strong, but the sun was obscured and the sky looked heavy;
patches of land could be faintly seen and we thought that at any rate
we could get on, but during breakfast the wind suddenly increased
in force and afterwards a glance outside was sufficient to show a
regular white floury blizzard. We have all been out building fresh
walls for the ponies--an uninviting task, but one which greatly adds
to the comfort of the animals, who look sleepy and bored, but not at
all cold. The dogs came up with us as we camped last night arid the
man-haulers arrived this morning as we finished the pony wall. So we
are all together again. The latter had great difficulty in following
our tracks, and say they could not have steered a course without
them. It is utterly impossible to push ahead in this weather, and
one is at a complete loss to account for it. The barometer rose from
29.4 to 29.9 last night, a phenomenal rise. Evidently there is very
great disturbance of atmospheric conditions. Well, one must stick it
out, that is all, and hope for better things, but it makes me feel
a little bitter to contrast such weather with that experienced by
our predecessors.

Camp 30.--The wind fell in the forenoon, at 12.30 the sky began to
clear, by 1 the sun shone, by 2 P.M. we were away, and by 8 P.M. camped
here with 13 miles to the good. The land was quite clear throughout
the march and the features easily recognised. There are several
uncharted glaciers of large dimensions, a confluence of three under
Mount Reid. The mountains are rounded in outline, very massive, with
small excrescent peaks and undeveloped 'cwms' (T. + 18°). The cwms
are very fine in the lower foot-hills and the glaciers have carved
deep channels between walls at very high angles; one or two peaks on
the foot-hills stand bare and almost perpendicular, probably granite;
we should know later. Ahead of us is the ice-rounded, boulder-strewn
Mount Hope and the gateway to the Glacier. We should reach it easily
enough on to-morrow's march if we can compass 12 miles. The ponies
marched splendidly to-day, crossing the deep snow in the undulations
without difficulty. They must be in very much better condition than
Shackleton's animals, and indeed there isn't a doubt they would go
many miles yet if food allowed. The dogs are simply splendid, but came
in wanting food, so we had to sacrifice poor little Michael, who,
like the rest, had lots of fat on him. All the tents are consuming
pony flesh and thoroughly enjoying it.

We have only lost 5 or 6 miles on these two wretched days, but the
disturbed condition of the weather makes me anxious with regard to the
Glacier, where more than anywhere we shall need fine days. One has a
horrid feeling that this is a real bad season. However, sufficient
for the day is the evil thereof. We are practically through with
the first stage of our journey. Looking from the last camp towards
the S.S.E., where the farthest land can be seen, it seemed more
than probable that a very high latitude could be reached on the
Barrier, and if Amundsen journeying that way has a stroke of luck,
he may well find his summit journey reduced to 100 miles or so. In
any case it is a fascinating direction for next year's work if only
fresh transport arrives. The dips between undulations seem to be
about 12 to 15 feet. To-night we get puffs of wind from the gateway,
which for the moment looks uninviting.



Four Days' Delay

_Tuesday, December_ 5.--Camp 30. Noon. We awoke this morning to
a raging, howling blizzard. The blows we have had hitherto have
lacked the very fine powdery snow--that especial feature of the
blizzard. To-day we have it fully developed. After a minute or two in
the open one is covered from head to foot. The temperature is high, so
that what falls or drives against one sticks. The ponies--head, tails,
legs, and all parts not protected by their rugs--are covered with ice;
the animals are standing deep in snow, the sledges are almost covered,
and huge drifts above the tents. We have had breakfast, rebuilt the
walls, and are now again in our bags. One cannot see the next tent,
let alone the land. What on earth does such weather mean at this time
of year? It is more than our share of ill-fortune, I think, but the
luck may turn yet. I doubt if any party could travel in such weather
even with the wind, certainly no one could travel against it.

Is there some widespread atmospheric disturbance which will be felt
everywhere in this region as a bad season, or are we merely the
victims of exceptional local conditions? If the latter, there is food
for thought in picturing our small party struggling against adversity
in one place whilst others go smilingly forward in the sunshine. How
great may be the element of luck! No foresight--no procedure--could
have prepared us for this state of affairs. Had we been ten times
as experienced or certain of our aim we should not have expected
such rebuffs.

11 P.M.--It has blown hard all day with quite the greatest snowfall I
remember. The drifts about the tents are simply huge. The temperature
was + 27° this forenoon, and rose to +31° in the afternoon, at
which time the snow melted as it fell on anything but the snow,
and, as a consequence, there are pools of water on everything,
the tents are wet through, also the wind clothes, night boots, &c.;
water drips from the tent poles and door, lies on the floorcloth,
soaks the sleeping-bags, and makes everything pretty wretched. If a
cold snap follows before we have had time to dry our things, we shall
be mighty uncomfortable. Yet after all it would be humorous enough
if it were not for the seriousness of delay--we can't afford that,
and it's real hard luck that it should come at such a time. The wind
shows signs of easing down, but the temperature does not fall and
the snow is as wet as ever--not promising signs of abatement.

Keohane's rhyme!

The snow is all melting and everything's afloat, If this goes on
much longer we shall have to turn the _tent_ upside down and use it
as a boat.

_Wednesday, December_ 6.--Camp 30. Noon. Miserable, utterly
miserable. We have camped in the 'Slough of Despond.' The tempest
rages with unabated violence. The temperature has gone to  33°;
everything in the tent is soaking. People returning from the outside
look exactly as though they had been in a heavy shower of rain. They
drip pools on the floorcloth. The snow is steadily climbing higher
about walls, ponies, tents, and sledges. The ponies look utterly
desolate. Oh! but this is too crushing, and we are only 12 miles from
the Glacier. A hopeless feeling descends on one and is hard to fight
off. What immense patience is needed for such occasions!

11 P.M.--At 5 there came signs of a break at last, and now one can
see the land, but the sky is still overcast and there is a lot of
snow about. The wind also remains fairly strong and the temperature
high. It is not pleasant, but if no worse in the morning we can get
on at last. We are very, very wet.

_Thursday, December_ 7.--Camp 30. The storm continues and the situation
is now serious. One small feed remains for the ponies after to-day,
so that we must either march to-morrow or sacrifice the animals. That
is not the worst; with the help of the dogs we could get on, without
doubt. The serious part is that we have this morning started our
summer rations, that is to say, the food calculated from the Glacier
depot has been begun. The first supporting party can only go on a
fortnight from this date and so forth. The storm shows no sign of
abatement and its character is as unpleasant as ever. The promise
of last night died away about 3 A.M., when the temperature and wind
rose again, and things reverted to the old conditions. I can find
no sign of an end, and all of us agree that it is utterly impossible
to move. Resignation to misfortune is the only attitude, but not an
easy one to adopt. It seems undeserved where plans were well laid and
so nearly crowned with a first success. I cannot see that any plan
would be altered if it were to do again, the margin for bad weather
was ample according to all experience, and this stormy December--our
finest month--is a thing that the most cautious organiser might not
have been prepared to encounter. It is very evil to lie here in a wet
sleeping-bag and think of the pity of it, whilst with no break in the
overcast sky things go steadily from bad to worse (T. 32°). Meares has
a bad attack of snow blindness in one eye. I hope this rest will help
him, but he says it has been painful for a long time. There cannot
be good cheer in the camp in such weather, but it is ready to break
out again. In the brief spell of hope last night one heard laughter.

Midnight. Little or no improvement. The barometer is rising--perhaps
there is hope in that. Surely few situations could be more exasperating
than this of forced inactivity when every day and indeed one hour
counts. To be here watching the mottled wet green walls of our tent,
the glistening wet bamboos, the bedraggled sopping socks and loose
articles dangling in the middle, the saddened countenances of my
companions--to hear the everlasting patter of the falling snow
and the ceaseless rattle of the fluttering canvas--to feel the wet
clinging dampness of clothes and everything touched, and to know that
without there is but a blank wall of white on every side--these are
the physical surroundings. Add the stress of sighted failure of our
whole plan, and anyone must find the circumstances unenviable. But yet,
after all, one can go on striving, endeavouring to find a stimulation
in the difficulties that arise.

_Friday, December_ 8.--Camp 30. Hoped against hope for better
conditions, to wake to the mournfullest snow and wind as usual. We had
breakfast at 10, and at noon the wind dropped. We set about digging out
the sledges, no light task. We then shifted our tent sites. All tents
had been reduced to the smallest volume by the gradual pressure of
snow. The old sites are deep pits with hollowed-in wet centres. The
re-setting of the tent has at least given us comfort, especially
since the wind has dropped. About 4 the sky showed signs of breaking,
the sun and a few patches of land could be dimly discerned. The wind
shifted in light airs and a little hope revived. Alas! as I write
the sun has disappeared and snow is again falling.

Our case is growing desperate. Evans and his man-haulers tried to pull
a load this afternoon. They managed to move a sledge with four people
on it, pulling in ski. Pulling on foot they sank to the knees. The snow
all about us is terribly deep. We tried Nobby and he plunged to his
belly in it. Wilson thinks the ponies finished,_21_ but Oates thinks
they will get another march in spite of the surface, _if it comes
to-morrow_. If it should not, we must kill the ponies to-morrow and get
on as best we can with the men on ski and the dogs. But one wonders
what the dogs can do on such a surface. I much fear they also will
prove inadequate. Oh! for fine weather, if only to the Glacier. The
temperature remains 33°, and everything is disgustingly wet.

11 P.M.--The wind has gone to the north, the sky is really breaking at
last, the sun showing less sparingly, and the land appearing out of
the haze. The temperature has fallen to 26°, and the water nuisance
is already bating. With so fair a promise of improvement it would be
too cruel to have to face bad weather to-morrow. There is good cheer
in the camp to-night in the prospect of action. The poor ponies look
wistfully for the food of which so very little remains, yet they are
not hungry, as recent savings have resulted from food left in their
nosebags. They look wonderfully fit, all things considered. Everything
looks more hopeful to-night, but nothing can recall four lost days.

_Saturday, December_ 9.--Camp 31. I turned out two or three times in
the night to find the weather slowly improving; at 5.30 we all got up,
and at 8 got away with the ponies--a most painful day. The tremendous
snowfall of the late storm had made the surface intolerably soft,
and after the first hour there was no glide. We pressed on the poor
half-rationed animals, but could get none to lead for more than a few
minutes; following, the animals would do fairly well. It looked as
we could never make headway; the man-haulers were pressed into the
service to aid matters. Bowers and Cherry-Garrard went ahead with
one 10-foot sledge,--thus most painfully we made about a mile. The
situation was saved by P.O. Evans, who put the last pair of snowshoes
on Snatcher. From this he went on without much pressing, the other
ponies followed, and one by one were worn out in the second place. We
went on all day without lunch. Three or four miles (T. 23°) found
us engulfed in pressures, but free from difficulty except the awful
softness of the snow. By 8 P.M. we had reached within a mile or so of
the slope ascending to the gap which Shackleton called the Gateway._22_
I had hoped to be through the Gateway with the ponies still in hand
at a very much earlier date and, but for the devastating storm, we
should have been. It has been a most serious blow to us, but things
are not yet desperate, if only the storm has not hopelessly spoilt
the surface. The man-haulers are not up yet, in spite of their light
load. I think they have stopped for tea, or something, but under
ordinary conditions they would have passed us with ease.

At 8 P.M. the ponies were quite done, one and all. They came on
painfully slowly a few hundred yards at a time. By this time I
was hauling ahead, a ridiculously light load, and yet finding the
pulling heavy enough. We camped, and the ponies have been shot. [32]
Poor beasts! they have done wonderfully well considering the terrible
circumstances under which they worked, but yet it is hard to have to
kill them so early. The dogs are going well in spite of the surface,
but here again one cannot get the help one would wish. (T. 19°.) I
cannot load the animals heavily on such snow. The scenery is most
impressive; three huge pillars of granite form the right buttress
of the Gateway, and a sharp spur of Mount Hope the left. The land is
much more snow covered than when we saw it before the storm. In spite
of some doubt in our outlook, everyone is very cheerful to-night and
jokes are flying freely around.



CHAPTER XVII

On the Beardmore Glacier

_Sunday, December_ 10.--Camp 32. [33] I was very anxious about getting
our loads forward over such an appalling surface, and that we have
done so is mainly due to the ski. I roused everyone at 8, but it
was noon before all the readjustments of load had been made and we
were ready to start. The dogs carried 600 lbs. of our weight besides
the depot (200 lbs.). It was greatly to my surprise when we--my own
party--with a 'one, two, three together' started our sledge, and we
found it running fairly easily behind us. We did the first mile at
a rate of about 2 miles an hour, having previously very carefully
scraped and dried our runners. The day was gloriously fine and we
were soon perspiring. After the first mile we began to rise, and for
some way on a steep slope we held to our ski and kept going. Then the
slope got steeper and the surface much worse, and we had to take off
our ski. The pulling after this was extraordinarily fatiguing. We sank
above our finnesko everywhere, and in places nearly to our knees. The
runners of the sledges got coated with a thin film of ice from which we
could not free them, and the sledges themselves sank to the crossbars
in soft spots. All the time they were literally ploughing the snow. We
reached the top of the slope at 5, and started on after tea on the
down grade. On this we had to pull almost as hard as on the upward
slope, but could just manage to get along on ski. We camped at 9.15,
when a heavy wind coming down the glacier suddenly fell on us; but
I had decided to camp before, as Evans' party could not keep up, and
Wilson told me some very alarming news concerning it. It appears that
Atkinson says that Wright is getting played out and Lashly is not so
fit as he was owing to the heavy pulling since the blizzard. I have
not felt satisfied about this party. The finish of the march to-day
showed clearly that something was wrong. They fell a long way behind,
had to take off ski, and took nearly half an hour to come up a few
hundred yards. True, the surface was awful and growing worse every
moment. It is a very serious business if the men are going to crack
up. As for myself, I never felt fitter and my party can easily hold
its own. P.O. Evans, of course, is a tower of strength, but Oates
and Wilson are doing splendidly also.

Here where we are camped the snow is worse than I have ever seen
it, but we are in a hollow. Every step here one sinks to the knees
and the uneven surface is obviously insufficient to support the
sledges. Perhaps this wind is a blessing in disguise, already it seems
to be hardening the snow. All this soft snow is an aftermath of our
prolonged storm. Hereabouts Shackleton found hard blue ice. It seems
an extraordinary difference in fortune, and at every step S.'s luck
becomes more evident. I take the dogs on for half a day to-morrow,
then send them home. We have 200 lbs. to add to each sledge load and
could easily do it on a reasonable surface, but it looks very much as
though we shall be forced to relay if present conditions hold. There
is a strong wind down the glacier to-night.

'_Beardmore Glacier_.--Just a tiny note to be taken back by the
dogs. Things are not so rosy as they might be, but we keep our spirits
up and say the luck must turn. This is only to tell you that I find
I can keep up with the rest as well as of old.'

_Monday, December_ 11.--Camp 33. A very good day from one point of
view, very bad from another. We started straight out over the glacier
and passed through a good deal of disturbance. We pulled on ski and the
dogs followed. I cautioned the drivers to keep close to their sledges
and we must have passed over a good many crevasses undiscovered by us,
thanks to ski, and by the dogs owing to the soft snow. In one only
Seaman Evans dropped a leg, ski and all. We built our depot [34]
before starting, made it very conspicuous, and left a good deal of
gear there. The old man-hauling party made heavy weather at first,
but when relieved of a little weight and having cleaned their runners
and re-adjusted their load they came on in fine style, and, passing
us, took the lead. Starting about 11, by 3 o'clock we were clear of
the pressure, and I camped the dogs, discharged our loads, and we put
them on our sledges. It was a very anxious business when we started
after lunch, about 4.30. Could we pull our full loads or not? My own
party got away first, and, to my joy, I found we could make fairly
good headway. Every now and again the sledge sank in a soft patch,
which brought us up, but we learned to treat such occasions with
patience. We got sideways to the sledge and hauled it out, Evans
(P.O.) getting out of his ski to get better purchase. The great thing
is to keep the sledge moving, and for an hour or more there were
dozens of critical moments when it all but stopped, and not a few in
it brought up altogether. The latter were very trying and tiring. But
suddenly the surface grew more uniform and we more accustomed to the
game, for after a long stop to let the other parties come up, I started
at 6 and ran on till 7, pulling easily without a halt at the rate of
about 2 miles an hour. I was very jubilant; all difficulties seemed
to be vanishing; but unfortunately our history was not repeated with
the other parties. Bowers came up about half an hour after us. They
also had done well at the last, and I'm pretty sure they will get
on all right. Keohane is the only weak spot, and he only, I think,
because blind (temporarily). But Evans' party didn't get up till
10. They started quite well, but got into difficulties, did just the
wrong thing by straining again and again, and so, tiring themselves,
went from bad to worse. Their ski shoes, too, are out of trim.

Just as I thought we were in for making a great score, this difficulty
overtakes us--it is dreadfully trying. The snow around us to-night
is terribly soft, one sinks to the knee at every step; it would be
impossible to drag sledges on foot and very difficult for dogs. Ski are
the thing, and here are my tiresome fellow-countrymen too prejudiced
to have prepared themselves for the event. The dogs should get back
quite easily; there is food all along the line. The glacier wind
sprang up about 7; the morning was very fine and warm. To-night there
is some stratus cloud forming--a hint no more bad weather in sight. A
plentiful crop of snow blindness due to incaution--the sufferers Evans,
Bowers, Keohane, Lashly, Oates--in various degrees.

This forenoon Wilson went over to a boulder poised on the glacier. It
proved to be a very coarse granite with large crystals of quartz in
it. Evidently the rock of which the pillars of the Gateway and other
neighbouring hills are formed.

_Tuesday, December_ 12.--Camp 34. We have had a hard day, and during
the forenoon it was my team which made the heaviest weather of the
work. We got bogged again and again, and, do what we would, the
sledge dragged like lead. The others were working hard but nothing
to be compared to us. At 2.30 I halted for lunch, pretty well cooked,
and there was disclosed the secret of our trouble in a thin film with
some hard knots of ice on the runners. Evans' team had been sent off
in advance, and we didn't--couldn't!--catch them, but they saw us
camp and break camp and followed suit. I really dreaded starting after
lunch, but after some trouble to break the sledge out, we went ahead
without a hitch, and in a mile or two recovered our leading place
with obvious ability to keep it. At 6 I saw the other teams were
flagging and so camped at 7, meaning to turn out earlier to-morrow
and start a better routine. We have done about 8 or perhaps 9 miles
(stat.)--the sledge-meters are hopeless on such a surface.

It is evident that what I expected has occurred. The whole of the
lower valley is filled with snow from the recent storm, and if we
had not had ski we should be hopelessly bogged. On foot one sinks to
the knees, and if pulling on a sledge to half-way between knee and
thigh. It would, therefore, be absolutely impossible to advance on
foot with our loads. Considering all things, we are getting better
on ski. A crust is forming over the soft snow. In a week or so I have
little doubt it will be strong enough to support sledges and men. At
present it carries neither properly. The sledges get bogged every now
and again, sinking to the crossbars. Needless to say, the hauling is
terrible when this occurs.

We steered for the Commonwealth Range during the forenoon till we
reached about the middle of the glacier. This showed that the unnamed
glacier to the S.W. raised great pressure. Observing this, I altered
course for the 'Cloudmaker' and later still farther to the west. We
must be getting a much better view of the southern side of the main
glacier than Shackleton got, and consequently have observed a number
of peaks which he did not notice. We are about 5 or 5 1/2 days behind
him as a result of the storm, but on this surface our sledges could
not be more heavily laden than they are, in fact we have not nearly
enough runner surface as it is. Moreover, the sledges are packed too
high and therefore capsize too easily. I do not think the glacier can
be so broad as S. shows it. Certainly the scenery is not nearly so
impressive as that of the Ferrar, but there are interesting features
showing up--a distinct banded structure on Mount Elizabeth, which we
think may well be a recurrence of the Beacon Sandstone--more banding
on the Commonwealth Range. During the three days we have been here the
wind has blown down the glacier at night, or rather from the S.W., and
it has been calm in the morning--a sort of nightly land-breeze. There
is also a very remarkable difference in temperature between day and
night. It was +33° when we started, and without hard work we were
literally soaked through with perspiration. It is now +23°. Evans'
party kept up much better to-day; we had their shoes into our tent
this morning, and P.O. Evans put them into shape again.

_Wednesday, December_ 13.--Camp 35. A most _damnably_ dismal day. We
started at eight--the pulling terribly bad, though the glide decidedly
good; a new crust in patches, not sufficient to support the ski, but
without possibility of hold. Therefore, as the pullers got on the
hard patches they slipped back. The sledges plunged into the soft
places and stopped dead. Evans' party got away first; we followed,
and for some time helped them forward at their stops, but this proved
altogether too much for us, so I forged ahead and camped at 1 P.M., as
the others were far astern. During lunch I decided to try the 10-feet
runners under the crossbars and we spent three hours in securing
them. There was no delay on account of the slow progress of the other
parties. Evans passed us, and for some time went forward fairly well up
a decided slope. The sun was shining on the surface by this time, and
the temperature high. Bowers started after Evans, and it was easy to
see the really terrible state of affairs with them. They made desperate
efforts to get along, but ever got more and more bogged--evidently the
glide had vanished. When we got away we soon discovered how awful the
surface had become; added to the forenoon difficulties the snow had
become wet and sticky. We got our load along, soon passing Bowers,
but the toil was simply awful. We were soaked with perspiration and
thoroughly breathless with our efforts. Again and again the sledge
got one runner on harder snow than the other, canted on its side,
and refused to move. At the top of the rise I found Evans reduced to
relay work, and Bowers followed his example soon after. We got our
whole load through till 7 P.M., camping time, but only with repeated
halts and labour which was altogether too strenuous. The other parties
certainly cannot get a full load along on the surface, and I much
doubt if we could continue to do so, but we must try again to-morrow.

I suppose we have advanced a bare 4 miles to-day and the aspect of
things is very little changed. Our height is now about 1,500 feet;
I had pinned my faith on getting better conditions as we rose, but
it looks as though matters were getting worse instead of better. As
far as the Cloudmaker the valley looks like a huge basin for the
lodgement of such snow as this. We can but toil on, but it is woefully
disheartening. I am not at all hungry, but pretty thirsty. (T. +15°.) I
find our summit ration is even too filling for the present. Two skuas
came round the camp at lunch, no doubt attracted by our 'Shambles'
camp.

_Thursday, December_ 14.--Camp 36. Indigestion and the soggy
condition of my clothes kept me awake for some time last night,
and the exceptional exercise gives bad attacks of cramp. Our lips
are getting raw and blistered. The eyes of the party are improving,
I am glad to say. We are just starting our march with no very hopeful
outlook. (T. + 13°.)

_Evening._ (Height about 2000 feet.) Evans' party started first this
morning; for an hour they found the hauling stiff, but after that,
to my great surprise, they went on easily. Bowers followed without
getting over the ground so easily. After the first 200 yards my own
party came on with a swing that told me at once that all would be
well. We soon caught the others and offered to take on more weight,
but Evans' pride wouldn't allow such help. Later in the morning we
exchanged sledges with Bowers, pulled theirs easily, whilst they made
quite heavy work with ours. I am afraid Cherry-Garrard and Keohane
are the weakness of that team, though both put their utmost into
the traces. However, we all lunched together after a satisfactory
morning's work. In the afternoon we did still better, and camped at
6.30 with a very marked change in the land bearings. We must have
come 11 or 12 miles (stat.). We got fearfully hot on the march,
sweated through everything and stripped off jerseys. The result is
we are pretty cold and clammy now, but escape from the soft snow and
a good march compensate every discomfort. At lunch the blue ice was
about 2 feet beneath us, now it is barely a foot, so that I suppose
we shall soon find it uncovered. To-night the sky is overcast and
wind has been blowing up the glacier. I think there will be another
spell of gloomy weather on the Barrier, and the question is whether
this part of the glacier escapes. There are crevasses about, one
about eighteen inches across outside Bowers' tent, and a narrower
one outside our own. I think the soft snow trouble is at an end,
and I could wish nothing better than a continuance of the present
surface. Towards the end of the march we were pulling our loads with
the greatest ease. It is splendid to be getting along and to find
some adequate return for the work we are putting into the business.

_Friday, December_ 15.--Camp 37. (Height about 2500. Lat. about 84°
8'.) Got away at 8; marched till 1; the surface improving and snow
covering thinner over the blue ice, but the sky overcast and glooming,
the clouds ever coming lower, and Evans' is now decidedly the slowest
unit, though Bowers' is not much faster. We keep up and overhaul
either without difficulty. It was an enormous relief yesterday to
get steady going without involuntary stops, but yesterday and this
morning, once the sledge was stopped, it was very difficult to start
again--the runners got temporarily stuck. This afternoon for the first
time we could start by giving one good heave together, and so for the
first time we are able to stop to readjust footgear or do any other
desirable task. This is a second relief for which we are most grateful.

At the lunch camp the snow covering was less than a foot, and at this
it is a bare nine inches; patches of ice and hard névé are showing
through in places. I meant to camp at 6.30, but before 5.0 the sky came
down on us with falling snow. We could see nothing, and the pulling
grew very heavy. At 5.45 there seemed nothing to do but camp--another
interrupted march. Our luck is really very bad. We should have done
a good march to-day, as it is we have covered about 11 miles (stat.).

Since supper there are signs of clearing again, but I don't like the
look of things; this weather has been working up from the S.E. with
all the symptoms of our pony-wrecking storm. Pray heaven we are not
going to have this wretched snow in the worst part of the glacier
to come. The lower part of this glacier is not very interesting,
except from an ice point of view. Except Mount Kyffen, little bare
rock is visible, and its structure at this distance is impossible
to determine. There are no moraines on the surface of the glacier
either. The tributary glaciers are very fine and have cut very deep
courses, though they do not enter at grade. The walls of this valley
are extraordinarily steep; we count them at least 60° in places. The
ice-falls descending over the northern sides are almost continuous one
with another, but the southern steep faces are nearly bare; evidently
the sun gets a good hold on them. There must be a good deal of melting
and rock weathering, the talus heaps are considerable under the
southern rock faces. Higher up the valley there is much more bare rock
and stratification, which promises to be very interesting, but oh! for
fine weather; surely we have had enough of this oppressive gloom.

_Saturday, December 16_.--Camp 38. A gloomy morning, clearing at noon
and ending in a gloriously fine evening. Although constantly anxious in
the morning, the light held good for travelling throughout the day,
and we have covered 11 miles (stat.), altering the aspect of the
glacier greatly. But the travelling has been very hard. We started
at 7, lunched at 12.15, and marched on till 6.30--over ten hours on
the march--the limit of time to be squeezed into one day. We began on
ski as usual, Evans' team hampering us a bit; the pulling very hard
after yesterday's snowfall. In the afternoon we continued on ski
till after two hours we struck a peculiarly difficult surface--old
hard sastrugi underneath, with pits and high soft sastrugi due to
very recent snowfalls. The sledges were so often brought up by this
that we decided to take to our feet, and thus made better progress,
but for the time with very excessive labour. The crust, brittle,
held for a pace or two, then let one down with a bump some 8 or 10
inches. Now and again one's leg went down a crack in the hard ice
underneath. We drew up a slope on this surface and discovered a long
icefall extending right across our track, I presume the same pressure
which caused Shackleton to turn towards the Cloudmaker. We made in
for that mountain and soon got on hard, crevassed, undulating ice
with quantities of soft snow in the hollows. The disturbance seems to
increase, but the snow to diminish as we approach the rocks. We shall
look for a moraine and try and follow it up to-morrow. The hills on
our left have horizontally stratified rock alternating with snow. The
exposed rock is very black; the brownish colour of the Cloudmaker has
black horizontal streaks across it. The sides of the glacier north
of the Cloudmaker have a curious cutting, the upper part less steep
than the lower, suggestive of different conditions of glacier-flow
in succeeding ages.

We must push on all we can, for we are now 6 days behind Shackleton,
all due to that wretched storm. So far, since we got amongst the
disturbances we have not seen such alarming crevasses as I had
expected; certainly dogs could have come up as far as this. At present
one gets terrible hot and perspiring on the march, and quickly cold
when halted, but the sun makes up for all evils. It is very difficult
to know what to do about the ski; their weight is considerable and yet
under certain circumstances they are extraordinarily useful. Everyone
is very satisfied with our summit ration. The party which has been
man-hauling for so long say they are far less hungry than they used
to be. It is good to think that the majority will keep up this good
feeding all through.

_Sunday, December_ 17.--Camp 39. Soon after starting we found ourselves
in rather a mess; bad pressure ahead and long waves between us and
the land. Blue ice showed on the crests of the waves; very soft snow
lay in the hollows. We had to cross the waves in places 30 feet from
crest to hollow, and we did it by sitting on the sledge and letting
her go. Thus we went down with a rush and our impetus carried us some
way up the other side; then followed a fearfully tough drag to rise
the next crest. After two hours of this I saw a larger wave, the crest
of which continued hard ice up the glacier; we reached this and got
excellent travelling for 2 miles on it, then rose on a steep gradient,
and so topped the pressure ridge. The smooth ice is again lost and
we have patches of hard and soft snow with ice peeping out in places,
cracks in all directions, and legs very frequently down. We have done
very nearly 5 miles (geo.).

Evening.--(Temp. -12°.) Height about 3500 above Barrier. After lunch
decided to take the risk of sticking to the centre of the glacier,
with good result. We travelled on up the more or less rounded ridge
which I had selected in the morning, and camped at 6.30 with 12 1/2
stat. miles made good. This has put Mount Hope in the background
and shows us more of the upper reaches. If we can keep up the pace,
we gain on Shackleton, and I don't see any reason why we shouldn't,
except that more pressure is showing up ahead. For once one can say
'sufficient for the day is the good thereof.' Our luck may be on
the turn--I think we deserve it. In spite of the hard work everyone
is very fit and very cheerful, feeling well fed and eager for more
toil. Eyes are much better except poor Wilson's; he has caught a very
bad attack. Remembering his trouble on our last Southern journey,
I fear he is in for a very bad time.

We got fearfully hot this morning and marched in singlets, which
became wringing wet; thus uncovered the sun gets at one's skin,
and then the wind, which makes it horribly uncomfortable.

Our lips are very sore. We cover them with the soft silk plaster
which seems about the best thing for the purpose.

I'm inclined to think that the summit trouble will be mostly due to the
chill falling on sunburned skins. Even now one feels the cold strike
directly one stops. We get fearfully thirsty and chip up ice on the
march, as well as drinking a great deal of water on halting. Our fuel
only just does it, but that is all we want, and we have a bit in hand
for the summit.

The pulling this afternoon was fairly pleasant; at first over hard
snow, and then on to pretty rough ice with surface snowfield cracks,
bad for sledges, but ours promised to come through well. We have
worn our crampons all day and are delighted with them. P.O. Evans,
the inventor of both crampons and ski shoes, is greatly pleased, and
certainly we owe him much. The weather is beginning to look dirty
again, snow clouds rolling in from the east as usual. I believe it
will be overcast to-morrow.

_Monday, December_ 18.--Camp 40. Lunch nearly 4000 feet above
Barrier. Overcast and snowing this morning as I expected, land showing
on starboard hand, so, though it was gloomy and depressing, we could
march, and did. We have done our 8 stat. miles between 8.20 and 1
P.M.; at first fairly good surface; then the ice got very rugged
with sword-cut splits. We got on a slope which made matters worse. I
then pulled up to the left, at first without much improvement,
but as we topped a rise the surface got much better and things look
quite promising for the moment. On our right we have now a pretty
good view of the Adams Marshall and Wild Mountains and their very
curious horizontal stratification. Wright has found, amongst bits
of wind-blown debris, an undoubted bit of sandstone and a bit of
black basalt. We must get to know more of the geology before leaving
the glacier finally. This morning all our gear was fringed with ice
crystals which looked very pretty.

Afternoon.--(Night camp No. 40, about 4500 above
Barrier. T. -11°. Lat. about 84° 34'.) After lunch got on some very
rough stuff within a few hundred yards of pressure ridge. There
seemed no alternative, and we went through with it. Later, the
glacier opened out into a broad basin with irregular undulations,
and we on to a better surface, but later on again this improvement
nearly vanished, so that it has been hard going all day, but we
have done a good mileage (over 14 stat.). We are less than five
days behind S. now. There was a promise of a clearance about noon,
but later more snow clouds drifted over from the east, and now it is
snowing again. We have scarcely caught a gimpse of the eastern side
of the glacier all day. The western side has not been clear enough to
photograph at the halts. It is very annoying, but I suppose we must
be thankful when we can get our marches off. Still sweating horribly
on the march and very thirsty at the halts.

_Tuesday, December 19_.--Lunch, rise 650. Dist. 8 1/2 geo. Camp
41. Things are looking up. Started on good surface, soon came to very
annoying criss-cross cracks. I fell into two and have bad bruises
on knee and thigh, but we got along all the time until we reached
an admirable smooth ice surface excellent for travelling. The last
mile, névé predominating and therefore the pulling a trifle harder, we
have risen into the upper basin of the glacier. Seemingly close about
us are the various land masses which adjoin the summit: it looks as
though we might have difficulties in the last narrows. We are having
a long lunch hour for angles, photographs, and sketches. The slight
south-westerly wind came down the glacier as we started, and the sky,
which was overcast, has rapidly cleared in consequence.

Night. Height about 5800. Camp 41. We stepped off this afternoon at the
rate of 2 miles or more an hour, with the very satisfactory result of
17 (stat.) miles to the good for the day. It has not been a strain,
except perhaps for me with my wounds received early in the day. The
wind has kept us cool on the march, which has in consequence been
very much pleasanter; we are not wet in our clothes to-night, and
have not suffered from the same overpowering thirst as on previous
days. (T. -11°.) (Min. -5°.) Evans and Bowers are busy taking angles;
as they have been all day, we shall have material for an excellent
chart. Days like this put heart in one.

_Wednesday, December 20_.--Camp 42. 6500 feet about. Just got off
our last best half march--10 miles 1150 yards (geo.), over 12 miles
stat. With an afternoon to follow we should do well to-day; the wind
has been coming up the valley. Turning this book [35] seems to have
brought luck. We marched on till nearly 7 o'clock after a long lunch
halt, and covered 19 1/2 geo. miles, nearly 23 (stat.), rising 800
feet. This morning we came over a considerable extent of hard snow,
then got to hard ice with patches of snow; a state of affairs which has
continued all day. Pulling the sledges in crampons is no difficulty at
all. At lunch Wilson and Bowers walked back 2 miles or so to try and
find Bowers' broken sledgemeter, without result. During their absence
a fog spread about us, carried up the valleys by easterly wind. We
started the afternoon march in this fog very unpleasantly, but later
it gradually lifted, and to-night it is very fine and warm. As the fog
lifted we saw a huge line of pressure ahead; I steered for a place
where the slope looked smoother, and we are camped beneath the spot
to-night. We must be ahead of Shackleton's position on the 17th. All
day we have been admiring a wonderful banded structure of the rock;
to-night it is beautifully clear on Mount Darwin.

I have just told off the people to return to-morrow night: Atkinson,
Wright, Cherry-Garrard, and Keohane. All are disappointed--poor Wright
rather bitterly, I fear. I dread this necessity of choosing--nothing
could be more heartrending. I calculated our programme to start from
85° 10' with 12 units of food [36] and eight men. We ought to be in
this position to-morrow night, less one day's food. After all our
harassing trouble one cannot but be satisfied with such a prospect.

_Thursday, December_ 21.--Camp 43. Lat. 85° 7'. Long. 163° 4'. Height
about 8000 feet. Upon Glacier Depot. Temp. -2°. We climbed the ice
slope this morning and found a very bad surface on top, as far as
crevasses were concerned. We all had falls into them, Atkinson and
Teddy Evans going down the length of their harness. Evans had rather
a shake up. The rotten ice surface continued for a long way, though
I crossed to and fro towards the land, trying to get on better ground.

At 12 the wind came from the north, bringing the inevitable [mist]
up the valley and covering us just as we were in the worst of
places. We camped for lunch, and were obliged to wait two and a half
hours for a clearance. Then the sun began to struggle through and
we were off. We soon got out of the worst crevasses and on to a long
snow slope leading on part of Mount Darwin. It was a very long stiff
pull up, and I held on till 7.30, when, the other team being some way
astern, I camped. We have done a good march, risen to a satisfactory
altitude, and reached a good place for our depot. To-morrow we start
with our fullest summit load, and the first march should show us the
possibilities of our achievement. The temperature has dropped below
zero, but to-night it is so calm and bright that one feels delightfully
warm and comfortable in the tent. Such weather helps greatly in all
the sorting arrangements, &c., which are going on to-night. For me
it is an immense relief to have the indefatigable little Bowers to
see to all detail arrangements of this sort.

We have risen a great height to-day and I hope it will not be necessary
to go down again, but it looks as though we must dip a bit even to
go to the south-west.

'December 21, 1911. Lat. 85° S. We are struggling on, considering all
things, against odds. The weather is a constant anxiety, otherwise
arrangements are working exactly as planned.

'For your own ear also, I am exceedingly fit and can go with the best
of them.

'It is a pity the luck doesn't come our way, because every detail of
equipment is right.

'I write this sitting in our tent waiting for the fog to clear--an
exasperating position as we are in the worst crevassed region. Teddy
Evans and Atkinson were down to the length of their harness this
morning, and we have all been half-way down. As first man I get first
chance, and it's decidedly exciting not knowing which step will give
way. Still all this is interesting enough if one could only go on.

'Since writing the above I made a dash for it, got out of the valley
out of the fog and away from crevasses. So here we are practically
on the summit and up to date in the provision line. We ought to
get through.'



CHAPTER XVIII

The Summit Journey to the Pole

A FRESH MS. BOOK

_On the Flyleaf_.--Ages: Self 43, Wilson 39, Evans (P.O.) 37, Oates
32, Bowers 28. Average 36.

_Friday, December 22_.--Camp 44, about 7100
feet. T. -1°. Bar. 22.3. This, the third stage of our journey, is
opening with good promise. We made our depot this morning, then said
an affecting farewell to the returning party, who have taken things
very well, dear good fellows as they are._23_

Then we started with our heavy loads about 9.20, I in some
trepidation--quickly dissipated as we went off and up a slope at a
smart pace. The second sledge came close behind us, showing that
we have weeded the weak spots and made the proper choice for the
returning party.

We came along very easily and lunched at 1, when the sledge-meter
had to be repaired, and we didn't get off again till 3.20, camping at
6.45. Thus with 7 hours' marching we covered 10 1/2 miles (geo.) (12
stat.).

Obs.: Lat. 85° 13 1/2'; Long. 161° 55'; Var. 175° 46' E.

To-morrow we march longer hours, about 9 I hope. Every day the loads
will lighten, and so we ought to make the requisite progress. I
think we have climbed about 250 feet to-day, but thought it more
on the march. We look down on huge pressure ridges to the south and
S.E., and in fact all round except in the direction in which we go,
S.W. We seem to be travelling more or less parallel to a ridge which
extends from Mt. Darwin. Ahead of us to-night is a stiffish incline
and it looks as though there might be pressure behind it. It is very
difficult to judge how matters stand, however, in such a confusion
of elevations and depressions. This course doesn't work wonders in
change of latitude, but I think it is the right track to clear the
pressures--at any rate I shall hold it for the present.

We passed one or two very broad (30 feet) bridged crevasses with
the usual gaping sides; they were running pretty well in N. and
S. direction. The weather has been beautifully fine all day as it was
last night. (Night Temp. -9°.) This morning there was an hour or so of
haze due to clouds from the N. Now it is perfectly clear, and we get a
fine view of the mountain behind which Wilson has just been sketching.

_Saturday, December_ 23.--Lunch. Bar. 22.01. Rise 370? Started at 8,
steering S.W. Seemed to be rising, and went on well for about 3 hours,
then got amongst bad crevasses and hard waves. We pushed on to S.W.,
but things went from bad to worse, and we had to haul out to the
north, then west. West looks clear for the present, but it is not
a very satisfactory direction. We have done 8 1/2' (geo.), a good
march. (T. -3°. Southerly wind, force 2.) The comfort is that we are
rising. On one slope we got a good view of the land and the pressure
ridges to the S.E. They seem to be disposed 'en échelon' and gave me
the idea of shearing cracks. They seemed to lessen as we ascend. It
is rather trying having to march so far to the west, but if we keep
rising we must come to the end of the obstacles some time.

_Saturday night_.--Camp 45. T. -3°. Bar. 21.61. ?Rise. Height about
7750. Great vicissitudes of fortune in the afternoon march. Started
west up a slope--about the fifth we have mounted in the last
two days. On top, another pressure appeared on the left, but less
lofty and more snow-covered than that which had troubled us in the
morning. There was temptation to try it, and I had been gradually
turning in its direction. But I stuck to my principle and turned west
up yet another slope. On top of this we got on the most extraordinary
surface--narrow crevasses ran in all directions. They were quite
invisible, being covered with a thin crust of hardened névé without a
sign of a crack in it. We all fell in one after another and sometimes
two together. We have had many unexpected falls before, but usually
through being unable to mark the run of the surface appearances
of cracks, or where such cracks are covered with soft snow. How a
hardened crust can form over a crack is a real puzzle--it seems to
argue extremely slow movement. Dead reckoning, 85° 22' 1'' S., 159°
31' E.

In the broader crevasses this morning we noticed that it was the
lower edge of the bridge which was rotten, whereas in all in the
glacier the upper edge was open.

Near the narrow crevasses this afternoon we got about 10 minutes on
snow which had a hard crust and loose crystals below. It was like
breaking through a glass house at each step, but quite suddenly at
5 P.M. everything changed. The hard surface gave place to regular
sastrugi and our horizon levelled in every direction. I hung on
to the S.W. till 6 P.M., and then camped with a delightful feeling
of security that we had at length reached the summit proper. I am
feeling very cheerful about everything to-night. We marched 15 miles
(geo.) (over 17 stat.) to-day, mounting nearly 800 feet and all in
about 8 1/2 hours. My determination to keep mounting irrespective of
course is fully justified and I shall be indeed surprised if we have
any further difficulties with crevasses or steep slopes. To me for the
first time our goal seems really in sight. We can pull our loads and
pull them much faster and farther than I expected in my most hopeful
moments. I only pray for a fair share of good weather. There is a cold
wind now as expected, but with good clothes and well fed as we are, we
can stick a lot worse than we are getting. I trust this may prove the
turning-point in our fortunes for which we have waited so patiently.

_Sunday, December_ 24.--Lunch. Bar. 21.48. ?Rise 160 feet. Christmas
Eve. 7 1/4 miles geo. due south, and a rise, I think, more than shown
by barometer. This in five hours, on the surface which ought to be a
sample of what we shall have in the future. With our present clothes it
is a fairly heavy plod, but we get over the ground, which is a great
thing. A high pressure ridge has appeared on the 'port bow.' It seems
isolated, but I shall be glad to lose sight of such disturbances. The
wind is continuous from the S.S.E., very searching. We are now marching
in our wind blouses and with somewhat more protection on the head.

Bar. 21.41. Camp 46. Rise for day ?about 250 ft. or 300 ft. Hypsometer,
8000 ft.

The first two hours of the afternoon march went very well. Then the
sledges hung a bit, and we plodded on and covered something over 14
miles (geo.) in the day. We lost sight of the big pressure ridge,
but to-night another smaller one shows fine on the 'port bow,' and the
surface is alternately very hard and fairly soft; dips and rises all
round. It is evident we are skirting more disturbances, and I sincerely
hope it will not mean altering course more to the west. 14 miles in
4 hours is not so bad considering the circumstances. The southerly
wind is continuous and not at all pleasant in camp, but on the march
it keeps us cool. (T. -3°.) The only inconvenience is the extent to
which our faces get iced up. The temperature hovers about zero.

We have not struck a crevasse all day, which is a good sign. The
sun continues to shine in a cloudless sky, the wind rises and falls,
and about us is a scene of the wildest desolation, but we are a very
cheerful party and to-morrow is Christmas Day, with something extra
in the hoosh.

_Monday, December_ 25. CHRISTMAS.--Lunch. Bar. 21.14. Rise 240
feet. The wind was strong last night and this morning; a light snowfall
in the night; a good deal of drift, subsiding when we started, but
still about a foot high. I thought it might have spoilt the surface,
but for the first hour and a half we went along in fine style. Then
we started up a rise, and to our annoyance found ourselves amongst
crevasses once more--very hard, smooth névé between high ridges at
the edge of crevasses, and therefore very difficult to get foothold
to pull the sledges. Got our ski sticks out, which improved matters,
but we had to tack a good deal and several of us went half down. After
half an hour of this I looked round and found the second sledge halted
some way in rear--evidently someone had gone into a crevasse. We saw
the rescue work going on, but had to wait half an hour for the party
to come up, and got mighty cold. It appears that Lashly went down
very suddenly, nearly dragging the crew with him. The sledge ran on
and jammed the span so that the Alpine rope had to be got out and
used to pull Lashly to the surface again. Lashly says the crevasse
was 50 feet deep and 8 feet across, in form U, showing that the word
'unfathomable' can rarely be applied. Lashly is 44 to-day and as hard
as nails. His fall has not even disturbed his equanimity.

After topping the crevasse ridge we got on a better surface and came
along fairly well, completing over 7 miles (geo.) just before 1
o'clock. We have risen nearly 250 feet this morning; the wind was
strong and therefore trying, mainly because it held the sledge;
it is a little lighter now.

Night. Camp No. 47. Bar. 21.18. T. -7°. I am so replete that I can
scarcely write. After sundry luxuries, such as chocolate and raisins
at lunch, we started off well, but soon got amongst crevasses, huge
snowfields roadways running almost in our direction, and across hidden
cracks into which we frequently fell. Passing for two miles or so along
between two roadways, we came on a huge pit with raised sides. Is
this a submerged mountain peak or a swirl in the stream? Getting
clear of crevasses and on a slightly down grade, we came along at a
swinging pace--splendid. I marched on till nearly 7.30, when we had
covered 15 miles (geo.) (17 1/4 stat.). I knew that supper was to
be a 'tightener,' and indeed it has been--so much that I must leave
description till the morning.

Dead reckoning, Lat. 85° 50' S.; Long. 159° 8' 2'' E. Bar. 21.22.

Towards the end of the march we seemed to get into better condition;
about us the surface rises and falls on the long slopes of vast mounds
or undulations--no very definite system in their disposition. We
camped half-way up a long slope.

In the middle of the afternoon we got another fine view of the
land. The Dominion Range ends abruptly as observed, then come two
straits and two other masses of land. Similarly north of the wild
mountains is another strait and another mass of land. The various
straits are undoubtedly overflows, and the masses of land mark the
inner fringe of the exposed coastal mountains, the general direction of
which seems about S.S.E., from which it appears that one could be much
closer to the Pole on the Barrier by continuing on it to the S.S.E. We
ought to know more of this when Evans' observations are plotted.

I must write a word of our supper last night. We had four courses. The
first, pemmican, full whack, with slices of horse meat flavoured with
onion and curry powder and thickened with biscuit; then an arrowroot,
cocoa and biscuit hoosh sweetened; then a plum-pudding; then cocoa
with raisins, and finally a dessert of caramels and ginger. After
the feast it was difficult to move. Wilson and I couldn't finish
our share of plum-pudding. We have all slept splendidly and feel
thoroughly warm--such is the effect of full feeding.

_Tuesday, December_ 26.--Lunch. Bar. 21.11. Four and three-quarters
hours, 6 3/4 miles (geo.). Perhaps a little slow after plum-pudding,
but I think we are getting on to the surface which is likely to
continue the rest of the way. There are still mild differences of
elevation, but generally speaking the plain is flattening out; no
doubt we are rising slowly.

Camp 48. Bar. 21.02. The first two hours of the afternoon march went
well; then we got on a rough rise and the sledge came badly. Camped
at 6.30, sledge coming easier again at the end.

It seems astonishing to be disappointed with a march of 15
(stat.) miles, when I had contemplated doing little more than 10 with
full loads.

We are on the 86th parallel. Obs.: 86° 2' S.; 160° 26' E. The
temperature has been pretty consistent of late, -10° to -12° at night,
-3° in the day. The wind has seemed milder to-day--it blows anywhere
from S.E. to south. I had thought to have done with pressures,
but to-night a crevassed slope appears on our right. We shall pass
well clear of it, but there may be others. The undulating character
of the plain causes a great variety of surface, owing, of course,
to the varying angles at which the wind strikes the slopes. We were
half an hour late starting this morning, which accounts for some loss
of distance, though I should be content to keep up an average of 13'
(geo.).

_Wednesday, December_ 27.--Lunch. Bar. 21.02. The wind light this
morning and the pulling heavy. Everyone sweated, especially the second
team, which had great difficulty in keeping up. We have been going up
and down, the up grades very tiring, especially when we get amongst
sastrugi which jerk the sledge about, but we have done 7 1/4 miles
(geo.). A very bad accident this morning. Bowers broke the only
hypsometer thermometer. We have nothing to check our two aneroids.

Night camp 49. Bar. 20.82. T. -6.3°. We marched off well after
lunch on a soft, snowy surface, then came to slippery hard sastrugi
and kept a good pace; but I felt this meant something wrong, and on
topping a short rise we were once more in the midst of crevasses and
disturbances. For an hour it was dreadfully trying--had to pick a road,
tumbled into crevasses, and got jerked about abominably. At the summit
of the ridge we came into another 'pit' or 'whirl,' which seemed the
centre of the trouble--is it a submerged mountain peak? During the
last hour and a quarter we pulled out on to soft snow again and moved
well. Camped at 6.45, having covered 13 1/3 miles (geo.). Steering the
party is no light task. One cannot allow one's thoughts to wander as
others do, and when, as this afternoon, one gets amongst disturbances,
I find it is very worrying and tiring. I do trust we shall have no more
of them. We have not lost sight of the sun since we came on the summit;
we should get an extraordinary record of sunshine. It is monotonous
work this; the sledgemeter and theodolite govern the situation.

_Thursday, December_ 28.--Lunch. Bar. 20.77. I start cooking again
to-morrow morning. We have had a troublesome day but have completed our
13 miles (geo.). My unit pulled away easy this morning and stretched
out for two hours--the second unit made heavy weather. I changed
with Evans and found the second sledge heavy--could keep up, but the
team was not swinging with me as my own team swings. Then I changed
P.O. Evans for Lashly. We seemed to get on better, but at the moment
the surface changed and we came up over a rise with hard sastrugi. At
the top we camped for lunch. What was the difficulty? One theory was
that some members of the second party were stale. Another that all was
due to the bad stepping and want of swing; another that the sledge
pulled heavy. In the afternoon we exchanged sledges, and at first
went off well, but getting into soft snow, we found a terrible drag,
the second party coming quite easily with our sledge. So the sledge
is the cause of the trouble, and talking it out, I found that all is
due to want of care. The runners ran excellently, but the structure
has been distorted by bad strapping, bad loading, this afternoon and
only managed to get 12 miles (geo.). The very hard pulling has occurred
on two rises. It appears that the loose snow is blown over the rises
and rests in heaps on the north-facing slopes. It is these heaps
that cause our worst troubles. The weather looks a little doubtful,
a good deal of cirrus cloud in motion over us, radiating E. and W. The
wind shifts from S.E. to S.S.W., rising and falling at intervals; it
is annoying to the march as it retards the sledges, but it must help
the surface, I think, and so hope for better things to-morrow. The
marches are terribly monotonous. One's thoughts wander occasionally to
pleasanter scenes and places, but the necessity to keep the course,
or some hitch in the surface, quickly brings them back. There have
been some hours of very steady plodding to-day; these are the best
part of the business, they mean forgetfulness and advance.

_Saturday, December_ 30.--Bar. 20.42. Lunch. Night camp
52. Bar. 20.36. Rise about 150. A very trying, tiring march, and only
11 miles (geo.) covered. Wind from the south to S.E., not quite so
strong as usual; the usual clear sky.

We camped on a rise last night, and it was some time before we
reached the top this morning. This took it out of us as the second
party dropped. I went on 6 l/2 miles (when the second party was some
way astern) and lunched. We came on in the afternoon, the other party
still dropping, camped at 6.30--they at 7.15. We came up another rise
with the usual gritty snow towards the end of the march. For us the
interval between the two rises, some 8 miles, was steady plodding work
which we might keep up for some time. To-morrow I'm going to march
half a day, make a depot and build the 10-feet sledges. The second
party is certainly tiring; it remains to be seen how they will manage
with the smaller sledge and lighter load. The surface is certainly
much worse than it was 50 miles back. (T. -10°.) We have caught up
Shackleton's dates. Everything would be cheerful if I could persuade
myself that the second party were quite fit to go forward.

_Sunday, December_ 31.--New Year's Eve. 20.17. Height about
9126. T. -10°. Camp 53. Corrected Aneroid. The second party depoted
its ski and some other weights equivalent to about 100 lbs. I sent
them off first; they marched, but not very fast. We followed and
did not catch them before they camped by direction at 1.30. By this
time we had covered exactly 7 miles (geo.), and we must have risen a
good deal. We rose on a steep incline at the beginning of the march,
and topped another at the end, showing a distance of about 5 miles
between the wretched slopes which give us the hardest pulling, but
as a matter of fact, we have been rising all day.

We had a good full brew of tea and then set to work stripping the
sledges. That didn't take long, but the process of building up the
10-feet sledges now in operation in the other tent is a long job. Evans
(P.O.) and Crean are tackling it, and it is a very remarkable piece
of work. Certainly P.O. Evans is the most invaluable asset to our
party. To build a sledge under these conditions is a fact for special
record. Evans (Lieut.) has just found the latitude--86° 56' S., so
that we are pretty near the 87th parallel aimed at for to-night. We
lose half a day, but I hope to make that up by going forward at much
better speed.

This is to be called the '3 Degree Depot,' and it holds a week's
provisions for both units.

There is extraordinarily little mirage up here and the refraction
is very small. Except for the seamen we are all sitting in a double
tent--the first time we have put up the inner lining to the tent;
it seems to make us much snugger.

10 P.M.--The job of rebuilding is taking longer than I expected,
but is now almost done. The 10-feet sledges look very handy. We had
an extra drink of tea and are now turned into our bags in the double
tent (five of us) as warm as toast, and just enough light to write
or work with. Did not get to bed till 2 A.M.

Obs.: 86° 55' 47'' S.; 165° 5' 48'' E.; Var. 175° 40'E. Morning
Bar. 20.08.

_Monday, January_ 1, 1912.--NEW YEAR'S DAY. Lunch. Bar. 20.04. Roused
hands about 7.30 and got away 9.30, Evans' party going ahead on
foot. We followed on ski. Very stupidly we had not seen to our ski
shoes beforehand, and it took a good half-hour to get them right;
Wilson especially had trouble. When we did get away, to our surprise
the sledge pulled very easily, and we made fine progress, rapidly
gaining on the foot-haulers.

Night camp 54. Bar. 19.98. Risen about 150 feet. Height about 9600
above Barrier. They camped for lunch at 5 1/2 miles and went on easily,
completing 11.3 (geo.) by 7.30. We were delayed again at lunch camp,
Evans repairing the tent, and I the cooker. We caught the other
party more easily in the afternoon and kept alongside them the last
quarter of an hour. It was surprising how easily the sledge pulled;
we have scarcely exerted ourselves all day.

We have been rising again all day, but the slopes are less
accentuated. I had expected trouble with ski and hard patches, but we
found none at all. (T. -14°.) The temperature is steadily falling,
but it seems to fall with the wind. We are _very_ comfortable in
our double tent. Stick of chocolate to celebrate the New Year. The
supporting party not in very high spirits, they have not managed
matters well for themselves. Prospects seem to get brighter--only
170 miles to go and plenty of food left.

_Tuesday, January 2_.--T. -17°. Camp 55. Height about 9980. At
lunch my aneroid reading over scale 12,250, shifted hand to read
10,250. Proposed to enter heights in future with correction as
calculated at end of book (minus 340 feet). The foot party went off
early, before 8, and marched till 1. Again from 2.35 to 6.30. We
started more than half an hour later on each march and caught the
others easy. It's been a plod for the foot people and pretty easy
going for us, and we have covered 13 miles (geo.).

T. -11°: Obs. 87° 20' 8'' S.; 160° 40' 53'' E.; Var. 180°. The sky
is slightly overcast for the first time since we left the glacier;
the sun can be seen already through the veil of stratus, and blue sky
round the horizon. The sastrugi have all been from the S.E. to-day,
and likewise the wind, which has been pretty light. I hope the clouds
do not mean wind or bad surface. The latter became poor towards
the end of the afternoon. We have not risen much to-day, and the
plain seems to be flattening out. Irregularities are best seen by
sastrugi. A skua gull visited us on the march this afternoon--it was
evidently curious, kept alighting on the snow ahead, and fluttering
a few yards as we approached. It seemed to have had little food--an
extraordinary visitor considering our distance from the sea.

_Wednesday, January_ 3.--Height: Lunch, 10,110; Night, 10,180. Camp
56. T.-17°. Minimum -18.5°. Within 150 miles of our goal. Last night I
decided to reorganise, and this morning told off Teddy Evans, Lashly,
and Crean to return. They are disappointed, but take it well. Bowers is
to come into our tent, and we proceed as a five man unit to-morrow. We
have 5 1/2 units of food--practically over a month's allowance for five
people--it ought to see us through. We came along well on ski to-day,
but the foot-haulers were slow, and so we only got a trifle over 12
miles (geo.). Very anxious to see how we shall manage to-morrow; if we
can march well with the full load we shall be practically safe, I take
it. The surface was very bad in patches to-day and the wind strong.

'Lat. 87° 32'. A last note from a hopeful position. I think it's going
to be all right. We have a fine party going forward and arrangements
are all going well.'

_Thursday, January_ 4.--T. -17°, Lunch T. -16.5°. We were naturally
late getting away this morning, the sledge having to be packed and
arrangements completed for separation of parties. It is wonderful
to see how neatly everything stows on a little sledge, thanks to
P.O. Evans. I was anxious to see how we could pull it, and glad to
find we went easy enough. Bowers on foot pulls between, but behind,
Wilson and myself; he has to keep his own pace and luckily does not
throw us out at all.

The second party had followed us in case of accident, but as soon as
I was certain we could get along we stopped and said farewell. Teddy
Evans is terribly disappointed but has taken it very well and behaved
like a man. Poor old Crean wept and even Lashly was affected. I was
glad to find their sledge is a mere nothing to them, and thus, no
doubt, they will make a quick journey back._24_ Since leaving them
we have marched on till 1.15 and covered 6.2 miles (geo.). With full
marching days we ought to have no difficulty in keeping up our average.

Night camp 57. T. -16°. Height 10,280.--We started well on the
afternoon march, going a good speed for 1 1/2 hours; then we came
on a stratum covered with loose sandy snow, and the pulling became
very heavy. We managed to get off 12 1/2 miles (geo.) by 7 P.M.,
but it was very heavy work.

In the afternoon the wind died away, and to-night it is flat calm;
the sun so warm that in spite of the temperature we can stand about
outside in the greatest comfort. It is amusing to stand thus and
remember the constant horrors of our situation as they were painted
for us: the sun is melting the snow on the ski, &c. The plateau
is now very flat, but we are still ascending slowly. The sastrugi
are getting more confused, predominant from the S.E. I wonder what
is in store for us. At present everything seems to be going with
extraordinary smoothness, and one can scarcely believe that obstacles
will not present themselves to make our task more difficult. Perhaps
the surface will be the element to trouble us.

_Friday, January_ 5.--Camp 58. Height: morning, 10,430; night,
10,320. T. -14.8°. Obs. 87° 57', 159° 13'. Minimum T. -23.5; T. -21°. A
dreadfully trying day. Light wind from the N.N.W. bringing detached
cloud and constant fall of ice crystals. The surface, in consequence,
as bad as could be after the first hour. We started at 8.15, marched
solidly till 1.15, covering 7.4 miles (geo.), and again in the
afternoon we plugged on; by 7 P.M. we had done 12 l/2 miles (geo.),
the hardest we have yet done on the plateau. The sastrugi seemed to
increase as we advanced and they have changed direction from S.W. to
S. by W. In the afternoon a good deal of confusing cross sastrugi,
and to-night a very rough surface with evidences of hard southerly
wind. Luckily the sledge shows no signs of capisizing yet. We sigh
for a breeze to sweep the hard snow, but to-night the outlook is
not promising better things. However, we are very close to the 88th
parallel, little more than 120 miles from the Pole, only a march from
Shackleton's final camp, and in a general way 'getting on.'

We go little over a mile and a quarter an hour now--it is a big strain
as the shadows creep slowly round from our right through ahead to our
left. What lots of things we think of on these monotonous marches! What
castles one builds now hopefully that the Pole is ours. Bowers took
sights to-day and will take them every third day. We feel the cold
very little, the great comfort of our situation is the excellent
drying effect of the sun. Our socks and finnesko are almost dry each
morning. Cooking for five takes a seriously longer time than cooking
for four; perhaps half an hour on the whole day. It is an item I had
not considered when re-organising.

_Saturday, January_ 6.--Height 10,470. T. -22.3°. Obstacles
arising--last night we got amongst sastrugi--they increased in height
this morning and now we are in the midst of a sea of fish-hook waves
well remembered from our Northern experience. We took off our ski
after the first 1 1/2 hours and pulled on foot. It is terribly heavy
in places, and, to add to our trouble, every sastrugus is covered with
a beard of sharp branching crystals. We have covered 6 1/2 miles, but
we cannot keep up our average if this sort of surface continues. There
is no wind.

Camp 59. Lat. 88° 7'. Height 10,430-10,510. Rise of
barometer? T.-22.5°. Minimum -25.8°. Morning. Fearfully hard pull
again, and when we had marched about an hour we discovered that a
sleeping-bag had fallen off the sledge. We had to go back and carry
it on. It cost us over an hour and disorganised our party. We have
only covered 10 1/2 miles (geo.) and it's been about the hardest pull
we've had. We think of leaving our ski here, mainly because of risk
of breakage. Over the sastrugi it is all up and down hill, and the
covering of ice crystals prevents the sledge from gliding even on the
down-grade. The sastrugi, I fear, have come to stay, and we must be
prepared for heavy marching, but in two days I hope to lighten loads
with a depot. We are south of Shackleton's last camp, so, I suppose,
have made the most southerly camp.

_Sunday, January_ 7.--Height 10,560. Lunch. Temp. -21.3°. The
vicissitudes of this work are bewildering. Last night we decided to
leave our ski on account of the sastrugi. This morning we marched
out a mile in 40 min. and the sastrugi gradually disappeared. I
kept debating the ski question and at this point stopped, and after
discussion we went back and fetched the ski; it cost us 1 1/2 hours
nearly. Marching again, I found to my horror we could scarcely move
the sledge on ski; the first hour was awful owing to the wretched
coating of loose sandy snow. However, we persisted, and towards the
latter end of our tiring march we began to make better progress, but
the work is still awfully heavy. I must stick to the ski after this.

Afternoon. Camp 60°. T. -23°. Height 10,570. Obs.: Lat. 88° 18' 40''
S.; Long. 157° 21' E.; Var. 179° 15' W. Very heavy pulling still,
but did 5 miles (geo.) in over four hours.

This is the shortest march we have made on the summit, but there
is excuse. Still, there is no doubt if things remained as they are
we could not keep up the strain of such marching for long. Things,
however, luckily will not remain as they are. To-morrow we depot a
week's provision, lightening altogether about 100 lbs. This afternoon
the welcome southerly wind returned and is now blowing force 2 to
3. I cannot but think it will improve the surface.

The sastrugi are very much diminished, and those from the south seem
to be overpowering those from the S.E. Cloud travelled rapidly over
from the south this afternoon, and the surface was covered with sandy
crystals; these were not so bad as the 'bearded' sastrugi, and oddly
enough the wind and drift only gradually obliterate these striking
formations. We have scarcely risen at all to-day, and the plain looks
very flat. It doesn't look as though there were more rises ahead, and
one could not wish for a better surface if only the crystal deposit
would disappear or harden up. I am awfully glad we have hung on to the
ski; hard as the marching is, it is far less tiring on ski. Bowers has
a heavy time on foot, but nothing seems to tire him. Evans has a nasty
cut on his hand (sledge-making). I hope it won't give trouble. Our
food continues to amply satisfy. What luck to have hit on such an
excellent ration. We really are an excellently found party.

_Monday, January_ 8.--Camp 60. Noon. T. -19.8°. Min. for night
-25°. Our first summit blizzard. We might just have started after
breakfast, but the wind seemed obviously on the increase, and so has
proved. The sun has not been obscured, but snow is evidently falling
as well as drifting. The sun seems to be getting a little brighter
as the wind increases. The whole phenomenon is very like a Barrier
blizzard, only there is much less snow, as one would expect, and at
present less wind, which is somewhat of a surprise.

Evans' hand was dressed this morning, and the rest ought to be
good for it. I am not sure it will not do us all good as we lie so
very comfortably, warmly clothed in our comfortable bags, within our
double-walled tent. However, we do not want more than a day's delay at
most, both on account of lost time and food and the snow accumulation
of ice. (Night T. -13.5°.) It has grown much thicker during the day,
from time to time obscuring the sun for the first time. The temperature
is low for a blizzard, but we are very comfortable in our double tent
and the cold snow is not sticky and not easily carried into the tent,
so that the sleeping-bags remain in good condition. (T. -3°.) The
glass is rising slightly. I hope we shall be able to start in the
morning, but fear that a disturbance of this sort may last longer
than our local storm.

It is quite impossible to speak too highly of my companions. Each
fulfils his office to the party; Wilson, first as doctor, ever on the
lookout to alleviate the small pains and troubles incidental to the
work, now as cook, quick, careful and dexterous, ever thinking of some
fresh expedient to help the camp life; tough as steel on the traces,
never wavering from start to finish.

Evans, a giant worker with a really remarkable headpiece. It is
only now I realise how much has been due to him. Our ski shoes and
crampons have been absolutely indispensable, and if the original
ideas were not his, the details of manufacture and design and the
good workmanship are his alone. He is responsible for every sledge,
every sledge fitting, tents, sleeping-bags, harness, and when one
cannot recall a single expression of dissatisfaction with any one of
these items, it shows what an invaluable assistant he has been. Now,
besides superintending the putting up of the tent, he thinks out and
arranges the packing of the sledge; it is extraordinary how neatly
and handily everything is stowed, and how much study has been given to
preserving the suppleness and good running qualities of the machine. On
the Barrier, before the ponies were killed, he was ever roaming round,
correcting faults of stowage.

Little Bowers remains a marvel--he is thoroughly enjoying himself. I
leave all the provision arrangement in his hands, and at all times
he knows exactly how we stand, or how each returning party should
fare. It has been a complicated business to redistribute stores at
various stages of re-organisation, but not one single mistake has
been made. In addition to the stores, he keeps the most thorough
and conscientious meteorological record, and to this he now adds
the duty of observer and photographer. Nothing comes amiss to him,
and no work is too hard. It is a difficulty to get him into the tent;
he seems quite oblivious of the cold, and he lies coiled in his bag
writing and working out sights long after the others are asleep.

Of these three it is a matter for thought and congratulation that
each is sufficiently suited for his own work, but would not be
capable of doing that of the others as well as it is done. Each is
invaluable. Oates had his invaluable period with the ponies; now he is
a foot slogger and goes hard the whole time, does his share of camp
work, and stands the hardship as well as any of us. I would not like
to be without him either. So our five people are perhaps as happily
selected as it is possible to imagine.

_Tuesday, January_ 9.--Camp 61. RECORD. Lat. 88° 25'. Height 10,270
ft. Bar. risen I think. T. -4°. Still blowing, and drifting when we
got to breakfast, but signs of taking off. The wind had gradually
shifted from south to E.S.E. After lunch we were able to break camp
in a bad light, but on a good surface. We made a very steady afternoon
march, covering 6 1/2, miles (geo.). This should place us in Lat. 88°
25', beyond the record of Shackleton's walk. All is new ahead. The
barometer has risen since the blizzard, and it looks as though we
were on a level plateau, not to rise much further.

Obs.: Long. 159° 17' 45'' E.; Var. 179° 55' W.; Min. Temp. -7.2°.

More curiously the temperature continued to rise after the blow
and now, at -4°, it seems quite warm. The sun has only shown very
indistinctly all the afternoon, although brighter now. Clouds are
still drifting over from the east. The marching is growing terribly
monotonous, but one cannot grumble as long as the distance can be
kept up. It can, I think, if we leave a depot, but a very annoying
thing has happened. Bowers' watch has suddenly dropped 26 minutes;
it may have stopped from being frozen outside his pocket, or he may
have inadvertently touched the hands. Any way it makes one more chary
of leaving stores on this great plain, especially as the blizzard
tended to drift up our tracks. We could only just see the back track
when we started, but the light was extremely poor.

_Wednesday, January_ 10.--Camp 62. T. -11°. Last depot 88° 29' S.; 159°
33' E.; Var. 180°. Terrible hard march in the morning; only covered 5.1
miles (geo.). Decided to leave depot at lunch camp. Built cairn and
left one week's food together with sundry articles of clothing. We
are down as close as we can go in the latter. We go forward with
eighteen days' food. Yesterday I should have said certain to see us
through, but now the surface is beyond words, and if it continues we
shall have the greatest difficulty to keep our march long enough. The
surface is quite covered with sandy snow, and when the sun shines it
is terrible. During the early part of the afternoon it was overcast,
and we started our lightened sledge with a good swing, but during
the last two hours the sun cast shadows again, and the work was
distressingly hard. We have covered only 10.8 miles (geo.).

Only 85 miles (geo.) from the Pole, but it's going to be a stiff
pull _both ways_ apparently; still we do make progress, which is
something. To-night the sky is overcast, the temperature (-11°) much
higher than I anticipated; it is very difficult to imagine what is
happening to the weather. The sastrugi grow more and more confused,
running from S. to E. Very difficult steering in uncertain light
and with rapidly moving clouds. The clouds don't seem to come from
anywhere, form and disperse without visible reason. The surface seems
to be growing softer. The meteorological conditions seem to point to an
area of variable light winds, and that plot will thicken as we advance.

_Thursday, January_ 11.--Lunch. Height 10,540. T. -15° 8'. It was
heavy pulling from the beginning to-day, but for the first two and
a half hours we could keep the sledge moving; then the sun came out
(it had been overcast and snowing with light south-easterly breeze)
and the rest of the forenoon was agonising. I never had such pulling;
all the time the sledge rasps and creaks. We have covered 6 miles,
but at fearful cost to ourselves.

Night camp 63. Height 10,530. Temp. -16.3°. Minimum -25.8°. Another
hard grind in the afternoon and five miles added. About 74 miles from
the Pole--can we keep this up for seven days? It takes it out of
us like anything. None of us ever had such hard work before. Cloud
has been coming and going overhead all day, drifting from the S.E.,
but continually altering shape. Snow crystals falling all the time;
a very light S. breeze at start soon dying away. The sun so bright
and warm to-night that it is almost impossible to imagine a minus
temperature. The snow seems to get softer as we advance; the sastrugi,
though sometimes high and undercut, are not hard--no crusts, except
yesterday the surface subsided once, as on the Barrier. It seems
pretty certain there is no steady wind here. Our chance still holds
good if we can put the work in, but it's a terribly trying time.

_Friday, January_ 12.--Camp 64. T. -17.5°. Lat. 88° 57'. Another heavy
march with snow getting softer all the time. Sun very bright, calm at
start; first two hours terribly slow. Lunch, 4 3/4 hours, 5.6 miles
geo.; Sight Lat. 88° 52'. Afternoon, 4 hours, 5.1 miles--total 10.7.

In the afternoon we seemed to be going better; clouds spread over
from the west with light chill wind and for a few brief minutes we
tasted the delight of having the sledge following free. Alas! in a few
minutes it was worse than ever, in spite of the sun's eclipse. However,
the short experience was salutary. I had got to fear that we were
weakening badly in our pulling; those few minutes showed me that
we only want a good surface to get along as merrily as of old. With
the surface as it is, one gets horribly sick of the monotony and can
easily imagine oneself getting played out, were it not that at the
lunch and night camps one so quickly forgets all one's troubles and
bucks up for a fresh effort. It is an effort to keep up the double
figures, but if we can do so for another four marches we ought to
get through. It is going to be a close thing.

At camping to-night everyone was chilled and we guessed a cold snap,
but to our surprise the actual temperature was higher than last
night, when we could dawdle in the sun. It is most unaccountable
why we should suddenly feel the cold in this manner; partly the
exhaustion of the march, but partly some damp quality in the air, I
think. Little Bowers is wonderful; in spite of my protest he _would_
take sights after we had camped to-night, after marching in the soft
snow all day where we have been comparatively restful on ski.

_Night position_.--Lat. 88° 57' 25'' S.; Long. 160° 21' E.; Var. 179°
49' W. Minimum T. -23.5°.

Only 63 miles (geo.) from the Pole to-night. We ought to do the
trick, but oh! for a better surface. It is quite evident this is a
comparatively windless area. The sastrugi are few and far between,
and all soft. I should imagine occasional blizzards sweep up from
the S.E., but none with violence. We have deep tracks in the snow,
which is soft as deep as you like to dig down.

_Saturday, January_ 13.--Lunch Height 10,390. Barometer low? lunch
Lat. 89° 3' 18''. Started on some soft snow, very heavy dragging and
went slow. We could have supposed nothing but that such conditions
would last from now onward, but to our surprise, after two hours
we came on a sea of sastrugi, all lying from S. to E., predominant
E.S.E. Have had a cold little wind from S.E. and S.S.E., where the sky
is overcast. Have done 5.6 miles and are now over the 89th parallel.

Night camp 65.--Height 10,270. T. -22.5°, Minimum -23.5°. Lat. 89°
9'S. very nearly. We started very well in the afternoon. Thought we
were going to make a real good march, but after the first two hours
surface crystals became as sandy as ever. Still we did 5.6 miles geo.,
giving over 11 for the day. Well, another day with double figures
and a bit over. The chance holds.

It looks as though we were descending slightly; sastrugi remain as in
forenoon. It is wearisome work this tugging and straining to advance a
light sledge. Still, we get along. I did manage to get my thoughts off
the work for a time to-day, which is very restful. We should be in a
poor way without our ski, though Bowers manages to struggle through
the soft snow without tiring his short legs.

Only 51 miles from the Pole to-night. If we don't get to it we
shall be d----d close. There is a little southerly breeze to-night;
I devoutly hope it may increase in force. The alternation of soft
snow and sastrugi seem to suggest that the coastal mountains are not
so very far away.

_Sunday, January_ 14.--Camp 66. Lunch T. -18°, Night T. -15°. Sun
showing mistily through overcast sky all day. Bright southerly wind
with very low drift. In consequence the surface was a little better,
and we came along very steadily 6.3 miles in the morning and 5.5 in
the afternoon, but the steering was awfully difficult and trying;
very often I could see nothing, and Bowers on my shoulders directed
me. Under such circumstances it is an immense help to be pulling
on ski. To-night it is looking very thick. The sun can barely be
distinguished, the temperature has risen, and there are serious
indications of a blizzard. I trust they will not come to anything;
there are practically no signs of heavy wind here, so that even if
it blows a little we may be able to march. Meanwhile we are less than
40 miles from the Pole.

Again we noticed the cold; at lunch to-day (Obs.: Lat. 89° 20' 53''
S.) all our feet were cold, but this was mainly due to the bald state
of our finnesko. I put some grease under the bare skin and found
it made all the difference. Oates seems to be feeling the cold and
fatigue more than the rest of us, but we are all very fit. It is a
critical time, but we ought to pull through. The barometer has fallen
very considerably and we cannot tell whether due to ascent of plateau
or change of weather. Oh! for a few fine days! So close it seems and
only the weather to baulk us.

_Monday, January_ 15.--Lunch camp, Height 9,950. Last depot. During
the night the air cleared entirely and the sun shone in a perfectly
clear sky. The light wind had dropped and the temperature fallen to
-25°, minimum -27°. I guessed this meant a hard pull, and guessed
right. The surface was terrible, but for 4 3/4 hours yielded 6 miles
(geo.). We were all pretty well done at camping, and here we leave our
last depot--only four days' food and a sundry or two. The load is now
very light, but I fear that the friction will not be greatly reduced.

_Night, January_ 15.--Height 9920. T. -25°. The sledge came
surprisingly lightly after lunch--something from loss of weight,
something, I think, from stowage, and, most of all perhaps, as a
result of tea. Anyhow we made a capital afternoon march of 6.3 miles,
bringing the total for the day to over 12 (12.3). The sastrugi again
very confused, but mostly S.E. quadrant; the heaviest now almost east,
so that the sledge continually bumps over ridges. The wind is from
the W.N.W. chiefly, but the weather remains fine and there are no
sastrugi from that direction.

Camp 67. Lunch obs.: Lat. 89° 26' 57''; Lat. dead reckoning, 89° 33'
15'' S.; Long. 160° 56' 45'' E.; Var. 179° E.

It is wonderful to think that two long marches would land us at the
Pole. We left our depot to-day with nine days' provisions, so that it
ought to be a certain thing now, and the only appalling possibility
the sight of the Norwegian flag forestalling ours. Little Bowers
continues his indefatigable efforts to get good sights, and it is
wonderful how he works them up in his sleeping-bag in our congested
tent. (Minimum for night -27.5°.) Only 27 miles from the Pole. We
_ought_ to do it now.

_Tuesday, January_ 16.--Camp 68. Height 9760. T. -23.5°. The worst
has happened, or nearly the worst. We marched well in the morning and
covered 7 1/2 miles. Noon sight showed us in Lat. 89° 42' S., and we
started off in high spirits in the afternoon, feeling that to-morrow
would see us at our destination. About the second hour of the March
Bowers' sharp eyes detected what he thought was a cairn; he was uneasy
about it, but argued that it must be a sastrugus. Half an hour later
he detected a black speck ahead. Soon we knew that this could not be
a natural snow feature. We marched on, found that it was a black flag
tied to a sledge bearer; near by the remains of a camp; sledge tracks
and ski tracks going and coming and the clear trace of dogs' paws--many
dogs. This told us the whole story. The Norwegians have forestalled
us and are first at the Pole. It is a terrible disappointment,
and I am very sorry for my loyal companions. Many thoughts come and
much discussion have we had. To-morrow we must march on to the Pole
and then hasten home with all the speed we can compass. All the day
dreams must go; it will be a wearisome return. We are descending in
altitude--certainly also the Norwegians found an easy way up.

_Wednesday, January_ 17.--Camp 69. T. -22° at start. Night -21°. The
Pole. Yes, but under very different circumstances from those
expected. We have had a horrible day--add to our disappointment a
head wind 4 to 5, with a temperature -22°, and companions labouring
on with cold feet and hands.

We started at 7.30, none of us having slept much after the shock of our
discovery. We followed the Norwegian sledge tracks for some way; as far
as we make out there are only two men. In about three miles we passed
two small cairns. Then the weather overcast, and the tracks being
increasingly drifted up and obviously going too far to the west, we
decided to make straight for the Pole according to our calculations. At
12.30 Evans had such cold hands we camped for lunch--an excellent
'week-end one.' We had marched 7.4 miles. Lat. sight gave 89° 53'
37''. We started out and did 6 1/2 miles due south. To-night little
Bowers is laying himself out to get sights in terrible difficult
circumstances; the wind is blowing hard, T. -21°, and there is that
curious damp, cold feeling in the air which chills one to the bone in
no time. We have been descending again, I think, but there looks to be
a rise ahead; otherwise there is very little that is different from
the awful monotony of past days. Great God! this is an awful place
and terrible enough for us to have laboured to it without the reward
of priority. Well, it is something to have got here, and the wind
may be our friend to-morrow. We have had a fat Polar hoosh in spite
of our chagrin, and feel comfortable inside--added a small stick of
chocolate and the queer taste of a cigarette brought by Wilson. Now
for the run home and a desperate struggle. I wonder if we can do it.

_Thursday morning, January_ 18.--Decided after summing up all
observations that we were 3.5 miles away from the Pole--one mile
beyond it and 3 to the right. More or less in this direction Bowers
saw a cairn or tent.

We have just arrived at this tent, 2 miles from our camp, therefore
about 1 1/2 miles from the Pole. In the tent we find a record of five
Norwegians having been here, as follows:


                    Roald Amundsen
                    Olav Olavson Bjaaland
                    Hilmer Hanssen
                    Sverre H. Hassel
                    Oscar Wisting.

                    16 Dec. 1911.

The tent is fine--a small compact affair supported by a single
bamboo. A note from Amundsen, which I keep, asks me to forward a
letter to King Haakon!

The following articles have been left in the tent: 3 half bags of
reindeer containing a miscellaneous assortment of mits and sleeping
socks, very various in description, a sextant, a Norwegian artificial
horizon and a hypsometer without boiling-point thermometers, a sextant
and hypsometer of English make.

Left a note to say I had visited the tent with companions. Bowers
photographing and Wilson sketching. Since lunch we have marched
6.2 miles S.S.E. by compass (i.e. northwards). Sights at lunch
gave us 1/2 to 3/4 of a mile from the Pole, so we call it the Pole
Camp. (Temp. Lunch -21°.) We built a cairn, put up our poor slighted
Union Jack, and photographed ourselves--mighty cold work all of
it--less than 1/2 a mile south we saw stuck up an old underrunner
of a sledge. This we commandeered as a yard for a floorcloth sail. I
imagine it was intended to mark the exact spot of the Pole as near as
the Norwegians could fix it. (Height 9500.) A note attached talked of
the tent as being 2 miles from the Pole. Wilson keeps the note. There
is no doubt that our predecessors have made thoroughly sure of their
mark and fully carried out their programme. I think the Pole is about
9500 feet in height; this is remarkable, considering that in Lat. 88°
we were about 10,500. We carried the Union Jack about 3/4 of a mile
north with us and left it on a piece of stick as near as we could fix
it. I fancy the Norwegians arrived at the Pole on the 15th Dec. and
left on the 17th, ahead of a date quoted by me in London as ideal,
viz. Dec. 22. It looks as though the Norwegian party expected colder
weather on the summit than they got; it could scarcely be otherwise
from Shackleton's account. Well, we have turned our back now on the
goal of our ambition and must face our 800 miles of solid dragging--and
good-bye to most of the daydreams!




CHAPTER XIX

The Return from the Pole

_Friday, January_ 19.--Lunch 8.1, T. -22.6°. Early in the march we
picked up a Norwegian cairn and our outward tracks. We followed
these to the ominous black flag which had first apprised us of
our predecessors' success. We have picked this flag up, using the
staff for our sail, and are now camped about 1 1/2 miles further
back on our tracks. So that is the last of the Norwegians for the
present. The surface undulates considerably about this latitude;
it was more evident to-day than when we were outward bound.

Night camp R. 2. [37] Height 9700. T. -18.5°, Minimum -25.6°. Came
along well this afternoon for three hours, then a rather dreary finish
for the last 1 1/2. Weather very curious, snow clouds, looking very
dense and spoiling the light, pass overhead from the S., dropping
very minute crystals; between showers the sun shows and the wind goes
to the S.W. The fine crystals absolutely spoil the surface; we had
heavy dragging during the last hour in spite of the light load and a
full sail. Our old tracks are drifted up, deep in places, and toothed
sastrugi have formed over them. It looks as though this sandy snow
was drifted about like sand from place to place. How account for the
present state of our three day old tracks and the month old ones of
the Norwegians?

It is warmer and pleasanter marching with the wind, but I'm not sure
we don't feel the cold more when we stop and camp than we did on the
outward march. We pick up our cairns easily, and ought to do so right
through, I think; but, of course, one will be a bit anxious till the
Three Degree Depot is reached. [38] I'm afraid the return journey is
going to be dreadfully tiring and monotonous.

_Saturday, January 20._--Lunch camp, 9810. We have come along very
well this morning, although the surface was terrible bad--9.3 miles
in 5 hours 20 m. This has brought us to our Southern Depot, and we
pick up 4 days' food. We carry on 7 days from to-night with 55 miles
to go to the Half Degree Depot made on January 10. The same sort of
weather and a little more wind, sail drawing well.

Night Camp R. 3. 9860. Temp. -18°. It was blowing quite hard and
drifting when we started our afternoon march. At first with full sail
we went along at a great rate; then we got on to an extraordinary
surface, the drifting snow lying in heaps; it clung to the ski, which
could only be pushed forward with an effort. The pulling was really
awful, but we went steadily on and camped a short way beyond our cairn
of the 14th. I'm afraid we are in for a bad pull again to-morrow,
luckily the wind holds. I shall be very glad when Bowers gets his
ski; I'm afraid he must find these long marches very trying with
short legs, but he is an undefeated little sportsman. I think Oates
is feeling the cold and fatigue more than most of us. It is blowing
pretty hard to-night, but with a good march we have earned one good
hoosh and are very comfortable in the tent. It is everything now to
keep up a good marching pace; I trust we shall be able to do so and
catch the ship. Total march, 18 1/2 miles.

_Sunday, January_ 21.--R. 4. 10,010. Temp, blizzard, -18° to -11°,
to -14° now. Awoke to a stiff blizzard; air very thick with snow
and sun very dim. We decided not to march owing to likelihood of
losing track; expected at least a day of lay up, but whilst at lunch
there was a sudden clearance and wind dropped to light breeze. We
got ready to march, but gear was so iced up we did not get away till
3.45. Marched till 7.40--a terribly weary four-hour drag; even with
helping wind we only did 5 1/2 miles (6 1/4 statute). The surface bad,
horribly bad on new sastrugi, and decidedly rising again in elevation.

We are going to have a pretty hard time this next 100 miles I
expect. If it was difficult to drag downhill over this belt, it
will probably be a good deal more difficult to drag up. Luckily the
cracks are fairly distinct, though we only see our cairns when less
than a mile away; 45 miles to the next depot and 6 days' food in
hand--then pick up 7 days' food (T. -22°) and 90 miles to go to the
'Three Degree' Depot. Once there we ought to be safe, but we ought
to have a day or two in hand on arrival and may have difficulty with
following the tracks. However, if we can get a rating sight for our
watches to-morrow we shall be independent of the tracks at a pinch.

_Monday, January_ 22.--10,000. Temp. -21°. I think about the most
tiring march we have had; solid pulling the whole way, in spite of
the light sledge and some little helping wind at first. Then in the
last part of the afternoon the sun came out, and almost immediately
we had the whole surface covered with soft snow.

We got away sharp at 8 and marched a solid 9 hours, and thus we have
covered 14.5 miles (geo.) but, by Jove! it has been a grind. We
are just about on the 89th parallel. To-night Bowers got a rating
sight. I'm afraid we have passed out of the wind area. We are within
2 1/2 miles of the 64th camp cairn, 30 miles from our depot, and with
5 days' food in hand. Ski boots are beginning to show signs of wear;
I trust we shall have no giving out of ski or boots, since there are
yet so many miles to go. I thought we were climbing to-day, but the
barometer gives no change.

_Tuesday, January_ 23.--Lowest Minimum last night -30°, Temp, at
start -28°. Lunch height 10,100. Temp, with wind 6 to 7, -19°. Little
wind and heavy marching at start. Then wind increased and we did 8.7
miles by lunch, when it was practically blowing a blizzard. The old
tracks show so remarkably well that we can follow them without much
difficulty--a great piece of luck.

In the afternoon we had to reorganise. Could carry a whole sail. Bowers
hung on to the sledge, Evans and Oates had to lengthen out. We came
along at a great rate and should have got within an easy march of
our depot had not Wilson suddenly discovered that Evans' nose was
frostbitten--it was white and hard. We thought it best to camp at
6.45. Got the tent up with some difficulty, and now pretty cosy after
good hoosh.

There is no doubt Evans is a good deal run down--his fingers are badly
blistered and his nose is rather seriously congested with frequent
frost bites. He is very much annoyed with himself, which is not a good
sign. I think Wilson, Bowers and I are as fit as possible under the
circumstances. Oates gets cold feet. One way and another, I shall be
glad to get off the summit! We are only about 13 miles from our 'Degree
and half' Depôt and should get there to-morrow. The weather seems to
be breaking up. Pray God we have something of a track to follow to
the Three Degree Depôt--once we pick that up we ought to be right.

_Wednesday, January_ 24.--Lunch Temp. -8°. Things beginning to look a
little serious. A strong wind at the start has developed into a full
blizzard at lunch, and we have had to get into our sleeping-bags. It
was a bad march, but we covered 7 miles. At first Evans, and then
Wilson went ahead to scout for tracks. Bowers guided the sledge alone
for the first hour, then both Oates and he remained alongside it;
they had a fearful time trying to make the pace between the soft
patches. At 12.30 the sun coming ahead made it impossible to see
the tracks further, and we had to stop. By this time the gale was
at its height and we had the dickens of a time getting up the tent,
cold fingers all round. We are only 7 miles from our depot, but I
made sure we should be there to-night. This is the second full gale
since we left the Pole. I don't like the look of it. Is the weather
breaking up? If so, God help us, with the tremendous summit journey
and scant food. Wilson and Bowers are my standby. I don't like the
easy way in which Oates and Evans get frostbitten.

_Thursday, January_ 25.--Temp. Lunch -11°, Temp. night -16°. Thank
God we found our Half Degree Depôt. After lying in our bags yesterday
afternoon and all night, we debated breakfast; decided to have it
later and go without lunch. At the time the gale seemed as bad as
ever, but during breakfast the sun showed and there was light enough
to see the old track. It was a long and terribly cold job digging out
our sledge and breaking camp, but we got through and on the march
without sail, all pulling. This was about 11, and at about 2.30,
to our joy, we saw the red depôt flag. We had lunch and left with 9
1/2 days' provisions, still following the track--marched till 8 and
covered over 5 miles, over 12 in the day. Only 89 miles (geogr.) to
the next depot, but it's time we cleared off this plateau. We are
not without ailments: Oates suffers from a very cold foot; Evans'
fingers and nose are in a bad state, and to-night Wilson is suffering
tortures from his eyes. Bowers and I are the only members of the party
without troubles just at present. The weather still looks unsettled,
and I fear a succession of blizzards at this time of year; the wind is
strong from the south, and this afternoon has been very helpful with
the full sail. Needless to say I shall sleep much better with our
provision bag full again. The only real anxiety now is the finding
of the Three Degree Depot. The tracks seem as good as ever so far,
sometimes for 30 or 40 yards we lose them under drifts, but then they
reappear quite clearly raised above the surface. If the light is good
there is not the least difficulty in following. Blizzards are our
bugbear, not only stopping our marches, but the cold damp air takes it
out of us. Bowers got another rating sight to-night--it was wonderful
how he managed to observe in such a horribly cold wind. He has been
on ski to-day whilst Wilson walked by the sledge or pulled ahead of it.

_Friday, January_ 26.--Temp. -17°. Height 9700, must be high
barometer. Started late, 8.50--for no reason, as I called the hands
rather early. We must have fewer delays. There was a good stiff breeze
and plenty of drift, but the tracks held. To our old blizzard camp
of the 7th we got on well, 7 miles. But beyond the camp we found the
tracks completely wiped out. We searched for some time, then marched
on a short way and lunched, the weather gradually clearing, though the
wind holding. Knowing there were two cairns at four mile intervals,
we had little anxiety till we picked up the first far on our right,
then steering right by a stroke of fortune, and Bowers' sharp eyes
caught a glimpse of the second far on the left. Evidently we made a bad
course outward at this part. There is not a sign of our tracks between
these cairns, but the last, marking our night camp of the 6th, No. 59,
is in the belt of hard sastrugi, and I was comforted to see signs of
the track reappearing as we camped. I hope to goodness we can follow it
to-morrow. We marched 16 miles (geo.) to-day, but made good only 15.4.

Saturday, January 27.--R. 10. Temp. -16° (lunch), -14.3°
(evening). Minimum -19°. Height 9900. Barometer low? Called the hands
half an hour late, but we got away in good time. The forenoon march
was over the belt of storm-tossed sastrugi; it looked like a rough
sea. Wilson and I pulled in front on ski, the remainder on foot. It
was very tricky work following the track, which pretty constantly
disappeared, and in fact only showed itself by faint signs anywhere--a
foot or two of raised sledge-track, a dozen yards of the trail of
the sledge-meter wheel, or a spatter of hard snow-flicks where feet
had trodden. Sometimes none of these were distinct, but one got an
impression of lines which guided. The trouble was that on the outward
track one had to shape course constantly to avoid the heaviest mounds,
and consequently there were many zig-zags. We lost a good deal over a
mile by these halts, in which we unharnessed and went on the search
for signs. However, by hook or crook, we managed to stick on the
old track. Came on the cairn quite suddenly, marched past it, and
camped for lunch at 7 miles. In the afternoon the sastrugi gradually
diminished in size and now we are on fairly level ground to-day, the
obstruction practically at an end, and, to our joy, the tracks showing
up much plainer again. For the last two hours we had no difficulty at
all in following them. There has been a nice helpful southerly breeze
all day, a clear sky and comparatively warm temperature. The air is
dry again, so that tents and equipment are gradually losing their
icy condition imposed by the blizzard conditions of the past week.

Our sleeping-bags are slowly but surely getting wetter and I'm afraid
it will take a lot of this weather to put them right. However, we
all sleep well enough in them, the hours allowed being now on the
short side. We are slowly getting more hungry, and it would be an
advantage to have a little more food, especially for lunch. If we get
to the next depôt in a few marches (it is now less than 60 miles and
we have a full week's food) we ought to be able to open out a little,
but we can't look for a real feed till we get to the pony food depot. A
long way to go, and, by Jove, this is tremendous labour.

_Sunday, January_ 28.--Lunch, -20°. Height, night,
10,130. R. 11. Supper Temp. -18°. Little wind and heavy going in
forenoon. We just ran out 8 miles in 5 hours and added another 8
in 3 hours 40 mins. in the afternoon with a good wind and better
surface. It is very difficult to say if we are going up or down hill;
the barometer is quite different from outward readings. We are 43
miles from the depot, with six days' food in hand. We are camped
opposite our lunch cairn of the 4th, only half a day's march from
the point at which the last supporting party left us.

Three articles were dropped on our outward march--(Oates' pipe, Bowers'
fur mits, and Evans' night boots. We picked up the boots and mits on
the track, and to-night we found the pipe lying placidly in sight on
the snow. The sledge tracks were very easy to follow to-day; they
are becoming more and more raised, giving a good line shadow often
visible half a mile ahead. If this goes on and the weather holds we
shall get our depôt without trouble. I shall indeed be glad to get it
on the sledge. We are getting more hungry, there is no doubt. The lunch
meal is beginning to seem inadequate. We are pretty thin, especially
Evans, but none of us are feeling worked out. I doubt if we could
drag heavy loads, but we can keep going well with our light one. We
talk of food a good deal more, and shall be glad to open out on it.

_Monday, January_ 29.--R. 12. Lunch Temp. -23°. Supper
Temp. -25°. Height 10,000. Excellent march of 19 1/2 miles, 10.5
before lunch. Wind helping greatly, considerable drift; tracks for the
most part very plain. Some time before lunch we picked up the return
track of the supporting party, so that there are now three distinct
sledge impressions. We are only 24 miles from our depôt--an easy day
and a half. Given a fine day to-morrow we ought to get it without
difficulty. The wind and sastrugi are S.S.E. and S.E. If the weather
holds we ought to do the rest of the inland ice journey in little over
a week. The surface is very much altered since we passed out. The loose
snow has been swept into heaps, hard and wind-tossed. The rest has
a glazed appearance, the loose drifting snow no doubt acting on it,
polishing it like a sand blast. The sledge with our good wind behind
runs splendidly on it; it is all soft and sandy beneath the glaze. We
are certainly getting hungrier every day. The day after to-morrow we
should be able to increase allowances. It is monotonous work, but,
thank God, the miles are coming fast at last. We ought not to be
delayed much now with the down-grade in front of us.

_Tuesday, January_ 30.--R. 13. 9860. Lunch Temp.-25°, Supper
Temp. -24.5°. Thank the Lord, another fine march--19 miles. We have
passed the last cairn before the depôt, the track is clear ahead,
the weather fair, the wind helpful, the gradient down--with any luck
we should pick up our depôt in the middle of the morning march. This
is the bright side; the reverse of the medal is serious. Wilson
has strained a tendon in his leg; it has given pain all day and is
swollen to-night. Of course, he is full of pluck over it, but I don't
like the idea of such an accident here. To add to the trouble Evans
has dislodged two finger-nails to-night; his hands are really bad,
and to my surprise he shows signs of losing heart over it. He hasn't
been cheerful since the accident. The wind shifted from S.E. to S. and
back again all day, but luckily it keeps strong. We can get along with
bad fingers, but it (will be) a mighty serious thing if Wilson's leg
doesn't improve.

_Wednesday, January_ 31.--9800. Lunch Temp. -20°, Supper
Temp. -20°. The day opened fine with a fair breeze; we marched on the
depôt, [39] picked it up, and lunched an hour later. In the afternoon
the surface became fearfully bad, the wind dropped to light southerly
air. Ill luck that this should happen just when we have only four men
to pull. Wilson rested his leg as much as possible by walking quietly
beside the sledge; the result has been good, and to-night there
is much less inflammation. I hope he will be all right again soon,
but it is trying to have an injured limb in the party. I see we had a
very heavy surface here on our outward march. There is no doubt we are
travelling over undulations, but the inequality of level does not make
a great difference to our pace; it is the sandy crystals that hold us
up. There has been very great alteration of the surface since we were
last here--the sledge tracks stand high. This afternoon we picked up
Bowers' ski [40]--the last thing we have to find on the summit, thank
Heaven! Now we have only to go north and so shall welcome strong winds.

_Thursday, February_ 1.--R. 15. 9778. Lunch Temp. -20°, Supper
Temp. -19.8°. Heavy collar work most of the day. Wind light. Did 8
miles, 4 3/4 hours. Started well in the afternoon and came down a
steep slope in quick time; then the surface turned real bad--sandy
drifts--very heavy pulling. Working on past 8 P.M. we just fetched
a lunch cairn of December 29, when we were only a week out from the
depôt. [41] It ought to be easy to get in with a margin, having 8 days'
food in hand (full feeding). We have opened out on the 1/7th increase
and it makes a lot of difference. Wilson's leg much better. Evans'
fingers now very bad, two nails coming off, blisters burst.

_Friday, February_ 2.--9340. R. 16. Temp.: Lunch -19°, Supper -17°. We
started well on a strong southerly wind. Soon got to a steep grade,
when the sledge overran and upset us one after another. We got
off our ski, and pulling on foot reeled off 9 miles by lunch at
1.30. Started in the afternoon on foot, going very strong. We noticed
a curious circumstance towards the end of the forenoon. The tracks
were drifted over, but the drifts formed a sort of causeway along
which we pulled. In the afternoon we soon came to a steep slope--the
same on which we exchanged sledges on December 28. All went well
till, in trying to keep the track at the same time as my feet, on a
very slippery surface, I came an awful 'purler' on my shoulder. It is
horribly sore to-night and another sick person added to our tent--three
out of fine injured, and the most troublesome surfaces to come. We
shall be lucky if we get through without serious injury. Wilson's
leg is better, but might easily get bad again, and Evans' fingers.

At the bottom of the slope this afternoon we came on a confused sea
of sastrugi. We lost the track. Later, on soft snow, we picked up
E. Evans' return track, which we are now following. We have managed
to get off 17 miles. The extra food is certainly helping us, but we
are getting pretty hungry. The weather is already a trifle warmer and
the altitude lower, and only 80 miles or so to Mount Darwin. It is
time we were off the summit--Pray God another four days will see us
pretty well clear of it. Our bags are getting very wet and we ought
to have more sleep.

_Saturday, February_ 3.--R. 17. Temp.: Lunch -20°; Supper -20°. Height
9040 feet. Started pretty well on foot; came to steep slope with
crevasses (few). I went on ski to avoid another fall, and we took the
slope gently with our sail, constantly losing the track, but picked
up a much weathered cairn on our right. Vexatious delays, searching
for tracks, &c., reduced morning march to 8.1 miles. Afternoon, came
along a little better, but again lost tracks on hard slope. To-night
we are near camp of December 26, but cannot see cairn. Have decided
it is waste of time looking for tracks and cairn, and shall push on
due north as fast as we can.

The surface is greatly changed since we passed outward, in most
places polished smooth, but with heaps of new toothed sastrugi which
are disagreeable obstacles. Evans' fingers are going on as well as
can be expected, but it will be long before he will be able to help
properly with the work. Wilson's leg much better, and my shoulder also,
though it gives bad twinges. The extra food is doing us all good, but
we ought to have more sleep. Very few more days on the plateau I hope.

_Sunday, February_ 4.--R. 18. 8620 feet. Temp.: Lunch -22°; Supper
-23°. Pulled on foot in the morning over good hard surface and
covered 9.7 miles. Just before lunch unexpectedly fell into crevasses,
Evans and I together--a second fall for Evans, and I camped. After
lunch saw disturbance ahead, and what I took for disturbance (land)
to the right. We went on ski over hard shiny descending surface. Did
very well, especially towards end of march, covering in all 18.1. We
have come down some hundreds of feet. Half way in the march the land
showed up splendidly, and I decided to make straight for Mt. Darwin,
which we are rounding. Every sign points to getting away off this
plateau. The temperature is 20° lower than when we were here before;
the party is not improving in condition, especially Evans, who is
becoming rather dull and incapable. [42] Thank the Lord we have
good food at each meal, but we get hungrier in spite of it. Bowers
is splendid, full of energy and bustle all the time. I hope we are
not going to have trouble with ice-falls.

_Monday, February_ 5.--R. 19. Lunch, 8320 ft., Temp. -17°; Supper,
8120 ft, Temp.-17.2°. A good forenoon, few crevasses; we covered 10.2
miles. In the afternoon we soon got into difficulties. We saw the
land very clearly, but the difficulty is to get at it. An hour after
starting we came on huge pressures and great street crevasses partly
open. We had to steer more and more to the west, so that our course
was very erratic. Late in the march we turned more to the north and
again encountered open crevasses across our track. It is very difficult
manoeuvring amongst these and I should not like to do it without ski.

We are camped in a very disturbed region, but the wind has fallen
very light here, and our camp is comfortable for the first time for
many weeks. We may be anything from 25 to 30 miles from our depot,
but I wish to goodness we could see a way through the disturbances
ahead. Our faces are much cut up by all the winds we have had, mine
least of all; the others tell me they feel their noses more going with
than against the wind. Evans' nose is almost as bad as his fingers. He
is a good deal crocked up.

_Tuesday, February_ 6.--Lunch 7900; Supper 7210. Temp. -15°. We've
had a horrid day and not covered good mileage. On turning out found
sky overcast; a beastly position amidst crevasses. Luckily it cleared
just before we started. We went straight for Mt. Darwin, but in half
an hour found ourselves amongst huge open chasms, unbridged, but not
very deep, I think. We turned to the north between two, but to our
chagrin they converged into chaotic disturbance. We had to retrace
our steps for a mile or so, then struck to the west and got on to
a confused sea of sastrugi, pulling very hard; we put up the sail,
Evans' nose suffered, Wilson very cold, everything horrid. Camped
for lunch in the sastrugi; the only comfort, things looked clearer
to the west and we were obviously going downhill. In the afternoon we
struggled on, got out of sastrugi and turned over on glazed surface,
crossing many crevasses--very easy work on ski. Towards the end of
the march we realised the certainty of maintaining a more or less
straight course to the depot, and estimate distance 10 to 15 miles.

Food is low and weather uncertain, so that many hours of the day
were anxious; but this evening, though we are not as far advanced as
I expected, the outlook is much more promising. Evans is the chief
anxiety now; his cuts and wounds suppurate, his nose looks very bad,
and altogether he shows considerable signs of being played out. Things
may mend for him on the glacier, and his wounds get some respite under
warmer conditions. I am indeed glad to think we shall so soon have
done with plateau conditions. It took us 27 days to reach the Pole
and 21 days back--in all 48 days--nearly 7 weeks in low temperature
with almost incessant wind.


End of the Summit Journey

_Wednesday, February 7_.--Mount Darwin [or Upper Glacier] Depot,
R. 21. Height 7100. Lunch Temp. -9°; Supper Temp, [a blank here]. A
wretched day with satisfactory ending. First panic, certainty that
biscuit-box was short. Great doubt as to how this has come about,
as we certainly haven't over-issued allowances. Bowers is dreadfully
disturbed about it. The shortage is a full day's allowance. We started
our march at 8.30, and travelled down slopes and over terraces covered
with hard sastrugi--very tiresome work--and the land didn't seem to
come any nearer. At lunch the wind increased, and what with hot tea
and good food, we started the afternoon in a better frame of mind,
and it soon became obvious we were nearing our mark. Soon after 6.30
we saw our depot easily and camped next it at 7.30.

Found note from Evans to say the second return party passed through
safely at 2.30 on January 14--half a day longer between depots than
we have been. The temperature is higher, but there is a cold wind
to-night.

Well, we have come through our 7 weeks' ice camp journey and most of
us are fit, but I think another week might have had a very bad effect
on Evans, who is going steadily downhill.

It is satisfactory to recall that these facts give absolute proof of
both expeditions having reached the Pole and placed the question of
priority beyond discussion.

_Thursday, February_ 8.--R. 22. Height 6260. Start Temp. -11°; Lunch
Temp. -5°; Supper, zero. 9.2 miles. Started from the depot rather
late owing to weighing biscuit, &c., and rearranging matters. Had a
beastly morning. Wind very strong and cold. Steered in for Mt. Darwin
to visit rock. Sent Bowers on, on ski, as Wilson can't wear his at
present. He obtained several specimens, all of much the same type,
a close-grained granite rock which weathers red. Hence the pink
limestone. After he rejoined we skidded downhill pretty fast, leaders
on ski, Oates and Wilson on foot alongside sledge--Evans detached. We
lunched at 2 well down towards Mt. Buckley, the wind half a gale and
everybody very cold and cheerless. However, better things were to
follow. We decided to steer for the moraine under Mt. Buckley and,
pulling with crampons, we crossed some very irregular steep slopes
with big crevasses and slid down towards the rocks. The moraine was
obviously so interesting that when we had advanced some miles and
got out of the wind, I decided to camp and spend the rest of the day
geologising. It has been extremely interesting. We found ourselves
under perpendicular cliffs of Beacon sandstone, weathering rapidly
and carrying veritable coal seams. From the last Wilson, with his
sharp eyes, has picked several plant impressions, the last a piece of
coal with beautifully traced leaves in layers, also some excellently
preserved impressions of thick stems, showing cellular structure. In
one place we saw the cast of small waves on the sand. To-night Bill
has got a specimen of limestone with archeo-cyathus--the trouble is
one cannot imagine where the stone comes from; it is evidently rare,
as few  specimens occur in the moraine. There is a good deal of pure
white quartz. Altogether we have had a most interesting afternoon,
and the relief of being out of the wind and in a warmer temperature
is inexpressible. I hope and trust we shall all buck up again now
that the conditions are more favourable. We have been in shadow all
the afternoon, but the sun has just reached us, a little obscured by
night haze. A lot could be written on the delight of setting foot on
rock after 14 weeks of snow and ice and nearly 7 out of sight of aught
else. It is like going ashore after a sea voyage. We deserve a little
good bright weather after all our trials, and hope to get a chance
to dry our sleeping-bags and generally make our gear more comfortable.

_Friday, February 9_.--R. 23. Height 5,210 ft. Lunch Temp.   +10°;
Supper Temp. +12.5°. About 13 miles. Kept along the edge of moraine
to the end of Mt. Buckley. Stopped and geologised. Wilson got great
find of vegetable impression in piece of limestone. Too tired to write
geological notes. We all felt very slack this morning, partly rise of
temperature, partly reaction, no doubt. Ought to have kept close in
to glacier north of Mt. Buckley, but in bad light the descent looked
steep and we kept out. Evidently we got amongst bad ice pressure and
had to come down over an ice-fall. The crevasses were much firmer
than expected and we got down with some difficulty, found our night
camp of December 20, and lunched an hour after. Did pretty well in
the afternoon, marching 3 3/4 hours; the sledge-meter is unshipped,
so cannot tell distance traversed. Very warm on march and we are
all pretty tired. To-night it is wonderfully calm and warm, though
it has been overcast all the afternoon. It is remarkable to be able
to stand outside the tent and sun oneself. Our food satisfies now,
but we must march to keep in the full ration, and we want rest,
yet we shall pull through all right, D.V. We are by no means worn out.

_Saturday, February_ 10.--R. 24. Lunch Temp.  +12°; Supper
Temp. +10°. Got off a good morning march in spite of keeping too
far east and getting in rough, cracked ice. Had a splendid night
sleep, showing great change in all faces, so didn't get away till
10 A.M. Lunched just before 3. After lunch the land began to be
obscured. We held a course for 2 1/2 hours with difficulty, then
the sun disappeared, and snow drove in our faces with northerly
wind--very warm and impossible to steer, so camped. After supper,
still very thick all round, but sun showing and less snow falling. The
fallen snow crystals are quite feathery like thistledown. We have
two full days' food left, and though our position is uncertain,
we are certainly within two outward marches from the middle glacier
depot. However, if the weather doesn't clear by to-morrow, we must
either march blindly on or reduce food. It is very trying. Another
night to make up arrears of sleep. The ice crystals that first fell
this afternoon were very large. Now the sky is clearer overhead,
the temperature has fallen slightly, and the crystals are minute.

_Sunday, February_ 11.--R. 25. Lunch Temp. -6.5°; Supper -3.5°. The
worst day we have had during the trip and greatly owing to our
own fault. We started on a wretched surface with light S.W. wind,
sail set, and pulling on ski--horrible light, which made everything
look fantastic. As we went on light got worse, and suddenly we found
ourselves in pressure. Then came the fatal decision to steer east. We
went on for 6 hours, hoping to do a good distance, which in fact
I suppose we did, but for the last hour or two we pressed on into
a regular trap. Getting on to a good surface we did not reduce our
lunch meal, and thought all going well, but half an hour after lunch
we got into the worst ice mess I have ever been in. For three hours
we plunged on on ski, first thinking we were too much to the right,
then too much to the left; meanwhile the disturbance got worse and my
spirits received a very rude shock. There were times when it seemed
almost impossible to find a way out of the awful turmoil in which we
found ourselves. At length, arguing that there must be a way on our
left, we plunged in that direction. It got worse, harder, more icy
and crevassed. We could not manage our ski and pulled on foot, falling
into crevasses every minute--most luckily no bad accident. At length
we saw a smoother slope towards the land, pushed for it, but knew it
was a woefully long way from us. The turmoil changed in character,
irregular crevassed surface giving way to huge chasms, closely packed
and most difficult to cross. It was very heavy work, but we had grown
desperate. We won through at 10 P.M. and I write after 12 hours on the
march. I _think_ we are on or about the right track now, but we are
still a good number of miles from the depôt, so we reduced rations
to-night. We had three pemmican meals left and decided to make them
into four. To-morrow's lunch must serve for two if we do not make big
progress. It was a test of our endurance on the march and our fitness
with small supper. We have come through well. A good wind has come
down the glacier which is clearing the sky and surface. Pray God the
wind holds to-morrow. Short sleep to-night and off first thing, I hope.

_Monday, February_ 12.--R. 26. In a very critical situation. All
went well in the forenoon, and we did a good long march over a fair
surface. Two hours before lunch we were cheered by the sight of our
night camp of the 18th December, the day after we made our depôt--this
showed we were on the right track. In the afternoon, refreshed by tea,
we went forward, confident of covering the remaining distance, but by
a fatal chance we kept too far to the left, and then we struck uphill
and, tired and despondent, arrived in a horrid maze of crevasses and
fissures. Divided councils caused our course to be erratic after this,
and finally, at 9 P.M. we landed in the worst place of all. After
discussion we decided to camp, and here we are, after a very short
supper and one meal only remaining in the food bag; the depot doubtful
in locality. We must get there to-morrow. Meanwhile we are cheerful
with an effort. It's a tight place, but luckily we've been well fed
up to the present. Pray God we have fine weather to-morrow.

[At this point the bearings of the mid-glacier depôt are given,
but need not be quoted.]

_Tuesday, February_ 13.--Camp R. 27, beside
Cloudmaker. Temp. -10°. Last night we all slept well in spite of
our grave anxieties. For my part these were increased by my visits
outside the tent, when I saw the sky gradually closing over and snow
beginning to fall. By our ordinary time for getting up it was dense
all around us. We could see nothing, and we could only remain in our
sleeping-bags. At 8.30 I dimly made out the land of the Cloudmaker. At
9 we got up, deciding to have tea, and with one biscuit, no pemmican,
so as to leave our scanty remaining meal for eventualities. We started
marching, and at first had to wind our way through an awful turmoil
of broken ice, but in about an hour we hit an old moraine track,
brown with dirt. Here the surface was much smoother and improved
rapidly. The fog still hung over all and we went on for an hour,
checking our bearings. Then the whole place got smoother and we turned
outward a little. Evans raised our hopes with a shout of depot ahead,
but it proved to be a shadow on the ice. Then suddenly Wilson saw
the actual depot flag. It was an immense relief, and we were soon in
possession of our 3 1/2 days' food. The relief to all is inexpressible;
needless to say, we camped and had a meal.

Marching in the afternoon, I kept more to the left, and closed the
mountain till we fell on the stone moraines. Here Wilson detached
himself and made a collection, whilst we pulled the sledge on. We
camped late, abreast the lower end of the mountain, and had nearly
our usual satisfying supper. Yesterday was the worst experience of
the trip and gave a horrid feeling of insecurity. Now we are right
up, we must march. In future food must be worked so that we do not
run so short if the weather fails us. We mustn't get into a hole like
this again. Greatly relieved to find that both the other parties got
through safely. Evans seems to have got mixed up with pressures like
ourselves. It promises to be a very fine day to-morrow. The valley is
gradually clearing. Bowers has had a very bad attack of snow blindness,
and Wilson another almost as bad. Evans has no power to assist with
camping work.

_Wednesday, February_ 14.--Lunch Temp. 0°; Supper Temp. -1°. A
fine day with wind on and off down the glacier, and we have done a
fairly good march. We started a little late and pulled on down the
moraine. At first I thought of going right, but soon, luckily, changed
my mind and decided to follow the curving lines of the moraines. This
course has brought us well out on the glacier. Started on crampons;
one hour after, hoisted sail; the combined efforts produced only slow
speed, partly due to the sandy snowdrifts similar to those on summit,
partly to our torn sledge runners. At lunch these were scraped and
sand-papered. After lunch we got on snow, with ice only occasionally
showing through. A poor start, but the gradient and wind improving,
we did 6 1/2 miles before night camp.

There is no getting away from the fact that we are not going
strong. Probably none of us: Wilson's leg still troubles him and he
doesn't like to trust himself on ski; but the worst case is Evans,
who is giving us serious anxiety. This morning he suddenly disclosed
a huge blister on his foot. It delayed us on the march, when he had
to have his crampon readjusted. Sometimes I fear he is going from bad
to worse, but I trust he will pick up again when we come to steady
work on ski like this afternoon. He is hungry and so is Wilson. We
can't risk opening out our food again, and as cook at present I am
serving something under full allowance. We are inclined to get slack
and slow with our camping arrangements, and small delays increase. I
have talked of the matter to-night and hope for improvement. We
cannot do distance without the ponies. The next depot [43] some 30
miles away and nearly 3 days' food in hand.

_Thursday, February_ 15.--R. 29. Lunch Temp. -10°; Supper
Temp. -4°. 13.5 miles. Again we are running short of provision. We
don't know our distance from the depot, but imagine about 20
miles. Heavy march--did 13 3/4 (geo.). We are pulling for food
and not very strong evidently. In the afternoon it was overcast;
land blotted out for a considerable interval. We have reduced food,
also sleep; feeling rather done. Trust 1 1/2 days or 2 at most will
see us at depot.

_Friday, February_ 16.--12.5 m. Lunch Temp.-6.1°; Supper Temp. -7°. A
rather trying position. Evans has nearly broken down in brain,
we think. He is absolutely changed from his normal self-reliant
self. This morning and this afternoon he stopped the march on some
trivial excuse. We are on short rations with not very short food;
spin out till to-morrow night. We cannot be more than 10 or 12 miles
from the depot, but the weather is all against us. After lunch we were
enveloped in a snow sheet, land just looming. Memory should hold the
events of a very troublesome march with more troubles ahead. Perhaps
all will be well if we can get to our depot to-morrow fairly early,
but it is anxious work with the sick man. But it's no use meeting
troubles half way, and our sleep is all too short to write more.

_Saturday, February_ 17.--A very terrible day. Evans looked a little
better after a good sleep, and declared, as he always did, that he was
quite well. He started in his place on the traces, but half an hour
later worked his ski shoes adrift, and had to leave the sledge. The
surface was awful, the soft recently fallen snow clogging the ski
and runners at every step, the sledge groaning, the sky overcast,
and the land hazy. We stopped after about one hour, and Evans came up
again, but very slowly. Half an hour later he dropped out again on the
same plea. He asked Bowers to lend him a piece of string. I cautioned
him to come on as quickly as he could, and he answered cheerfully as
I thought. We had to push on, and the remainder of us were forced to
pull very hard, sweating heavily. Abreast the Monument Rock we stopped,
and seeing Evans a long way astern, I camped for lunch. There was no
alarm at first, and we prepared tea and our own meal, consuming the
latter. After lunch, and Evans still not appearing, we looked out,
to see him still afar off. By this time we were alarmed, and all four
started back on ski. I was first to reach the poor man and shocked
at his appearance; he was on his knees with clothing disarranged,
hands uncovered and frostbitten, and a wild look in his eyes. Asked
what was the matter, he replied with a slow speech that he didn't
know, but thought he must have fainted. We got him on his feet, but
after two or three steps he sank down again. He showed every sign of
complete collapse. Wilson, Bowers, and I went back for the sledge,
whilst Oates remained with him. When we returned he was practically
unconscious, and when we got him into the tent quite comatose. He
died quietly at 12.30 A.M. On discussing the symptoms we think he
began to get weaker just before we reached the Pole, and that his
downward path was accelerated first by the shock of his frostbitten
fingers, and later by falls during rough travelling on the glacier,
further by his loss of all confidence in himself. Wilson thinks it
certain he must have injured his brain by a fall. It is a terrible
thing to lose a companion in this way, but calm reflection shows that
there could not have been a better ending to the terrible anxieties of
the past week. Discussion of the situation at lunch yesterday shows
us what a desperate pass we were in with a sick man on our hands at
such a distance from home.

At 1 A.M. we packed up and came down over the pressure ridges,
finding our depôt easily.



CHAPTER XX

The Last March_25_

_Sunday, February_ 18.--R. 32. Temp. -5.5°. At Shambles Camp. We
gave ourselves 5 hours' sleep at the lower glacier depot after the
horrible night, and came on at about 3 to-day to this camp, coming
fairly easily over the divide. Here with plenty of horsemeat we have
had a fine supper, to be followed by others such, and so continue
a more plentiful era if we can keep good marches up. New life seems
to come with greater food almost immediately, but I am anxious about
the Barrier surfaces.

_Monday, February_ 19.--Lunch T. -16°. It was late (past noon)
before we got away to-day, as I gave nearly 8 hours sleep, and much
camp work was done shifting sledges [44] and fitting up new one with
mast, &c., packing horsemeat and personal effects. The surface was
every bit as bad as I expected, the sun shining brightly on it and
its covering of soft loose sandy snow. We have come out about 2'
on the old tracks. Perhaps lucky to have a fine day for this and our
camp work, but we shall want wind or change of sliding conditions to
do anything on such a surface as we have got. I fear there will not
be much change for the next 3 or 4 days.

R. 33. Temp. -17°. We have struggled out 4.6 miles in a short day over
a really terrible surface--it has been like pulling over desert sand,
not the least glide in the world. If this goes on we shall have a bad
time, but I sincerely trust it is only the result of this windless
area close to the coast and that, as we are making steadily outwards,
we shall shortly escape it. It is perhaps premature to be anxious
about covering distance. In all other respects things are improving. We
have our sleeping-bags spread on the sledge and they are drying, but,
above all, we have our full measure of food again. To-night we had
a sort of stew fry of pemmican and horseflesh, and voted it the best
hoosh we had ever had on a sledge journey. The absence of poor Evans
is a help to the commissariat, but if he had been here in a fit state
we might have got along faster. I wonder what is in store for us,
with some little alarm at the lateness of the season.

_Monday, February_ 20.--R. 34. Lunch Temp. -13°; Supper
Temp. -15°. Same terrible surface; four hours' hard plodding in
morning brought us to our Desolation Camp, where we had the four-day
blizzard. We looked for more pony meat, but found none. After lunch
we took to ski with some improvement of comfort. Total mileage for day
7--the ski tracks pretty plain and easily followed this afternoon. We
have left another cairn behind. Terribly slow progress, but we hope for
better things as we clear the land. There is a tendency to cloud over
in the S.E. to-night, which may turn to our advantage. At present
our sledge and ski leave deeply ploughed tracks which can be seen
winding for miles behind. It is distressing, but as usual trials are
forgotten when we camp, and good food is our lot. Pray God we get
better travelling as we are not fit as we were, and the season is
advancing apace.

_Tuesday, February_ 21.--R. 35. Lunch Temp. -9 1/2°; Supper
Temp. -11°. Gloomy and overcast when we started; a good deal
warmer. The marching almost as bad as yesterday. Heavy toiling all
day, inspiring gloomiest thoughts at times. Rays of comfort when
we picked up tracks and cairns. At lunch we seemed to have missed
the way, but an hour or two after we passed the last pony walls,
and since, we struck a tent ring, ending the march actually on our
old pony-tracks. There is a critical spot here with a long stretch
between cairns. If we can tide that over we get on the regular cairn
route, and with luck should stick to it; but everything depends on the
weather. We never won a march of 8 1/2 miles with greater difficulty,
but we can't go on like this. We are drawing away from the land and
perhaps may get better things in a day or two. I devoutly hope so.

_Wednesday, February_ 22.--R. 36. Supper Temp. -2°. There is little
doubt we are in for a rotten critical time going home, and the
lateness of the season may make it really serious. Shortly after
starting to-day the wind grew very fresh from the S.E. with strong
surface drift. We lost the faint track immediately, though covering
ground fairly rapidly. Lunch came without sight of the cairn we had
hoped to pass. In the afternoon, Bowers being sure we were too far
to the west, steered out. Result, we have passed another pony camp
without seeing it. Looking at the map to-night there is no doubt we
are too far to the east. With clear weather we ought to be able to
correct the mistake, but will the weather get clear? It's a gloomy
position, more especially as one sees the same difficulty returning
even when we have corrected the error. The wind is dying down to-night
and the sky clearing in the south, which is hopeful. Meanwhile it
is satisfactory to note that such untoward events fail to damp the
spirit of the party. To-night we had a pony hoosh so excellent and
filling that one feels really strong and vigorous again.

_Thursday, February_ 23.--R. 37. Lunch Temp.-9.8°; Supper
Temp. -12°. Started in sunshine, wind almost dropped. Luckily
Bowers took a round of angles and with help of the chart we fogged
out that we must be inside rather than outside tracks. The data
were so meagre that it seemed a great responsibility to march out
and we were none of us happy about it. But just as we decided to
lunch, Bowers' wonderful sharp eyes detected an old double lunch
cairn, the theodolite telescope confirmed it, and our spirits rose
accordingly. This afternoon we marched on and picked up another cairn;
then on and camped only 2 1/2 miles from the depot. We cannot see
it, but, given fine weather, we cannot miss it. We are, therefore,
extraordinarily relieved. Covered 8.2 miles in 7 hours, showing we
can do 10 to 12 on this surface. Things are again looking up, as we
are on the regular line of cairns, with no gaps right home, I hope.

_Friday, February_ 24.--Lunch. Beautiful day--too beautiful--an
hour after starting loose ice crystals spoiling surface. Saw depot
and reached it middle forenoon. Found store in order except shortage
oil_26_--shall have to be _very_ saving with fuel--otherwise have ten
full days' provision from to-night and shall have less than 70 miles
to go. Note from Meares who passed through December 15, saying surface
bad; from Atkinson, after fine marching (2 1/4 days from pony depot),
reporting Keohane better after sickness. Short note from Evans,
not very cheerful, saying surface bad, temperature high. Think he
must have been a little anxious. [45] It is an immense relief to
have picked up this depot and, for the time, anxieties are thrust
aside. There is no doubt we have been rising steadily since leaving
the Shambles Camp. The coastal Barrier descends except where glaciers
press out. Undulation still but flattening out. Surface soft on top,
curiously hard below. Great difference now between night and day
temperatures. Quite warm as I write in tent. We are on tracks with
half-march cairn ahead; have covered 4 1/2 miles. Poor Wilson has a
fearful attack snow-blindness consequent on yesterday's efforts. Wish
we had more fuel.

Night camp R. 38. Temp. -17°. A little despondent again. We had a
really terrible surface this afternoon and only covered 4 miles. We
are on the track just beyond a lunch cairn. It really will be a bad
business if we are to have this pulling all through. I don't know
what to think, but the rapid closing of the season is ominous. It
is great luck having the horsemeat to add to our ration. To-night
we have had a real fine 'hoosh.' It is a race between the season and
hard conditions and our fitness and good food.

_Saturday, February_ 25.--Lunch Temp. -12°. Managed just 6 miles this
morning. Started somewhat despondent; not relieved when pulling seemed
to show no improvement. Bit by bit surface grew better, less sastrugi,
more glide, slight following wind for a time. Then we began to travel
a little faster. But the pulling is still _very_ hard; undulations
disappearing but inequalities remain.

Twenty-six Camp walls about 2 miles ahead, all tracks in sight--Evans'
track very conspicuous. This is something in favour, but the
pulling is tiring us, though we are getting into better ski drawing
again. Bowers hasn't quite the trick and is a little hurt at my
criticisms, but I never doubted his heart. Very much easier--write
diary at lunch--excellent meal--now one pannikin very strong tea--four
biscuits and butter.

Hope for better things this afternoon, but no improvement
apparent. Oh! for a little wind--E. Evans evidently had plenty.

R. 39. Temp. -20°. Better march in afternoon. Day yields 11.4
miles--the first double figure of steady dragging for a long time,
but it meant and will mean hard work if we can't get a wind to help
us. Evans evidently had a strong wind here, S.E. I should think. The
temperature goes very low at night now when the sky is clear as at
present. As a matter of fact this is wonderfully fair weather--the
only drawback the spoiling of the surface and absence of wind. We
see all tracks very plain, but the pony-walls have evidently been
badly drifted up. Some kind people had substituted a cairn at last
camp 27. The old cairns do not seem to have suffered much.

_Sunday, February_ 26.--Lunch Temp. -17°. Sky overcast at start, but
able see tracks and cairn distinct at long distance. Did a little
better, 6 1/2 miles to date. Bowers and Wilson now in front. Find
great relief pulling behind with no necessity to keep attention on
track. Very cold nights now and cold feet starting march, as day
footgear doesn't dry at all. We are doing well on our food, but we
ought to have yet more. I hope the next depôt, now only 50 miles,
will find us with enough surplus to open out. The fuel shortage still
an anxiety.

R. 40. Temp. -21° Nine hours' solid marching has given us 11 1/2
miles. Only 43 miles from the next depôt. Wonderfully fine weather but
cold, very cold. Nothing dries and we get our feet cold too often. We
want more food yet and especially more fat. Fuel is woefully short. We
can scarcely hope to get a better surface at this season, but I wish
we could have some help from the wind, though it might shake us badly
if the temp. didn't rise.

_Monday, February_ 27.--Desperately cold last night: -33° when we
got up, with -37° minimum. Some suffering from cold feet, but all got
good rest. We _must_ open out on food soon. But we have done 7 miles
this morning and hope for some 5 this afternoon. Overcast sky and good
surface till now, when sun shows again. It is good to be marching the
cairns up, but there is still much to be anxious about. We talk of
little but food, except after meals. Land disappearing in satisfactory
manner. Pray God we have no further set-backs. We are naturally always
discussing possibility of meeting dogs, where and when, &c. It is
a critical position. We may find ourselves in safety at next depôt,
but there is a horrid element of doubt.

Camp R. 41. Temp. -32°. Still fine clear weather but very
cold--absolutely calm to-night. We have got off an excellent march
for these days (12.2) and are much earlier than usual in our bags. 31
miles to depot, 3 days' fuel at a pinch, and 6 days' food. Things
begin to look a little better; we can open out a little on food from
to-morrow night, I think.

Very curious surface--soft recent sastrugi which sink underfoot,
and between, a sort of flaky crust with large crystals beneath.

_Tuesday, February_ 28.--Lunch. Thermometer went below -40° last night;
it was desperately cold for us, but we had a fair night. I decided
to slightly increase food; the effect is undoubtedly good. Started
marching in -32° with a slight north-westerly breeze--blighting. Many
cold feet this morning; long time over foot gear, but we are
earlier. Shall camp earlier and get the chance of a good night, if
not the reality. Things must be critical till we reach the depot, and
the more I think of matters, the more I anticipate their remaining so
after that event. Only 24 1/2 miles from the depot. The sun shines
brightly, but there is little warmth in it. There is no doubt the
middle of the Barrier is a pretty awful locality.

Camp 42. Splendid pony hoosh sent us to bed and sleep happily after a
horrid day, wind continuing; did 11 1/2 miles. Temp. not quite so low,
but expect we are in for cold night (Temp. -27°).

_Wednesday, February_ 29.--Lunch. Cold night. Minimum Temp. -37.5°;
-30° with north-west wind, force 4, when we got up. Frightfully
cold starting; luckily Bowers and Oates in their last new finnesko;
keeping my old ones for present. Expected awful march and for first
hour got it. Then things improved and we camped after 5 1/2 hours
marching close to lunch camp--22 1/2. Next camp is our depot and it is
exactly 13 miles. It ought not to take more than 1 1/2 days; we pray
for another fine one. The oil will just about spin out in that event,
and we arrive 3 clear days' food in hand. The increase of ration has
had an enormously beneficial result. Mountains now looking small. Wind
still very light from west--cannot understand this wind.

_Thursday, March_ 1.--Lunch. Very cold last night--minimum -41.5°. Cold
start to march, too, as usual now. Got away at 8 and have marched
within sight of depot; flag something under 3 miles away. We did 11
1/2 yesterday and marched 6 this morning. Heavy dragging yesterday
and _very_ heavy this morning. Apart from sledging considerations
the weather is wonderful. Cloudless days and nights and the wind
trifling. Worse luck, the light airs come from the north and keep us
horribly cold. For this lunch hour the exception has come. There is
a bright and comparatively warm sun. All our gear is out drying.

_Friday, March_ 2.--Lunch. Misfortunes rarely come singly. We marched
to the (Middle Barrier) depot fairly easily yesterday afternoon, and
since that have suffered three distinct blows which have placed us
in a bad position. First we found a shortage of oil; with most rigid
economy it can scarce carry us to the next depot on this surface (71
miles away). Second, Titus Oates disclosed his feet, the toes showing
very bad indeed, evidently bitten by the late temperatures. The third
blow came in the night, when the wind, which we had hailed with some
joy, brought dark overcast weather. It fell below -40° in the night,
and this morning it took 1 1/2 hours to get our foot gear on, but
we got away before eight. We lost cairn and tracks together and made
as steady as we could N. by W., but have seen nothing. Worse was to
come--the surface is simply awful. In spite of strong wind and full
sail we have only done 5 1/2 miles. We are in a very queer street
since there is no doubt we cannot do the extra marches and feel the
cold horribly.

_Saturday, March_ 3.--Lunch. We picked up the track again yesterday,
finding ourselves to the eastward. Did close on 10 miles and things
looked a trifle better; but this morning the outlook is blacker
than ever. Started well and with good breeze; for an hour made good
headway; then the surface grew awful beyond words. The wind drew
forward; every circumstance was against us. After 4 1/4 hours things
so bad that we camped, having covered 4 1/2 miles. (R. 46.) One
cannot consider this a fault of our own--certainly we were pulling
hard this morning--it was more than three parts surface which held
us back--the wind at strongest, powerless to move the sledge. When
the light is good it is easy to see the reason. The surface, lately
a very good hard one, is coated with a thin layer of woolly crystals,
formed by radiation no doubt. These are too firmly fixed to be removed
by the wind and cause impossible friction on the runners. God help us,
we can't keep up this pulling, that is certain. Amongst ourselves we
are unendingly cheerful, but what each man feels in his heart I can
only guess. Pulling on foot gear in the morning is getter slower and
slower, therefore every day more dangerous.

_Sunday, March_ 4.--Lunch. Things looking _very_ black indeed. As usual
we forgot our trouble last night, got into our bags, slept splendidly
on good hoosh, woke and had another, and started marching. Sun shining
brightly, tracks clear, but surface covered with sandy frostrime. All
the morning we had to pull with all our strength, and in 4 1/2 hours we
covered 3 1/2 miles. Last night it was overcast and thick, surface bad;
this morning sun shining and surface as bad as ever. One has little
to hope for except perhaps strong dry wind--an unlikely contingency
at this time of year. Under the immediate surface crystals is a hard
sustrugi surface, which must have been excellent for pulling a week or
two ago. We are about 42 miles from the next depot and have a week's
food, but only about 3 to 4 days' fuel--we are as economical of the
latter as one can possibly be, and we cannot afford to save food and
pull as we are pulling. We are in a very tight place indeed, but none
of us despondent _yet_, or at least we preserve every semblance of
good cheer, but one's heart sinks as the sledge stops dead at some
sastrugi behind which the surface sand lies thickly heaped. For the
moment the temperature is on the -20°--an improvement which makes
us much more comfortable, but a colder snap is bound to come again
soon. I fear that Oates at least will weather such an event very
poorly. Providence to our aid! We can expect little from man now
except the possibility of extra food at the next depot. It will be
real bad if we get there and find the same shortage of oil. Shall we
get there? Such a short distance it would have appeared to us on the
summit! I don't know what I should do if Wilson and Bowers weren't
so determinedly cheerful over things.

_Monday, March_ 5.--Lunch. Regret to say going from bad to worse. We
got a slant of wind yesterday afternoon, and going on 5 hours we
converted our wretched morning run of 3 1/2 miles into something
over 9. We went to bed on a cup of cocoa and pemmican solid with the
chill off. (R. 47.) The result is telling on all, but mainly on Oates,
whose feet are in a wretched condition. One swelled up tremendously
last night and he is very lame this morning. We started march on tea
and pemmican as last night--we pretend to prefer the pemmican this
way. Marched for 5 hours this morning over a slightly better surface
covered with high moundy sastrugi. Sledge capsized twice; we pulled on
foot, covering about 5 1/2 miles. We are two pony marches and 4 miles
about from our depot. Our fuel dreadfully low and the poor Soldier
nearly done. It is pathetic enough because we can do nothing for him;
more hot food might do a little, but only a little, I fear. We none
of us expected these terribly low temperatures, and of the rest of us
Wilson is feeling them most; mainly, I fear, from his self-sacrificing
devotion in doctoring Oates' feet. We cannot help each other, each has
enough to do to take care of himself. We get cold on the march when
the trudging is heavy, and the wind pierces our warm garments. The
others, all of them, are unendingly cheerful when in the tent. We
mean to see the game through with a proper spirit, but it's tough
work to be pulling harder than we ever pulled in our lives for long
hours, and to feel that the progress is so slow. One can only say
'God help us!' and plod on our weary way, cold and very miserable,
though outwardly cheerful. We talk of all sorts of subjects in the
tent, not much of food now, since we decided to take the risk of
running a full ration. We simply couldn't go hungry at this time.

_Tuesday, March_ 6.--Lunch. We did a little better with help of wind
yesterday afternoon, finishing 9 1/2 miles for the day, and 27 miles
from depot. (R. 48.) But this morning things have been awful. It was
warm in the night and for the first time during the journey I overslept
myself by more than an hour; then we were slow with foot gear; then,
pulling with all our might (for our lives) we could scarcely advance
at rate of a mile an hour; then it grew thick and three times we had
to get out of harness to search for tracks. The result is something
less than 3 1/2 miles for the forenoon. The sun is shining now and
the wind gone. Poor Oates is unable to pull, sits on the sledge when
we are track-searching--he is wonderfully plucky, as his feet must
be giving him great pain. He makes no complaint, but his spirits
only come up in spurts now, and he grows more silent in the tent. We
are making a spirit lamp to try and replace the primus when our oil
is exhausted. It will be a very poor substitute and we've not got
much spirit. If we could have kept up our 9-mile days we might have
got within reasonable distance of the depot before running out,
but nothing but a strong wind and good surface can help us now,
and though we had quite a good breeze this morning, the sledge came
as heavy as lead. If we were all fit I should have hopes of getting
through, but the poor Soldier has become a terrible hindrance, though
he does his utmost and suffers much I fear.

_Wednesday, March_ 7.--A little worse I fear. One of Oates' feet _very_
bad this morning; he is wonderfully brave. We still talk of what we
will do together at home.

We only made 6 1/2 miles yesterday. (R. 49.) This morning in 4 1/2
hours we did just over 4 miles. We are 16 from our depot. If we only
find the correct proportion of food there and this surface continues,
we may get to the next depot [Mt. Hooper, 72 miles farther] but not
to One Ton Camp. We hope against hope that the dogs have been to
Mt. Hooper; then we might pull through. If there is a shortage of oil
again we can have little hope. One feels that for poor Oates the crisis
is near, but none of us are improving, though we are wonderfully fit
considering the really excessive work we are doing. We are only kept
going by good food. No wind this morning till a chill northerly air
came ahead. Sun bright and cairns showing up well. I should like to
keep the track to the end.

_Thursday, March_ 8.--Lunch. Worse and worse in morning; poor Oates'
left foot can never last out, and time over foot gear something
awful. Have to wait in night foot gear for nearly an hour before I
start changing, and then am generally first to be ready. Wilson's feet
giving trouble now, but this mainly because he gives so much help to
others. We did 4 1/2 miles this morning and are now 8 1/2 miles from
the depot--a ridiculously small distance to feel in difficulties,
yet on this surface we know we cannot equal half our old marches,
and that for that effort we expend nearly double the energy. The
great question is, What shall we find at the depot? If the dogs have
visited it we may get along a good distance, but if there is another
short allowance of fuel, God help us indeed. We are in a very bad way,
I fear, in any case.

_Saturday, March_ 10.--Things steadily downhill. Oates' foot worse. He
has rare pluck and must know that he can never get through. He asked
Wilson if he had a chance this morning, and of course Bill had to say
he didn't know. In point of fact he has none. Apart from him, if he
went under now, I doubt whether we could get through. With great care
we might have a dog's chance, but no more. The weather conditions are
awful, and our gear gets steadily more icy and difficult to manage. At
the same time of course poor Titus is the greatest handicap. He keeps
us waiting in the morning until we have partly lost the warming effect
of our good breakfast, when the only wise policy is to be up and away
at once; again at lunch. Poor chap! it is too pathetic to watch him;
one cannot but try to cheer him up.

Yesterday we marched up the depot, Mt. Hooper. Cold comfort. Shortage
on our allowance all round. I don't know that anyone is to blame. The
dogs which would have been our salvation have evidently failed. [46]
Meares had a bad trip home I suppose.

This morning it was calm when we breakfasted, but the wind came
from W.N.W. as we broke camp. It rapidly grew in strength. After
travelling for half an hour I saw that none of us could go on facing
such conditions. We were forced to camp and are spending the rest of
the day in a comfortless blizzard camp, wind quite foul. (R. 52.)

_Sunday, March_ ll.--Titus Oates is very near the end, one feels. What
we or he will do, God only knows. We discussed the matter after
breakfast; he is a brave fine fellow and understands the situation,
but he practically asked for advice. Nothing could be said but to
urge him to march as long as he could. One satisfactory result to
the discussion; I practically ordered Wilson to hand over the means
of ending our troubles to us, so that anyone of us may know how to
do so. Wilson had no choice between doing so and our ransacking the
medicine case. We have 30 opium tabloids apiece and he is left with
a tube of morphine. So far the tragical side of our story. (R. 53.)

The sky completely overcast when we started this morning. We could see
nothing, lost the tracks, and doubtless have been swaying a good deal
since--3.1 miles for the forenoon--terribly heavy dragging--expected
it. Know that 6 miles is about the limit of our endurance now, if we
get no help from wind or surfaces. We have 7 days' food and should be
about 55 miles from One Ton Camp to-night, 6 × 7 = 42, leaving us 13
miles short of our distance, even if things get no worse. Meanwhile
the season rapidly advances.

_Monday, March_ 12.--We did 6.9 miles yesterday, under our necessary
average. Things are left much the same, Oates not pulling much, and
now with hands as well as feet pretty well useless. We did 4 miles
this morning in 4 hours 20 min.--we may hope for 3 this afternoon,
7 × 6 = 42. We shall be 47 miles from the depot. I doubt if we can
possibly do it. The surface remains awful, the cold intense, and
our physical condition running down. God help us! Not a breath of
favourable wind for more than a week, and apparently liable to head
winds at any moment.

_Wednesday, March_ 14.--No doubt about the going downhill, but
everything going wrong for us. Yesterday we woke to a strong northerly
wind with temp. -37°. Couldn't face it, so remained in camp (R. 54)
till 2, then did 5 1/4 miles. Wanted to march later, but party feeling
the cold badly as the breeze (N.) never took off entirely, and as
the sun sank the temp. fell. Long time getting supper in dark. (R. 55.)

This morning started with southerly breeze, set sail and passed another
cairn at good speed; half-way, however, the wind shifted to W. by
S. or W.S.W., blew through our wind clothes and into our mits. Poor
Wilson horribly cold, could not get off ski for some time. Bowers and
I practically made camp, and when we got into the tent at last we
were all deadly cold. Then temp, now midday down -43° and the wind
strong. We _must_ go on, but now the making of every camp must be
more difficult and dangerous. It must be near the end, but a pretty
merciful end. Poor Oates got it again in the foot. I shudder to think
what it will be like to-morrow. It is only with greatest pains rest
of us keep off frostbites. No idea there could be temperatures like
this at this time of year with such winds. Truly awful outside the
tent. Must fight it out to the last biscuit, but can't reduce rations.

_Friday, March_ 16 _or Saturday_ 17.--Lost track of dates, but
think the last correct. Tragedy all along the line. At lunch, the
day before yesterday, poor Titus Oates said he couldn't go on; he
proposed we should leave him in his sleeping-bag. That we could not
do, and induced him to come on, on the afternoon march. In spite of
its awful nature for him he struggled on and we made a few miles. At
night he was worse and we knew the end had come.

Should this be found I want these facts recorded. Oates' last
thoughts were of his Mother, but immediately before he took pride
in thinking that his regiment would be pleased with the bold way in
which he met his death. We can testify to his bravery. He has borne
intense suffering for weeks without complaint, and to the very last
was able and willing to discuss outside subjects. He did not--would
not--give up hope to the very end. He was a brave soul. This was the
end. He slept through the night before last, hoping not to wake; but
he woke in the morning--yesterday. It was blowing a blizzard. He said,
'I am just going outside and may be some time.' He went out into the
blizzard and we have not seen him since.

I take this opportunity of saying that we have stuck to our sick
companions to the last. In case of Edgar Evans, when absolutely out
of food and he lay insensible, the safety of the remainder seemed to
demand his abandonment, but Providence mercifully removed him at this
critical moment. He died a natural death, and we did not leave him
till two hours after his death. We knew that poor Oates was walking
to his death, but though we tried to dissuade him, we knew it was the
act of a brave man and an English gentleman. We all hope to meet the
end with a similar spirit, and assuredly the end is not far.

I can only write at lunch and then only occasionally. The cold is
intense, -40° at midday. My companions are unendingly cheerful, but we
are all on the verge of serious frostbites, and though we constantly
talk of fetching through I don't think anyone of us believes it in
his heart.

We are cold on the march now, and at all times except meals. Yesterday
we had to lay up for a blizzard and to-day we move dreadfully
slowly. We are at No. 14 pony camp, only two pony marches from
One Ton Depôt. We leave here our theodolite, a camera, and Oates'
sleeping-bags. Diaries, &c., and geological specimens carried at
Wilson's special request, will be found with us or on our sledge.

_Sunday, March_ 18.--To-day, lunch, we are 21 miles from the depot. Ill
fortune presses, but better may come. We have had more wind and
drift from ahead yesterday; had to stop marching; wind N.W., force 4,
temp. -35°. No human being could face it, and we are worn out _nearly_.

My right foot has gone, nearly all the toes--two days ago I was proud
possessor of best feet. These are the steps of my downfall. Like an ass
I mixed a small spoonful of curry powder with my melted pemmican--it
gave me violent indigestion. I lay awake and in pain all night; woke
and felt done on the march; foot went and I didn't know it. A very
small measure of neglect and have a foot which is not pleasant to
contemplate. Bowers takes first place in condition, but there is not
much to choose after all. The others are still confident of getting
through--or pretend to be--I don't know! We have the last _half_ fill
of oil in our primus and a very small quantity of spirit--this alone
between us and thirst. The wind is fair for the moment, and that is
perhaps a fact to help. The mileage would have seemed ridiculously
small on our outward journey.

_Monday, March_ 19.--Lunch. We camped with difficulty last night,
and were dreadfully cold till after our supper of cold pemmican and
biscuit and a half a pannikin of cocoa cooked over the spirit. Then,
contrary to expectation, we got warm and all slept well. To-day we
started in the usual dragging manner. Sledge dreadfully heavy. We are
15 1/2 miles from the depot and ought to get there in three days. What
progress! We have two days' food but barely a day's fuel. All our
feet are getting bad--Wilson's best, my right foot worst, left all
right. There is no chance to nurse one's feet till we can get hot
food into us. Amputation is the least I can hope for now, but will
the trouble spread? That is the serious question. The weather doesn't
give us a chance--the wind from N. to N.W. and -40° temp, to-day.

_Wednesday, March_ 11.--Got within 11 miles of depôt Monday night;
[47] had to lay up all yesterday in severe blizzard._27_ To-day
forlorn hope, Wilson and Bowers going to depot for
fuel.

_Thursday, March_ 22 _and_ 23.--Blizzard bad as ever--Wilson and
Bowers unable to start--to-morrow last chance--no fuel and only one
or two of food left--must be near the end. Have decided it shall be
natural--we shall march for the depot with or without our effects
and die in our tracks.

_Thursday, March_ 29.--Since the 21st we have had a continuous gale
from W.S.W. and S.W. We had fuel to make two cups of tea apiece and
bare food for two days on the 20th. Every day we have been ready to
start for our depot _11 miles_ away, but outside the door of the tent
it remains a scene of whirling drift. I do not think we can hope for
any better things now. We shall stick it out to the end, but we are
getting weaker, of course, and the end cannot be far.

It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more.

R. SCOTT.

For God's sake look after our people.


------------

Wilson and Bowers were found in the attitude of sleep, their
sleeping-bags closed over their heads as they would naturally close
them.

Scott died later. He had thrown back the flaps of his sleeping-bag
and opened his coat. The little wallet containing the three notebooks
was under his shoulders and his arm flung across Wilson. So they were
found eight months later.

With the diaries in the tent were found the following letters:




TO MRS. E. A. WILSON

MY DEAR MRS. WILSON,

If this letter reaches you Bill and I will have gone out together. We
are very near it now and I should like you to know how splendid he
was at the end--everlastingly cheerful and ready to sacrifice himself
for others, never a word of blame to me for leading him into this
mess. He is not suffering, luckily, at least only minor discomforts.

His eyes have a comfortable blue look of hope and his mind is peaceful
with the satisfaction of his faith in regarding himself as part of
the great scheme of the Almighty. I can do no more to comfort you
than to tell you that he died as he lived, a brave, true man--the
best of comrades and staunchest of friends. My whole heart goes out
to you in pity,

                       Yours,
                        R. SCOTT





TO MRS. BOWERS

MY DEAR MRS. BOWERS,

I am afraid this will reach you after one of the heaviest blows of
your life.

I write when we are very near the end of our journey, and I am
finishing it in company with two gallant, noble gentlemen. One of
these is your son. He had come to be one of my closest and soundest
friends, and I appreciate his wonderful upright nature, his ability
and energy. As the troubles have thickened his dauntless spirit ever
shone brighter and he has remained cheerful, hopeful, and indomitable
to the end.

The ways of Providence are inscrutable, but there must be some reason
why such a young, vigorous and promising life is taken.

My whole heart goes out in pity for you.

                    Yours,
                        R. SCOTT.

To the end he has talked of you and his sisters. One sees what a
happy home he must have had and perhaps it is well to look back on
nothing but happiness.

He remains unselfish, self-reliant and splendidly hopeful to the end,
believing in God's mercy to you.






TO SIR J. M. BARRIE

MY DEAR BARRIE,

We are pegging out in a very comfortless spot. Hoping this letter
may be found and sent to you, I write a word of farewell. ... More
practically I want you to help my widow and my boy--your godson. We are
showing that Englishmen can still die with a bold spirit, fighting it
out to the end. It will be known that we have accomplished our object
in reaching the Pole, and that we have done everything possible,
even to sacrificing ourselves in order to save sick companions. I
think this makes an example for Englishmen of the future, and that
the country ought to help those who are left behind to mourn us. I
leave my poor girl and your godson, Wilson leaves a widow, and Edgar
Evans also a widow in humble circumstances. Do what you can to get
their claims recognised. Goodbye. I am not at all afraid of the end,
but sad to miss many a humble pleasure which I had planned for the
future on our long marches. I may not have proved a great explorer,
but we have done the greatest march ever made and come very near to
great success. Goodbye, my dear friend,

                    Yours ever,
                           R. SCOTT.

We are in a desperate state, feet frozen, &c. No fuel and a long
way from food, but it would do your heart good to be in our tent,
to hear our songs and the cheery conversation as to what we will do
when we get to Hut Point.

_Later_.--We are very near the end, but have not and will not lose
our good cheer. We have four days of storm in our tent and nowhere's
food or fuel. We did intend to finish ourselves when things proved
like this, but we have decided to die naturally in the track.

As a dying man, my dear friend, be good to my wife and child. Give
the boy a chance in life if the State won't do it. He ought to have
good stuff in him. ... I never met a man in my life whom I admired
and loved more than you, but I never could show you how much your
friendship meant to me, for you had much to give and I nothing.






TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR EDGAR SPEYER, BART.


Dated March 16, 1912. Lat. 79.5°.


MY DEAR SIR EDGAR,

I hope this may reach you. I fear we must go and that it leaves the
Expedition in a bad muddle. But we have been to the Pole and we shall
die like gentlemen. I regret only for the women we leave behind.

I thank you a thousand times for your help and support and your
generous kindness. If this diary is found it will show how we stuck
by dying companions and fought the thing out well to the end. I think
this will show that the Spirit of pluck and power to endure has not
passed out of our race ...

Wilson, the best fellow that ever stepped, has sacrificed himself
again and again to the sick men of the party ...

I write to many friends hoping the letters will reach them some time
after we are found next year.

We very nearly came through, and it's a pity to have missed it,
but lately I have felt that we have overshot our mark. No one is
to blame and I hope no attempt will be made to suggest that we have
lacked support.

Good-bye to you and your dear kind wife.

                Yours ever sincerely,
                        R. SCOTT.






TO VICE-ADMIRAL SIR FRANCIS CHARLES BRIDGEMAN, K.C.V.O., K.C.B.

MY DEAR SIR FRANCIS,

I fear we have shipped up; a close shave; I am writing a few
letters which I hope will be delivered some day. I want to thank
you for the friendship you gave me of late years, and to tell you
how extraordinarily pleasant I found it to serve under you. I want
to tell you that I was not too old for this job. It was the younger
men that went under first... After all we are setting a good example
to our countrymen, if not by getting into a tight place, by facing
it like men when we were there. We could have come through had we
neglected the sick.

Good-bye, and good-bye to dear Lady Bridgeman.

Yours ever,

R. SCOTT.

Excuse writing--it is -40°, and has been for nigh a month.





TO VICE-ADMIRAL SIR GEORGE LE CLEARC EGERTON. K.C.B.

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE,

I fear we have shot our bolt--but we have been to Pole and done the
longest journey on record.

I hope these letters may find their destination some day.

Subsidiary reasons of our failure to return are due to the sickness of
different members of the party, but the real thing that has stopped
us is the awful weather and unexpected cold towards the end of the
journey.

This traverse of the Barrier has been quite three times as severe as
any experience we had on the summit.

There is no accounting for it, but the result has thrown out my
calculations, and here we are little more than 100 miles from the
base and petering out.

Good-bye. Please see my widow is looked after as far as Admiralty
is concerned.

                     R. SCOTT.

My kindest regards to Lady Egerton. I can never forget all your
kindness.






TO MR. J.J. KINSEY--CHRISTCHURCH


March 24th, 1912.


MY DEAR KINSEY,

I'm afraid we are pretty well done--four days of blizzard just as
we were getting to the last depot. My thoughts have been with you
often. You have been a brick. You will pull the expedition through,
I'm sure.

My thoughts are for my wife and boy. Will you do what you can for
them if the country won't.

I want the boy to have a good chance in the world, but you know the
circumstances well enough.

If I knew the wife and boy were in safe keeping I should have little
regret in leaving the world, for I feel that the country need not be
ashamed of us--our journey has been the biggest on record, and nothing
but the most exceptional hard luck at the end would have caused us to
fail to return. We have been to the S. pole as we set out. God bless
you and dear Mrs. Kinsey. It is good to remember you and your kindness.

                    Your friend,
                           R. SCOTT.





Letters to his Mother, his Wife, his Brother-in-law (Sir William
Ellison Macartney), Admiral Sir Lewis Beaumont, and Mr. and
Mrs. Reginald Smith were also found, from which come the following
extracts:

The Great God has called me and I feel it will add a fearful blow to
the heavy ones that have fallen on you in life. But take comfort in
that I die at peace with the world and myself--not afraid.

Indeed it has been most singularly unfortunate, for the risks I have
taken never seemed excessive.

... I want to tell you that we have missed getting through by
a narrow margin which was justifiably within the risk of such a
journey ... After all, we have given our lives for our country--we
have actually made the longest journey on record, and we have been
the first Englishmen at the South Pole.

You must understand that it is too cold to write much.

... It's a pity the luck doesn't come our way, because every detail
of equipment is right.

I shall not have suffered any pain, but leave the world fresh from
harness and full of good health and vigour.

Since writing the above we got to within 11 miles of our depot, with
one hot meal and two days' cold food. We should have got through but
have been held for _four_ days by a frightful storm. I think the best
chance has gone. We have decided not to kill ourselves, but to fight to
the last for that depôt, but in the fighting there is a painless end.

Make the boy interested in natural history if you can; it is better
than games; they encourage it at some schools. I know you will keep
him in the open air.

Above all, he must guard and you must guard him against indolence. Make
him a strenuous man. I had to force myself into being strenuous as
you know--had always an inclination to be idle.

There is a piece of the Union Jack I put up at the South Pole in
my private kit bag, together with Amundsen's black flag and other
trifles. Send a small piece of the Union Jack to the King and a small
piece to Queen Alexandra.

What lots and lots I could tell you of this journey. How much better
has it been than lounging in too great comfort at home. What tales
you would have for the boys. But what a price to pay.

Tell Sir Clements--I thought much of him and never regretted him
putting me in command of the _Discovery_.




Message to the Public

The causes of the disaster are not due to faulty organisation, but
to misfortune in all risks which had to be undertaken.

1. The loss of pony transport in March 1911 obliged me to start later
than I had intended, and obliged the limits of stuff transported to
be narrowed.

2. The weather throughout the outward journey, and especially the
long gale in 83° S., stopped us.

3. The soft snow in lower reaches of glacier again reduced pace.

We fought these untoward events with a will and conquered, but it
cut into our provision reserve.

Every detail of our food supplies, clothing and depôts made on the
interior ice-sheet and over that long stretch of 700 miles to the
Pole and back, worked out to perfection. The advance party would
have returned to the glacier in fine form and with surplus of food,
but for the astonishing failure of the man whom we had least expected
to fail. Edgar Evans was thought the strongest man of the party.

The Beardmore Glacier is not difficult in fine weather, but on our
return we did not get a single completely fine day; this with a sick
companion enormously increased our anxieties.

As I have said elsewhere we got into frightfully rough ice and Edgar
Evans received a concussion of the brain--he died a natural death,
but left us a shaken party with the season unduly advanced.

But all the facts above enumerated were as nothing to the surprise
which awaited us on the Barrier. I maintain that our arrangements
for returning were quite adequate, and that no one in the world would
have expected the temperatures and surfaces which we encountered at
this time of the year. On the summit in lat. 85° 86° we had -20°,
-30°. On the Barrier in lat. 82°, 10,000 feet lower, we had -30°
in the day, -47° at night pretty regularly, with continuous head
wind during our day marches. It is clear that these circumstances
come on very suddenly, and our wreck is certainly due to this sudden
advent of severe weather, which does not seem to have any satisfactory
cause. I do not think human beings ever came through such a month as
we have come through, and we should have got through in spite of the
weather but for the sickening of a second companion, Captain Oates,
and a shortage of fuel in our depôts for which I cannot account,
and finally, but for the storm which has fallen on us within 11 miles
of the depôt at which we hoped to secure our final supplies. Surely
misfortune could scarcely have exceeded this last blow. We arrived
within 11 miles of our old One Ton Camp with fuel for one last meal
and food for two days. For four days we have been unable to leave the
tent--the gale howling about us. We are weak, writing is difficult,
but for my own sake I do not regret this journey, which has shown
that Englishmen can endure hardships, help one another, and meet death
with as great a fortitude as ever in the past. We took risks, we knew
we took them; things have come out against us, and therefore we have
no cause for complaint, but bow to the will of Providence, determined
still to do our best to the last. But if we have been willing to give
our lives to this enterprise, which is for the honour of our country,
I appeal to our countrymen to see that those who depend on us are
properly cared for.

Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood,
endurance, and courage of my companions which would have stirred the
heart of every Englishman. These rough notes and our dead bodies must
tell the tale, but surely, surely, a great rich country like ours
will see that those who are dependent on us are properly provided for.

                            R. SCOTT.




APPENDIX

_Note_ 1, _p._ 3.--Dogs. These included thirty-three sledging dogs
and a collie bitch, 'Lassie.' The thirty-three, all Siberian dogs
excepting the Esquimaux 'Peary' and 'Borup,' were collected by
Mr. Meares, who drove them across Siberia to Vladivostok with the
help of the dog-driver Demetri Gerof, whom he had engaged for the
expedition. From Vladivostok, where he was joined by Lieutenant Wilfred
Bruce, he brought them by steamer to Sydney, and thence to Lyttelton.

The dogs were the gift of various schools, as shown by the following
list:


Dogs Presented by Schools, &c.

School's, &c.,      Russian name    Translation,        Name of School, &c.,
name for Dog.       of Dog.         description, or     that presented Dog.
                                    nickname of Dog.

Beaumont            Kumgai          Isle off            Beaumont College.
                                    Vladivostok
Bengeo              Mannike Noogis  Little Leader       Bengeo, Herts.
Bluecoat            Giliak          Indian tribe        Christ's Hospital.
Bristol             Lappa Uki       Lop Ears            Grammar, Bristol.
Bromsgrove          'Peary'         'Peary'             Bromsgrove School
                                                        (cost of transport).
Colston's           Bullet          Bullet              Colston's School.
Danum               Rabchick        Grouse              Doncaster Grammar Sch.
Derby I.            Suka            Lassie              Girls' Secondary School,
                                                        Derby.
Derby II.           Silni           Stocky              Secondary Technical School,
                                                        Derby.
Devon               Jolti           Yellowboy           Devonshire House Branch
                                                        of Navy League.
Duns                Brodiaga        Robber              Berwickshire High School.
Falcon              Seri            Grey                High School, Winchester.
Felsted             Visoli          Jollyboy            Felsted School.
Glebe               Pestry          Piebald             Glebe House School.
Grassendale         Suhoi II.       Lanky               Grassendale School.
Hal                 Krisravitsa     Beauty              Colchester Royal
                                                        Grammar School.
Hampstead           Ishak           Jackass             South Hampstead High
                                                        School (Girls).
Hughie              Gerachi         Ginger              Master H. Gethin Lewis.
Ilkley              Wolk            Wolf                Ilkley Grammar.
Innie               Suhoi I.        Lanky               Liverpool Institute.
Jersey              Bear            Bear                Victoria College, Jersey.
John Bright         Seri Uki        Grey Ears           Bootham.
Laleham             Biela Noogis    White Leader        Laleham.
Leighton            Pudil           Poodle              Leighton Park, Reading.
Lyon                Tresor          Treasure            Lower School of J. Lyon.
Mac                 Deek I.         Wild One            Wells House.
Manor               Colonel         Colonel             Manor House.
Mount               Vesoi           One Eye             Mount, York.
Mundella            Bulli           Bullet              Mundella Secondary.
Oakfield            Ruggiola Sabaka 'Gun Dog' (Hound)   Oakfield School, Rugby.
Oldham              Vaida           Christian name      Hulme Grammar School,
                                                        Oldham.
Perse               Vaska           Lady's name         Perse Grammar.
Poacher             Malchick        Black Old Man       Grammar School, Lincoln.
                    Chorney Stareek
Price Llewelyn      Hohol           Little Russian      Intermediate, Llan-dudno Wells.
Radlyn              Czigane         Gipsy               Radlyn, Harrogate.
Richmond            Osman           Christian name      Richmond, Yorks.
Regent              Marakas seri    Grey                Regent Street Polytechnic
Steyne              Petichka        Little Bird         Steyne, Worthing.
Sir Andrew          Deek II.        Wild One            Sir Andrew Judd's
                                                        Commercial School.
Somerset            Churnie kesoi   One eye             A Somerset School.
Tiger               Mukaka          Monkey              Bournemouth School.
Tom                 Stareek         Old Man             Woodbridge.
Tua r Golleniai     Julik           Scamp               Intermediate School, Cardiff.
Vic                 Glinie          Long Nose           Modern, Southport.
Whitgift            Mamuke Rabchick Little Grouse       Whitgift Grammar.
Winston             Borup           Borup               Winston Higher Grade School
                                                        (cost of transport).
                    Meduate             Lion            N.Z. Girls' School.


_Note_ 2, _p_. 4.--Those who are named in these opening pages
were all keen supporters of the Expedition. Sir George Clifford,
Bart., and Messrs. Arthur and George Rhodes were friends from
Christchurch. Mr. M. J. Miller, Mayor of Lyttelton, was a master
shipwright and contractor, who took great interest in both the
_Discovery_ and the _Terra Nova_, and stopped the leak in the latter
vessel which had been so troublesome on the voyage out. Mr. Anderson
belonged to the firm of John Anderson & Sons, engineers, who own
Lyttelton Foundry. Mr. Kinsey was the trusted friend and representative
who acted as the representative of Captain Scott in New Zealand
during his absence in the South. Mr. Wyatt was business manager to
the Expedition.

_Note_ 3. _p_. 11.--Dr. Wilson writes: I must say I enjoyed it all from
beginning to end, and as one bunk became unbearable after another,
owing to the wet, and the comments became more and more to the point
as people searched out dry spots here and there to finish the night
in oilskins and greatcoats on the cabin or ward-room seats, I thought
things were becoming interesting.

Some of the staff were like dead men with sea-sickness. Even so
Cherry-Garrard and Wright and Day turned out with the rest of us and
alternately worked and were sick.

I have no sea-sickness on these ships myself under any conditions,
so I enjoyed it all, and as I have the run of the bridge and can ask
as many questions as I choose, I knew all that was going on.

All Friday and Friday night we worked in two parties, two hours on and
two hours off; it was heavy work filling and handing up huge buckets
of water as fast as they could be given from one to the other from the
very bottom of the stokehold to the upper deck, up little metal ladders
all the way. One was of course wet through the whole time in a sweater
and trousers and sea boots, and every two hours one took these off and
hurried in for a rest in a greatcoat, to turn out again in two hours
and put in the same cold sopping clothes, and so on until 4 A.M. on
Saturday, when we had baled out between four and five tons of water
and had so lowered it that it was once more possible to light fires
and try the engines and the steam pump again and to clear the valves
and the inlet which was once more within reach. The fires had been
put out at 11.40 A.M. and were then out for twenty-two hours while
we baled. It was a weird' night's work with the howling gale and the
darkness and the immense seas running over the ship every few minutes
and no engines and no sail, and we all in the engine-room, black as ink
with the engine-room oil and bilge water, singing chanties as we passed
up slopping buckets full of bilge, each man above' slopping a little
over the heads of all below him; wet through to the skin, so much so
that some of the party worked altogether naked like Chinese coolies;
and the rush of the wave backwards and forwards at the bottom grew
hourly less in the dim light of a couple of engine-room oil lamps whose
light just made the darkness visible, the ship all the time rolling
like a sodden lifeless log, her lee gunwale under water every time.

_December_ 3. We were all at work till 4 A.M. and then were all told
off to sleep till 8 A.M. At 9.30 A.M. we were all on to the main
hand pump, and, lo and behold! it worked, and we pumped and pumped
till 12.30, when the ship was once more only as full of bilge water
as she always is and the position was practically solved.

There was one thrilling moment in the midst of the worst hour on Friday
when we were realising that the fires must be drawn, and when every
pump had failed to act, and when the bulwarks began to go to pieces
and the petrol cases were all afloat and going overboard, and the word
was suddenly passed in a shout from the hands at work in the waist of
the ship trying to save petrol cases that smoke was coming up through
the seams in the after hold. As this was full of coal and patent fuel
and was next the engine-room, and as it had not been opened for the
airing, it required to get rid of gas on account of the flood of water
on deck making it impossible to open the hatchways; the possibility
of a fire there was patent to everyone and it could not possibly have
been dealt with in any way short of opening the hatches and flooding
the ship, when she must have floundered. It was therefore a thrilling
moment or two until it was discovered that the smoke was really steam,
arising from the bilge at the bottom having risen to the heated coal.

_Note_ 4, _p_. 15.--_December_ 26. We watched two or three immense blue
whales at fairly short distance; this is _Balænoptera Sibbaldi_. One
sees first a small dark hump appear and then immediately a jet of grey
fog squirted upwards fifteen to eighteen feet, gradually spreading as
it rises vertically into the frosty air. I have been nearly in these
blows once or twice and had the moisture in my face with a sickening
smell of shrimpy oil. Then the bump elongates and up rolls an immense
blue-grey or blackish grey round back with a faint ridge along the
top, on which presently appears a small hook-like dorsal fin, and
then the whole sinks and disappears. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.]

_Note_ 5, _p_. 21.--_December_ 18. Watered ship at a tumbled floe. Sea
ice when pressed up into large hummocks gradually loses all its
salt. Even when sea water freezes it squeezes out the great bulk of
its salt as a solid, but the sea water gets into it by soaking again,
and yet when held out of the water, as it is in a hummock, the salt
all drains out and the melted ice is blue and quite good for drinking,
engines, &c. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.]

_Note_ 6, _p_. 32.--It may be added that in contradistinction to
the nicknames of Skipper conferred upon Evans, and Mate on Campbell,
Scott himself was known among the afterguard as The Owner.

_Note_ 7, _p_. 35.--(Penguins.) They have lost none of their
attractiveness, and are most comical and interesting; as curious as
ever, they will always come up at a trot when we sing to them, and
you may often see a group of explorers on the poop singing 'For she's
got bells on her fingers and rings on her toes, elephants to ride upon
wherever she goes,' and so on at the top of their voices to an admiring
group of Adelie penguins. Meares is the greatest attraction; he has
a full voice which is musical but always very flat. He declares that
'God save the King' will always send them to the water, and certainly
it is often successful. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.]

_Note_ 8, _p_. 58.--We were to examine the possibilities of landing,
but the swell was so heavy in its break among the floating blocks of
ice along the actual beach and ice foot that a landing was out of
the question. We should have broken up the boat and have all been
in the water together. But I assure you it was tantalising to me,
for there about 6 feet above us on a small dirty piece of the old
bay ice about ten feet square one living Emperor penguin chick was
standing disconsolately stranded, and close by stood one faithful old
Emperor parent asleep. This young Emperor was still in the down, a most
interesting fact in the bird's life history at which we had rightly
guessed, but which no one had actually observed before. It was in a
stage never yet seen or collected, for the wings were already quite
clean of down and feathered as in the adult, also a line down the
breast was shed of down, and part of the head. This bird would have
been a treasure to me, but we could not risk life for it, so it had to
remain where it was. It was a curious fact that with as much clean ice
to live on as they could have wished for, these destitute derelicts of
a flourishing colony now gone north to sea on floating bay ice should
have preferred to remain standing on the only piece of bay ice left,
a piece about ten feet square and now pressed up six feet above water
level, evidently wondering why it was so long in starting north with
the general exodus which must have taken place just a month ago. The
whole incident was most interesting and full of suggestion as to the
slow working of the brain of these queer people. Another point was most
weird to see, that on the under side of this very dirty piece of sea
ice, which was about two feet thick and which hung over the water as a
sort of cave, we could see the legs and lower halves of dead Emperor
chicks hanging through, and even in one place a dead adult. I hope
to make a picture of the whole quaint incident, for it was a corner
crammed full of Imperial history in the light of what we already knew,
and it would otherwise have been about as unintelligible as any group
of animate or inanimate nature could possibly have been. As it is, it
throws more light on the life history of this strangely primitive bird.

We were joking in the boat as we rowed under these cliffs and saying
it would be a short-lived amusement to see the overhanging cliff part
company and fall over us. So we were glad to find that we were rowing
back to the ship and already 200 or 300 yards away from the place and
in open water when there was a noise like crackling thunder and a huge
plunge into the sea and a smother of rock dust like the smoke of an
explosion, and we realised that the very thing had happened which we
had just been talking about. Altogether it was a very exciting row,
for before we got on board we had the pleasure of seeing the ship
shoved in so close to these cliffs by a belt of heavy pack ice that
to us it appeared a toss-up whether she got out again or got forced
in against the rocks. She had no time or room to turn and get clear
by backing out through the belt of pack stern first, getting heavy
bumps under the counter and on the rudder as she did so, for the ice
was heavy and the swell considerable. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.]

_Note_ 9, _p_. 81.--Dr. Wilson writes in his Journal: _January_
14. He also told me the plans for our depôt journey on which we shall
be starting in about ten days' time. He wants me to be a dog driver
with himself, Meares, and Teddie Evans, and this is what I would have
chosen had I had a free choice at all. The dogs run in two teams and
each team wants two men. It means a lot of running as they are being
driven now, but it is the fastest and most interesting work of all,
and we go ahead of the whole caravan with lighter loads and at a faster
rate; moreover, if any traction except ourselves can reach the top
of Beardmore Glacier, it will be the dogs, and the dog drivers are
therefore the people who will have the best chance of doing the top
piece of the ice cap at 10,000 feet to the Pole. May I be there! About
this time next year may I be there or there-abouts! With so many
young bloods in the heyday of youth and strength beyond my own I feel
there will be a most difficult task in making choice towards the end
and a most keen competition--and a universal lack of selfishness and
self-seeking with a complete absence of any jealous feeling in any
single one of the comparatively large number who at present stand a
chance of being on the last piece next summer.

It will be an exciting time and the excitement has already begun in
the healthiest possible manner. I have never been thrown in with a
more unselfish lot of men--each one doing his utmost fair and square
in the most cheery manner possible.

As late as October 15 he writes further: 'No one yet knows who will
be on the Summit party: it is to depend on condition, and fitness
when we get there.' It is told of Scott, while still in New Zealand,
that being pressed on the point, he playfully said, 'Well, I should
like to have Bill to hold my hand when we get to the Pole'; but the
Diary shows how the actual choice was made on the march.

_Note_ 10, _p_. 86.--Campbell, Levick, and Priestly set off to the
old _Nimrod_ hut eight miles away to see if they could find a stove of
convenient size for their own hut, as well as any additional paraffin,
and in default of the latter, to kill some seals for oil.

_Note_ 11, _p_. 92.--The management of stores and transport was
finally entrusted to Bowers. Rennick therefore remained with the
ship. A story told by Lady Scott illustrates the spirit of these
men--the expedition first, personal distinctions nowhere. It was in
New Zealand and the very day on which the order had been given for
Bowers to exchange with Rennick. In the afternoon Captain Scott and
his wife were returning from the ship to the house where they were
staying; on the hill they saw the two men coming down with arms on
each other's shoulders--a fine testimony to both. 'Upon my word,'
exclaimed Scott, 'that shows Rennick in a good light!'

_Note_ 12, _p_. 102.--_January_ 29. The seals have been giving a lot
of trouble, that is just to Meares and myself with our dogs. The whole
teams go absolutely crazy when they sight them or get wind of them,
and there are literally hundreds along some of the cracks. Occasionally
when one pictures oneself quite away from trouble of that kind, an old
seal will pop his head up at a blowhole a few yards ahead of the team,
and they are all on top of him before one can say 'Knife!' Then one
has to rush in with the whip--and every one of the team of eleven
jumps over the harness of the dog next to him and the harnesses
become a muddle that takes much patience to unravel, not to mention
care lest the whole team should get away with the sledge and its
load and leave one behind to follow on foot at leisure. I never did
get left the whole of this depôt journey, but I was often very near
it and several times had only time to seize a strap or a part of the
sledge and be dragged along helter-skelter over everything that came
in the way till the team got sick of galloping and one could struggle
to one's feet again. One gets very wary and wide awake when one has
to manage a team of eleven dogs and a sledge load by oneself, but it
was a most interesting experience, and I had a delightful leader,
'Stareek' by name--Russian for 'Old Man,' and he was the most wise
old man. We have to use Russian terms with all our dogs. 'Ki Ki'
means go to the right, 'Chui' means go to the left, 'Esh to' means lie
down--and the remainder are mostly swear words which mean everything
else which one has to say to a dog team. Dog driving like this in the
orthodox manner is a very different thing to the beastly dog driving
we perpetrated in the Discovery days. I got to love all my team and
they got to know me well, and my old leader even now, six months
after I have had anything to do with him, never fails to come and
speak to me whenever he sees me, and he knows me and my voice ever
so far off. He is quite a ridiculous 'old man' and quite the nicest,
quietest, cleverest old dog I have ever come across. He looks in face
as if he knew all the wickedness of all the world and all its cares
and as if he were bored to death by them. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.]

_Note_ 13, _p_. 111.--_February_ 15. There were also innumerable
subsidences of the surface--the breaking of crusts over air spaces
under them, large areas of dropping 1/4 inch or so with a hushing sort
of noise or muffled report.--My leader Stareek, the nicest and wisest
old dog in both teams, thought there was a rabbit under the crust
every time one gave way close by him and he would jump sideways with
both feet on the spot and his nose in the snow. The action was like a
flash and never checked the team--it was most amusing. I have another
funny little dog, Mukaka, small but very game and a good worker. He
is paired with a fat, lazy and very greedy black dog, Nugis by name,
and in every march this sprightly little Mukaka will once or twice
notice that Nugis is not pulling and will jump over the trace, bite
Nugis like a snap, and be back again in his own place before the fat
dog knows what has happened. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.]

_Note_ 13_a_, _p_. 125.--Taking up the story from the point where
eleven of the thirteen dogs had been brought to the surface,
Mr. Cherry-Garrard's Diary records:

This left the two at the bottom. Scott had several times wanted
to go down. Bill said to me that he hoped he wouldn't, but now he
insisted. We found the Alpine rope would reach, and then lowered Scott
down to the platform, sixty feet below. I thought it very plucky. We
then hauled the two dogs up on the rope, leaving Scott below. Scott
said the dogs were very glad to see him; they had curled up asleep--it
was wonderful they had no bones broken.

Then Meares' dogs, which were all wandering about loose, started
fighting our team, and we all had to leave Scott and go and separate
them, which took some time. They fixed on Noogis (I.) badly. We
then hauled Scott up: it was all three of us could do--fingers a
good deal frost-bitten at the end. That was all the dogs. Scott has
just said that at one time he never hoped to get back the thirteen
or even half of them. When he was down in the crevasse he wanted to
go off exploring, but we dissuaded him. Of course it was a great
opportunity. He kept on saying, 'I wonder why this is running the
way it is--you expect to find them at right angles.'

Scott found inside crevasse warmer than above, but had no
thermometer. It is a great wonder the whole sledge did not drop
through: the inside was like the cliff of Dover.

_Note_ 14, _p_. 136.--_February_ 28. Meares and I led off with a dog
team each, and leaving the Barrier we managed to negotiate the first
long pressure ridge of the sea ice where the seals all lie, without
much trouble--the dogs were running well and fast and we kept on
the old tracks, still visible, by which we had come out in January,
heading a long way out to make a wide detour round the open water
off Cape Armitage, from which a very wide extent of thick black fog,
'frost smoke' as we call it, was rising on our right. This completely
obscured our view of the open water, and the only suggestion it gave
me was that the thaw pool off the Cape was much bigger than when
we passed it in January and that we should probably have to make a
detour of three or four miles round it to reach Hut Point instead of
one or two. I still thought it was not impossible to reach Hut Point
this way, so we went on, but before we had run two miles on the sea
ice we noticed that we were coming on to an area broken up by fine
thread-like cracks evidently quite fresh, and as I ran along by the
sledge I paced them and found they curved regularly at every 30 paces,
which could only mean that they were caused by a swell. This suggested
to me that the thaw pool off Cape Armitage was even bigger than I
thought and that we were getting on to ice which was breaking up, to
flow north into it. We stopped to consider, and found that the cracks
in the ice we were on were the rise and fall of a swell. Knowing that
the ice might remain like this with each piece tight against the next
only until the tide turned, I knew that we must get off it at once in
case the tide did turn in the next half-hour, when each crack would
open up into a wide lead of open water and we should find ourselves
on an isolated floe. So we at once turned and went back as fast as
possible to the unbroken sea ice. Obviously it was now unsafe to go
round to Hut Point by Cape Armitage and we therefore made for the
Gap. It was between eight and nine in the evening when we turned,
and we soon came in sight of the pony party, led as we thought by
Captain Scott. We were within 1/2 a mile of them when we hurried
right across their bows and headed straight for the Gap, making a
course more than a right angle off the course we had been on. There
was the seals' pressure ridge of sea ice between us and them, but as
I could see them quite distinctly I had no doubt they could see us,
and we were occupied more than once just then in beating the teams
off stray seals, so that we didn't go by either vary quickly or very
silently. From here we ran into the Gap, where there was some nasty
pressed-up ice to cross and large gaps and cracks by the ice foot;
but with the Alpine rope and a rush we got first one team over and
then the other without mishap on to the land ice, and were then
practically at Hut Point. However, expecting that the pony party was
following us, we ran our teams up on to level ice, picketed them, and
pitched our tent, to remain there for the night, as we had a half-mile
of rock to cross to reach the hut and the sledges would have to be
carried over this and the dogs led by hand in couples--a very long
job. Having done this we returned to the ice foot with a pick and
a shovel to improve the road up for horse party, as they would have
to come over the same bad ice we had found difficult with the dogs;
but they were nowhere to be seen close at hand as we had expected,
for they were miles out, as we soon saw, still trying to reach Hut
Point by the sea ice round Cape Armitage thaw pool, and on the ice
which was showing a working crack at 30 paces. I couldn't understand
how Scott could do such a thing, and it was only the next day that
I found out that Scott had remained behind and had sent Bowers in
charge of this pony party. Bowers, having had no experience of the
kind, did not grasp the situation for some time, and as we watched
him and his party--or as we thought Captain Scott and his party--of
ponies we saw them all suddenly realise that they were getting into
trouble and the whole party turned back; but instead of coming back
towards the Gap as we had, we saw them go due south towards the Barrier
edge and White Island. Then I thought they were all right, for I knew
they would get on to safe ice and camp for the night. We therefore
had our supper in the tent and were turning in between eleven and
twelve when I had a last look to see where they were and found they
had camped as it appeared to me on safe Barrier ice, the only safe
thing they could have done. They were now about six miles away from
us, and it was lucky that I had my Goerz glasses with me so that we
could follow their movements. Now as everything looked all right,
Meares and I turned in and slept. At 5 A.M. I awoke, and as I felt
uneasy about the party I went out and along the Gap to where we could
see their camp, and I was horrified to see that the whole of the sea
ice was now on the move and that it had broken up for miles further
than when we turned in and right back past where they had camped,
and that the pony party was now, as we could see, adrift on a floe
and separated by open water and a lot of drifting ice from the edge
of the fast Barrier ice. We could see with our glasses that they
were running the ponies and sledges over as quickly as possible from
floe to floe whenever they could, trying to draw nearer to the safe
Barrier ice again. The whole Strait was now open water to the N. of
Cape Armitage, with the frost smoke rising everywhere from it, and
full of pieces of floating ice, all going up N. to Ross Sea.

_March_ 1. _Ash Wednesday_. The question for us was whether we could
do anything to help them. There was no boat anywhere and there was
no one to consult with, for everyone was on the floating floe as we
believed, except Teddie Evans, Forde, and Keohane, who with one pony
were on their way back from Corner Camp. So we searched the Barrier
for signs of their tent and then saw that there was a tent at Safety
Camp, which meant evidently to us that they had returned. The obvious
thing was to join up with them and go round to where the pony party
was adrift, and see if we could help them to reach the safe ice. So
without waiting for breakfast we went off six miles to this tent. We
couldn't go now by the Gap, for the ice by which we had reached land
yesterday was now broken up in every direction and all on the move
up the Strait. We had no choice now but to cross up by Crater Hill
and down by Pram Point and over the pressure ridges and so on to
the Barrier and off to Safety Camp. We couldn't possibly take a dog
sledge this way, so we walked, taking the Alpine rope to cross the
pressure ridges, which are full of crevasses.

We got to this tent soon after noon and were astonished to find that
not Teddie Evans and his two seamen were here, but that Scott and Oates
and Gran were in it and no pony with them. Teddie Evans was still on
his way back from Corner Camp and had not arrived. It was now for the
first time that we understood how the accident had happened. When we
had left Safety Camp yesterday with the dogs, the ponies began their
march to follow us, but one of the ponies was so weak after the last
blizzard and so obviously about to die that Bowers, Cherry-Garrard,
and Crean were sent on with the four capable ponies, while Scott,
Oates, and Gran remained at Safety Camp till the sick pony died,
which happened apparently that night. He was dead and buried when
we got there. We found that Scott had that morning seen the open
water up to the Barrier edge and had been in a dreadful state of
mind, thinking that Meares and I, as well as the whole pony party,
had gone out into the Strait on floating ice. He was therefore much
relieved when we arrived and he learned for the first time where the
pony party was trying to get to fast ice again. We were now given
some food, which we badly wanted, and while we were eating we saw in
the far distance a single man coming hurriedly along the edge of the
Barrier ice from the direction of the catastrophe party and towards
our camp. Gran went off on ski to meet him, and when he arrived we
found it was Crean, who had been sent off by Bowers with a note,
unencumbered otherwise, to jump from one piece of floating ice to
another until he reached the fast edge of the Barrier in order to
let Capt. Scott know what had happened. This he did, of course not
knowing that we or anyone else had seen him go adrift, and being
unable to leave the ponies and all his loaded sledges himself. Crean
had considerable difficulty and ran a pretty good risk in doing this,
but succeeded all right. There were now Scott, Oates, Crean, Gran,
Meares, and myself here and only three sleeping-bags, so the three
first remained to see if they could help Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, and
the ponies, while Meares, Gran, and I returned to look after our dogs
at Hut Point. Here we had only two sleeping-bags for the three of us,
so we had to take turns, and I remained up till 1 o'clock that night
while Gran had six hours in my bag. It was a bitterly cold job after
a long day. We had been up at 5 with nothing to eat till 1 o'clock,
and walked 14 miles. The nights are now almost dark.

_March_ 2. A very bitter wind blowing and it was a cheerless job
waiting for six hours to get a sleep in the bag. I walked down from our
tent to the hut and watched whales blowing in the semi-darkness out
in the black water of the Strait. When we turned out in the morning
the pony party was still on floating ice but not any further from
the Barrier ice. By a merciful providence the current was taking
them rather along the Barrier edge, where they went adrift, instead
of straight out to sea. We could do nothing more for them, so we set
to our work with the dogs. It was blowing a bitter gale of wind from
the S.E. with some drift and we made a number of journeys backwards
and forwards between the Gap and the hut, carrying our tent and
camp equipment down and preparing a permanent picketing line for the
dogs. As the ice had all gone out of the Strait we were quite cut off
from any return to Cape Evans until the sea should again freeze over,
and this was not likely until the end of April. We rigged up a small
fireplace in the hut and found some wood and made a fire for an hour
or so at each meal, but as there was no coal and not much wood we
felt we must be economical with the fuel, and so also with matches
and everything else, in case Bowers should lose his sledge loads,
which had most of the supplies for the whole party to last twelve
men for two months. The weather had now become too thick for us to
distinguish anything in the distance and we remained in ignorance as to
the party adrift until Saturday. I had also lent my glasses to Captain
Scott. This night I had first go in the bag, and turned out to shiver
for eight hours till breakfast. There was literally nothing in the
hut that one could cover oneself with to keep warm and we couldn't
run to keeping the fire going. It was very cold work. There were
heaps of biscuit cases here which we had left in _Discovery_ days,
and with these we built up a small inner hut to live in.

_March_ 3. Spent the day in transferring dogs in couples from the
Gap to the hut. In the afternoon Teddie Evans and Atkinson turned up
from over the hills, having returned from their Corner Camp journey
with one horse and two seamen, all of which they had left encamped at
Castle Rock, three miles off on the hills. They naturally expected
to find Scott here and everyone else and had heard nothing of the
pony party going adrift, but having found only open water ahead of
them they turned back and came to land by Castle Rock slopes. We fed
them and I walked half-way back to Castle Rock with them.

_March_ 4. Meares, Gran, and I walked up Ski Slope towards Castle
Rock to meet Evans's party and pilot them and the dogs safely to Hut
Point, but half-way we met Atkinson, who told us that they had now
been joined by Scott and all the catastrophe party, who were safe,
but who had lost all the ponies except one--a great blow. However,
no lives were lost and the sledge loads and stores were saved, so
Meares and I returned to Hut Point to make stables for the only two
ponies that now remained, both in wretched condition, of the eight
with which we started. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.]

_Note_ 15, _p_. 140.--_March_ 12. Thawed out some old magazines and
picture papers which were left here by the _Discovery_, and gave us
very good reading. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.]

_Note_ 16, _p_. 151.--_April_ 4. Fun over a fry I made in my new
penquin lard. It was quite a success and tasted like very bad sardine
oil. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.]

_Note_ 17, _p_. 169.--'Voyage of the Discovery,' chap. ix. 'The
question of the moment is, what has become of our boats?' Early in
the winter they were hoisted out to give more room for the awning,
and were placed in a line about one hundred yards from the ice foot
on the sea ice. The earliest gale drifted them up nearly gunwale high,
and thus for two months they remained in sight whilst we congratulated
ourselves on their security. The last gale brought more snow,
and piling it in drifts at various places in the bay, chose to be
specially generous with it in the neighbourhood of our boats, so that
afterwards they were found to be buried three or four feet beneath
the new surface. Although we had noted with interest the manner in
which the extra weight of snow in other places was pressing down the
surface of the original ice, and were even taking measurements of the
effects thus produced, we remained fatuously blind to the risks our
boats ran under such conditions. It was from no feeling of anxiety,
but rather to provide occupation, that I directed that the snow on top
of them should be removed, and it was not until we had dug down to
the first boat that the true state of affairs dawned on us. She was
found lying in a mass of slushy ice, with which also she was nearly
filled. For the moment we had a wild hope that she could be pulled up,
but by the time we could rig shears the air temperature had converted
the slush into hardened ice, and she was found to be stuck fast. At
present there is no hope of recovering any of the boats: as fast as one
could dig out the sodden ice, more sea-water would flow in and freeze
... The danger is that fresh gales bringing more snow will sink them
so far beneath the surface that we shall be unable to recover them
at all. Stuck solid in the floe they must go down with it, and every
effort must be devoted to preventing the floe from sinking. As regards
the rope, it is a familiar experience that dark objects which absorb
heat will melt their way through the snow or ice on which they lie.

_Note_ 18, _p_. 206.


Ponies Presented by Schools, &c.

School's, &c.,          Nickname of Pony.       Name of School, &c.,
name of Pony.                                   presented by.

Floreat Etona           Snippet                 Eton College.
Christ's Hospital       Hackenschmidt           Christ's Hospital.
Westminster             Blossom                 Westminster.
St. Paul's              Michael                 St. Paul's.
Stubbington             Weary Willie            Stubbington House,
                                                Fareham.
Bedales                 Christopher             Bedales, Petersfield.
Lydney                  Victor                  The Institute, Lydney,
                                                Gloucester.
West Down               Jones                   West Down School.
Bootham                 Snatcher                Bootham.
South Hampstead         Bones                   South Hampstead
                                                High School (Girls).
Altrincham              Chinaman                Seamen's Moss School,
                                                Altrincham.
Rosemark                Cuts                    Captain and Mrs. Mark Kerr
                                                (H.M.S. _Invincible_).
Invincible              James Pigg              Officers and Ship's Company
                                                of H.M.S. _Invincible_.
Snooker King            Jehu                    J. Foster Stackhouse
                                                and friend.
Brandon                 Punch                   The Bristol Savages.
Stoker                  Blucher                 R. Donaldson Hudson, Esq.
Manchester              Nobby                   Manchester various
Cardiff                 Uncle Bill              Cardiff      ,,
Liverpool               Davy                    Liverpool    ,,


Sleeping-Bags Presented by Schools

School's, &c.,          Name of traveller       Name of School, &c.,
name of Sleeping-bag.   using Sleeping-bag.     presenting Sleeping-bag.

Cowbridge               Commander Evans         Cowbridge.
Wisk Hove               Lieutenant Campbell     The Wisk, Hove.
Taunton                 Seaman Williamson       King's College, Taunton.
Bryn Derwen             Seaman Keohane          Bryn Derwen.
Grange                  Dr. Simpson             The Grange, Folkestone.
Brighton                Lieutenant Bowers       Brighton Grammar School.
Cardigan                Captain Scott           The County School, Cardigan.
Carter-Eton             Mr. Cherry-Garrard      Mr. R. T. Carter,
                                                Eton College.
Radley                  Mr. Ponting             Stones Social School,
                                                Radley.
Woodford                Mr. Meares              Woodford House.
Bramhall                Seaman Abbott           Bramhall Grammar School.
Louth                   Dr. Atkinson            King Edward VI.
                                                Grammar School, Louth.
Twyford I.              Seaman Forde            Twyford School
Twyford II.             Mr. Day                    ,,    ,,
Abbey House             Seaman Dickason         Mr. Carvey's House,
                                                Abbey House School.
Waverley                Mr. Wright              Waverley Road, Birmingham.
St. John's              Seaman Evans            St. John's House
Leyton                  Ch. Stoker Lashly       Leyton County High School.
St. Bede's              Seaman Browning         Eastbourne.
Sexeys                  Dr. Wilson              Sexeys School.
Worksop                 Mr. Debenham            Worksop College.
Regent                  Mr. Nelson              Regent Street Polytechnic
                                                Secondary School.
Trafalgar               Captain Oates           Trafalgar House School,
                                                Winchester.
Altrincham              Mr. Griffith Taylor     Altrincham, various.
Invincible              Dr. Levick              Ship's Company,
                                                H.M.S. _Invincible_.
Leeds                   Mr. Priestley           Leeds Boys' Modern School.


Sledges Presented by Schools, &c.

School's, &c.,          Description             Name of School, &c.,
name of Sledge.         of Sledge.              presenting Sledge.

Amesbury                Pony: Uncle Bill        Amesbury, Bickley Hall,
                        (Cardiff)               Kent.
John Bright             Dog sledge              Bootham.
Sherborne               Pony: Snippets          Sherborne House School.
                        (Floreat Etona)
Wimbledon               Pony: Blossom           King's College School,
                        (Westminster)           Wimbledon.
Kelvinside              Northern sledge         Kelvinside Academy.
                        (man-hauled)
Pip                     Dog sledge              Copthorne.
Christ's Hospital       Dog sledge              Christ's Hospital.
Hampstead               Dog sledge              University College School,
                                                Hampstead.
Glasgow                 Pony: Snatcher          High School, Glasgow.
                        (Bootham)
George Dixon            Pony: Nobby             George Dixon
                        (Manchester)            Secondary School.
Leys                    Pony: Punch (Brandon)   Leys School, Cambridge.
Northampton             Motor sledge;  No. 1    Northampton County School.
Charterhouse I.         Pony: Blucher (Stoker)  Charterhouse.
Charterhouse II.        Western sledge          Charterhouse.
                        (man-hauled)
Regent                  Northern sledge         Regent Street Polytechnic
                        (man-hauled)            Secondary School.
Sidcot                  Pony: Hackenschmidt     Sidcot, Winscombe.
                        (Christ's Hospital)
Retford                 Pony: Michael           Retford Grammar School.
                        (St. Paul's)
Tottenham               Northern sledge         Tottenham Grammar School.
                        (man-hauled)
Cheltenham              Pony: James Pigg        The College, Cheltenham.
                        (H.M.S. _Invincible_)   Sidcot School, Old Boys.
Knight                  First Summit sledge
                        (man-hauled)
Crosby                  Pony: Christopher       Crosby Merchant Taylors'.
                        (Bedales)
Grange                  Pony: Chinaman          'Grange,' Buxton.
                        (Altrincham)
Altrincham              Pony: Victor (Lydney)   Altrincham (various).
Probus                  Pony: Weary Willie      Probus.
                        (Stubbington)
Rowntree                Second Summit sledge    Workmen, Rowntree's
                        (man-hauled)            Cocoa Works.
'Invincible' I.         Third Summit sledge     Officers and Men,
                        (man-hauled)            H.M.S. _Invincible_.
'Invincible' II.        Pony: Jehu              Do.
                        (Snooker King)
Eton                    Pony: Bones             Eton College.
                        (South Hampstead)
Masonic                 Motor Sledge, No. 2     Royal Masonic School,
                                                Bushey.

(N.B.--The name of the pony in parentheses is the name given by the
School, &c., that presented the pony.)


Tents Presented by Schools

Name of Tent.           Party to which          School presenting Tent.
                        attached.

Fitz Roy                Southern Party          Fitz Roy School,
                                                Crouch End.
Ashdown                 Northern Party          Ashdown House,
                                                Forest Row, Sussex.
Brighton & Hove         Reserve, Cape Evans     Brighton & Hove High School,
                                                (Girls).
Bromyard                Do.                     Grammar, Bromyard.
Marlborough             Do.                     The College, Marlborough.
Bristol                 Mr. Ponting             Colchester House, Bristol.
                        (photographic artist)
Croydon                 Reserve, Cape Evans     Croydon High School.
Broke Hall              Reserve, Cape Evans     Broke Hall, Charterhouse.
Pelham                  Southern Party          Pelham House, Folkestone.
Tollington              Depôt Party             Tollington School,
                                                Muswell Hill.
St. Andrews             Southern Party          St. Andrews, Newcastle.
Richmond                Dog Party               Richmond School, Yorks.
Hymers                  Depôt Party             Scientific Society, Hymers
                                                College, Hull.
King Edward             Do.                     King Edward's School.
Southport               Cape Crozier Depôt      Southport Physical
                                                Training College.
Jarrow                  Reserve, Cape Evans     Jarrow Secondary School.
Grange                  Do.                     The Grange, Buxton.
Swindon                 Do.                     Swindon.
Sir John Deane          Motor Party             Sir J. Deane's Grammar
                                                School.
Llandaff                Reserve, Cape Evans     Llandaff.
Castleford              Reserve, Cape Evans     Castleford Secondary School.
Hailey                  Do.
Hailey.
Uxbridge                Northern Party          Uxbridge County School.
Stubbington             Reserve, Cape Evans     Stubbington House, Fareham.


_Note_ 19, _p_. 215.--These hints on Polar Surveying fell on
willing ears. Members of the afterguard who were not mathematically
trained plunged into the very practical study of how to work out
observations. Writing home on October 26, 1911, Scott remarks:

'"Cherry" has just come to me with a very anxious face to say that
I must not count on his navigating powers. For the moment I didn't
know what he was driving at, but then I remembered that some months
ago I said that it would be a good thing for all the officers going
South to have some knowledge of navigation so that in emergency
they would know how to steer a sledge home. It appears that "Cherry"
thereupon commenced aserious and arduous course of study of abstruse
navigational problems which he found exceedingly tough and now
despaired mastering. Of course there is not one chance in a hundred
that he will ever have to consider navigation on our journey and in
that one chance the problem must be of the simplest nature, but it
makes matters much easier for me to have men who take the details of
one's work so seriously and who strive so simply and honestly to make
it successful.'

And in Wilson's diary for October 23 comes the entry: 'Working at
latitude sights--mathematics which I hate--till bedtime. It will be
wiser to know a little navigation on the Southern sledge journey.'

_Note_ 20, _p_. 300.--Happily I had a biscuit with me and I held it
out to him a long way off. Luckily he spotted it and allowed me to
come up, and I got hold of his head again. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.]

_Note_ 21, _p_. 338.--December 8. I have left Nobby all my biscuits
to-night as he is to try and do a march to-morrow, and then happily
he will be shot and all of them, as their food is quite done.

_December 9_. Nobby had all my biscuits last night and this morning,
and by the time we camped I was just ravenously hungry. It was a close
cloudy day with no air and we were ploughing along knee deep.... Thank
God the horses are now all done with and we begin the heavy work
ourselves. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.]

_Note_ 22, _p_. 339.--_December_ 9. The end of the Beardmore Glacier
curved across the track of the Southern Party, thrusting itself into
the mass of the Barrier with vast pressure and disturbance. So far
did this ice disturbance extend, that if the travellers had taken a
bee-line to the foot of the glacier itself, they must have begun to
steer outwards 200 miles sooner.

The Gateway was a neck or saddle of drifted snow lying in a gap of the
mountain rampart which flanked the last curve of the glacier. Under
the cliffs on either hand, like a moat beneath the ramparts, lay
a yawning ice-cleft or bergschrund, formed by the drawing away of
the steadily moving Barrier ice from the rocks. Across this moat and
leading up to the gap in the ramparts, the Gateway provided a solid
causeway. To climb this and descend its reverse face gave the easiest
access to the surface of the glacier.

_Note_ 23, _p_. 359.--Return of first Southern Party from Lat. 85°
72 S. top of the Beardmore Glacier.

Party: E. L. Atkinson, A. Cherry-Garrard, C. S. Wright, Petty Officer
Keohane.

On the morning of December 22, 1911, we made a late start after saying
good-bye to the eight going on, and wishing them all good luck and
success. The first 11 miles was on the down-grade over the ice-falls,
and at a good pace we completed this in about four hours. Lunched,
and on, completing nearly 23 miles for the first day. At the end of the
second day we got among very bad crevasses through keeping too far to
the eastward. This delayed us slightly and we made the depot on the
third day. We reached the Lower Glacier Depot three and a half days
after. The lower part of the glacier was very badly crevassed. These
crevasses we had never seen on the way up, as they had been covered
with three to four feet of snow. All the bridges of crevasses were
concave and very wide; no doubt their normal summer condition. On
Christmas Day we made in to the lateral moraine of the Cloudmaker and
collected geological specimens. The march across the Barrier was only
remarkable for the extremely bad lights we had. For eight consecutive
days we only saw an exceedingly dim sun during three hours. Up to One
Ton Depot our marches had averaged 14.1 geographical miles a day. We
arrived at Cape Evans on January 28, 1912, after being away for three
months. [E.L.A.]

_Note_ 24, _p_. 364.--_January_ 3. Return of the second supporting
party.

Under average conditions, the return party should have well fulfilled
Scott's cheery anticipations. Three-man teams had done excellently
on previous sledging expeditions, whether in _Discovery_ days
or as recently as the mid-winter visit to the Emperor penguins'
rookery; and the three in this party were seasoned travellers
with a skilled navigator to lead them. But a blizzard held them
up for three days before reaching the head of the glacier. They
had to press on at speed. By the time they reached the foot of the
glacier, Lieut. Evans developed symptoms of scurvy. His spring work
of surveying and sledging out to Corner Camp and the man-hauling,
with Lashly, across the Barrier after the breakdown of the motors,
had been successfully accomplished; this sequel to the Glacier and
Summit marches was an unexpected blow. Withal, he continued to pull,
while bearing the heavy strain of guiding the course. While the hauling
power thus grew less, the leader had to make up for loss of speed by
lengthening the working hours. He put his watch on an hour. With the
'turning out' signal thus advanced, the actual marching period reached
12 hours. The situation was saved, and Evans flattered himself on
his ingenuity. But the men knew it all the time, and no word said!

At One Ton Camp he was unable to stand without the support of his
ski sticks; but with the help of his companions struggled on another
53 miles in four days. Then he could go no farther. His companions,
rejecting his suggestion that he be left in his sleeping-bag with
a supply of provisions while they pressed on for help, 'cached'
everything that could be spared, and pulled him on the sledge with
a devotion matching that of their captain years before, when he and
Wilson brought their companion Shackleton, ill and helpless, safely
home to the _Discovery_. Four days of this pulling, with a southerly
wind to help, brought them to Corner Camp; then came a heavy snowfall:
the sledge could not travel. It was a critical moment. Next day Crean
set out to tramp alone to Hut Point, 34 miles away. Lashly stayed
to nurse Lieut. Evans, and most certainly saved his life till help
came. Crean reached Hut Point after an exhausting march of 18 hours;
how the dog-team went to the rescue is told by Dr. Atkinson in the
second volume. At the _Discovery_ hut Evans was unremittingly tended
by Dr. Atkinson, and finally sent by sledge to the _Terra Nova_. It
is good to record that both Lashly and Crean have received the
Albert medal.

_Note_ 25, _p_. 396.--At this point begins the last of Scott's
notebooks. The record of the Southern Journey is written in pencil
in three slim MS. books, some 8 inches long by 5 wide. These little
volumes are meant for artists' notebooks, and are made of tough, soft,
pliable paper which takes the pencil well. The pages, 96 in number,
are perforated so as to be detachable at need.

In the Hut, large quarto MS. books were used for the journals,
and some of the rough notes of the earlier expeditions were recast
and written out again in them; the little books were carried on the
sledge journeys, and contain the day's notes entered very regularly
at the lunch halts and in the night camps. But in the last weeks
of the Southern Journey, when fuel and light ran short and all grew
very weary, it will be seen that Scott made his entries at lunch time
alone. They tell not of the morning's run only, but of 'yesterday.'

The notes were written on the right-hand pages, and when the end of
the book was reached, it was 'turned' and the blank backs of the
leaves now became clean right-hand pages. The first two MS. books
are thus entirely filled: the third has only part of its pages used
and the Message to the Public is written at the reverse end.

Inside the front cover of No. 1 is a 'ready' table to convert the
day's run of geographical miles as recorded on the sledgemeter into
statute miles, a list of the depots and their latitude, and a note
of the sledgemeter reading at Corner Camp.

These are followed in the first pages by a list of the outward camps
and distances run as noted in the book, with special 'remarks' as to
cairns, latitude, and so forth. At the end of the book is a full list
of the cairns that marked the track out.

Inside the front cover of No. 2 are similar entries, together with
the ages of the Polar party and a note of the error of Scott's watch.

Inside the front cover of No. 3 are the following words: 'Diary can be
read by finder to ensure recording of Records, &c., but Diary should
be sent to my widow.' And on the first page:

                        'Send this diary to my widow.

                                        'R. SCOTT.'

The word 'wife' had been struck out and 'widow' written in.

_Note_ 26, _p_. 398.--At this, the barrier stage of the return journey,
the Southern Party were in want of more oil than they found at the
depots. Owing partly to the severe conditions, but still more to the
delays imposed by their sick comrades, they reached the full limit
of time allowed for between depots. The cold was unexpected, and at
the same time the actual amount of oil found at the depots was less
than they had counted on.

Under summer conditions, such as were contemplated, when there was
less cold for the men to endure, and less firing needed to melt the
snow for cooking, the fullest allowance of oil was 1 gallon to last
a unit of four men ten days, or 1/40 of a gallon a day for each man.

The amount allotted to each unit for the return journey from the
South was apparently rather less, being 2/3 gallon for eight days, or
1/48 gallon a day for each man. But the eight days were to cover the
march from depot to depot, averaging on the Barrier some 70-80 miles,
which in normal conditions should not take more than six days. Thus
there was a substantial margin for delay by bad weather, while if
all went well the surplus afforded the fullest marching allowance.

The same proportion for a unit of five men works out at 5/6 of a
gallon for the eight-day stage.

Accordingly, for the return of the two supporting parties and the
Southern Party, two tins of a gallon each were left at each depot,
each unit of four men being entitled to 2/3 of a gallon, and the
units of three and five men in proportion.

The return journey on the Summit had been made at good speed, taking
twenty-one days as against twenty-seven going out, the last part of it,
from Three Degree to Upper Glacier Depot, taking nearly eight marches
as against ten, showing the first slight slackening as P.O. Evans
and Oates began to feel the cold; from Upper Glacier to Lower Glacier
Depot ten marches as against eleven, a stage broken by the Mid Glacier
Depot of three and a half day's provisions at the sixth march. Here,
there was little gain, partly owing to the conditions, but more to
Evans' gradual collapse.

The worst time came on the Barrier; from Lower Glacier to Southern
Barrier Depot (51 miles), 6 1/2 marches as against 5 (two of which
were short marches, so that the 5 might count as an easy 4 in point of
distance);from Southern Barrier to Mid Barrier Depot (82 miles), 6 1/2
marches as against 5 1/2; from Mid Barrier to Mt. Hooper (70 miles),
8 as against 4 3/4, while the last remaining 8 marches represent but
4 on the outward journey. (See table on next page.)

At to the cause of the shortage, the tins of oil at the depot
had been exposed to extreme conditions of heat and cold. The oil
was specially volatile, and in the warmth of the sun (for the tins
were regularly set in an accessible place on the top of the cairns)
tended to become vapour and escape through the stoppers even without
damage to the tins. This process was much accelerated by reason that
the leather washers about the stoppers had perished in the great
cold. Dr. Atkinson gives two striking examples of this.

1. Eight one-gallon tins in a wooden case, intended for a depot at
Cape Crozier, had been put out in September 1911. They were snowed up;
and when examined in December 1912 showed three tins full, three empty,
one a third full, and one two-thirds full.

2. When the search party reached One Ton Camp in November 1912 they
found that some of the food, stacked in a canvas 'tank' at the foot
of the cairn, was quite oily from the spontaneous leakage of the tins
seven feet above it on the top of the cairn.

The tins at the depôts awaiting the Southern Party had of course been
opened and the due amount to be taken measured out by the supporting
parties on their way back. However carefully re-stoppered, they
were still liable to the unexpected evaporation and leakage already
described. Hence, without any manner of doubt, the shortage which
struck the Southern Party so hard.

_Note_ 27, _p_. 409.--The Fatal Blizzard. Mr. Frank Wild, who led one
wing of Dr. Mawson's Expedition on the northern coast of the Antarctic
continent, Queen Mary's Land, many miles to the west of the Ross Sea,
writes that 'from March 21 for a period of nine days we were kept in
camp by the same blizzard which proved fatal to Scott and his gallant
companions' (Times, June 2, 1913). Blizzards, however, are so local
that even when, as in this case, two are nearly contemporaneous, it
is not safe to conclude that they are part of the same current of air.


TABLE OF DISTANCES showing the length of the Outward and Return
Marches on the Barrier from and to One Ton Camp.

3 miles to each sub-division


Date                Camp No.    Note.                   Distance.

Nov. 15, 16         12          One Ton Camp            15
Nov. 17             13                                  15
Nov. 18             14                                  15
Nov. 19             15                                  15
Nov. 20             16                                  15
Nov. 21             17          Mt. Hooper Depôt        15
Nov. 22             18                                  15
Nov. 23             19                                  15
Nov. 24             20                                  15
Nov. 25             21          Mid Barrier Depôt       15
Nov. 26             22                                  15
Nov. 27             23
Nov. 28             24                                  15
Nov. 29             25                                  15
Nov. 30             26                                  15
Dec. 1              27          Southern Barrier Depôt  15
Dec. 2              28                                  11 1/2
Dec. 3              29                                  13
Dec. 4-             30                                  8
Dec. 9              31          Shambles                4
Dec. 10             32          Lower Glacier D

Date                Camp No.    Note.                   Distance.

Feb. 17             R. 31                               4
Feb. 18             R. 32                               4.3
Feb. 19             R. 33                               7
Feb. 20             R. 34                               8 1/2
Feb. 21             R. 35                               11 1/2
Feb. 22             R. 36                               8 1/2
Feb. 23             R. 37                               6 1/2
Feb. 24             R. 38                               11.4
Feb. 25             R. 39                               11 1/2
Feb. 26             R. 40                               12.2
Feb. 27             R. 41                               11
Feb. 28             R. 42                               Lunch, 13
                                                        to Depôt 11 1/2
Feb. 29             R. 43                               Lunch, under 3
                                                        to Depôt
Mar. 1              R. 44                               6
Mar. 2              R. 45                               Nearly 10
Mar. 3              R. 46                               Lunch, 42
                                                        to Depôt 9
Mar. 4              R. 47                               9 1/2
Mar. 5              R. 48.                              27 to Depôt 6 1/2
Mar. 6              R. 49                               7
Mar. 7              R. 50                               Lunch, 8 1/2
                                                        to Depôt 4 1/2
Mar. 8              R. 51
Mar. 9-10           R. 52                               6.9
Mar. 11             R. 53                               7
Mar. 12             R. 54                               47 to Depôt 5 1/4
Mar. 13             R. 55                               6
Mar. 14             R. 56                               4
Mar. 15             R. 57                               Blizz'd
                                                        Lunch, 25 1/2
                                                        to Depôt
Mar. 17             R. 58                               Lunch, 21
                                                        to Depôt
Mar. 18             R. 59
Mar. 19             R. 60       The Last Camp


The numbers are Statute Miles.


Marches

                                                Out     Return
Lower Glacier to Southern Barrier Depôt         5       6 1/2
Southern Barrier to Mid Barrier Depôt           5 1/2   6 1/2
Mid Barrier to Mount Hooper                     4 3/4   8
Thereafter                                      4       8


It will be noted that of the first 15 Return Marches on the Barrier,
5 are 11 1/2 miles and upwards, and 5 are 8 1/2 to 10.








NOTES

[1] It was continued a night and a day.

[2] Captain Oates' nickname.

[3] A species of shrimp on which the seabirds feed.

[4] The party headed by Lieutenant Campbell, which, being unable to
disembark on King Edward's Land, was ultimately taken by the Terra
Nova to the north part of Victoria Land, and so came to be known as
the Northern Party. The Western Party here mentioned includes all
who had their base at Cape Evans: the depots to be laid were for the
subsequent expedition to the Pole.

[5] The extreme S. point of the Island, a dozen miles farther, on
one of whose minor headlands, Hut Point, stood the _Discovery_ hut.

[6] Here were the meteorological instruments.

[7] Cape Evans, which lay on the S. side of the new hut.

[8] The Southern Road was the one feasible line of communication
between the new station at C. Evans and the Discovery hut at Hut Point,
for the rugged mountains and crevassed ice slopes of Ross Island
forbade a passage by land. The 'road' afforded level going below
the cliffs of the ice-foot, except where disturbed by the descending
glacier, and there it was necessary to cross the body of the glacier
itself. It consisted of the more enduring ice in the bays and the
sea-ice along the coast, which only stayed fast for the season.

Thus it was of the utmost importance to get safely over the precarious
part of the 'road' before the seasonal going-out of the sea-ice. To
wait until all the ice should go out and enable the ship to sail to
Hut Point would have meant long uncertainty and delay. As it happened,
the Road broke up the day after the party had gone by.

[9] Viz. Atkinson and Crean, who were left at Safety Camp; E. Evans,
Forde and Keohane, who returned with the weaker ponies on Feb. 13;
Meares and Wilson with the dog teams; and Scott, Bowers, Oates,
Cherry-Garrard, and Lashly.

[10] The favorite nickname for Bowers.

[11] Professor T. Edgeworth David, C.M.G., F.R.S., of Sydney
University, who was the geologist to Shackleton's party.

[12] This was done in order to measure on the next visit the results
of wind and snow.

[13] Scott, Wilson, Meares and Cherry-Garrard now went back swiftly
with the dog teams, to look after the return parties at Safety
Camp. Having found all satisfactory, Scott left Wilson and Meares there
with the dogs, and marched back with the rest to Corner Camp, taking
more stores to the depot and hoping to meet Bowers rearguard party.

[14] The party had made a short cut where in going out with the ponies
they had made an elbow, and so had passed within this 'danger line.'

[15] Bowers, Oates, and Gran, with the five ponies. The two days had
after all brought them to Safety Camp.

[16] This was at a point on the Barrier, one-half mile from the edge,
in a S.S.E. direction from Hut Point.

[17] I.e. by land, now that the sea ice was out.

[18] Because the seals would cease to come up.

[19] As a step towards 'getting these things clearer' in his mind
two spare pages of the diary are filled with neat tables, showing
the main classes into which rocks are divided, and their natural
subdivisions--the sedimentary, according to mode of deposition,
chemical, organic, or aqueous; the metamorphic, according to the kind
of rock altered by heat; the igneous, according to their chemical
composition.

[20] Viz, Simpson, Nelson, Day, Ponting, Lashly, Clissold, Hooper,
Anton, and Demetri.

[21] See Chapter X.

[22] The white dogs.

[23] I.e. in relation to a sledging ration.

[24] Officially the ponies were named after the several schools
which had subscribed for their purchase: but sailors are inveterate
nicknamers, and the unofficial humour prevailed. See Appendix, Note 18.

[25] Captain Scott's judgment was not at fault.

[26] I.e. a crack which leaves the ice free to move with the movements
of the sea beneath.

[27] This was the gale that tore away the roofing of their hut,
and left them with only their sleeping-bags for shelter. See p. 365.

[28] Prof. T. Edgeworth David, of Sydney University, who accompanied
Shackleton's expedition as geologist.

[29] See Vol. II., Dr. Simpson's Meteorological Report.

[30] This form of motor traction had been tested on several occasions;
in 1908 at Lauteret in the Alps, with Dr. Charcot the Polar explorer:
in 1909 and again 1910 in Norway. After each trial the sledges were
brought back and improved.

[31] The Southern Barrier Depôt.

[32] Camp 31 received the name of Shambles Camp.

[33] While Day and Hooper, of the ex-motor party, had turned back on
November 24, and Meares and Demetri with the dogs ascended above the
Lower Glacier Depot before returning on December 11, the Southern
Party and its supports were organised successively as follows:


    December 10, leaving Shambles Camp--
        _Sledge_ 1. Scott, Wilson, Oates and P.O. Evans.
        _Sledge_ 2. E. Evans, Atkinson, Wright, Lashly.
        _Sledge_ 3. Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, Crean, Keohane.
    December 21 at Upper Glacier Depôt--
        _Sledge_ 1. Scott, Wilson, Oates, P.O. Evans.
        _Sledge_ 2. E. Evans, Bowers, Crean, Lashly, while Atkinson,
                    Wright, Cherry-Garrard and Keohane returned.
    January 4, 150 miles from the Pole--
        _Sledge_ 1. Scott, Wilson, Oates, Bowers, P.O. Evans;
                    while E. Evans, Crean, and Lashly returned.


[34] The Lower Glacier Depot.

[35] In the pocket journal, only one side of each page had been
written on. Coming to the end of it, Scott reversed the book, and
continued his entries on the empty backs of the pages.

[36] A unit of food means a week's supplies for four men.

[37] A number preceded by R. marks the camps on the return journey.

[38] Still over 150 miles away. They had marched 7 miles on the
homeward track the first afternoon, 18 1/2 the second day.

[39] Three Degree Depôt.

[40] Left on December 31.

[41] The Upper Glacier Depôt, under Mount Darwin, where the first
supporting party turned back.

[42] The result of concussion in the morning's fall.

[43] The Lower Glacier Depot.

[44] Sledges were left at the chief depôts to replace damaged ones.

[45] It will be remembered that he was already stricken with scurvy.

[46] For the last six days the dogs had been waiting at One Ton Camp
under Cherry-Garrard and Demetri. The supporting party had come out
as arranged on the chance of hurrying the Pole travellers back over
the last stages of their journey in time to catch the ship. Scott had
dated his probable return to Hut Point anywhere between mid-March
and early April. Calculating from the speed of the other return
parties, Dr. Atkinson looked for him to reach One Ton Camp between
March 3 and 10. Here Cherry-Garrard met four days of blizzard; then
there remained little more than enough dog food to bring the teams
home. He could either push south one more march and back, at imminent
risk of missing Scott on the way, or stay two days at the Camp where
Scott was bound to come, if he came at all. His wise decision, his
hardships and endurance Ove recounted by Dr. Atkinson in Vol. II.,
'The Last Year at Cape Evans.'

[47] The 60th camp from the Pole.


================================================
FILE: episodes/data/books/sierra.txt
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THE WRITINGS OF JOHN MUIR

Sierra Edition

VOLUME II

[Illustration: _The Yosemite Falls, Yosemite National Park_]




MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA

BY

JOHN MUIR

[Illustration]

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

1917




COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY JOHN MUIR

COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED




TO

THE SIERRA CLUB OF CALIFORNIA

FAITHFUL DEFENDER OF THE PEOPLE'S PLAYGROUNDS




CONTENTS

     I. THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS WITH A FLOCK OF SHEEP                    3

    II. IN CAMP ON THE NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED                       32

   III. A BREAD FAMINE                                                75

    IV. TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS                                         86

     V. THE YOSEMITE                                                 115

    VI. MOUNT HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA                                149

   VII. A STRANGE EXPERIENCE                                         178

  VIII. THE MONO TRAIL                                               195

    IX. BLOODY CAÑON AND MONO LAKE                                   214

     X. THE TUOLUMNE CAMP                                            232

    XI. BACK TO THE LOWLANDS                                         254

        INDEX                                                        265




ILLUSTRATIONS


THE YOSEMITE FALLS, YOSEMITE NATIONAL PARK                _Frontispiece_

     The total height of the three falls is 2600 feet. The upper fall is
     about 1600 feet, and the lower about 400 feet. Mr. Muir was
     probably the only man who ever looked down into the heart of the
     fall from the narrow ledge of rocks near the top.

     _From a photograph by Charles S. Olcott_

SHEEP IN THE MOUNTAINS                                                 8

     Since the establishment of the Yosemite National Park the pasturing
     of sheep has not been allowed within its boundaries, and as a
     result the grasses and wild flowers have recovered very much of
     their former luxuriance. The flock of sheep here photographed were
     feeding near Alger Lake on the slope of Blacktop Mountain, at an
     altitude of about 10,000 feet and just beyond the eastern boundary
     of the Park.

     _From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason_

A SILVER FIR, OR RED FIR (_Abies magnifica_)                          90

     This tree was found in an extensive forest of red fir above the
     Middle Fork of King's River. It was estimated to be about 250 feet
     high. Mr. Muir, on being shown the photograph, remarked that it was
     one of the finest and most mature specimens of the red fir that he
     had ever seen.

     _From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason_

THE NORTH AND SOUTH DOMES                                            122

     The great rock on the right is the South Dome, commonly called the
     Half-Dome, according to Mr. Muir "the most beautiful and most
     sublime of all the Yosemite rocks." The one on the left is the
     North Dome, while in the center is the Washington Column.

     _From a photograph by Charles S. Olcott_

CATHEDRAL PEAK                                                       154

     This view was taken from a point on the Sunrise Trail just south of
     the Peak, on a day when the "cloud mountains" so inspiring to Mr.
     Muir were much in evidence.

     _From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason_

THE VERNAL FALLS, YOSEMITE NATIONAL PARK                             182

     _From a photograph by Charles S. Olcott_

THE HAPPY ISLES, YOSEMITE NATIONAL PARK                              190

     This is the main stream of the Merced River after passing over the
     Nevada and Vernal Falls and receiving the Illilouette tributary.

     _From a photograph by Charles S. Olcott_

THE THREE BROTHERS, YOSEMITE NATIONAL PARK                           208

     The highest rock, called Eagle Point, is 7900 feet above the sea,
     and 3900 feet above the floor of the valley.

     _From a photograph by Charles S. Olcott_

MAP OF THE YOSEMITE NATIONAL PARK                                    264

     _From the United States Geological Survey_


FROM SKETCHES MADE BY THE AUTHOR IN 1869

     HORSESHOE BEND, MERCED RIVER                                     14

     ON SECOND BENCH. EDGE OF THE MAIN FOREST
       BELT, ABOVE COULTERVILLE, NEAR GREELEY'S
       MILL                                                           14

     CAMP, NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED                                   38

     MOUNTAIN LIVE OAK (_Quercus chrysolepis_), EIGHT
       FEET IN DIAMETER                                               38

     SUGAR PINE                                                       50

     DOUGLAS SQUIRREL OBSERVING BROTHER MAN                           68

     DIVIDE BETWEEN THE TUOLUMNE AND THE MERCED,
       BELOW HAZEL GREEN                                              86

     TRACK OF SINGING DANCING GRASSHOPPER IN THE
       AIR OVER NORTH DOME                                           140

     ABIES MAGNIFICA (MOUNT CLARK, TOP OF SOUTH
       DOME, MOUNT STARR KING)                                       142

     ILLUSTRATING GROWTH OF NEW PINE FROM BRANCH
       BELOW THE BREAK OF AXIS OF SNOW-CRUSHED
       TREE                                                          144

     APPROACH OF DOME CREEK TO YOSEMITE                              150

     JUNIPERS IN TENAYA CAÑON                                        164

     VIEW OF TENAYA LAKE SHOWING CATHEDRAL PEAK                      196

     ONE OF THE TRIBUTARY FOUNTAINS OF THE TUOLUMNE
       CAÑON WATERS, ON THE NORTH SIDE OF
       THE HOFFMAN RANGE                                             196

     GLACIER MEADOW, ON THE HEADWATERS OF THE
       TUOLUMNE, 9500 FEET ABOVE THE SEA                             204

     MONO LAKE AND VOLCANIC CONES, LOOKING SOUTH                     228

     HIGHEST MONO VOLCANIC CONES (NEAR VIEW)                         228

     ONE OF THE HIGHEST MOUNT RITTER FOUNTAINS                       240

     GLACIER MEADOW STREWN WITH MORAINE BOULDERS,
       10,000 FEET ABOVE THE SEA (NEAR MOUNT
       DANA)                                                         248

     FRONT OF CATHEDRAL PEAK                                         248

     VIEW OF UPPER TUOLUMNE VALLEY                                   252




MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA




CHAPTER I

THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS WITH A FLOCK OF SHEEP


In the great Central Valley of California there are only two
seasons--spring and summer. The spring begins with the first rainstorm,
which usually falls in November. In a few months the wonderful flowery
vegetation is in full bloom, and by the end of May it is dead and dry
and crisp, as if every plant had been roasted in an oven.

Then the lolling, panting flocks and herds are driven to the high, cool,
green pastures of the Sierra. I was longing for the mountains about this
time, but money was scarce and I couldn't see how a bread supply was to
be kept up. While I was anxiously brooding on the bread problem, so
troublesome to wanderers, and trying to believe that I might learn to
live like the wild animals, gleaning nourishment here and there from
seeds, berries, etc., sauntering and climbing in joyful independence of
money or baggage, Mr. Delaney, a sheep-owner, for whom I had worked a
few weeks, called on me, and offered to engage me to go with his
shepherd and flock to the headwaters of the Merced and Tuolumne
rivers--the very region I had most in mind. I was in the mood to accept
work of any kind that would take me into the mountains whose treasures I
had tasted last summer in the Yosemite region. The flock, he explained,
would be moved gradually higher through the successive forest belts as
the snow melted, stopping for a few weeks at the best places we came to.
These I thought would be good centers of observation from which I might
be able to make many telling excursions within a radius of eight or ten
miles of the camps to learn something of the plants, animals, and rocks;
for he assured me that I should be left perfectly free to follow my
studies. I judged, however, that I was in no way the right man for the
place, and freely explained my shortcomings, confessing that I was
wholly unacquainted with the topography of the upper mountains, the
streams that would have to be crossed, and the wild sheep-eating
animals, etc.; in short that, what with bears, coyotes, rivers, cañons,
and thorny, bewildering chaparral, I feared that half or more of his
flock would be lost. Fortunately these shortcomings seemed
insignificant to Mr. Delaney. The main thing, he said, was to have a man
about the camp whom he could trust to see that the shepherd did his
duty, and he assured me that the difficulties that seemed so formidable
at a distance would vanish as we went on; encouraging me further by
saying that the shepherd would do all the herding, that I could study
plants and rocks and scenery as much as I liked, and that he would
himself accompany us to the first main camp and make occasional visits
to our higher ones to replenish our store of provisions and see how we
prospered. Therefore I concluded to go, though still fearing, when I saw
the silly sheep bouncing one by one through the narrow gate of the home
corral to be counted, that of the two thousand and fifty many would
never return.

I was fortunate in getting a fine St. Bernard dog for a companion. His
master, a hunter with whom I was slightly acquainted, came to me as soon
as he heard that I was going to spend the summer in the Sierra and
begged me to take his favorite dog, Carlo, with me, for he feared that
if he were compelled to stay all summer on the plains the fierce heat
might be the death of him. "I think I can trust you to be kind to him,"
he said, "and I am sure he will be good to you. He knows all about the
mountain animals, will guard the camp, assist in managing the sheep,
and in every way be found able and faithful." Carlo knew we were talking
about him, watched our faces, and listened so attentively that I fancied
he understood us. Calling him by name, I asked him if he was willing to
go with me. He looked me in the face with eyes expressing wonderful
intelligence, then turned to his master, and after permission was given
by a wave of the hand toward me and a farewell patting caress, he
quietly followed me as if he perfectly understood all that had been said
and had known me always.

       *       *       *       *       *

_June 3, 1869._ This morning provisions, camp-kettles, blankets,
plant-press, etc., were packed on two horses, the flock headed for the
tawny foothills, and away we sauntered in a cloud of dust: Mr. Delaney,
bony and tall, with sharply hacked profile like Don Quixote, leading the
pack-horses, Billy, the proud shepherd, a Chinaman and a Digger Indian
to assist in driving for the first few days in the brushy foothills, and
myself with notebook tied to my belt.

The home ranch from which we set out is on the south side of the
Tuolumne River near French Bar, where the foothills of metamorphic
gold-bearing slates dip below the stratified deposits of the Central
Valley. We had not gone more than a mile before some of the old leaders
of the flock showed by the eager, inquiring way they ran and looked
ahead that they were thinking of the high pastures they had enjoyed last
summer. Soon the whole flock seemed to be hopefully excited, the mothers
calling their lambs, the lambs replying in tones wonderfully human,
their fondly quavering calls interrupted now and then by hastily
snatched mouthfuls of withered grass. Amid all this seeming babel of
baas as they streamed over the hills every mother and child recognized
each other's voice. In case a tired lamb, half asleep in the smothering
dust, should fail to answer, its mother would come running back through
the flock toward the spot whence its last response was heard, and
refused to be comforted until she found it, the one of a thousand,
though to our eyes and ears all seemed alike.

The flock traveled at the rate of about a mile an hour, outspread in the
form of an irregular triangle, about a hundred yards wide at the base,
and a hundred and fifty yards long, with a crooked, ever-changing point
made up of the strongest foragers, called the "leaders," which, with the
most active of those scattered along the ragged sides of the "main
body," hastily explored nooks in the rocks and bushes for grass and
leaves; the lambs and feeble old mothers dawdling in the rear were
called the "tail end."

[Illustration: _Sheep in the Mountains_]

About noon the heat was hard to bear; the poor sheep panted pitifully
and tried to stop in the shade of every tree they came to, while we
gazed with eager longing through the dim burning glare toward the snowy
mountains and streams, though not one was in sight. The landscape is
only wavering foothills roughened here and there with bushes and trees
and outcropping masses of slate. The trees, mostly the blue oak
(_Quercus Douglasii_), are about thirty to forty feet high, with pale
blue-green leaves and white bark, sparsely planted on the thinnest soil
or in crevices of rocks beyond the reach of grass fires. The slates in
many places rise abruptly through the tawny grass in sharp
lichen-covered slabs like tombstones in deserted burying-grounds. With
the exception of the oak and four or five species of manzanita and
ceanothus, the vegetation of the foothills is mostly the same as that of
the plains. I saw this region in the early spring, when it was a
charming landscape garden full of birds and bees and flowers. Now the
scorching weather makes everything dreary. The ground is full of cracks,
lizards glide about on the rocks, and ants in amazing numbers, whose
tiny sparks of life only burn the brighter with the heat, fairly
quiver with unquenchable energy as they run in long lines to fight and
gather food. How it comes that they do not dry to a crisp in a few
seconds' exposure to such sun-fire is marvelous. A few rattlesnakes lie
coiled in out-of-the-way places, but are seldom seen. Magpies and crows,
usually so noisy, are silent now, standing in mixed flocks on the ground
beneath the best shade trees, with bills wide open and wings drooped,
too breathless to speak; the quails also are trying to keep in the shade
about the few tepid alkaline water-holes; cottontail rabbits are running
from shade to shade among the ceanothus brush, and occasionally the
long-eared hare is seen cantering gracefully across the wider openings.

After a short noon rest in a grove, the poor dust-choked flock was again
driven ahead over the brushy hills, but the dim roadway we had been
following faded away just where it was most needed, compelling us to
stop to look about us and get our bearings. The Chinaman seemed to think
we were lost, and chattered in pidgin English concerning the abundance
of "litty stick" (chaparral), while the Indian silently scanned the
billowy ridges and gulches for openings. Pushing through the thorny
jungle, we at length discovered a road trending toward Coulterville,
which we followed until an hour before sunset, when we reached a dry
ranch and camped for the night.

Camping in the foothills with a flock of sheep is simple and easy, but
far from pleasant. The sheep were allowed to pick what they could find
in the neighborhood until after sunset, watched by the shepherd, while
the others gathered wood, made a fire, cooked, unpacked and fed the
horses, etc. About dusk the weary sheep were gathered on the highest
open spot near camp, where they willingly bunched close together, and
after each mother had found her lamb and suckled it, all lay down and
required no attention until morning.

Supper was announced by the call, "Grub!" Each with a tin plate helped
himself direct from the pots and pans while chatting about such camp
studies as sheep-feed, mines, coyotes, bears, or adventures during the
memorable gold days of pay dirt. The Indian kept in the background,
saying never a word, as if he belonged to another species. The meal
finished, the dogs were fed, the smokers smoked by the fire, and under
the influences of fullness and tobacco the calm that settled on their
faces seemed almost divine, something like the mellow meditative glow
portrayed on the countenances of saints. Then suddenly, as if awakening
from a dream, each with a sigh or a grunt knocked the ashes out of his
pipe, yawned, gazed at the fire a few moments, said, "Well, I believe
I'll turn in," and straightway vanished beneath his blankets. The fire
smouldered and flickered an hour or two longer; the stars shone
brighter; coons, coyotes, and owls stirred the silence here and there,
while crickets and hylas made a cheerful, continuous music, so fitting
and full that it seemed a part of the very body of the night. The only
discordance came from a snoring sleeper, and the coughing sheep with
dust in their throats. In the starlight the flock looked like a big gray
blanket.

_June 4._ The camp was astir at daybreak; coffee, bacon, and beans
formed the breakfast, followed by quick dish-washing and packing. A
general bleating began about sunrise. As soon as a mother ewe arose, her
lamb came bounding and bunting for its breakfast, and after the thousand
youngsters had been suckled the flock began to nibble and spread. The
restless wethers with ravenous appetites were the first to move, but
dared not go far from the main body. Billy and the Indian and the
Chinaman kept them headed along the weary road, and allowed them to pick
up what little they could find on a breadth of about a quarter of a
mile. But as several flocks had already gone ahead of us, scarce a leaf,
green or dry, was left; therefore the starving flock had to be hurried
on over the bare, hot hills to the nearest of the green pastures, about
twenty or thirty miles from here.

The pack-animals were led by Don Quixote, a heavy rifle over his
shoulder intended for bears and wolves. This day has been as hot and
dusty as the first, leading over gently sloping brown hills, with mostly
the same vegetation, excepting the strange-looking Sabine pine (_Pinus
Sabiniana_), which here forms small groves or is scattered among the
blue oaks. The trunk divides at a height of fifteen or twenty feet into
two or more stems, outleaning or nearly upright, with many straggling
branches and long gray needles, casting but little shade. In general
appearance this tree looks more like a palm than a pine. The cones are
about six or seven inches long, about five in diameter, very heavy, and
last long after they fall, so that the ground beneath the trees is
covered with them. They make fine resiny, light-giving camp-fires, next
to ears of Indian corn the most beautiful fuel I've ever seen. The nuts,
the Don tells me, are gathered in large quantities by the Digger Indians
for food. They are about as large and hard-shelled as hazelnuts--food
and fire fit for the gods from the same fruit.

_June 5._ This morning a few hours after setting out with the crawling
sheep-cloud, we gained the summit of the first well-defined bench on the
mountain-flank at Pino Blanco. The Sabine pines interest me greatly.
They are so airy and strangely palm-like I was eager to sketch them, and
was in a fever of excitement without accomplishing much. I managed to
halt long enough, however, to make a tolerably fair sketch of Pino
Blanco peak from the southwest side, where there is a small field and
vineyard irrigated by a stream that makes a pretty fall on its way down
a gorge by the roadside.

After gaining the open summit of this first bench, feeling the natural
exhilaration due to the slight elevation of a thousand feet or so, and
the hopes excited concerning the outlook to be obtained, a magnificent
section of the Merced Valley at what is called Horseshoe Bend came full
in sight--a glorious wilderness that seemed to be calling with a
thousand songful voices. Bold, down-sweeping slopes, feathered with
pines and clumps of manzanita with sunny, open spaces between them, make
up most of the foreground; the middle and background present fold beyond
fold of finely modeled hills and ridges rising into mountain-like masses
in the distance, all covered with a shaggy growth of chaparral, mostly
adenostoma, planted so marvelously close and even that it looks like
soft, rich plush without a single tree or bare spot. As far as the eye
can reach it extends, a heaving, swelling sea of green as regular and
continuous as that produced by the heaths of Scotland. The sculpture of
the landscape is as striking in its main lines as in its lavish richness
of detail; a grand congregation of massive heights with the river
shining between, each carved into smooth, graceful folds without leaving
a single rocky angle exposed, as if the delicate fluting and ridging
fashioned out of metamorphic slates had been carefully sandpapered. The
whole landscape showed design, like man's noblest sculptures. How
wonderful the power of its beauty! Gazing awe-stricken, I might have
left everything for it. Glad, endless work would then be mine tracing
the forces that have brought forth its features, its rocks and plants
and animals and glorious weather. Beauty beyond thought everywhere,
beneath, above, made and being made forever. I gazed and gazed and
longed and admired until the dusty sheep and packs were far out of
sight, made hurried notes and a sketch, though there was no need of
either, for the colors and lines and expression of this divine
landscape-countenance are so burned into mind and heart they surely can
never grow dim.

[Illustration: HORSESHOE BEND, MERCED RIVER]

[Illustration: ON SECOND BENCH. EDGE OF THE MAIN FOREST BELT ABOVE
COULTERVILLE, NEAR GREELEY'S MILL]

The evening of this charmed day is cool, calm, cloudless, and full of a
kind of lightning I have never seen before--white glowing cloud-shaped
masses down among the trees and bushes, like quick-throbbing fireflies
in the Wisconsin meadows rather than the so-called "wild fire." The
spreading hairs of the horses' tails and sparks from our blankets show
how highly charged the air is.

_June 6._ We are now on what may be called the second bench or plateau
of the Range, after making many small ups and downs over belts of
hill-waves, with, of course, corresponding changes in the vegetation. In
open spots many of the lowland compositæ are still to be found, and some
of the Mariposa tulips and other conspicuous members of the lily family;
but the characteristic blue oak of the foothills is left below, and its
place is taken by a fine large species (_Quercus Californica_) with
deeply lobed deciduous leaves, picturesquely divided trunk, and broad,
massy, finely lobed and modeled head. Here also at a height of about
twenty-five hundred feet we come to the edge of the great coniferous
forest, made up mostly of yellow pine with just a few sugar pines. We
are now in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making
every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us. Our
flesh-and-bone tabernacle seems transparent as glass to the beauty about
us, as if truly an inseparable part of it, thrilling with the air and
trees, streams and rocks, in the waves of the sun,--a part of all
nature, neither old nor young, sick nor well, but immortal. Just now I
can hardly conceive of any bodily condition dependent on food or breath
any more than the ground or the sky. How glorious a conversion, so
complete and wholesome it is, scarce memory enough of old bondage days
left as a standpoint to view it from! In this newness of life we seem to
have been so always.

Through a meadow opening in the pine woods I see snowy peaks about the
headwaters of the Merced above Yosemite. How near they seem and how
clear their outlines on the blue air, or rather _in_ the blue air; for
they seem to be saturated with it. How consuming strong the invitation
they extend! Shall I be allowed to go to them? Night and day I'll pray
that I may, but it seems too good to be true. Some one worthy will go,
able for the Godful work, yet as far as I can I must drift about these
love-monument mountains, glad to be a servant of servants in so holy a
wilderness.

Found a lovely lily (_Calochortus albus_) in a shady adenostoma thicket
near Coulterville, in company with _Adiantum Chilense_. It is white with
a faint purplish tinge inside at the base of the petals, a most
impressive plant, pure as a snow crystal, one of the plant saints that
all must love and be made so much the purer by it every time it is seen.
It puts the roughest mountaineer on his good behavior. With this plant
the whole world would seem rich though none other existed. It is not
easy to keep on with the camp cloud while such plant people are standing
preaching by the wayside.

During the afternoon we passed a fine meadow bounded by stately pines,
mostly the arrowy yellow pine, with here and there a noble sugar pine,
its feathery arms outspread above the spires of its companion species in
marked contrast; a glorious tree, its cones fifteen to twenty inches
long, swinging like tassels at the ends of the branches with superb
ornamental effect. Saw some logs of this species at the Greeley Mill.
They are round and regular as if turned in a lathe, excepting the butt
cuts, which have a few buttressing projections. The fragrance of the
sugary sap is delicious and scents the mill and lumber yard. How
beautiful the ground beneath this pine thickly strewn with slender
needles and grand cones, and the piles of cone-scales, seed-wings and
shells around the instep of each tree where the squirrels have been
feasting! They get the seeds by cutting off the scales at the base in
regular order, following their spiral arrangement, and the two seeds at
the base of each scale, a hundred or two in a cone, must make a good
meal. The yellow pine cones and those of most other species and genera
are held upside down on the ground by the Douglas squirrel, and turned
around gradually until stripped, while he sits usually with his back to
a tree, probably for safety. Strange to say, he never seems to get
himself smeared with gum, not even his paws or whiskers--and how cleanly
and beautiful in color the cone-litter kitchen-middens he makes.

We are now approaching the region of clouds and cool streams.
Magnificent white cumuli appeared about noon above the Yosemite
region,--floating fountains refreshing the glorious wilderness,--sky
mountains in whose pearly hills and dales the streams take their
rise,--blessing with cooling shadows and rain. No rock landscape is more
varied in sculpture, none more delicately modeled than these landscapes
of the sky; domes and peaks rising, swelling, white as finest marble
and firmly outlined, a most impressive manifestation of world building.
Every rain-cloud, however fleeting, leaves its mark, not only on trees
and flowers whose pulses are quickened, and on the replenished streams
and lakes, but also on the rocks are its marks engraved whether we can
see them or not.

I have been examining the curious and influential shrub _Adenostoma
fasciculata_, first noticed about Horseshoe Bend. It is very abundant on
the lower slopes of the second plateau near Coulterville, forming a
dense, almost impenetrable growth that looks dark in the distance. It
belongs to the rose family, is about six or eight feet high, has small
white flowers in racemes eight to twelve inches long, round needle-like
leaves, and reddish bark that becomes shreddy when old. It grows on
sun-beaten slopes, and like grass is often swept away by running fires,
but is quickly renewed from the roots. Any trees that may have
established themselves in its midst are at length killed by these fires,
and this no doubt is the secret of the unbroken character of its broad
belts. A few manzanitas, which also rise again from the root after
consuming fires, make out to dwell with it, also a few bush
compositæ--baccharis and linosyris, and some liliaceous plants, mostly
calochortus and brodiæa, with deepset bulbs safe from fire. A multitude
of birds and "wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beasties" find good homes
in its deepest thickets, and the open bays and lanes that fringe the
margins of its main belts offer shelter and food to the deer when winter
storms drive them down from their high mountain pastures. A most
admirable plant! It is now in bloom, and I like to wear its pretty
fragrant racemes in my buttonhole.

_Azalea occidentalis_, another charming shrub, grows beside cool streams
hereabouts and much higher in the Yosemite region. We found it this
evening in bloom a few miles above Greeley's Mill, where we are camped
for the night. It is closely related to the rhododendrons, is very showy
and fragrant, and everybody must like it not only for itself but for the
shady alders and willows, ferny meadows, and living water associated
with it.

Another conifer was met to-day,--incense cedar (_Libocedrus decurrens_),
a large tree with warm yellow-green foliage in flat plumes like those of
arborvitæ, bark cinnamon-colored, and as the boles of the old trees are
without limbs they make striking pillars in the woods where the sun
chances to shine on them--a worthy companion of the kingly sugar and
yellow pines. I feel strangely attracted to this tree. The brown
close-grained wood, as well as the small scale-like leaves, is fragrant,
and the flat overlapping plumes make fine beds, and must shed the rain
well. It would be delightful to be storm-bound beneath one of these
noble, hospitable, inviting old trees, its broad sheltering arms bent
down like a tent, incense rising from the fire made from its dry fallen
branches, and a hearty wind chanting overhead. But the weather is calm
to-night, and our camp is only a sheep camp. We are near the North Fork
of the Merced. The night wind is telling the wonders of the upper
mountains, their snow fountains and gardens, forests and groves; even
their topography is in its tones. And the stars, the everlasting sky
lilies, how bright they are now that we have climbed above the lowland
dust! The horizon is bounded and adorned by a spiry wall of pines, every
tree harmoniously related to every other; definite symbols, divine
hieroglyphics written with sunbeams. Would I could understand them! The
stream flowing past the camp through ferns and lilies and alders makes
sweet music to the ear, but the pines marshaled around the edge of the
sky make a yet sweeter music to the eye. Divine beauty all. Here I
could stay tethered forever with just bread and water, nor would I be
lonely; loved friends and neighbors, as love for everything increased,
would seem all the nearer however many the miles and mountains between
us.

_June 7._ The sheep were sick last night, and many of them are still far
from well, hardly able to leave camp, coughing, groaning, looking
wretched and pitiful, all from eating the leaves of the blessed azalea.
So at least say the shepherd and the Don. Having had but little grass
since they left the plains, they are starving, and so eat anything green
they can get. "Sheep men" call azalea "sheep-poison," and wonder what
the Creator was thinking about when he made it,--so desperately does
sheep business blind and degrade, though supposed to have a refining
influence in the good old days we read of. The California sheep owner is
in haste to get rich, and often does, now that pasturage costs nothing,
while the climate is so favorable that no winter food supply,
shelter-pens, or barns are required. Therefore large flocks may be kept
at slight expense, and large profits realized, the money invested
doubling, it is claimed, every other year. This quickly acquired wealth
usually creates desire for more. Then indeed the wool is drawn close
down over the poor fellow's eyes, dimming or shutting out almost
everything worth seeing.

As for the shepherd, his case is still worse, especially in winter when
he lives alone in a cabin. For, though stimulated at times by hopes of
one day owning a flock and getting rich like his boss, he at the same
time is likely to be degraded by the life he leads, and seldom reaches
the dignity or advantage--or disadvantage--of ownership. The degradation
in his case has for cause one not far to seek. He is solitary most of
the year, and solitude to most people seems hard to bear. He seldom has
much good mental work or recreation in the way of books. Coming into his
dingy hovel-cabin at night, stupidly weary, he finds nothing to balance
and level his life with the universe. No, after his dull drag all day
after the sheep, he must get his supper; he is likely to slight this
task and try to satisfy his hunger with whatever comes handy. Perhaps no
bread is baked; then he just makes a few grimy flapjacks in his unwashed
frying-pan, boils a handful of tea, and perhaps fries a few strips of
rusty bacon. Usually there are dried peaches or apples in the cabin, but
he hates to be bothered with the cooking of them, just swallows the
bacon and flapjacks, and depends on the genial stupefaction of tobacco
for the rest. Then to bed, often without removing the clothing worn
during the day. Of course his health suffers, reacting on his mind; and
seeing nobody for weeks or months, he finally becomes semi-insane or
wholly so.

The shepherd in Scotland seldom thinks of being anything but a shepherd.
He has probably descended from a race of shepherds and inherited a love
and aptitude for the business almost as marked as that of his collie. He
has but a small flock to look after, sees his family and neighbors, has
time for reading in fine weather, and often carries books to the fields
with which he may converse with kings. The oriental shepherd, we read,
called his sheep by name; they knew his voice and followed him. The
flocks must have been small and easily managed, allowing piping on the
hills and ample leisure for reading and thinking. But whatever the
blessings of sheep-culture in other times and countries, the California
shepherd, as far as I've seen or heard, is never quite sane for any
considerable time. Of all Nature's voices baa is about all he hears.
Even the howls and ki-yis of coyotes might be blessings if well heard,
but he hears them only through a blur of mutton and wool, and they do
him no good.

The sick sheep are getting well, and the shepherd is discoursing on the
various poisons lurking in these high pastures--azalea, kalmia, alkali.
After crossing the North Fork of the Merced we turned to the left toward
Pilot Peak, and made a considerable ascent on a rocky, brush-covered
ridge to Brown's Flat, where for the first time since leaving the plains
the flock is enjoying plenty of green grass. Mr. Delaney intends to seek
a permanent camp somewhere in the neighborhood, to last several weeks.

Before noon we passed Bower Cave, a delightful marble palace, not dark
and dripping, but filled with sunshine, which pours into it through its
wide-open mouth facing the south. It has a fine, deep, clear little lake
with mossy banks embowered with broad-leaved maples, all under ground,
wholly unlike anything I have seen in the cave line even in Kentucky,
where a large part of the State is honeycombed with caves. This curious
specimen of subterranean scenery is located on a belt of marble that is
said to extend from the north end of the Range to the extreme south.
Many other caves occur on the belt, but none like this, as far as I have
learned, combining as it does sunny outdoor brightness and vegetation
with the crystalline beauty of the underworld. It is claimed by a
Frenchman, who has fenced and locked it, placed a boat on the lakelet
and seats on the mossy bank under the maple trees, and charges a dollar
admission fee. Being on one of the ways to the Yosemite Valley, a good
many tourists visit it during the travel months of summer, regarding it
as an interesting addition to their Yosemite wonders.

Poison oak or poison ivy (_Rhus diversiloba_), both as a bush and a
scrambler up trees and rocks, is common throughout the foothill region
up to a height of at least three thousand feet above the sea. It is
somewhat troublesome to most travelers, inflaming the skin and eyes, but
blends harmoniously with its companion plants, and many a charming
flower leans confidingly upon it for protection and shade. I have
oftentimes found the curious twining lily (_Stropholirion Californicum_)
climbing its branches, showing no fear but rather congenial
companionship. Sheep eat it without apparent ill effects; so do horses
to some extent, though not fond of it, and to many persons it is
harmless. Like most other things not apparently useful to man, it has
few friends, and the blind question, "Why was it made?" goes on and on
with never a guess that first of all it might have been made for
itself.

Brown's Flat is a shallow fertile valley on the top of the divide
between the North Fork of the Merced and Bull Creek, commanding
magnificent views in every direction. Here the adventurous pioneer David
Brown made his headquarters for many years, dividing his time between
gold-hunting and bear-hunting. Where could lonely hunter find a better
solitude? Game in the woods, gold in the rocks, health and exhilaration
in the air, while the colors and cloud furniture of the sky are ever
inspiring through all sorts of weather. Though sternly practical, like
most pioneers, old David seems to have been uncommonly fond of scenery.
Mr. Delaney, who knew him well, tells me that he dearly loved to climb
to the summit of a commanding ridge to gaze abroad over the forest to
the snow-clad peaks and sources of the rivers, and over the foreground
valleys and gulches to note where miners were at work or claims were
abandoned, judging by smoke from cabins and camp-fires, the sounds of
axes, etc.; and when a rifle-shot was heard, to guess who was the
hunter, whether Indian or some poacher on his wide domain. His dog Sandy
accompanied him everywhere, and well the little hairy mountaineer knew
and loved his master and his master's aims. In deer-hunting he had but
little to do, trotting behind his master as he slowly made his way
through the wood, careful not to step heavily on dry twigs, scanning
open spots in the chaparral, where the game loves to feed in the early
morning and towards sunset; peering cautiously over ridges as new
outlooks were reached, and along the meadowy borders of streams. But
when bears were hunted, little Sandy became more important, and it was
as a bear-hunter that Brown became famous. His hunting method, as
described by Mr. Delaney, who had passed many a night with him in his
lonely cabin and learned his stories, was simply to go slowly and
silently through the best bear pastures, with his dog and rifle and a
few pounds of flour, until he found a fresh track and then follow it to
the death, paying no heed to the time required. Wherever the bear went
he followed, led by little Sandy, who had a keen nose and never lost the
track, however rocky the ground. When high open points were reached, the
likeliest places were carefully scanned. The time of year enabled the
hunter to determine approximately where the bear would be found,--in the
spring and early summer on open spots about the banks of streams and
springy places eating grass and clover and lupines, or in dry meadows
feasting on strawberries; toward the end of summer, on dry ridges,
feasting on manzanita berries, sitting on his haunches, pulling down the
laden branches with his paws, and pressing them together so as to get
good compact mouthfuls however much mixed with twigs and leaves; in the
Indian summer, beneath the pines, chewing the cones cut off by the
squirrels, or occasionally climbing a tree to gnaw and break off the
fruitful branches. In late autumn, when acorns are ripe, Bruin's
favorite feeding-grounds are groves of the California oak in park-like
cañon flats. Always the cunning hunter knew where to look, and seldom
came upon Bruin unawares. When the hot scent showed the dangerous game
was nigh, a long halt was made, and the intricacies of the topography
and vegetation leisurely scanned to catch a glimpse of the shaggy
wanderer, or to at least determine where he was most likely to be.

"Whenever," said the hunter, "I saw a bear before it saw me I had no
trouble in killing it. I just studied the lay of the land and got to
leeward of it no matter how far around I had to go, and then worked up
to within a few hundred yards or so, at the foot of a tree that I could
easily climb, but too small for the bear to climb. Then I looked well to
the condition of my rifle, took off my boots so as to climb well if
necessary, and waited until the bear turned its side in clear view when
I could make a sure or at least a good shot. In case it showed fight I
climbed out of reach. But bears are slow and awkward with their eyes,
and being to leeward of them they could not scent me, and I often got in
a second shot before they noticed the smoke. Usually, however, they run
when wounded and hide in the brush. I let them run a good safe time
before I ventured to follow them, and Sandy was pretty sure to find them
dead. If not, he barked and drew their attention, and occasionally
rushed in for a distracting bite, so that I was able to get to a safe
distance for a final shot. Oh yes, bear-hunting is safe enough when
followed in a safe way, though like every other business it has its
accidents, and little doggie and I have had some close calls. Bears like
to keep out of the way of men as a general thing, but if an old, lean,
hungry mother with cubs met a man on her own ground she would, in my
opinion, try to catch and eat him. This would be only fair play anyhow,
for we eat them, but nobody hereabout has been used for bear grub that I
know of."

Brown had left his mountain home ere we arrived, but a considerable
number of Digger Indians still linger in their cedar-bark huts on the
edge of the flat. They were attracted in the first place by the white
hunter whom they had learned to respect, and to whom they looked for
guidance and protection against their enemies the Pah Utes, who
sometimes made raids across from the east side of the Range to plunder
the stores of the comparatively feeble Diggers and steal their wives.




CHAPTER II

IN CAMP ON THE NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED


_June 8._ The sheep, now grassy and good-natured, slowly nibbled their
way down into the valley of the North Fork of the Merced at the foot of
Pilot Peak Ridge to the place selected by the Don for our first central
camp, a picturesque hopper-shaped hollow formed by converging hill
slopes at a bend of the river. Here racks for dishes and provisions were
made in the shade of the river-bank trees, and beds of fern fronds,
cedar plumes, and various flowers, each to the taste of its owner, and a
corral back on the open flat for the wool.

_June 9._ How deep our sleep last night in the mountain's heart, beneath
the trees and stars, hushed by solemn-sounding waterfalls and many small
soothing voices in sweet accord whispering peace! And our first pure
mountain day, warm, calm, cloudless,--how immeasurable it seems, how
serenely wild! I can scarcely remember its beginning. Along the river,
over the hills, in the ground, in the sky, spring work is going on with
joyful enthusiasm, new life, new beauty, unfolding, unrolling in
glorious exuberant extravagance,--new birds in their nests, new winged
creatures in the air, and new leaves, new flowers, spreading, shining,
rejoicing everywhere.

The trees about the camp stand close, giving ample shade for ferns and
lilies, while back from the bank most of the sunshine reaches the
ground, calling up the grasses and flowers in glorious array, tall
bromus waving like bamboos, starry compositæ, monardella, Mariposa
tulips, lupines, gilias, violets, glad children of light. Soon every
fern frond will be unrolled, great beds of common pteris and woodwardia
along the river, wreaths and rosettes of pellæa and cheilanthes on sunny
rocks. Some of the woodwardia fronds are already six feet high.

A handsome little shrub, _Chamæbatia foliolosa_, belonging to the rose
family, spreads a yellow-green mantle beneath the sugar pines for miles
without a break, not mixed or roughened with other plants. Only here and
there a Washington lily may be seen nodding above its even surface, or a
bunch or two of tall bromus as if for ornament. This fine carpet shrub
begins to appear at, say, twenty-five hundred or three thousand feet
above sea level, is about knee high or less, has brown branches, and the
largest stems are only about half an inch in diameter. The leaves, light
yellow green, thrice pinnate and finely cut, give them a rich ferny
appearance, and they are dotted with minute glands that secrete wax with
a peculiar pleasant odor that blends finely with the spicy fragrance of
the pines. The flowers are white, five eighths of an inch in diameter,
and look like those of the strawberry. Am delighted with this little
bush. It is the only true carpet shrub of this part of the Sierra. The
manzanita, rhamnus, and most of the species of ceanothus make shaggy
rugs and border fringes rather than carpets or mantles.

The sheep do not take kindly to their new pastures, perhaps from being
too closely hemmed in by the hills. They are never fully at rest. Last
night they were frightened, probably by bears or coyotes prowling and
planning for a share of the grand mass of mutton.

_June 10._ Very warm. We get water for the camp from a rock basin at the
foot of a picturesque cascading reach of the river where it is well
stirred and made lively without being beaten into dusty foam. The rock
here is black metamorphic slate, worn into smooth knobs in the stream
channels, contrasting with the fine gray and white cascading water as it
glides and glances and falls in lace-like sheets and braided overfolding
currents. Tufts of sedge growing on the rock knobs that rise above the
surface produce a charming effect, the long elastic leaves arching over
in every direction, the tips of the longest drooping into the current,
which dividing against the projecting rocks makes still finer lines,
uniting with the sedges to see how beautiful the happy stream can be
made. Nor is this all, for the giant saxifrage also is growing on some
of the knob rock islets, firmly anchored and displaying their broad,
round, umbrella-like leaves in showy groups by themselves, or above the
sedge tufts. The flowers of this species (_Saxifraga peltata_) are
purple, and form tall glandular racemes that are in bloom before the
appearance of the leaves. The fleshy root-stocks grip the rock in cracks
and hollows, and thus enable the plant to hold on against occasional
floods,--a marked species employed by Nature to make yet more beautiful
the most interesting portions of these cool clear streams. Near camp the
trees arch over from bank to bank, making a leafy tunnel full of soft
subdued light, through which the young river sings and shines like a
happy living creature.

Heard a few peals of thunder from the upper Sierra, and saw firm white
bossy cumuli rising back of the pines. This was about noon.

_June 11._ On one of the eastern branches of the river discovered some
charming cascades with a pool at the foot of each of them. White dashing
water, a few bushes and tufts of carex on ledges leaning over with fine
effect, and large orange lilies assembled in superb groups on fertile
soil-beds beside the pools.

There are no large meadows or grassy plains near camp to supply lasting
pasture for our thousands of busy nibblers. The main dependence is
ceanothus brush on the hills and tufted grass patches here and there,
with lupines and pea-vines among the flowers on sunny open spaces. Large
areas have already been stripped bare, or nearly so, compelling the poor
hungry wool bundles to scatter far and wide, keeping the shepherds and
dogs at the top of their speed to hold them within bounds. Mr. Delaney
has gone back to the plains, taking the Indian and Chinaman with him,
leaving instruction to keep the flock here or hereabouts until his
return, which he promised would not be long delayed.

How fine the weather is! Nothing more celestial can I conceive. How
gently the winds blow! Scarce can these tranquil air-currents be called
winds. They seem the very breath of Nature, whispering peace to every
living thing. Down in the camp dell there is no swaying of tree-tops;
most of the time not a leaf moves. I don't remember having seen a
single lily swinging on its stalk, though they are so tall the least
breeze would rock them. What grand bells these lilies have! Some of them
big enough for children's bonnets. I have been sketching them, and would
fain draw every leaf of their wide shining whorls and every curved and
spotted petal. More beautiful, better kept gardens cannot be imagined.
The species is _Lilium pardalinum_, five to six feet high, leaf-whorls a
foot wide, flowers about six inches wide, bright orange, purple spotted
in the throat, segments revolute--a majestic plant.

_June 12._ A slight sprinkle of rain--large drops far apart, falling
with hearty pat and plash on leaves and stones and into the mouths of
the flowers. Cumuli rising to the eastward. How beautiful their pearly
bosses! How well they harmonize with the upswelling rocks beneath them.
Mountains of the sky, solid-looking, finely sculptured, their richly
varied topography wonderfully defined. Never before have I seen clouds
so substantial looking in form and texture. Nearly every day toward noon
they rise with visible swelling motion as if new worlds were being
created. And how fondly they brood and hover over the gardens and
forests with their cooling shadows and showers, keeping every petal and
leaf in glad health and heart. One may fancy the clouds themselves are
plants, springing up in the sky-fields at the call of the sun, growing
in beauty until they reach their prime, scattering rain and hail like
berries and seeds, then wilting and dying.

The mountain live oak, common here and a thousand feet or so higher, is
like the live oak of Florida, not only in general appearance, foliage,
bark, and wide-branching habit, but in its tough, knotty, unwedgeable
wood. Standing alone with plenty of elbow room, the largest trees are
about seven to eight feet in diameter near the ground, sixty feet high,
and as wide or wider across the head. The leaves are small and
undivided, mostly without teeth or wavy edging, though on young shoots
some are sharply serrated, both kinds being found on the same tree. The
cups of the medium-sized acorns are shallow, thick walled, and covered
with a golden dust of minute hairs. Some of the trees have hardly any
main trunk, dividing near the ground into large wide-spreading limbs,
and these, dividing again and again, terminate in long, drooping,
cord-like branchlets, many of which reach nearly to the ground, while a
dense canopy of short, shining, leafy branchlets forms a round head
which looks something like a cumulus cloud when the sunshine is
pouring over it.

[Illustration: CAMP, NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED]

[Illustration: MOUNTAIN LIVE OAK (_Quercus chrysolepis_), EIGHT FEET IN
DIAMETER]

A marked plant is the bush poppy (_Dendromecon rigidum_), found on the
hot hillsides near camp, the only woody member of the order I have yet
met in all my walks. Its flowers are bright orange yellow, an inch to
two inches wide, fruit-pods three or four inches long, slender and
curving,--height of bushes about four feet, made up of many slim,
straight branches, radiating from the root,--a companion of the
manzanita and other sun-loving chaparral shrubs.

_June 13._ Another glorious Sierra day in which one seems to be
dissolved and absorbed and sent pulsing onward we know not where. Life
seems neither long nor short, and we take no more heed to save time or
make haste than do the trees and stars. This is true freedom, a good
practical sort of immortality. Yonder rises another white skyland. How
sharply the yellow pine spires and the palm-like crowns of the sugar
pines are outlined on its smooth white domes. And hark! the grand
thunder billows booming, rolling from ridge to ridge, followed by the
faithful shower.

A good many herbaceous plants come thus far up the mountains from the
plains, and are now in flower, two months later than their lowland
relatives. Saw a few columbines to-day. Most of the ferns are in their
prime,--rock ferns on the sunny hillsides, cheilanthes, pellæa,
gymnogramme; woodwardia, aspidium, woodsia along the stream banks, and
the common _Pteris aquilina_ on sandy flats. This last, however common,
is here making shows of strong, exuberant, abounding beauty to set the
botanist wild with admiration. I measured some scarce full grown that
are more than seven feet high. Though the commonest and most widely
distributed of all the ferns, I might almost say that I never saw it
before. The broad-shouldered fronds held high on smooth stout stalks
growing close together, overleaning and overlapping, make a complete
ceiling, beneath which one may walk erect over several acres without
being seen, as if beneath a roof. And how soft and lovely the light
streaming through this living ceiling, revealing the arching branching
ribs and veins of the fronds as the framework of countless panes of pale
green and yellow plant-glass nicely fitted together--a fairyland created
out of the commonest fern-stuff.

The smaller animals wander about as if in a tropical forest. I saw the
entire flock of sheep vanish at one side of a patch and reappear a
hundred yards farther on at the other, their progress betrayed only by
the jerking and trembling of the fronds; and strange to say very few of
the stout woody stalks were broken. I sat a long time beneath the
tallest fronds, and never enjoyed anything in the way of a bower of wild
leaves more strangely impressive. Only spread a fern frond over a man's
head and worldly cares are cast out, and freedom and beauty and peace
come in. The waving of a pine tree on the top of a mountain,--a magic
wand in Nature's hand,--every devout mountaineer knows its power; but
the marvelous beauty value of what the Scotch call a breckan in a still
dell, what poet has sung this? It would seem impossible that any one,
however incrusted with care, could escape the Godful influence of these
sacred fern forests. Yet this very day I saw a shepherd pass through one
of the finest of them without betraying more feeling than his sheep.
"What do you think of these grand ferns?" I asked. "Oh, they're only
d----d big brakes," he replied.

Lizards of every temper, style, and color dwell here, seemingly as happy
and companionable as the birds and squirrels. Lowly, gentle fellow
mortals, enjoying God's sunshine, and doing the best they can in getting
a living, I like to watch them at their work and play. They bear
acquaintance well, and one likes them the better the longer one looks
into their beautiful, innocent eyes. They are easily tamed, and one soon
learns to love them, as they dart about on the hot rocks, swift as
dragon-flies. The eye can hardly follow them; but they never make
long-sustained runs, usually only about ten or twelve feet, then a
sudden stop, and as sudden a start again; going all their journeys by
quick, jerking impulses. These many stops I find are necessary as rests,
for they are short-winded, and when pursued steadily are soon out of
breath, pant pitifully, and are easily caught. Their bodies are more
than half tail, but these tails are well managed, never heavily dragged
nor curved up as if hard to carry; on the contrary, they seem to follow
the body lightly of their own will. Some are colored like the sky,
bright as bluebirds, others gray like the lichened rocks on which they
hunt and bask. Even the horned toad of the plains is a mild, harmless
creature, and so are the snake-like species which glide in curves with
true snake motion, while their small, undeveloped limbs drag as useless
appendages. One specimen fourteen inches long which I observed closely
made no use whatever of its tender, sprouting limbs, but glided with all
the soft, sly ease and grace of a snake. Here comes a little, gray,
dusty fellow who seems to know and trust me, running about my feet, and
looking up cunningly into my face. Carlo is watching, makes a quick
pounce on him, for the fun of the thing I suppose; but Liz has shot away
from his paws like an arrow, and is safe in the recesses of a clump of
chaparral. Gentle saurians, dragons, descendants of an ancient and
mighty race, Heaven bless you all and make your virtues known! for few
of us know as yet that scales may cover fellow creatures as gentle and
lovable as feathers, or hair, or cloth.

Mastodons and elephants used to live here no great geological time ago,
as shown by their bones, often discovered by miners in washing
gold-gravel. And bears of at least two species are here now, besides the
California lion or panther, and wild cats, wolves, foxes, snakes,
scorpions, wasps, tarantulas; but one is almost tempted at times to
regard a small savage black ant as the master existence of this vast
mountain world. These fearless, restless, wandering imps, though only
about a quarter of an inch long, are fonder of fighting and biting than
any beast I know. They attack every living thing around their homes,
often without cause as far as I can see. Their bodies are mostly jaws
curved like ice-hooks, and to get work for these weapons seems to be
their chief aim and pleasure. Most of their colonies are established in
living oaks somewhat decayed or hollowed, in which they can conveniently
build their cells. These are chosen probably because of their strength
as opposed to the attacks of animals and storms. They work both day and
night, creep into dark caves, climb the highest trees, wander and hunt
through cool ravines as well as on hot, unshaded ridges, and extend
their highways and byways over everything but water and sky. From the
foothills to a mile above the level of the sea nothing can stir without
their knowledge; and alarms are spread in an incredibly short time,
without any howl or cry that we can hear. I can't understand the need of
their ferocious courage; there seems to be no common sense in it.
Sometimes, no doubt, they fight in defense of their homes, but they
fight anywhere and always wherever they can find anything to bite. As
soon as a vulnerable spot is discovered on man or beast, they stand on
their heads and sink their jaws, and though torn limb from limb, they
will yet hold on and die biting deeper. When I contemplate this fierce
creature so widely distributed and strongly intrenched, I see that much
remains to be done ere the world is brought under the rule of universal
peace and love.

On my way to camp a few minutes ago, I passed a dead pine nearly ten
feet in diameter. It has been enveloped in fire from top to bottom so
that now it looks like a grand black pillar set up as a monument. In
this noble shaft a colony of large jet-black ants have established
themselves, laboriously cutting tunnels and cells through the wood,
whether sound or decayed. The entire trunk seems to have been
honeycombed, judging by the size of the talus of gnawed chips like
sawdust piled up around its base. They are more intelligent looking than
their small, belligerent, strong-scented brethren, and have better
manners, though quick to fight when required. Their towns are carved in
fallen trunks as well as in those left standing, but never in sound,
living trees or in the ground. When you happen to sit down to rest or
take notes near a colony, some wandering hunter is sure to find you and
come cautiously forward to discover the nature of the intruder and what
ought to be done. If you are not too near the town and keep perfectly
still he may run across your feet a few times, over your legs and hands
and face, up your trousers, as if taking your measure and getting
comprehensive views, then go in peace without raising an alarm. If,
however, a tempting spot is offered or some suspicious movement excites
him, a bite follows, and such a bite! I fancy that a bear or wolf bite
is not to be compared with it. A quick electric flame of pain flashes
along the outraged nerves, and you discover for the first time how great
is the capacity for sensation you are possessed of. A shriek, a grab for
the animal, and a bewildered stare follow this bite of bites as one
comes back to consciousness from sudden eclipse. Fortunately, if
careful, one need not be bitten oftener than once or twice in a
lifetime. This wonderful electric species is about three fourths of an
inch long. Bears are fond of them, and tear and gnaw their home-logs to
pieces, and roughly devour the eggs, larvæ, parent ants, and the rotten
or sound wood of the cells, all in one spicy acid hash. The Digger
Indians also are fond of the larvæ and even of the perfect ants, so I
have been told by old mountaineers. They bite off and reject the head,
and eat the tickly acid body with keen relish. Thus are the poor biters
bitten, like every other biter, big or little, in the world's great
family.

There is also a fine, active, intelligent-looking red species,
intermediate in size between the above. They dwell in the ground, and
build large piles of seed husks, leaves, straw, etc., over their nests.
Their food seems to be mostly insects and plant leaves, seeds and sap.
How many mouths Nature has to fill, how many neighbors we have, how
little we know about them, and how seldom we get in each other's way!
Then to think of the infinite numbers of smaller fellow mortals,
invisibly small, compared with which the smallest ants are as mastodons.

_June 14._ The pool-basins below the falls and cascades hereabouts,
formed by the heavy down-plunging currents, are kept nicely clean and
clear of detritus. The heavier parts of the material swept over the
falls are heaped up a short distance in front of the basins in the form
of a dam, thus tending, together with erosion, to increase their size.
Sudden changes, however, are effected during the spring floods, when the
snow is melting and the upper tributaries are roaring loud from "bank to
brae." Then boulders that have fallen into the channels, and which the
ordinary summer and winter currents were unable to move, are suddenly
swept forward as by a mighty besom, hurled over the falls into these
pools, and piled up in a new dam together with part of the old one,
while some of the smaller boulders are carried further down stream and
variously lodged according to size and shape, all seeking rest where the
force of the current is less than the resistance they are able to offer.
But the greatest changes made in these relations of fall, pool, and dam
are caused, not by the ordinary spring floods, but by extraordinary ones
that occur at irregular intervals. The testimony of trees growing on
flood boulder deposits shows that a century or more has passed since the
last master flood came to awaken everything movable to go swirling and
dancing on wonderful journeys. These floods may occur during the summer,
when heavy thunder-showers, called "cloud-bursts," fall on wide, steeply
inclined stream basins furrowed by converging channels, which suddenly
gather the waters together into the main trunk in booming torrents of
enormous transporting power, though short lived.

One of these ancient flood boulders stands firm in the middle of the
stream channel, just below the lower edge of the pool dam at the foot of
the fall nearest our camp. It is a nearly cubical mass of granite about
eight feet high, plushed with mosses over the top and down the sides to
ordinary high-water mark. When I climbed on top of it to-day and lay
down to rest, it seemed the most romantic spot I had yet found--the one
big stone with its mossy level top and smooth sides standing square and
firm and solitary, like an altar, the fall in front of it bathing it
lightly with the finest of the spray, just enough to keep its moss cover
fresh; the clear green pool beneath, with its foam-bells and its half
circle of lilies leaning forward like a band of admirers, and flowering
dogwood and alder trees leaning over all in sun-sifted arches. How
soothingly, restfully cool it is beneath that leafy, translucent
ceiling, and how delightful the water music--the deep bass tones of the
fall, the clashing, ringing spray, and infinite variety of small low
tones of the current gliding past the side of the boulder-island, and
glinting against a thousand smaller stones down the ferny channel! All
this shut in; every one of these influences acting at short range as if
in a quiet room. The place seemed holy, where one might hope to see God.

After dark, when the camp was at rest, I groped my way back to the altar
boulder and passed the night on it,--above the water, beneath the leaves
and stars,--everything still more impressive than by day, the fall seen
dimly white, singing Nature's old love song with solemn enthusiasm,
while the stars peering through the leaf-roof seemed to join in the
white water's song. Precious night, precious day to abide in me forever.
Thanks be to God for this immortal gift.

_June 15._ Another reviving morning. Down the long mountain-slopes the
sunbeams pour, gilding the awakening pines, cheering every needle,
filling every living thing with joy. Robins are singing in the alder and
maple groves, the same old song that has cheered and sweetened countless
seasons over almost all of our blessed continent. In this mountain
hollow they seem as much at home as in farmers' orchards. Bullock's
oriole and the Louisiana tanager are here also, with many warblers and
other little mountain troubadours, most of them now busy about their
nests.

Discovered another magnificent specimen of the goldcup oak six feet in
diameter, a Douglas spruce seven feet, and a twining lily
(_Stropholirion_), with stem eight feet long, and sixty rose-colored
flowers.

[Illustration: SUGAR PINE]

Sugar pine cones are cylindrical, slightly tapered at the end and
rounded at the base. Found one to-day nearly twenty-four inches long and
six in diameter, the scales being open. Another specimen nineteen inches
long; the average length of full-grown cones on trees favorably situated
is nearly eighteen inches. On the lower edge of the belt at a height of
about twenty-five hundred feet above the sea they are smaller, say a
foot to fifteen inches long, and at a height of seven thousand feet or
more near the upper limits of its growth in the Yosemite region they are
about the same size. This noble tree is an inexhaustible study and
source of pleasure. I never weary of gazing at its grand tassel cones,
its perfectly round bole one hundred feet or more without a limb, the
fine purplish color of its bark, and its magnificent outsweeping,
down-curving feathery arms forming a crown always bold and striking and
exhilarating. In habit and general port it looks somewhat like a palm,
but no palm that I have yet seen displays such majesty of form and
behavior either when poised silent and thoughtful in sunshine, or
wide-awake waving in storm winds with every needle quivering. When young
it is very straight and regular in form like most other conifers; but at
the age of fifty to one hundred years it begins to acquire
individuality, so that no two are alike in their prime or old age. Every
tree calls for special admiration. I have been making many sketches, and
regret that I cannot draw every needle. It is said to reach a height of
three hundred feet, though the tallest I have measured falls short of
this stature sixty feet or more. The diameter of the largest near the
ground is about ten feet, though I've heard of some twelve feet thick or
even fifteen. The diameter is held to a great height, the taper being
almost imperceptibly gradual. Its companion, the yellow pine, is almost
as large. The long silvery foliage of the younger specimens forms
magnificent cylindrical brushes on the top shoots and the ends of the
upturned branches, and when the wind sways the needles all one way at a
certain angle every tree becomes a tower of white quivering sun-fire.
Well may this shining species be called the silver pine. The needles are
sometimes more than a foot long, almost as long as those of the
long-leaf pine of Florida. But though in size the yellow pine almost
equals the sugar pine, and in rugged enduring strength seems to surpass
it, it is far less marked in general habit and expression, with its
regular conventional spire and its comparatively small cones clustered
stiffly among the needles. Were there no sugar pine, then would this be
the king of the world's eighty or ninety species, the brightest of the
bright, waving, worshiping multitude. Were they mere mechanical
sculptures, what noble objects they would still be! How much more
throbbing, thrilling, overflowing, full of life in every fiber and cell,
grand glowing silver-rods--the very gods of the plant kingdom, living
their sublime century lives in sight of Heaven, watched and loved and
admired from generation to generation! And how many other radiant resiny
sun trees are here and higher up,--libocedrus, Douglas spruce, silver
fir, sequoia. How rich our inheritance in these blessed mountains, the
tree pastures into which our eyes are turned!

Now comes sundown. The west is all a glory of color transfiguring
everything. Far up the Pilot Peak Ridge the radiant host of trees stand
hushed and thoughtful, receiving the Sun's good-night, as solemn and
impressive a leave-taking as if sun and trees were to meet no more. The
daylight fades, the color spell is broken, and the forest breathes free
in the night breeze beneath the stars.

_June 16._ One of the Indians from Brown's Flat got right into the
middle of the camp this morning, unobserved. I was seated on a stone,
looking over my notes and sketches, and happening to look up, was
startled to see him standing grim and silent within a few steps of me,
as motionless and weather-stained as an old tree-stump that had stood
there for centuries. All Indians seem to have learned this wonderful way
of walking unseen,--making themselves invisible like certain spiders I
have been observing here, which, in case of alarm, caused, for example,
by a bird alighting on the bush their webs are spread upon, immediately
bounce themselves up and down on their elastic threads so rapidly that
only a blur is visible. The wild Indian power of escaping observation,
even where there is little or no cover to hide in, was probably slowly
acquired in hard hunting and fighting lessons while trying to approach
game, take enemies by surprise, or get safely away when compelled to
retreat. And this experience transmitted through many generations seems
at length to have become what is vaguely called instinct.

How smooth and changeless seems the surface of the mountains about us!
Scarce a track is to be found beyond the range of the sheep except on
small open spots on the sides of the streams, or where the forest
carpets are thin or wanting. On the smoothest of these open strips and
patches deer tracks may be seen, and the great suggestive footprints of
bears, which, with those of the many small animals, are scarce enough to
answer as a kind of light ornamental stitching or embroidery. Along the
main ridges and larger branches of the river Indian trails may be
traced, but they are not nearly as distinct as one would expect to find
them. How many centuries Indians have roamed these woods nobody knows,
probably a great many, extending far beyond the time that Columbus
touched our shores, and it seems strange that heavier marks have not
been made. Indians walk softly and hurt the landscape hardly more than
the birds and squirrels, and their brush and bark huts last hardly
longer than those of wood rats, while their more enduring monuments,
excepting those wrought on the forests by the fires they made to improve
their hunting grounds, vanish in a few centuries.

How different are most of those of the white man, especially on the
lower gold region--roads blasted in the solid rock, wild streams dammed
and tamed and turned out of their channels and led along the sides of
cañons and valleys to work in mines like slaves. Crossing from ridge to
ridge, high in the air, on long straddling trestles as if flowing on
stilts, or down and up across valleys and hills, imprisoned in iron
pipes to strike and wash away hills and miles of the skin of the
mountain's face, riddling, stripping every gold gully and flat. These
are the white man's marks made in a few feverish years, to say nothing
of mills, fields, villages, scattered hundreds of miles along the flank
of the Range. Long will it be ere these marks are effaced, though Nature
is doing what she can, replanting, gardening, sweeping away old dams and
flumes, leveling gravel and boulder piles, patiently trying to heal
every raw scar. The main gold storm is over. Calm enough are the gray
old miners scratching a bare living in waste diggings here and there.
Thundering underground blasting is still going on to feed the pounding
quartz mills, but their influence on the landscape is light as compared
with that of the pick-and-shovel storms waged a few years ago.
Fortunately for Sierra scenery the gold-bearing slates are mostly
restricted to the foothills. The region about our camp is still wild,
and higher lies the snow about as trackless as the sky.

Only a few hills and domes of cloudland were built yesterday and none at
all to-day. The light is peculiarly white and thin, though pleasantly
warm. The serenity of this mountain weather in the spring, just when
Nature's pulses are beating highest, is one of its greatest charms.
There is only a moderate breeze from the summits of the Range at night,
and a slight breathing from the sea and the lowland hills and plains
during the day, or stillness so complete no leaf stirs. The trees
hereabouts have but little wind history to tell.

Sheep, like people, are ungovernable when hungry. Excepting my guarded
lily gardens, almost every leaf that these hoofed locusts can reach
within a radius of a mile or two from camp has been devoured. Even the
bushes are stripped bare, and in spite of dogs and shepherds the sheep
scatter to all points of the compass and vanish in dust. I fear some are
lost, for one of the sixteen black ones is missing.

_June 17._ Counted the wool bundles this morning as they bounced through
the narrow corral gate. About three hundred are missing, and as the
shepherd could not go to seek them, I had to go. I tied a crust of bread
to my belt, and with Carlo set out for the upper slopes of the Pilot
Peak Ridge, and had a good day, notwithstanding the care of seeking the
silly runaways. I went out for wool, and did not come back shorn. A
peculiar light circled around the horizon, white and thin like that
often seen over the auroral corona, blending into the blue of the upper
sky. The only clouds were a few faint flossy pencilings like combed
silk. I pushed direct to the boundary of the usual range of the flock,
and around it until I found the outgoing trail of the wanderers. It led
far up the ridge into an open place surrounded by a hedge-like growth of
ceanothus chaparral. Carlo knew what I was about, and eagerly followed
the scent until we came up to them, huddled in a timid, silent bunch.
They had evidently been here all night and all the forenoon, afraid to
go out to feed. Having escaped restraint, they were, like some people we
know of, afraid of their freedom, did not know what to do with it, and
seemed glad to get back into the old familiar bondage.

_June 18._ Another inspiring morning, nothing better in any world can
be conceived. No description of Heaven that I have ever heard or read of
seems half so fine. At noon the clouds occupied about .05 of the sky,
white filmy touches drawn delicately on the azure.

The high ridges and hilltops beyond the woolly locusts are now gay with
monardella, clarkia, coreopsis, and tall tufted grasses, some of them
tall enough to wave like pines. The lupines, of which there are many
ill-defined species, are now mostly out of flower, and many of the
compositæ are beginning to fade, their radiant corollas vanishing in
fluffy pappus like stars in mist.

We had another visitor from Brown's Flat to-day, an old Indian woman
with a basket on her back. Like our first caller from the village, she
got fairly into camp and was standing in plain view when discovered. How
long she had been quietly looking on, I cannot say. Even the dogs failed
to notice her stealthy approach. She was on her way, I suppose, to some
wild garden, probably for lupine and starchy saxifrage leaves and
rootstocks. Her dress was calico rags, far from clean. In every way she
seemed sadly unlike Nature's neat well-dressed animals, though living
like them on the bounty of the wilderness. Strange that mankind alone is
dirty. Had she been clad in fur, or cloth woven of grass or shreddy
bark, like the juniper and libocedrus mats, she might then have seemed a
rightful part of the wilderness; like a good wolf at least, or bear. But
from no point of view that I have found are such debased fellow beings a
whit more natural than the glaring tailored tourists we saw that
frightened the birds and squirrels.

_June 19._ Pure sunshine all day. How beautiful a rock is made by leaf
shadows! Those of the live oak are particularly clear and distinct, and
beyond all art in grace and delicacy, now still as if painted on stone,
now gliding softly as if afraid of noise, now dancing, waltzing in
swift, merry swirls, or jumping on and off sunny rocks in quick dashes
like wave embroidery on seashore cliffs. How true and substantial is
this shadow beauty, and with what sublime extravagance is beauty thus
multiplied! The big orange lilies are now arrayed in all their glory of
leaf and flower. Noble plants, in perfect health, Nature's darlings.

_June 20._ Some of the silly sheep got caught fast in a tangle of
chaparral this morning, like flies in a spider's web, and had to be
helped out. Carlo found them and tried to drive them from the trap by
the easiest way. How far above sheep are intelligent dogs! No friend
and helper can be more affectionate and constant than Carlo. The noble
St. Bernard is an honor to his race.

The air is distinctly fragrant with balsam and resin and mint,--every
breath of it a gift we may well thank God for. Who could ever guess that
so rough a wilderness should yet be so fine, so full of good things. One
seems to be in a majestic domed pavilion in which a grand play is being
acted with scenery and music and incense,--all the furniture and action
so interesting we are in no danger of being called on to endure one dull
moment. God himself seems to be always doing his best here, working like
a man in a glow of enthusiasm.

_June 21._ Sauntered along the river-bank to my lily gardens. The
perfection of beauty in these lilies of the wilderness is a never-ending
source of admiration and wonder. Their rhizomes are set in black mould
accumulated in hollows of the metamorphic slates beside the pools, where
they are well watered without being subjected to flood action. Every
leaf in the level whorls around the tall polished stalks is as finely
finished as the petals, and the light and heat required are measured for
them and tempered in passing through the branches of over-leaning trees.
However strong the winds from the noon rainstorms, they are securely
sheltered. Beautiful hypnum carpets bordered with ferns are spread
beneath them, violets too, and a few daisies. Everything around them
sweet and fresh like themselves.

Cloudland to-day is only a solitary white mountain; but it is so
enriched with sunshine and shade, the tones of color on its big domed
head and bossy outbulging ridges, and in the hollows and ravines between
them, are ineffably fine.

_June 22._ Unusually cloudy. Besides the periodical shower-bearing
cumuli there is a thin, diffused, fog-like cloud overhead. About .75 in
all.

_June 23._ Oh, these vast, calm, measureless mountain days, inciting at
once to work and rest! Days in whose light everything seems equally
divine, opening a thousand windows to show us God. Nevermore, however
weary, should one faint by the way who gains the blessings of one
mountain day; whatever his fate, long life, short life, stormy or calm,
he is rich forever.

_June 24._ Our regular allowance of clouds and thunder. Shepherd Billy
is in a peck of trouble about the sheep; he declares that they are
possessed with more of the evil one than any other flock from the
beginning of the invention of mutton and wool to the last batch of it.
No matter how many are missing, he will not, he says, go a step to seek
them, because, as he reasons, while getting back one wanderer he would
probably lose ten. Therefore runaway hunting must be Carlo's and mine.
Billy's little dog Jack is also giving trouble by leaving camp every
night to visit his neighbors up the mountain at Brown's Flat. He is a
common-looking cur of no particular breed, but tremendously enterprising
in love and war. He has cut all the ropes and leather straps he has been
tied with, until his master in desperation, after climbing the brushy
mountain again and again to drag him back, fastened him with a pole
attached to his collar under his chin at one end, and to a stout sapling
at the other. But the pole gave good leverage, and by constant twisting
during the night, the fastening at the sapling end was chafed off, and
he set out on his usual journey, dragging the pole through the brush,
and reached the Indian settlement in safety. His master followed, and
making no allowance, gave him a beating, and swore in bad terms that
next evening he would "fix that infatuated pup" by anchoring him
unmercifully to the heavy cast-iron lid of our Dutch oven, weighing
about as much as the dog. It was linked directly to his collar close up
under the chin, so that the poor fellow seemed unable to stir. He stood
quite discouraged until after dark, unable to look about him, or even to
lie down unless he stretched himself out with his front feet across the
lid, and his head close down between his paws. Before morning, however,
Jack was heard far up the height howling Excelsior, cast-iron anchor to
the contrary notwithstanding. He must have walked, or rather climbed,
erect on his hind legs, clasping the heavy lid like a shield against his
breast, a formidable iron-clad condition in which to meet his rivals.
Next night, dog, pot-lid, and all, were tied up in an old bean-sack, and
thus at last angry Billy gained the victory. Just before leaving home,
Jack was bitten in the lower jaw by a rattlesnake, and for a week or so
his head and neck were swollen to more than double the normal size;
nevertheless he ran about as brisk and lively as ever, and is now
completely recovered. The only treatment he got was fresh milk--a gallon
or two at a time forcibly poured down his sore, poisoned throat.

_June 25._ Though only a sheep camp, this grand mountain hollow is home,
sweet home, every day growing sweeter, and I shall be sorry to leave it.
The lily gardens are safe as yet from the trampling flock. Poor, dusty,
raggedy, famishing creatures, I heartily pity them. Many a mile they
must go every day to gather their fifteen or twenty tons of chaparral
and grass.

_June 26._ Nuttall's flowering dogwood makes a fine show when in bloom.
The whole tree is then snowy white. The involucres are six to eight
inches wide. Along the streams it is a good-sized tree thirty to fifty
feet high, with a broad head when not crowded by companions. Its showy
involucres attract a crowd of moths, butterflies, and other winged
people about it for their own and, I suppose, the tree's advantage. It
likes plenty of cool water, and is a great drinker like the alder,
willow, and cottonwood, and flourishes best on stream banks, though it
often wanders far from streams in damp shady glens beneath the pines,
where it is much smaller. When the leaves ripen in the fall, they become
more beautiful than the flowers, displaying charming tones of red,
purple, and lavender. Another species grows in abundance as a chaparral
shrub on the shady sides of the hills, probably _Cornus sessilis_. The
leaves are eaten by the sheep.--Heard a few lightning strokes in the
distance, with rumbling, mumbling reverberations.

_June 27._ The beaked hazel (_Corylus rostrata_, var. _Californica_) is
common on cool slopes up toward the summit of the Pilot Peak Ridge.
There is something peculiarly attractive in the hazel, like the oaks and
heaths of the cool countries of our forefathers, and through them our
love for these plants has, I suppose, been transmitted. This species is
four or five feet high, leaves soft and hairy, grateful to the touch,
and the delicious nuts are eagerly gathered by Indians and squirrels.
The sky as usual adorned with white noon clouds.

_June 28._ Warm, mellow summer. The glowing sunbeams make every nerve
tingle. The new needles of the pines and firs are nearly full grown and
shine gloriously. Lizards are glinting about on the hot rocks; some that
live near the camp are more than half tame. They seem attentive to every
movement on our part, as if curious to simply look on without suspicion
of harm, turning their heads to look back, and making a variety of
pretty gestures. Gentle, guileless creatures with beautiful eyes, I
shall be sorry to leave them when we leave camp.

_June 29._ I have been making the acquaintance of a very interesting
little bird that flits about the falls and rapids of the main branches
of the river. It is not a water-bird in structure, though it gets its
living in the water, and never leaves the streams. It is not web-footed,
yet it dives fearlessly into deep swirling rapids, evidently to feed at
the bottom, using its wings to swim with under water just as ducks and
loons do. Sometimes it wades about in shallow places, thrusting its head
under from time to time in a jerking, nodding, frisky way that is sure
to attract attention. It is about the size of a robin, has short crisp
wings serviceable for flying either in water or air, and a tail of
moderate size slanted upward, giving it, with its nodding, bobbing
manners, a wrennish look. Its color is plain bluish ash, with a tinge of
brown on the head and shoulders. It flies from fall to fall, rapid to
rapid, with a solid whir of wing-beats like those of a quail, follows
the windings of the stream, and usually alights on some rock jutting up
out of the current, or on some stranded snag, or rarely on the dry limb
of an overhanging tree, perching like regular tree birds when it suits
its convenience. It has the oddest, daintiest mincing manners
imaginable; and the little fellow can sing too, a sweet, thrushy, fluty
song, rather low, not the least boisterous, and much less keen and
accentuated than from its vigorous briskness one would be led to look
for. What a romantic life this little bird leads on the most beautiful
portions of the streams, in a genial climate with shade and cool water
and spray to temper the summer heat. No wonder it is a fine singer,
considering the stream songs it hears day and night. Every breath the
little poet draws is part of a song, for all the air about the rapids
and falls is beaten into music, and its first lessons must begin before
it is born by the thrilling and quivering of the eggs in unison with the
tones of the falls. I have not yet found its nest, but it must be near
the streams, for it never leaves them.

_June 30._ Half cloudy, half sunny, clouds lustrous white. The tall
pines crowded along the top of the Pilot Peak Ridge look like six-inch
miniatures exquisitely outlined on the satiny sky. Average cloudiness
for the day about .25. No rain. And so this memorable month ends, a
stream of beauty unmeasured, no more to be sectioned off by almanac
arithmetic than sun-radiance or the currents of seas and rivers--a
peaceful, joyful stream of beauty. Every morning, arising from the death
of sleep, the happy plants and all our fellow animal creatures great and
small, and even the rocks, seemed to be shouting, "Awake, awake,
rejoice, rejoice, come love us and join in our song. Come! Come!"
Looking back through the stillness and romantic enchanting beauty and
peace of the camp grove, this June seems the greatest of all the months
of my life, the most truly, divinely free, boundless like eternity,
immortal. Everything in it seems equally divine--one smooth, pure, wild
glow of Heaven's love, never to be blotted or blurred by anything past
or to come.

_July 1._ Summer is ripe. Flocks of seeds are already out of their cups
and pods seeking their predestined places. Some will strike root and
grow up beside their parents, others flying on the wings of the wind far
from them, among strangers. Most of the young birds are full feathered
and out of their nests, though still looked after by both father and
mother, protected and fed and to some extent educated. How beautiful the
home life of birds! No wonder we all love them.

[Illustration: DOUGLAS SQUIRREL OBSERVING BROTHER MAN]

I like to watch the squirrels. There are two species here, the large
California gray and the Douglas. The latter is the brightest of all the
squirrels I have ever seen, a hot spark of life, making every tree
tingle with his prickly toes, a condensed nugget of fresh mountain vigor
and valor, as free from disease as a sunbeam. One cannot think of such
an animal ever being weary or sick. He seems to think the mountains
belong to him, and at first tried to drive away the whole flock of
sheep as well as the shepherd and dogs. How he scolds, and what faces he
makes, all eyes, teeth, and whiskers! If not so comically small, he
would indeed be a dreadful fellow. I should like to know more about his
bringing up, his life in the home knot-hole, as well as in the
tree-tops, throughout all seasons. Strange that I have not yet found a
nest full of young ones. The Douglas is nearly allied to the red
squirrel of the Atlantic slope, and may have been distributed to this
side of the continent by way of the great unbroken forests of the north.

The California gray is one of the most beautiful, and, next to the
Douglas, the most interesting of our hairy neighbors. Compared with the
Douglas he is twice as large, but far less lively and influential as a
worker in the woods and he manages to make his way through leaves and
branches with less stir than his small brother. I have never heard him
bark at anything except our dogs. When in search of food he glides
silently from branch to branch, examining last year's cones, to see
whether some few seeds may not be left between the scales, or gleans
fallen ones among the leaves on the ground, since none of the present
season's crop is yet available. His tail floats now behind him, now
above him, level or gracefully curled like a wisp of cirrus cloud,
every hair in its place, clean and shining and radiant as thistle-down
in spite of rough, gummy work. His whole body seems about as
unsubstantial as his tail. The little Douglas is fiery, peppery, full of
brag and fight and show, with movements so quick and keen they almost
sting the onlooker, and the harlequin gyrating show he makes of himself
turns one giddy to see. The gray is shy, and oftentimes stealthy in his
movements, as if half expecting an enemy in every tree and bush, and
back of every log, wishing only to be let alone apparently, and
manifesting no desire to be seen or admired or feared. The Indians hunt
this species for food, a good cause for caution, not to mention other
enemies--hawks, snakes, wild cats. In woods where food is abundant they
wear paths through sheltering thickets and over prostrate trees to some
favorite pool where in hot and dry weather they drink at nearly the same
hour every day. These pools are said to be narrowly watched, especially
by the boys, who lie in ambush with bow and arrow, and kill without
noise. But, in spite of enemies, squirrels are happy fellows, forest
favorites, types of tireless life. Of all Nature's wild beasts, they
seem to me the wildest. May we come to know each other better.

The chaparral-covered hill-slope to the south of the camp, besides
furnishing nesting-places for countless merry birds, is the home and
hiding-place of the curious wood rat (_Neotoma_), a handsome,
interesting animal, always attracting attention wherever seen. It is
more like a squirrel than a rat, is much larger, has delicate, thick,
soft fur of a bluish slate color, white on the belly; ears large, thin,
and translucent; eyes soft, full, and liquid; claws slender, sharp as
needles; and as his limbs are strong, he can climb about as well as a
squirrel. No rat or squirrel has so innocent a look, is so easily
approached, or expresses such confidence in one's good intentions. He
seems too fine for the thorny thickets he inhabits, and his hut also is
as unlike himself as may be, though softly furnished inside. No other
animal inhabitant of these mountains builds houses so large and striking
in appearance. The traveler coming suddenly upon a group of them for the
first time will not be likely to forget them. They are built of all
kinds of sticks, old rotten pieces picked up anywhere, and green prickly
twigs bitten from the nearest bushes, the whole mixed with miscellaneous
odds and ends of everything movable, such as bits of cloddy earth,
stones, bones, deerhorn, etc., piled up in a conical mass as if it were
got ready for burning. Some of these curious cabins are six feet high
and as wide at the base, and a dozen or more of them are occasionally
grouped together, less perhaps for the sake of society than for
advantages of food and shelter. Coming through the dense shaggy thickets
of some lonely hillside, the solitary explorer happening into one of
these strange villages is startled at the sight, and may fancy himself
in an Indian settlement, and begin to wonder what kind of reception he
is likely to get. But no savage face will he see, perhaps not a single
inhabitant, or at most two or three seated on top of their wigwams,
looking at the stranger with the mildest of wild eyes, and allowing a
near approach. In the centre of the rough spiky hut a soft nest is made
of the inner fibres of bark chewed to tow, and lined with feathers and
the down of various seeds, such as willow and milkweed. The delicate
creature in its prickly, thick-walled home suggests a tender flower in a
thorny involucre. Some of the nests are built in trees thirty or forty
feet from the ground, and even in garrets, as if seeking the company and
protection of man, like swallows and linnets, though accustomed to the
wildest solitude. Among housekeepers Neotoma has the reputation of a
thief, because he carries away everything transportable to his queer
hut,--knives, forks, combs, nails, tin cups, spectacles, etc.,--merely,
however, to strengthen his fortifications, I guess. His food at home, as
far as I have learned, is nearly the same as that of the
squirrels,--nuts, berries, seeds, and sometimes the bark and tender
shoots of the various species of ceanothus.

_July 2._ Warm, sunny day, thrilling plant and animals and rocks alike,
making sap and blood flow fast, and making every particle of the crystal
mountains throb and swirl and dance in glad accord like star-dust. No
dullness anywhere visible or thinkable. No stagnation, no death.
Everything kept in joyful rhythmic motion in the pulses of Nature's big
heart.

Pearl cumuli over the higher mountains--clouds, not with a silver
lining, but all silver. The brightest, crispest, rockiest-looking
clouds, most varied in features and keenest in outline I ever saw at any
time of year in any country. The daily building and unbuilding of these
snowy cloud-ranges--the highest Sierra--is a prime marvel to me, and I
gaze at the stupendous white domes, miles high, with ever fresh
admiration. But in the midst of these sky and mountain affairs a change
of diet is pulling us down. We have been out of bread a few days, and
begin to miss it more than seems reasonable for we have plenty of meat
and sugar and tea. Strange we should feel food-poor in so rich a
wilderness. The Indians put us to shame, so do the squirrels,--starchy
roots and seeds and bark in abundance, yet the failure of the meal sack
disturbs our bodily balance, and threatens our best enjoyments.

_July 3._ Warm. Breeze just enough to sift through the woods and waft
fragrance from their thousand fountains. The pine and fir cones are
growing well, resin and balsam dripping from every tree, and seeds are
ripening fast, promising a fine harvest. The squirrels will have bread.
They eat all kinds of nuts long before they are ripe, and yet never seem
to suffer in stomach.




CHAPTER III

A BREAD FAMINE


_July 4._ The air beyond the flock range, full of the essences of the
woods, is growing sweeter and more fragrant from day to day, like
ripening fruit.

Mr. Delaney is expected to arrive soon from the lowlands with a new
stock of provisions, and as the flock is to be moved to fresh pastures
we shall all be well fed. In the mean time our stock of beans as well as
flour has failed--everything but mutton, sugar, and tea. The shepherd is
somewhat demoralized, and seems to care but little what becomes of his
flock. He says that since the boss has failed to feed him he is not
rightly bound to feed the sheep, and swears that no decent white man can
climb these steep mountains on mutton alone. "It's not fittin' grub for
a white man really white. For dogs and coyotes and Indians it's
different. Good grub, good sheep. That's what I say." Such was Billy's
Fourth of July oration.

_July 5._ The clouds of noon on the high Sierra seem yet more
marvelously, indescribably beautiful from day to day as one becomes
more wakeful to see them. The smoke of the gunpowder burned yesterday on
the lowlands, and the eloquence of the orators has probably settled or
been blown away by this time. Here every day is a holiday, a jubilee
ever sounding with serene enthusiasm, without wear or waste or cloying
weariness. Everything rejoicing. Not a single cell or crystal unvisited
or forgotten.

_July 6._ Mr. Delaney has not arrived, and the bread famine is sore. We
must eat mutton a while longer, though it seems hard to get accustomed
to it. I have heard of Texas pioneers living without bread or anything
made from the cereals for months without suffering, using the
breast-meat of wild turkeys for bread. Of this kind they had plenty in
the good old days when life, though considered less safe, was fussed
over the less. The trappers and fur traders of early days in the Rocky
Mountain regions lived on bison and beaver meat for months.
Salmon-eaters, too, there are among both Indians and whites who seem to
suffer little or not at all from the want of bread. Just at this moment
mutton seems the least desirable of food, though of good quality. We
pick out the leanest bits, and down they go against heavy disgust,
causing nausea and an effort to reject the offensive stuff. Tea makes
matters worse, if possible. The stomach begins to assert itself as an
independent creature with a will of its own. We should boil lupine
leaves, clover, starchy petioles, and saxifrage rootstocks like the
Indians. We try to ignore our gastric troubles, rise and gaze about us,
turn our eyes to the mountains, and climb doggedly up through brush and
rocks into the heart of the scenery. A stifled calm comes on, and the
day's duties and even enjoyments are languidly got through with. We chew
a few leaves of ceanothus by way of luncheon, and smell or chew the
spicy monardella for the dull headache and stomach-ache that now
lightens, now comes muffling down upon us and into us like fog. At night
more mutton, flesh to flesh, down with it, not too much, and there are
the stars shining through the cedar plumes and branches above our beds.

_July 7._ Rather weak and sickish this morning, and all about a piece of
bread. Can scarce command attention to my best studies, as if one
couldn't take a few days' saunter in the Godful woods without
maintaining a base on a wheat-field and gristmill. Like caged parrots we
want a cracker, any of the hundred kinds--the remainder biscuit of a
voyage around the world would answer well enough, nor would the
wholesomeness of saleratus biscuit be questioned. Bread without flesh
is a good diet, as on many botanical excursions I have proved. Tea also
may easily be ignored. Just bread and water and delightful toil is all I
need,--not unreasonably much, yet one ought to be trained and tempered
to enjoy life in these brave wilds in full independence of any
particular kind of nourishment. That this may be accomplished is
manifest, as far as bodily welfare is concerned, in the lives of people
of other climes. The Eskimo, for example, gets a living far north of the
wheat line, from oily seals and whales. Meat, berries, bitter weeds, and
blubber, or only the last, for months at a time; and yet these people
all around the frozen shores of our continent are said to be hearty,
jolly, stout, and brave. We hear, too, of fish-eaters, carnivorous as
spiders, yet well enough as far as stomachs are concerned, while we are
so ridiculously helpless, making wry faces over our fare, looking
sheepish in digestive distress amid rumbling, grumbling sounds that
might well pass for smothered baas. We have a large supply of sugar, and
this evening it occurred to me that these belligerent stomachs might
possibly, like complaining children, be coaxed with candy. Accordingly
the frying-pan was cleansed, and a lot of sugar cooked in it to a sort
of wax, but this stuff only made matters worse.

Man seems to be the only animal whose food soils him, making necessary
much washing and shield-like bibs and napkins. Moles living in the earth
and eating slimy worms are yet as clean as seals or fishes, whose lives
are one perpetual wash. And, as we have seen, the squirrels in these
resiny woods keep themselves clean in some mysterious way; not a hair is
sticky, though they handle the gummy cones, and glide about apparently
without care. The birds, too, are clean, though they seem to make a good
deal of fuss washing and cleaning their feathers. Certain flies and ants
I see are in a fix, entangled and sealed up in the sugar-wax we threw
away, like some of their ancestors in amber. Our stomachs, like tired
muscles, are sore with long squirming. Once I was very hungry in the
Bonaventure graveyard near Savannah, Georgia, having fasted for several
days; then the empty stomach seemed to chafe in much the same way as
now, and a somewhat similar tenderness and aching was produced, hard to
bear, though the pain was not acute. We dream of bread, a sure sign we
need it. Like the Indians, we ought to know how to get the starch out of
fern and saxifrage stalks, lily bulbs, pine bark, etc. Our education has
been sadly neglected for many generations. Wild rice would be good. I
noticed a leersia in wet meadow edges, but the seeds are small. Acorns
are not ripe, nor pine nuts, nor filberts. The inner bark of pine or
spruce might be tried. Drank tea until half intoxicated. Man seems to
crave a stimulant when anything extraordinary is going on, and this is
the only one I use. Billy chews great quantities of tobacco, which I
suppose helps to stupefy and moderate his misery. We look and listen for
the Don every hour. How beautiful upon the mountains his big feet would
be!

In the warm, hospitable Sierra, shepherds and mountain men in general,
as far as I have seen, are easily satisfied as to food supplies and
bedding. Most of them are heartily content to "rough it," ignoring
Nature's fineness as bothersome or unmanly. The shepherd's bed is often
only the bare ground and a pair of blankets, with a stone, a piece of
wood, or a pack-saddle for a pillow. In choosing the spot, he shows less
care than the dogs, for they usually deliberate before making up their
minds in so important an affair, going from place to place, scraping
away loose sticks and pebbles, and trying for comfort by making many
changes, while the shepherd casts himself down anywhere, seemingly the
least skilled of all rest seekers. His food, too, even when he has all
he wants, is usually far from delicate, either in kind or cooking.
Beans, bread of any sort, bacon, mutton, dried peaches, and sometimes
potatoes and onions, make up his bill-of-fare, the two latter articles
being regarded as luxuries on account of their weight as compared with
the nourishment they contain; a half-sack or so of each may be put into
the pack in setting out from the home ranch and in a few days they are
done. Beans are the main standby, portable, wholesome, and capable of
going far, besides being easily cooked, although curiously enough a
great deal of mystery is supposed to lie about the bean-pot. No two
cooks quite agree on the methods of making beans do their best, and,
after petting and coaxing and nursing the savory mess,--well oiled and
mellowed with bacon boiled into the heart of it,--the proud cook will
ask, after dishing out a quart or two for trial, "Well, how do you like
_my_ beans?" as if by no possibility could they be like any other beans
cooked in the same way, but must needs possess some special virtue of
which he alone is master. Molasses, sugar, or pepper may be used to give
desired flavors; or the first water may be poured off and a spoonful or
two of ashes or soda added to dissolve or soften the skins more fully,
according to various tastes and notions. But, like casks of wine, no two
potfuls are exactly alike to every palate. Some are supposed to be
spoiled by the moon, by some unlucky day, by the beans having been grown
on soil not suitable; or the whole year may be to blame as not favorable
for beans.

Coffee, too, has its marvels in the camp kitchen, but not so many, and
not so inscrutable as those that beset the bean-pot. A low, complacent
grunt follows a mouthful drawn in with a gurgle, and the remark cast
forth aimlessly, "That's good coffee." Then another gurgling sip and
repetition of the judgment, "_Yes, sir_, that _is_ good coffee." As to
tea, there are but two kinds, weak and strong, the stronger the better.
The only remark heard is, "That tea's weak," otherwise it is good enough
and not worth mentioning. If it has been boiled an hour or two or smoked
on a pitchy fire, no matter,--who cares for a little tannin or creosote?
they make the black beverage all the stronger and more attractive to
tobacco-tanned palates.

Sheep-camp bread, like most California camp bread, is baked in Dutch
ovens, some of it in the form of yeast powder biscuit, an unwholesome
sticky compound leading straight to dyspepsia. The greater part,
however, is fermented with sour dough, a handful from each batch being
saved and put away in the mouth of the flour sack to inoculate the
next. The oven is simply a cast-iron pot, about five inches deep and
from twelve to eighteen inches wide. After the batch has been mixed and
kneaded in a tin pan the oven is slightly heated and rubbed with a piece
of tallow or pork rind. The dough is then placed in it, pressed out
against the sides, and left to rise. When ready for baking a shovelful
of coals is spread out by the side of the fire and the oven set upon
them, while another shovelful is placed on top of the lid, which is
raised from time to time to see that the requisite amount of heat is
being kept up. With care good bread may be made in this way, though it
is liable to be burned or to be sour, or raised too much, and the weight
of the oven is a serious objection.

At last Don Delaney comes doon the lang glen--hunger vanishes, we turn
our eyes to the mountains, and to-morrow we go climbing toward
cloudland.

Never while anything is left of me shall this first camp be forgotten.
It has fairly grown into me, not merely as memory pictures, but as part
and parcel of mind and body alike. The deep hopper-like hollow, with its
majestic trees through which all the wonderful nights the stars poured
their beauty. The flowery wildness of the high steep slope toward
Brown's Flat, and its bloom-fragrance descending at the close of the
still days. The embowered river-reaches with their multitude of voices
making melody, the stately flow and rush and glad exulting onsweeping
currents caressing the dipping sedge-leaves and bushes and mossy stones,
swirling in pools, dividing against little flowery islands, breaking
gray and white here and there, ever rejoicing, yet with deep solemn
undertones recalling the ocean--the brave little bird ever beside them,
singing with sweet human tones among the waltzing foam-bells, and like a
blessed evangel explaining God's love. And the Pilot Peak Ridge, its
long withdrawing slopes gracefully modeled and braided, reaching from
climate to climate, feathered with trees that are the kings of their
race, their ranks nobly marshaled to view, spire above spire, crown
above crown, waving their long, leafy arms, tossing their cones like
ringing bells--blessed sun-fed mountaineers rejoicing in their strength,
every tree tuneful, a harp for the winds and the sun. The hazel and
buckthorn pastures of the deer, the sun-beaten brows purple and yellow
with mint and golden-rods, carpeted with chamæbatia, humming with bees.
And the dawns and sunrises and sundowns of these mountain days,--the
rose light creeping higher among the stars, changing to daffodil yellow,
the level beams bursting forth, streaming across the ridges, touching
pine after pine, awakening and warming all the mighty host to do gladly
their shining day's work. The great sun-gold noons, the alabaster
cloud-mountains, the landscape beaming with consciousness like the face
of a god. The sunsets, when the trees stood hushed awaiting their
good-night blessings. Divine, enduring, unwastable wealth.




CHAPTER IV

TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS


_July 8._ Now away we go toward the topmost mountains. Many still, small
voices, as well as the noon thunder, are calling, "Come higher."
Farewell, blessed dell, woods, gardens, streams, birds, squirrels,
lizards, and a thousand others. Farewell. Farewell.

Up through the woods the hoofed locusts streamed beneath a cloud of
brown dust. Scarcely were they driven a hundred yards from the old
corral ere they seemed to know that at last they were going to new
pastures, and rushed wildly ahead, crowding through gaps in the brush,
jumping, tumbling like exulting hurrahing flood-waters escaping through
a broken dam. A man on each flank kept shouting advice to the leaders,
who in their famishing condition were behaving like Gadarene swine; two
other drivers were busy with stragglers, helping them out of brush
tangles; the Indian, calm, alert, silently watched for wanderers likely
to be overlooked; the two dogs ran here and there, at a loss to know
what was best to be done, while the Don, soon far in the rear, was
trying to keep in sight of his troublesome wealth.

[Illustration: DIVIDE BETWEEN THE TUOLUMNE AND THE MERCED BELOW HAZEL
GREEN]

As soon as the boundary of the old eaten-out range was passed the hungry
horde suddenly became calm, like a mountain stream in a meadow.
Thenceforward they were allowed to eat their way as slowly as they
wished, care being taken only to keep them headed toward the summit of
the Merced and Tuolumne divide. Soon the two thousand flattened paunches
were bulged out with sweet-pea vines and grass, and the gaunt, desperate
creatures, more like wolves than sheep, became bland and governable,
while the howling drivers changed to gentle shepherds, and sauntered in
peace.

Toward sundown we reached Hazel Green, a charming spot on the summit of
the dividing ridge between the basins of the Merced and Tuolumne, where
there is a small brook flowing through hazel and dogwood thickets
beneath magnificent silver firs and pines. Here, we are camped for the
night, our big fire, heaped high with rosiny logs and branches, is
blazing like a sunrise, gladly giving back the light slowly sifted from
the sunbeams of centuries of summers; and in the glow of that old
sunlight how impressively surrounding objects are brought forward in
relief against the outer darkness! Grasses, larkspurs, columbines,
lilies, hazel bushes, and the great trees form a circle around the fire
like thoughtful spectators, gazing and listening with human-like
enthusiasm. The night breeze is cool, for all day we have been climbing
into the upper sky, the home of the cloud mountains we so long have
admired. How sweet and keen the air! Every breath a blessing. Here the
sugar pine reaches its fullest development in size and beauty and number
of individuals, filling every swell and hollow and down-plunging ravine
almost to the exclusion of other species. A few yellow pines are still
to be found as companions, and in the coolest places silver firs; but
noble as these are, the sugar pine is king, and spreads long protecting
arms above them while they rock and wave in sign of recognition.

We have now reached a height of six thousand feet. In the forenoon we
passed along a flat part of the dividing ridge that is planted with
manzanita (_Arctostaphylos_), some specimens the largest I have seen. I
measured one, the bole of which is four feet in diameter and only
eighteen inches high from the ground, where it dissolves into many
wide-spreading branches forming a broad round head about ten or twelve
feet high, covered with clusters of small narrow-throated pink bells.
The leaves are pale green, glandular, and set on edge by a twist of the
petiole. The branches seem naked; for the chocolate-colored bark is very
smooth and thin, and is shed off in flakes that curl when dry. The wood
is red, close-grained, hard, and heavy. I wonder how old these curious
tree-bushes are, probably as old as the great pines. Indians and bears
and birds and fat grubs feast on the berries, which look like small
apples, often rosy on one side, green on the other. The Indians are said
to make a kind of beer or cider out of them. There are many species.
This one, _Arctostaphylos pungens_, is common hereabouts. No need have
they to fear the wind, so low they are and steadfastly rooted. Even the
fires that sweep the woods seldom destroy them utterly, for they rise
again from the root, and some of the dry ridges they grow on are seldom
touched by fire. I must try to know them better.

I miss my river songs to-night. Here Hazel Creek at its topmost springs
has a voice like a bird. The wind-tones in the great trees overhead are
strangely impressive, all the more because not a leaf stirs below them.
But it grows late, and I must to bed. The camp is silent; everybody
asleep. It seems extravagant to spend hours so precious in sleep. "He
giveth his beloved sleep." Pity the poor beloved needs it, weak, weary,
forspent; oh, the pity of it, to sleep in the midst of eternal,
beautiful motion instead of gazing forever, like the stars.

_July 9._ Exhilarated with the mountain air, I feel like shouting this
morning with excess of wild animal joy. The Indian lay down away from
the fire last night, without blankets, having nothing on, by way of
clothing, but a pair of blue overalls and a calico shirt wet with sweat.
The night air is chilly at this elevation, and we gave him some
horse-blankets, but he didn't seem to care for them. A fine thing to be
independent of clothing where it is so hard to carry. When food is
scarce, he can live on whatever comes in his way--a few berries, roots,
bird eggs, grasshoppers, black ants, fat wasp or bumblebee larvæ,
without feeling that he is doing anything worth mention, so I have been
told.

[Illustration: _A Silver Fir, or Red Fir (Abies magnifica)_]

Our course to-day was along the broad top of the main ridge to a hollow
beyond Crane Flat. It is scarce at all rocky, and is covered with the
noblest pines and spruces I have yet seen. Sugar pines from six to eight
feet in diameter are not uncommon, with a height of two hundred feet or
even more. The silver firs (_Abies concolor_ and _A. magnifica_) are
exceedingly beautiful, especially the _magnifica_, which becomes
more abundant the higher we go. It is of great size, one of the most
notable in every way of the giant conifers of the Sierra. I saw
specimens that measured seven feet in diameter and over two hundred feet
in height, while the average size for what might be called full-grown
mature trees can hardly be less than one hundred and eighty or two
hundred feet high and five or six feet in diameter; and with these noble
dimensions there is a symmetry and perfection of finish not to be seen
in any other tree, hereabout at least. The branches are whorled in fives
mostly, and stand out from the tall, straight, exquisitely tapered bole
in level collars, each branch regularly pinnated like the fronds of
ferns, and densely clad with leaves all around the branchlets, thus
giving them a singularly rich and sumptuous appearance. The extreme top
of the tree is a thick blunt shoot pointing straight to the zenith like
an admonishing finger. The cones stand erect like casks on the upper
branches. They are about six inches long, three in diameter, blunt,
velvety, and cylindrical in form, and very rich and precious looking.
The seeds are about three quarters of an inch long, dark reddish brown
with brilliant iridescent purple wings, and when ripe, the cone falls
to pieces, and the seeds thus set free at a height of one hundred and
fifty or two hundred feet have a good send off and may fly considerable
distances in a good breeze; and it is when a good breeze is blowing that
most of them are shaken free to fly.

The other species, _Abies concolor_, attains nearly as great a height
and thickness as the _magnifica_, but the branches do not form such
regular whorls, nor are they so exactly pinnated or richly leaf-clad.
Instead of growing all around the branchlets, the leaves are mostly
arranged in two flat horizontal rows. The cones and seeds are like those
of the _magnifica_ in form but less than half as large. The bark of the
_magnifica_ is reddish purple and closely furrowed, that of the
_concolor_ gray and widely furrowed. A noble pair.

At Crane Flat we climbed a thousand feet or more in a distance of about
two miles, the forest growing more dense and the silvery _magnifica_ fir
forming a still greater portion of the whole. Crane Flat is a meadow
with a wide sandy border lying on the top of the divide. It is often
visited by blue cranes to rest and feed on their long journeys, hence
the name. It is about half a mile long, draining into the Merced, sedgy
in the middle, with a margin bright with lilies, columbines, larkspurs,
lupines, castilleia, then an outer zone of dry, gently sloping ground
starred with a multitude of small flowers,--eunanus, mimulus, gilia,
with rosettes of spraguea, and tufts of several species of eriogonum and
the brilliant zauschneria. The noble forest wall about it is made up of
the two silver firs and the yellow and sugar pines, which here seem to
reach their highest pitch of beauty and grandeur; for the elevation, six
thousand feet or a little more, is not too great for the sugar and
yellow pines or too low for the _magnifica_ fir, while the _concolor_
seems to find this elevation the best possible. About a mile from the
north end of the flat there is a grove of _Sequoia gigantea_, the king
of all the conifers. Furthermore, the Douglas spruce (_Pseudotsuga
Douglasii_) and _Libocedrus decurrens_, and a few two-leaved pines,
occur here and there, forming a small part of the forest. Three pines,
two silver firs, one Douglas spruce, one sequoia,--all of them, except
the two-leaved pine, colossal trees,--are found here together, an
assemblage of conifers unrivaled on the globe.

We passed a number of charming garden-like meadows lying on top of the
divide or hanging like ribbons down its sides, imbedded in the glorious
forest. Some are taken up chiefly with the tall white-flowered _Veratrum
Californicum_, with boat-shaped leaves about a foot long, eight or ten
inches wide, and veined like those of cypripedium,--a robust, hearty,
liliaceous plant, fond of water and determined to be seen. Columbine and
larkspur grow on the dryer edges of the meadows, with a tall handsome
lupine standing waist-deep in long grasses and sedges. Castilleias, too,
of several species make a bright show with beds of violets at their
feet. But the glory of these forest meadows is a lily (_L. parvum_). The
tallest are from seven to eight feet high with magnificent racemes of
ten to twenty or more small orange-colored flowers; they stand out free
in open ground, with just enough grass and other companion plants about
them to fringe their feet, and show them off to best advantage. This is
a grand addition to my lily acquaintances,--a true mountaineer, reaching
prime vigor and beauty at a height of seven thousand feet or
thereabouts. It varies, I find, very much in size even in the same
meadow, not only with the soil, but with age. I saw a specimen that had
only one flower, and another within a stone's throw had twenty-five. And
to think that the sheep should be allowed in these lily meadows! after
how many centuries of Nature's care planting and watering them, tucking
the bulbs in snugly below winter frost, shading the tender shoots with
clouds drawn above them like curtains, pouring refreshing rain, making
them perfect in beauty, and keeping them safe by a thousand miracles;
yet, strange to say, allowing the trampling of devastating sheep. One
might reasonably look for a wall of fire to fence such gardens. So
extravagant is Nature with her choicest treasures, spending plant beauty
as she spends sunshine, pouring it forth into land and sea, garden and
desert. And so the beauty of lilies falls on angels and men, bears and
squirrels, wolves and sheep, birds and bees, but as far as I have seen,
man alone, and the animals he tames, destroy these gardens. Awkward,
lumbering bears, the Don tells me, love to wallow in them in hot
weather, and deer with their sharp feet cross them again and again,
sauntering and feeding, yet never a lily have I seen spoiled by them.
Rather, like gardeners, they seem to cultivate them, pressing and
dibbling as required. Anyhow not a leaf or petal seems misplaced.

The trees round about them seem as perfect in beauty and form as the
lilies, their boughs whorled like lily leaves in exact order. This
evening, as usual, the glow of our camp-fire is working enchantment on
everything within reach of its rays. Lying beneath the firs, it is
glorious to see them dipping their spires in the starry sky, the sky
like one vast lily meadow in bloom! How can I close my eyes on so
precious a night?

_July 10._ A Douglas squirrel, peppery, pungent autocrat of the woods,
is barking overhead this morning, and the small forest birds, so seldom
seen when one travels noisily, are out on sunny branches along the edge
of the meadow getting warm, taking a sun bath and dew bath--a fine
sight. How charming the sprightly confident looks and ways of these
little feathered people of the trees! They seem sure of dainty,
wholesome breakfasts, and where are so many breakfasts to come from? How
helpless should we find ourselves should we try to set a table for them
of such buds, seeds, insects, etc., as would keep them in the pure wild
health they enjoy! Not a headache or any other ache amongst them, I
guess. As for the irrepressible Douglas squirrels, one never thinks of
their breakfasts or the possibility of hunger, sickness or death; rather
they seem like stars above chance or change, even though we may see them
at times busy gathering burrs, working hard for a living.

On through the forest ever higher we go, a cloud of dust dimming the
way, thousands of feet trampling leaves and flowers, but in this mighty
wilderness they seem but a feeble band, and a thousand gardens will
escape their blighting touch. They cannot hurt the trees, though some of
the seedlings suffer, and should the woolly locusts be greatly
multiplied, as on account of dollar value they are likely to be, then
the forests, too, may in time be destroyed. Only the sky will then be
safe, though hid from view by dust and smoke, incense of a bad
sacrifice. Poor, helpless, hungry sheep, in great part misbegotten,
without good right to be, semi-manufactured, made less by God than man,
born out of time and place, yet their voices are strangely human and
call out one's pity.

Our way is still along the Merced and Tuolumne divide, the streams on
our right going to swell the songful Yosemite River, those on our left
to the songful Tuolumne, slipping through sunny carex and lily meadows,
and breaking into song down a thousand ravines almost as soon as they
are born. A more tuneful set of streams surely nowhere exists, or more
sparkling crystal pure, now gliding with tinkling whisper, now with
merry dimpling rush, in and out through sunshine and shade, shimmering
in pools, uniting their currents, bouncing, dancing from form to form
over cliffs and inclines, ever more beautiful the farther they go until
they pour into the main glacial rivers.

All day I have been gazing in growing admiration at the noble groups of
the magnificent silver fir which more and more is taking the ground to
itself. The woods above Crane Flat still continue comparatively open,
letting in the sunshine on the brown needle-strewn ground. Not only are
the individual trees admirable in symmetry and superb in foliage and
port, but half a dozen or more often form temple groves in which the
trees are so nicely graded in size and position as to seem one. Here,
indeed, is the tree-lover's paradise. The dullest eye in the world must
surely be quickened by such trees as these.

Fortunately the sheep need little attention, as they are driven slowly
and allowed to nip and nibble as they like. Since leaving Hazel Green we
have been following the Yosemite trail; visitors to the famous valley
coming by way of Coulterville and Chinese Camp pass this way--the two
trails uniting at Crane Flat--and enter the valley on the north side.
Another trail enters on the south side by way of Mariposa. The tourists
we saw were in parties of from three or four to fifteen or twenty,
mounted on mules or small mustang ponies. A strange show they made,
winding single file through the solemn woods in gaudy attire, scaring
the wild creatures, and one might fancy that even the great pines would
be disturbed and groan aghast. But what may we say of ourselves and the
flock?

We are now camped at Tamarack Flat, within four or five miles of the
lower end of Yosemite. Here is another fine meadow embosomed in the
woods, with a deep, clear stream gliding through it, its banks rounded
and beveled with a thatch of dipping sedges. The flat is named after the
two-leaved pine (_Pinus contorta_, var. _Murrayana_), common here,
especially around the cool margin of the meadow. On rocky ground it is a
rough, thickset tree, about forty to sixty feet high and one to three
feet in diameter, bark thin and gummy, branches rather naked, tassels,
leaves, and cones small. But in damp, rich soil it grows close and
slender, and reaches a height at times of nearly a hundred feet.
Specimens only six inches in diameter at the ground are often fifty or
sixty feet in height, as slender and sharp in outline as arrows, like
the true tamarack (larch) of the Eastern States; hence the name, though
it is a pine.

_July 11._ The Don has gone ahead on one of the pack animals to spy out
the land to the north of Yosemite in search of the best point for a
central camp. Much higher than this we cannot now go, for the upper
pastures, said to be better than any hereabouts, are still buried in
heavy winter snow. Glad I am that camp is to be fixed in the Yosemite
region, for many a glorious ramble I'll have along the top of the walls,
and then what landscapes I shall find with their new mountains and
cañons, forests and gardens, lakes and streams and falls.

We are now about seven thousand feet above the sea, and the nights are
so cool we have to pile coats and extra clothing on top of our blankets.
Tamarack Creek is icy cold, delicious, exhilarating champagne water. It
is flowing bank-full in the meadow with silent speed, but only a few
hundred yards below our camp the ground is bare gray granite strewn with
boulders, large spaces being without a single tree or only a small one
here and there anchored in narrow seams and cracks. The boulders, many
of them very large, are not in piles or scattered like rubbish among
loose crumbling débris as if weathered out of the solid as boulders of
disintegration; they mostly occur singly, and are lying on a clean
pavement on which the sunshine falls in a glare that contrasts with the
shimmer of light and shade we have been accustomed to in the leafy
woods. And, strange to say, these boulders lying so still and deserted,
with no moving force near them, no boulder carrier anywhere in sight,
were nevertheless brought from a distance, as difference in color and
composition shows, quarried and carried and laid down here each in its
place; nor have they stirred, most of them, through calm and storm since
first they arrived. They look lonely here, strangers in a strange
land,--huge blocks, angular mountain chips, the largest twenty or thirty
feet in diameter, the chips that Nature has made in modeling her
landscapes, fashioning the forms of her mountains and valleys. And with
what tool were they quarried and carried? On the pavement we find its
marks. The most resisting unweathered portion of the surface is scored
and striated in a rigidly parallel way, indicating that the region has
been overswept by a glacier from the northeastward, grinding down the
general mass of the mountains, scoring and polishing, producing a
strange, raw, wiped appearance, and dropping whatever boulders it
chanced to be carrying at the time it was melted at the close of the
Glacial Period. A fine discovery this. As for the forests we have been
passing through, they are probably growing on deposits of soil most of
which has been laid down by this same ice agent in the form of moraines
of different sorts, now in great part disintegrated and outspread by
post-glacial weathering.

Out of the grassy meadow and down over this ice-planed granite runs the
glad young Tamarack Creek, rejoicing, exulting, chanting, dancing in
white, glowing, irised falls and cascades on its way to the Merced
Cañon, a few miles below Yosemite, falling more than three thousand feet
in a distance of about two miles.

All the Merced streams are wonderful singers, and Yosemite is the centre
where the main tributaries meet. From a point about half a mile from our
camp we can see into the lower end of the famous valley, with its
wonderful cliffs and groves, a grand page of mountain manuscript that I
would gladly give my life to be able to read. How vast it seems, how
short human life when we happen to think of it, and how little we may
learn, however hard we try! Yet why bewail our poor inevitable
ignorance? Some of the external beauty is always in sight, enough to
keep every fibre of us tingling, and this we are able to gloriously
enjoy though the methods of its creation may lie beyond our ken. Sing
on, brave Tamarack Creek, fresh from your snowy fountains, plash and
swirl and dance to your fate in the sea; bathing, cheering every living
thing along your way.

Have greatly enjoyed all this huge day, sauntering and seeing, steeping
in the mountain influences, sketching, noting, pressing flowers,
drinking ozone and Tamarack water. Found the white fragrant Washington
lily, the finest of all the Sierra lilies. Its bulbs are buried in
shaggy chaparral tangles, I suppose for safety from pawing bears; and
its magnificent panicles sway and rock over the top of the rough
snow-pressed bushes, while big, bold, blunt-nosed bees drone and mumble
in its polleny bells. A lovely flower, worth going hungry and footsore
endless miles to see. The whole world seems richer now that I have found
this plant in so noble a landscape.

A log house serves to mark a claim to the Tamarack meadow, which may
become valuable as a station in case travel to Yosemite should greatly
increase. Belated parties occasionally stop here. A white man with an
Indian woman is holding possession of the place.

Sauntered up the meadow about sundown, out of sight of camp and sheep
and all human mark, into the deep peace of the solemn old woods,
everything glowing with Heaven's unquenchable enthusiasm.

_July 12._ The Don has returned, and again we go on pilgrimage.
"Looking over the Yosemite Creek country," he said, "from the tops of
the hills you see nothing but rocks and patches of trees; but when you
go down into the rocky desert you find no end of small grassy banks and
meadows, and so the country is not half so lean as it looks. There we'll
go and stay until the snow is melted from the upper country."

I was glad to hear that the high snow made a stay in the Yosemite region
necessary, for I am anxious to see as much of it as possible. What fine
times I shall have sketching, studying plants and rocks, and scrambling
about the brink of the great valley alone, out of sight and sound of
camp!

We saw another party of Yosemite tourists to-day. Somehow most of these
travelers seem to care but little for the glorious objects about them,
though enough to spend time and money and endure long rides to see the
famous valley. And when they are fairly within the mighty walls of the
temple and hear the psalms of the falls, they will forget themselves and
become devout. Blessed, indeed, should be every pilgrim in these holy
mountains!

We moved slowly eastward along the Mono Trail, and early in the
afternoon unpacked and camped on the bank of Cascade Creek. The Mono
Trail crosses the range by the Bloody Cañon Pass to gold mines near the
north end of Mono Lake. These mines were reported to be rich when first
discovered, and a grand rush took place, making a trail necessary. A few
small bridges were built over streams where fording was not practicable
on account of the softness of the bottom, sections of fallen trees cut
out, and lanes made through thickets wide enough to allow the passage of
bulky packs; but over the greater part of the way scarce a stone or
shovelful of earth has been moved.

The woods we passed through are composed almost wholly of _Abies
magnifica_, the companion species, _concolor_, being mostly left behind
on account of altitude, while the increasing elevation seems grateful to
the charming _magnifica_. No words can do anything like justice to this
noble tree. At one place many had fallen during some heavy wind-storm,
owing to the loose sandy character of the soil, which offered no secure
anchorage. The soil is mostly decomposed and disintegrated moraine
material.

The sheep are lying down on a bare rocky spot such as they like, chewing
the cud in grassy peace. Cooking is going on, appetites growing keener
every day. No lowlander can appreciate the mountain appetite, and the
facility with which heavy food called "grub" is disposed of. Eating,
walking, resting, seem alike delightful, and one feels inclined to shout
lustily on rising in the morning like a crowing cock. Sleep and
digestion as clear as the air. Fine spicy plush boughs for bedding we
shall have to-night, and a glorious lullaby from this cascading creek.
Never was stream more fittingly named, for as far as I have traced it
above and below our camp it is one continuous bouncing, dancing, white
bloom of cascades. And at the very last unwearied it finishes its wild
course in a grand leap of three hundred feet or more to the bottom of
the main Yosemite cañon near the fall of Tamarack Creek, a few miles
below the foot of the valley. These falls almost rival some of the
far-famed Yosemite falls. Never shall I forget these glad cascade songs,
the low booming, the roaring, the keen, silvery clashing of the cool
water rushing exulting from form to form beneath irised spray; or in the
deep still night seen white in the darkness, and its multitude of voices
sounding still more impressively sublime. Here I find the little water
ouzel as much at home as any linnet in a leafy grove, seeming to take
the greater delight the more boisterous the stream. The dizzy
precipices, the swift dashing energy displayed, and the thunder tones of
the sheer falls are awe inspiring, but there is nothing awful about
this little bird. Its song is sweet and low, and all its gestures, as it
flits about amid the loud uproar, bespeak strength and peace and joy.
Contemplating these darlings of Nature coming forth from spray-sprinkled
nests on the brink of savage streams, Samson's riddle comes to mind,
"Out of the strong cometh forth sweetness." A yet finer bloom is this
little bird than the foam-bells in eddying pools. Gentle bird, a
precious message you bring me. We may miss the meaning of the torrent,
but thy sweet voice, only love is in it.

_July 13._ Our course all day has been eastward over the rim of Yosemite
Creek basin and down about halfway to the bottom, where we have encamped
on a sheet of glacier-polished granite, a firm foundation for beds. Saw
the tracks of a very large bear on the trail, and the Don talked of
bears in general. I said I should like to see the maker of these immense
tracks as he marched along, and follow him for days, without disturbing
him, to learn something of the life of this master beast of the
wilderness. Lambs, the Don told me, born in the lowland, that never saw
or heard a bear, snort and run in terror when they catch the scent,
showing how fully they have inherited a knowledge of their enemy. Hogs,
mules, horses, and cattle are afraid of bears, and are seized with
ungovernable terror when they approach, particularly hogs and mules.
Hogs are frequently driven to pastures in the foothills of the Coast
Range and Sierra where acorns are abundant, and are herded in droves of
hundreds like sheep. When a bear comes to the range they promptly leave
it, emigrating in a body, usually in the night time, the keepers being
powerless to prevent; they thus show more sense than sheep, that simply
scatter in the rocks and brush and await their fate. Mules flee like the
wind with or without riders when they see a bear, and, if picketed,
sometimes break their necks in trying to break their ropes, though I
have not heard of bears killing mules or horses. Of hogs they are said
to be particularly fond, bolting small ones, bones and all, without
choice of parts. In particular, Mr. Delaney assured me that all kinds of
bears in the Sierra are very shy, and that hunters found far greater
difficulty in getting within gunshot of them than of deer or indeed any
other animal in the Sierra, and if I was anxious to see much of them I
should have to wait and watch with endless Indian patience and pay no
attention to anything else.

Night is coming on, the gray rock waves are growing dim in the twilight.
How raw and young this region appears! Had the ice sheet that swept
over it vanished but yesterday, its traces on the more resisting
portions about our camp could hardly be more distinct than they now are.
The horses and sheep and all of us, indeed, slipped on the smoothest
places.

_July 14._ How deathlike is sleep in this mountain air, and quick the
awakening into newness of life! A calm dawn, yellow and purple, then
floods of sun-gold, making every thing tingle and glow.

In an hour or two we came to Yosemite Creek, the stream that makes the
greatest of all the Yosemite falls. It is about forty feet wide at the
Mono Trail crossing, and now about four feet in average depth, flowing
about three miles an hour. The distance to the verge of the Yosemite
wall, where it makes its tremendous plunge, is only about two miles from
here. Calm, beautiful, and nearly silent, it glides with stately
gestures, a dense growth of the slender two-leaved pine along its banks,
and a fringe of willow, purple spirea, sedges, daisies, lilies, and
columbines. Some of the sedges and willow boughs dip into the current,
and just outside of the close ranks of trees there is a sunny flat of
washed gravelly sand which seems to have been deposited by some ancient
flood. It is covered with millions of erethrea, eriogonum, and
oxytheca, with more flowers than leaves, forming an even growth,
slightly dimpled and ruffled here and there by rosettes of _Spraguea
umbellata_. Back of this flowery strip there is a wavy upsloping plain
of solid granite, so smoothly ice-polished in many places that it
glistens in the sun like glass. In shallow hollows there are patches of
trees, mostly the rough form of the two-leaved pine, rather scrawny
looking where there is little or no soil. Also a few junipers
(_Juniperus occidentalis_), short and stout, with bright
cinnamon-colored bark and gray foliage, standing alone mostly, on the
sun-beaten pavement, safe from fire, clinging by slight joints,--a
sturdy storm-enduring mountaineer of a tree, living on sunshine and
snow, maintaining tough health on this diet for perhaps more than a
thousand years.

Up towards the head of the basin I see groups of domes rising above the
wavelike ridges, and some picturesque castellated masses, and dark
strips and patches of silver fir, indicating deposits of fertile soil.
Would that I could command the time to study them! What rich excursions
one could make in this well-defined basin! Its glacial inscriptions and
sculptures, how marvelous they seem, how noble the studies they offer! I
tremble with excitement in the dawn of these glorious mountain
sublimities, but I can only gaze and wonder, and, like a child, gather
here and there a lily, half hoping I may be able to study and learn in
years to come.

The drivers and dogs had a lively, laborious time getting the sheep
across the creek, the second large stream thus far that they have been
compelled to cross without a bridge; the first being the North Fork of
the Merced near Bower Cave. Men and dogs, shouting and barking, drove
the timid, water-fearing creatures in a close crowd against the bank,
but not one of the flock would launch away. While thus jammed, the Don
and the shepherd rushed through the frightened crowd to stampede those
in front, but this would only cause a break backward, and away they
would scamper through the stream-bank trees and scatter over the rocky
pavement. Then with the aid of the dogs the runaways would again be
gathered and made to face the stream, and again the compacted mass would
break away, amid wild shouting and barking that might well have
disturbed the stream itself and marred the music of its falls, to which
visitors no doubt from all quarters of the globe were listening. "Hold
them there! Now hold them there!" shouted the Don; "the front ranks will
soon tire of the pressure, and be glad to take to the water, then all
will jump in and cross in a hurry." But they did nothing of the kind;
they only avoided the pressure by breaking back in scores and hundreds,
leaving the beauty of the banks sadly trampled.

If only one could be got to cross over, all would make haste to follow;
but that one could not be found. A lamb was caught, carried across, and
tied to a bush on the opposite bank, where it cried piteously for its
mother. But though greatly concerned, the mother only called it back.
That play on maternal affection failed, and we began to fear that we
should be forced to make a long roundabout drive and cross the
wide-spread tributaries of the creek in succession. This would require
several days, but it had its advantages, for I was eager to see the
sources of so famous a stream. Don Quixote, however, determined that
they must ford just here, and immediately began a sort of siege by
cutting down slender pines on the bank and building a corral barely
large enough to hold the flock when well pressed together. And as the
stream would form one side of the corral he believed that they could
easily be forced into the water.

In a few hours the inclosure was completed, and the silly animals were
driven in and rammed hard against the brink of the ford. Then the Don,
forcing a way through the compacted mass, pitched a few of the terrified
unfortunates into the stream by main strength; but instead of crossing
over, they swam about close to the bank, making desperate attempts to
get back into the flock. Then a dozen or more were shoved off, and the
Don, tall like a crane and a good natural wader, jumped in after them,
seized a struggling wether, and dragged it to the opposite shore. But no
sooner did he let it go than it jumped into the stream and swam back to
its frightened companions in the corral, thus manifesting sheep-nature
as unchangeable as gravitation. Pan with his pipes would have had no
better luck, I fear. We were now pretty well baffled. The silly
creatures would suffer any sort of death rather than cross that stream.
Calling a council, the dripping Don declared that starvation was now the
only likely scheme to try, and that we might as well camp here in
comfort and let the besieged flock grow hungry and cool, and come to
their senses, if they had any. In a few minutes after being thus let
alone, an adventurer in the foremost rank plunged in and swam bravely to
the farther shore. Then suddenly all rushed in pell-mell together,
trampling one another under water, while we vainly tried to hold them
back. The Don jumped into the thickest of the gasping, gurgling,
drowning mass, and shoved them right and left as if each sheep was a
piece of floating timber. The current also served to drift them apart; a
long bent column was soon formed, and in a few minutes all were over and
began baaing and feeding as if nothing out of the common had happened.
That none were drowned seems wonderful. I fully expected that hundreds
would gain the romantic fate of being swept into Yosemite over the
highest waterfall in the world.

As the day was far spent, we camped a little way back from the ford, and
let the dripping flock scatter and feed until sundown. The wool is dry
now, and calm, cud-chewing peace has fallen on all the comfortable band,
leaving no trace of the watery battle. I have seen fish driven out of
the water with less ado than was made in driving these animals into it.
Sheep brain must surely be poor stuff. Compare today's exhibition with
the performances of deer swimming quietly across broad and rapid rivers,
and from island to island in seas and lakes; or with dogs, or even with
the squirrels that, as the story goes, cross the Mississippi River on
selected chips, with tails for sails comfortably trimmed to the breeze.
A sheep can hardly be called an animal; an entire flock is required to
make one foolish individual.




CHAPTER V

THE YOSEMITE


_July 15._ Followed the Mono Trail up the eastern rim of the basin
nearly to its summit, then turned off southward to a small shallow
valley that extends to the edge of the Yosemite, which we reached about
noon, and encamped. After luncheon I made haste to high ground, and from
the top of the ridge on the west side of Indian Cañon gained the noblest
view of the summit peaks I have ever yet enjoyed. Nearly all the upper
basin of the Merced was displayed, with its sublime domes and cañons,
dark upsweeping forests, and glorious array of white peaks deep in the
sky, every feature glowing, radiating beauty that pours into our flesh
and bones like heat rays from fire. Sunshine over all; no breath of wind
to stir the brooding calm. Never before had I seen so glorious a
landscape, so boundless an affluence of sublime mountain beauty. The
most extravagant description I might give of this view to any one who
has not seen similar landscapes with his own eyes would not so much as
hint its grandeur and the spiritual glow that covered it. I shouted and
gesticulated in a wild burst of ecstasy, much to the astonishment of
St. Bernard Carlo, who came running up to me, manifesting in his
intelligent eyes a puzzled concern that was very ludicrous, which had
the effect of bringing me to my senses. A brown bear, too, it would
seem, had been a spectator of the show I had made of myself, for I had
gone but a few yards when I started one from a thicket of brush. He
evidently considered me dangerous, for he ran away very fast, tumbling
over the tops of the tangled manzanita bushes in his haste. Carlo drew
back, with his ears depressed as if afraid, and kept looking me in the
face, as if expecting me to pursue and shoot, for he had seen many a
bear battle in his day.

Following the ridge, which made a gradual descent to the south, I came
at length to the brow of that massive cliff that stands between Indian
Cañon and Yosemite Falls, and here the far-famed valley came suddenly
into view throughout almost its whole extent. The noble walls--sculptured
into endless variety of domes and gables, spires and battlements and
plain mural precipices--all a-tremble with the thunder tones of the
falling water. The level bottom seemed to be dressed like a garden--sunny
meadows here and there, and groves of pine and oak; the river of Mercy
sweeping in majesty through the midst of them and flashing back the
sunbeams. The great Tissiack, or Half-Dome, rising at the upper end of
the valley to a height of nearly a mile, is nobly proportioned and
life-like, the most impressive of all the rocks, holding the eye in
devout admiration, calling it back again and again from falls or meadows,
or even the mountains beyond,--marvelous cliffs, marvelous in sheer dizzy
depth and sculpture, types of endurance. Thousands of years have they
stood in the sky exposed to rain, snow, frost, earthquake and avalanche,
yet they still wear the bloom of youth.

I rambled along the valley rim to the westward; most of it is rounded
off on the very brink, so that it is not easy to find places where one
may look clear down the face of the wall to the bottom. When such places
were found, and I had cautiously set my feet and drawn my body erect, I
could not help fearing a little that the rock might split off and let me
down, and what a down!--more than three thousand feet. Still my limbs
did not tremble, nor did I feel the least uncertainty as to the reliance
to be placed on them. My only fear was that a flake of the granite,
which in some places showed joints more or less open and running
parallel with the face of the cliff, might give way. After withdrawing
from such places, excited with the view I had got, I would say to
myself, "Now don't go out on the verge again." But in the face of
Yosemite scenery cautious remonstrance is vain; under its spell one's
body seems to go where it likes with a will over which we seem to have
scarce any control.

After a mile or so of this memorable cliff work I approached Yosemite
Creek, admiring its easy, graceful, confident gestures as it comes
bravely forward in its narrow channel, singing the last of its mountain
songs on its way to its fate--a few rods more over the shining granite,
then down half a mile in showy foam to another world, to be lost in the
Merced, where climate, vegetation, inhabitants, all are different.
Emerging from its last gorge, it glides in wide lace-like rapids down a
smooth incline into a pool where it seems to rest and compose its gray,
agitated waters before taking the grand plunge, then slowly slipping
over the lip of the pool basin, it descends another glossy slope with
rapidly accelerated speed to the brink of the tremendous cliff, and with
sublime, fateful confidence springs out free in the air.

I took off my shoes and stockings and worked my way cautiously down
alongside the rushing flood, keeping my feet and hands pressed firmly on
the polished rock. The booming, roaring water, rushing past close to my
head, was very exciting. I had expected that the sloping apron would
terminate with the perpendicular wall of the valley, and that from the
foot of it, where it is less steeply inclined, I should be able to lean
far enough out to see the forms and behavior of the fall all the way
down to the bottom. But I found that there was yet another small brow
over which I could not see, and which appeared to be too steep for
mortal feet. Scanning it keenly, I discovered a narrow shelf about three
inches wide on the very brink, just wide enough for a rest for one's
heels. But there seemed to be no way of reaching it over so steep a
brow. At length, after careful scrutiny of the surface, I found an
irregular edge of a flake of the rock some distance back from the margin
of the torrent. If I was to get down to the brink at all that rough
edge, which might offer slight finger-holds, was the only way. But the
slope beside it looked dangerously smooth and steep, and the swift
roaring flood beneath, overhead, and beside me was very nerve-trying. I
therefore concluded not to venture farther, but did nevertheless. Tufts
of artemisia were growing in clefts of the rock near by, and I filled my
mouth with the bitter leaves, hoping they might help to prevent
giddiness. Then, with a caution not known in ordinary circumstances, I
crept down safely to the little ledge, got my heels well planted on it,
then shuffled in a horizontal direction twenty or thirty feet until
close to the outplunging current, which, by the time it had descended
thus far, was already white. Here I obtained a perfectly free view down
into the heart of the snowy, chanting throng of comet-like streamers,
into which the body of the fall soon separates.

While perched on that narrow niche I was not distinctly conscious of
danger. The tremendous grandeur of the fall in form and sound and
motion, acting at close range, smothered the sense of fear, and in such
places one's body takes keen care for safety on its own account. How
long I remained down there, or how I returned, I can hardly tell. Anyhow
I had a glorious time, and got back to camp about dark, enjoying
triumphant exhilaration soon followed by dull weariness. Hereafter I'll
try to keep from such extravagant, nerve-straining places. Yet such a
day is well worth venturing for. My first view of the High Sierra, first
view looking down into Yosemite, the death song of Yosemite Creek, and
its flight over the vast cliff, each one of these is of itself enough
for a great life-long landscape fortune--a most memorable day of
days--enjoyment enough to kill if that were possible.

_July 16._ My enjoyments yesterday afternoon, especially at the head of
the fall, were too great for good sleep. Kept starting up last night in
a nervous tremor, half awake, fancying that the foundation of the
mountain we were camped on had given way and was falling into Yosemite
Valley. In vain I roused myself to make a new beginning for sound sleep.
The nerve strain had been too great, and again and again I dreamed I was
rushing through the air above a glorious avalanche of water and rocks.
One time, springing to my feet, I said, "This time it is real--all must
die, and where could mountaineer find a more glorious death!"

Left camp soon after sunrise for an all-day ramble eastward. Crossed the
head of Indian Basin, forested with _Abies magnifica_, underbrush mostly
_Ceanothus cordulatus_ and manzanita, a mixture not easily trampled over
or penetrated, for the ceanothus is thorny and grows in dense
snow-pressed masses, and the manzanita has exceedingly crooked, stubborn
branches. From the head of the cañon continued on past North Dome into
the basin of Dome or Porcupine Creek. Here are many fine meadows
imbedded in the woods, gay with _Lilium parvum_ and its companions; the
elevation, about eight thousand feet, seems to be best suited for
it--saw specimens that were a foot or two higher than my head. Had more
magnificent views of the upper mountains, and of the great South Dome,
said to be the grandest rock in the world. Well it may be, since it is
of such noble dimensions and sculpture. A wonderfully impressive
monument, its lines exquisite in fineness, and though sublime in size,
is finished like the finest work of art, and seems to be alive.

_July 17._ A new camp was made to-day in a magnificent silver fir grove
at the head of a small stream that flows into Yosemite by way of Indian
Cañon. Here we intend to stay several weeks,--a fine location from which
to make excursions about the great valley and its fountains. Glorious
days I'll have sketching, pressing plants, studying the wonderful
topography and the wild animals, our happy fellow mortals and neighbors.
But the vast mountains in the distance, shall I ever know them, shall I
be allowed to enter into their midst and dwell with them?

[Illustration: _The North and South Domes_]

We were pelted about noon by a short, heavy rainstorm, sublime thunder
reverberating among the mountains and cañons,--some strokes near,
crashing, ringing in the tense crisp air with startling keenness, while
the distant peaks loomed gloriously through the cloud fringes and sheets
of rain. Now the storm is past, and the fresh washed air is full of
the essences of the flower gardens and groves. Winter storms in Yosemite
must be glorious. May I see them!

Have got my bed made in our new camp,--plushy, sumptuous, and
deliciously fragrant, most of it _magnifica_ fir plumes, of course, with
a variety of sweet flowers in the pillow. Hope to sleep to-night without
tottering nerve-dreams. Watched a deer eating ceanothus leaves and
twigs.

_July 18._ Slept pretty well; the valley walls did not seem to fall,
though I still fancied myself at the brink, alongside the white,
plunging flood, especially when half asleep. Strange the danger of that
adventure should be more troublesome now that I am in the bosom of the
peaceful woods, a mile or more from the fall, than it was while I was on
the brink of it.

Bears seem to be common here, judging by their tracks. About noon we had
another rainstorm with keen startling thunder, the metallic, ringing,
clashing, clanging notes gradually fading into low bass rolling and
muttering in the distance. For a few minutes the rain came in a grand
torrent like a waterfall, then hail; some of the hailstones an inch in
diameter, hard, icy, and irregular in form, like those oftentimes seen
in Wisconsin. Carlo watched them with intelligent astonishment as they
came pelting and thrashing through the quivering branches of the trees.
The cloud scenery sublime. Afternoon calm, sunful, and clear, with
delicious freshness and fragrance from the firs and flowers and steaming
ground.

_July 19._ Watching the daybreak and sunrise. The pale rose and purple
sky changing softly to daffodil yellow and white, sunbeams pouring
through the passes between the peaks and over the Yosemite domes, making
their edges burn; the silver firs in the middle ground catching the glow
on their spiry tops, and our camp grove fills and thrills with the
glorious light. Everything awakening alert and joyful; the birds begin
to stir and innumerable insect people. Deer quietly withdraw into leafy
hiding-places in the chaparral; the dew vanishes, flowers spread their
petals, every pulse beats high, every life cell rejoices, the very rocks
seem to thrill with life. The whole landscape glows like a human face in
a glory of enthusiasm, and the blue sky, pale around the horizon, bends
peacefully down over all like one vast flower.

About noon, as usual, big bossy cumuli began to grow above the forest,
and the rainstorm pouring from them is the most imposing I have yet
seen. The silvery zigzag lightning lances are longer than usual, and
the thunder gloriously impressive, keen, crashing, intensely
concentrated, speaking with such tremendous energy it would seem that an
entire mountain is being shattered at every stroke, but probably only a
few trees are being shattered, many of which I have seen on my walks
hereabouts strewing the ground. At last the clear ringing strokes are
succeeded by deep low tones that grow gradually fainter as they roll
afar into the recesses of the echoing mountains, where they seem to be
welcomed home. Then another and another peal, or rather crashing,
splintering stroke, follows in quick succession, perchance splitting
some giant pine or fir from top to bottom into long rails and slivers,
and scattering them to all points of the compass. Now comes the rain,
with corresponding extravagant grandeur, covering the ground high and
low with a sheet of flowing water, a transparent film fitted like a skin
upon the rugged anatomy of the landscape, making the rocks glitter and
glow, gathering in the ravines, flooding the streams, and making them
shout and boom in reply to the thunder.

How interesting to trace the history of a single raindrop! It is not
long, geologically speaking, as we have seen, since the first raindrops
fell on the newborn leafless Sierra landscapes. How different the lot
of these falling now! Happy the showers that fall on so fair a
wilderness,--scarce a single drop can fail to find a beautiful spot,--on
the tops of the peaks, on the shining glacier pavements, on the great
smooth domes, on forests and gardens and brushy moraines, plashing,
glinting, pattering, laving. Some go to the high snowy fountains to
swell their well-saved stores; some into the lakes, washing the mountain
windows, patting their smooth glassy levels, making dimples and bubbles
and spray; some into the waterfalls and cascades, as if eager to join in
their dance and song and beat their foam yet finer; good luck and good
work for the happy mountain raindrops, each one of them a high waterfall
in itself, descending from the cliffs and hollows of the clouds to the
cliffs and hollows of the rocks, out of the sky-thunder into the thunder
of the falling rivers. Some, falling on meadows and bogs, creep silently
out of sight to the grass roots, hiding softly as in a nest, slipping,
oozing hither, thither, seeking and finding their appointed work. Some,
descending through the spires of the woods, sift spray through the
shining needles, whispering peace and good cheer to each one of them.
Some drops with happy aim glint on the sides of crystals,--quartz,
hornblende, garnet, zircon, tourmaline, feldspar,--patter on grains of
gold and heavy way-worn nuggets; some, with blunt plap-plap and low bass
drumming, fall on the broad leaves of veratrum, saxifrage, cypripedium.
Some happy drops fall straight into the cups of flowers, kissing the
lips of lilies. How far they have to go, how many cups to fill, great
and small, cells too small to be seen, cups holding half a drop as well
as lake basins between the hills, each replenished with equal care,
every drop in all the blessed throng a silvery newborn star with lake
and river, garden and grove, valley and mountain, all that the landscape
holds reflected in its crystal depths, God's messenger, angel of love
sent on its way with majesty and pomp and display of power that make
man's greatest shows ridiculous.

Now the storm is over, the sky is clear, the last rolling thunder-wave
is spent on the peaks, and where are the raindrops now--what has become
of all the shining throng? In winged vapor rising some are already
hastening back to the sky, some have gone into the plants, creeping
through invisible doors into the round rooms of cells, some are locked
in crystals of ice, some in rock crystals, some in porous moraines to
keep their small springs flowing, some have gone journeying on in the
rivers to join the larger raindrop of the ocean. From form to form,
beauty to beauty, ever changing, never resting, all are speeding on with
love's enthusiasm, singing with the stars the eternal song of creation.

_July 20._ Fine calm morning; air tense and clear; not the slightest
breeze astir; everything shining, the rocks with wet crystals, the
plants with dew, each receiving its portion of irised dewdrops and
sunshine like living creatures getting their breakfast, their dew manna
coming down from the starry sky like swarms of smaller stars. How
wondrous fine are the particles in showers of dew, thousands required
for a single drop, growing in the dark as silently as the grass! What
pains are taken to keep this wilderness in health,--showers of snow,
showers of rain, showers of dew, floods of light, floods of invisible
vapor, clouds, winds, all sorts of weather, interaction of plant on
plant, animal on animal, etc., beyond thought! How fine Nature's
methods! How deeply with beauty is beauty overlaid! the ground covered
with crystals, the crystals with mosses and lichens and low-spreading
grasses and flowers, these with larger plants leaf over leaf with
ever-changing color and form, the broad palms of the firs outspread over
these, the azure dome over all like a bell-flower, and star above star.

Yonder stands the South Dome, its crown high above our camp, though its
base is four thousand feet below us; a most noble rock, it seems full of
thought, clothed with living light, no sense of dead stone about it, all
spiritualized, neither heavy looking nor light, steadfast in serene
strength like a god.

Our shepherd is a queer character and hard to place in this wilderness.
His bed is a hollow made in red dry-rot punky dust beside a log which
forms a portion of the south wall of the corral. Here he lies with his
wonderful everlasting clothing on, wrapped in a red blanket, breathing
not only the dust of the decayed wood but also that of the corral, as if
determined to take ammoniacal snuff all night after chewing tobacco all
day. Following the sheep he carries a heavy six-shooter swung from his
belt on one side and his luncheon on the other. The ancient cloth in
which the meat, fresh from the frying-pan, is tied serves as a filter
through which the clear fat and gravy juices drip down on his right hip
and leg in clustering stalactites. This oleaginous formation is soon
broken up, however, and diffused and rubbed evenly into his scanty
apparel, by sitting down, rolling over, crossing his legs while resting
on logs, etc., making shirt and trousers water-tight and shiny. His
trousers, in particular, have become so adhesive with the mixed fat and
resin that pine needles, thin flakes and fibres of bark, hair, mica
scales and minute grains of quartz, hornblende, etc., feathers, seed
wings, moth and butterfly wings, legs and antennæ of innumerable
insects, or even whole insects such as the small beetles, moths and
mosquitoes, with flower petals, pollen dust and indeed bits of all
plants, animals, and minerals of the region adhere to them and are
safely imbedded, so that though far from being a naturalist he collects
fragmentary specimens of everything and becomes richer than he knows.
His specimens are kept passably fresh, too, by the purity of the air and
the resiny bituminous beds into which they are pressed. Man is a
microcosm, at least our shepherd is, or rather his trousers. These
precious overalls are never taken off, and nobody knows how old they
are, though one may guess by their thickness and concentric structure.
Instead of wearing thin they wear thick, and in their stratification
have no small geological significance.

Besides herding the sheep, Billy is the butcher, while I have agreed to
wash the few iron and tin utensils and make the bread. Then, these small
duties done, by the time the sun is fairly above the mountain-tops I am
beyond the flock, free to rove and revel in the wilderness all the big
immortal days.

Sketching on the North Dome. It commands views of nearly all the valley
besides a few of the high mountains. I would fain draw everything in
sight--rock, tree, and leaf. But little can I do beyond mere
outlines,--marks with meanings like words, readable only to myself,--yet
I sharpen my pencils and work on as if others might possibly be
benefited. Whether these picture-sheets are to vanish like fallen leaves
or go to friends like letters, matters not much; for little can they
tell to those who have not themselves seen similar wildness, and like a
language have learned it. No pain here, no dull empty hours, no fear of
the past, no fear of the future. These blessed mountains are so
compactly filled with God's beauty, no petty personal hope or experience
has room to be. Drinking this champagne water is pure pleasure, so is
breathing the living air, and every movement of limbs is pleasure, while
the whole body seems to feel beauty when exposed to it as it feels the
camp-fire or sunshine, entering not by the eyes alone, but equally
through all one's flesh like radiant heat, making a passionate ecstatic
pleasure-glow not explainable. One's body then seems homogeneous
throughout, sound as a crystal. Perched like a fly on this Yosemite
dome, I gaze and sketch and bask, oftentimes settling down into dumb
admiration without definite hope of ever learning much, yet with the
longing, unresting effort that lies at the door of hope, humbly
prostrate before the vast display of God's power, and eager to offer
self-denial and renunciation with eternal toil to learn any lesson in
the divine manuscript.

It is easier to feel than to realize, or in any way explain, Yosemite
grandeur. The magnitudes of the rocks and trees and streams are so
delicately harmonized they are mostly hidden. Sheer precipices three
thousand feet high are fringed with tall trees growing close like grass
on the brow of a lowland hill, and extending along the feet of these
precipices a ribbon of meadow a mile wide and seven or eight long, that
seems like a strip a farmer might mow in less than a day. Waterfalls,
five hundred to one or two thousand feet high, are so subordinated to
the mighty cliffs over which they pour that they seem like wisps of
smoke, gentle as floating clouds, though their voices fill the valley
and make the rocks tremble. The mountains, too, along the eastern sky,
and the domes in front of them, and the succession of smooth rounded
waves between, swelling higher, higher, with dark woods in their
hollows, serene in massive exuberant bulk and beauty, tend yet more to
hide the grandeur of the Yosemite temple and make it appear as a subdued
subordinate feature of the vast harmonious landscape. Thus every attempt
to appreciate any one feature is beaten down by the overwhelming
influence of all the others. And, as if this were not enough, lo! in the
sky arises another mountain range with topography as rugged and
substantial-looking as the one beneath it--snowy peaks and domes and
shadowy Yosemite valleys--another version of the snowy Sierra, a new
creation heralded by a thunder-storm. How fiercely, devoutly wild is
Nature in the midst of her beauty-loving tenderness!--painting lilies,
watering them, caressing them with gentle hand, going from flower to
flower like a gardener while building rock mountains and cloud mountains
full of lightning and rain. Gladly we run for shelter beneath an
overhanging cliff and examine the reassuring ferns and mosses, gentle
love tokens growing in cracks and chinks. Daisies, too, and ivesias,
confiding wild children of light, too small to fear. To these one's
heart goes home, and the voices of the storm become gentle. Now the sun
breaks forth and fragrant steam arises. The birds are out singing on the
edges of the groves. The west is flaming in gold and purple, ready for
the ceremony of the sunset, and back I go to camp with my notes and
pictures, the best of them printed in my mind as dreams. A fruitful day,
without measured beginning or ending. A terrestrial eternity. A gift of
good God.

Wrote to my mother and a few friends, mountain hints to each. They seem
as near as if within voice-reach or touch. The deeper the solitude the
less the sense of loneliness, and the nearer our friends. Now bread and
tea, fir bed and good-night to Carlo, a look at the sky lilies, and
death sleep until the dawn of another Sierra to-morrow.

_July 21._ Sketching on the Dome--no rain; clouds at noon about quarter
filled the sky, casting shadows with fine effect on the white mountains
at the heads of the streams, and a soothing cover over the gardens
during the warm hours.

Saw a common house-fly and a grasshopper and a brown bear. The fly and
grasshopper paid me a merry visit on the top of the Dome, and I paid a
visit to the bear in the middle of a small garden meadow between the
Dome and the camp where he was standing alert among the flowers as if
willing to be seen to advantage. I had not gone more than half a mile
from camp this morning, when Carlo, who was trotting on a few yards
ahead of me, came to a sudden, cautious standstill. Down went tail and
ears, and forward went his knowing nose, while he seemed to be saying,
"Ha, what's this? A bear, I guess." Then a cautious advance of a few
steps, setting his feet down softly like a hunting cat, and questioning
the air as to the scent he had caught until all doubt vanished. Then he
came back to me, looked me in the face, and with his speaking eyes
reported a bear near by; then led on softly, careful, like an
experienced hunter, not to make the slightest noise; and frequently
looking back as if whispering, "Yes, it's a bear; come and I'll show
you." Presently we came to where the sunbeams were streaming through
between the purple shafts of the firs, which showed that we were nearing
an open spot, and here Carlo came behind me, evidently sure that the
bear was very near. So I crept to a low ridge of moraine boulders on the
edge of a narrow garden meadow, and in this meadow I felt pretty sure
the bear must be. I was anxious to get a good look at the sturdy
mountaineer without alarming him; so drawing myself up noiselessly back
of one of the largest of the trees I peered past its bulging buttresses,
exposing only a part of my head, and there stood neighbor Bruin within
a stone's throw, his hips covered by tall grass and flowers, and his
front feet on the trunk of a fir that had fallen out into the meadow,
which raised his head so high that he seemed to be standing erect. He
had not yet seen me, but was looking and listening attentively, showing
that in some way he was aware of our approach. I watched his gestures
and tried to make the most of my opportunity to learn what I could about
him, fearing he would catch sight of me and run away. For I had been
told that this sort of bear, the cinnamon, always ran from his bad
brother man, never showing fight unless wounded or in defense of young.
He made a telling picture standing alert in the sunny forest garden. How
well he played his part, harmonizing in bulk and color and shaggy hair
with the trunks of the trees and lush vegetation, as natural a feature
as any other in the landscape. After examining at leisure, noting the
sharp muzzle thrust inquiringly forward, the long shaggy hair on his
broad chest, the stiff, erect ears nearly buried in hair, and the slow,
heavy way he moved his head, I thought I should like to see his gait in
running, so I made a sudden rush at him, shouting and swinging my hat to
frighten him, expecting to see him make haste to get away. But to my
dismay he did not run or show any sign of running. On the contrary, he
stood his ground ready to fight and defend himself, lowered his head,
thrust it forward, and looked sharply and fiercely at me. Then I
suddenly began to fear that upon me would fall the work of running; but
I was afraid to run, and therefore, like the bear, held my ground. We
stood staring at each other in solemn silence within a dozen yards or
thereabouts, while I fervently hoped that the power of the human eye
over wild beasts would prove as great as it is said to be. How long our
awfully strenuous interview lasted, I don't know; but at length in the
slow fullness of time he pulled his huge paws down off the log, and with
magnificent deliberation turned and walked leisurely up the meadow,
stopping frequently to look back over his shoulder to see whether I was
pursuing him, then moving on again, evidently neither fearing me very
much nor trusting me. He was probably about five hundred pounds in
weight, a broad, rusty bundle of ungovernable wildness, a happy fellow
whose lines have fallen in pleasant places. The flowery glade in which I
saw him so well, framed like a picture, is one of the best of all I have
yet discovered, a conservatory of Nature's precious plant people. Tall
lilies were swinging their bells over that bear's back, with geraniums,
larkspurs, columbines, and daisies brushing against his sides. A place
for angels, one would say, instead of bears.

In the great cañons Bruin reigns supreme. Happy fellow, whom no famine
can reach while one of his thousand kinds of food is spared him. His
bread is sure at all seasons, ranged on the mountain shelves like stores
in a pantry. From one to the other, up or down he climbs, tasting and
enjoying each in turn in different climates, as if he had journeyed
thousands of miles to other countries north or south to enjoy their
varied productions. I should like to know my hairy brothers
better--though after this particular Yosemite bear, my very neighbor,
had sauntered out of sight this morning, I reluctantly went back to camp
for the Don's rifle to shoot him, if necessary, in defense of the flock.
Fortunately I couldn't find him, and after tracking him a mile or two
towards Mount Hoffman I bade him Godspeed and gladly returned to my work
on the Yosemite Dome.

The house-fly also seemed at home and buzzed about me as I sat
sketching, and enjoying my bear interview now it was over. I wonder what
draws house-flies so far up the mountains, heavy gross feeders as they
are, sensitive to cold, and fond of domestic ease. How have they been
distributed from continent to continent, across seas and deserts and
mountain chains, usually so influential in determining boundaries of
species both of plants and animals. Beetles and butterflies are
sometimes restricted to small areas. Each mountain in a range, and even
the different zones of a mountain, may have its own peculiar species.
But the house-fly seems to be everywhere. I wonder if any island in
mid-ocean is flyless. The bluebottle is abundant in these Yosemite
woods, ever ready with his marvelous store of eggs to make all dead
flesh fly. Bumblebees are here, and are well fed on boundless stores of
nectar and pollen. The honeybee, though abundant in the foothills, has
not yet got so high. It is only a few years since the first swarm was
brought to California.

[Illustration: TRACK OF SINGING DANCING GRASSHOPPER IN THE AIR OVER
NORTH DOME]

A queer fellow and a jolly fellow is the grasshopper. Up the mountains
he comes on excursions, how high I don't know, but at least as far and
high as Yosemite tourists. I was much interested with the hearty
enjoyment of the one that danced and sang for me on the Dome this
afternoon. He seemed brimful of glad, hilarious energy, manifested by
springing into the air to a height of twenty or thirty feet, then
diving and springing up again and making a sharp musical rattle just as
the lowest point in the descent was reached. Up and down a dozen times
or so he danced and sang, then alighted to rest, then up and at it
again. The curves he described in the air in diving and rattling
resembled those made by cords hanging loosely and attached at the same
height at the ends, the loops nearly covering each other. Braver,
heartier, keener, care-free enjoyment of life I have never seen or heard
in any creature, great or small. The life of this comic redlegs, the
mountain's merriest child, seems to be made up of pure, condensed
gayety. The Douglas squirrel is the only living creature that I can
compare him with in exuberant, rollicking, irrepressible jollity.
Wonderful that these sublime mountains are so loudly cheered and
brightened by a creature so queer. Nature in him seems to be snapping
her fingers in the face of all earthly dejection and melancholy with a
boyish hip-hip-hurrah. How the sound is made I do not understand. When
he was on the ground he made not the slightest noise, nor when he was
simply flying from place to place, but only when diving in curves, the
motion seeming to be required for the sound; for the more vigorous the
diving the more energetic the corresponding outbursts of jolly
rattling. I tried to observe him closely while he was resting in the
intervals of his performances; but he would not allow a near approach,
always getting his jumping legs ready to spring for immediate flight,
and keeping his eyes on me. A fine sermon the little fellow danced for
me on the Dome, a likely place to look for sermons in stones, but not
for grasshopper sermons. A large and imposing pulpit for so small a
preacher. No danger of weakness in the knees of the world while Nature
can spring such a rattle as this. Even the bear did not express for me
the mountain's wild health and strength and happiness so tellingly as
did this comical little hopper. No cloud of care in his day, no winter
of discontent in sight. To him every day is a holiday; and when at
length his sun sets, I fancy he will cuddle down on the forest floor and
die like the leaves and flowers, and like them leave no unsightly
remains calling for burial.

Sundown, and I must to camp. Good-night, friends three,--brown bear,
rugged boulder of energy in groves and gardens fair as Eden; restless,
fussy fly with gauzy wings stirring the air around all the world; and
grasshopper, crisp, electric spark of joy enlivening the massy sublimity
of the mountains like the laugh of a child. Thank you, thank you all
three for your quickening company. Heaven guide every wing and leg.
Good-night friends three, good-night.

[Illustration: MT. CLARK TOP OF S. DOME MT. STARR KING

ABIES MAGNIFICA]

_July 22._ A fine specimen of the black-tailed deer went bounding past
camp this morning. A buck with wide spread of antlers, showing admirable
vigor and grace. Wonderful the beauty, strength, and graceful movements
of animals in wildernesses, cared for by Nature only, when our
experience with domestic animals would lead us to fear that all the
so-called neglected wild beasts would degenerate. Yet the upshot of
Nature's method of breeding and teaching seems to lead to excellence of
every sort. Deer, like all wild animals, are as clean as plants. The
beauties of their gestures and attitudes, alert or in repose, surprise
yet more than their bounding exuberant strength. Every movement and
posture is graceful, the very poetry of manners and motion. Mother
Nature is too often spoken of as in reality no mother at all. Yet how
wisely, sternly, tenderly she loves and looks after her children in all
sorts of weather and wildernesses. The more I see of deer the more I
admire them as mountaineers. They make their way into the heart of the
roughest solitudes with smooth reserve of strength, through dense belts
of brush and forest encumbered with fallen trees and boulder piles,
across cañons, roaring streams, and snow-fields, ever showing forth
beauty and courage. Over nearly all the continent the deer find homes.
In the Florida savannas and hummocks, in the Canada woods, in the far
north, roaming over mossy tundras, swimming lakes and rivers and arms of
the sea from island to island washed with waves, or climbing rocky
mountains, everywhere healthy and able, adding beauty to every
landscape,--a truly admirable creature and great credit to Nature.

Have been sketching a silver fir that stands on a granite ridge a few
hundred yards to the eastward of camp--a fine tree with a particular
snow-storm story to tell. It is about one hundred feet high, growing on
bare rock, thrusting its roots into a weathered joint less than an inch
wide, and bulging out to form a base to bear its weight. The storm came
from the north while it was young and broke it down nearly to the
ground, as is shown by the old, dead, weather-beaten top leaning out
from the living trunk built up from a new shoot below the break. The
annual rings of the trunk that have overgrown the dead sapling tell the
year of the storm. Wonderful that a side branch forming a portion of one
of the level collars that encircle the trunk of this species (_Abies
magnifica_) should bend upward, grow erect, and take the place of the
lost axis to form a new tree.

Many others, pines as well as firs, bear testimony to the crushing
severity of this particular storm. Trees, some of them fifty to
seventy-five feet high, were bent to the ground and buried like grass,
whole groves vanishing as if the forest had been cleared away, leaving
not a branch or needle visible until the spring thaw. Then the more
elastic undamaged saplings rose again, aided by the wind, some reaching
a nearly erect attitude, others remaining more or less bent, while those
with broken backs endeavored to specialize a side branch below the break
and make a leader of it to form a new axis of development. It is as if a
man, whose back was broken or nearly so and who was compelled to go
bent, should find a branch backbone sprouting straight up from below the
break and should gradually develop new arms and shoulders and head,
while the old damaged portion of his body died.

Grand white cloud mountains and domes created about noon as usual,
ridges and ranges of endless variety, as if Nature dearly loved this
sort of work, doing it again and again nearly every day with infinite
industry, and producing beauty that never palls. A few zigzags of
lightning, five minutes' shower, then a gradual wilting and clearing.

[Illustration: ILLUSTRATING GROWTH OF NEW PINE FROM BRANCH BELOW THE
BREAK OF AXIS OF SNOW-CRUSHED TREE]

_July 23._ Another midday cloudland, displaying power and beauty that
one never wearies in beholding, but hopelessly unsketchable and
untellable. What can poor mortals say about clouds? While a description
of their huge glowing domes and ridges, shadowy gulfs and cañons, and
feather-edged ravines is being tried, they vanish, leaving no visible
ruins. Nevertheless, these fleeting sky mountains are as substantial and
significant as the more lasting upheavals of granite beneath them. Both
alike are built up and die, and in God's calendar difference of duration
is nothing. We can only dream about them in wondering, worshiping
admiration, happier than we dare tell even to friends who see farthest
in sympathy, glad to know that not a crystal or vapor particle of them,
hard or soft, is lost; that they sink and vanish only to rise again and
again in higher and higher beauty. As to our own work, duty, influence,
etc., concerning which so much fussy pother is made, it will not fail of
its due effect, though, like a lichen on a stone, we keep silent.

_July 24._ Clouds at noon occupying about half the sky gave half an hour
of heavy rain to wash one of the cleanest landscapes in the world. How
well it is washed! The sea is hardly less dusty than the ice-burnished
pavements and ridges, domes and cañons, and summit peaks plashed with
snow like waves with foam. How fresh the woods are and calm after the
last films of clouds have been wiped from the sky! A few minutes ago
every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling,
tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though
to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease.
Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fibre
thrilling like harp strings, while incense is ever flowing from the
balsam bells and leaves. No wonder the hills and groves were God's first
temples, and the more they are cut down and hewn into cathedrals and
churches, the farther off and dimmer seems the Lord himself. The same
may be said of stone temples. Yonder, to the eastward of our camp grove,
stands one of Nature's cathedrals, hewn from the living rock, almost
conventional in form, about two thousand feet high, nobly adorned with
spires and pinnacles, thrilling under floods of sunshine as if alive
like a grove-temple, and well named "Cathedral Peak." Even Shepherd
Billy turns at times to this wonderful mountain building, though
apparently deaf to all stone sermons. Snow that refused to melt in fire
would hardly be more wonderful than unchanging dullness in the rays of
God's beauty. I have been trying to get him to walk to the brink of
Yosemite for a view, offering to watch the sheep for a day, while he
should enjoy what tourists come from all over the world to see. But
though within a mile of the famous valley, he will not go to it even out
of mere curiosity. "What," says he, "is Yosemite but a cañon--a lot of
rocks--a hole in the ground--a place dangerous about falling into--a
d----d good place to keep away from." "But think of the waterfalls,
Billy--just think of that big stream we crossed the other day, falling
half a mile through the air--think of that, and the sound it makes. You
can hear it now like the roar of the sea." Thus I pressed Yosemite upon
him like a missionary offering the gospel, but he would have none of it.
"I should be afraid to look over so high a wall," he said. "It would
make my head swim. There is nothing worth seeing anywhere, only rocks,
and I see plenty of them here. Tourists that spend their money to see
rocks and falls are fools, that's all. You can't humbug me. I've been in
this country too long for that." Such souls, I suppose, are asleep, or
smothered and befogged beneath mean pleasures and cares.

_July 25._ Another cloudland. Some clouds have an over-ripe decaying
look, watery and bedraggled and drawn out into wind-torn shreds and
patches, giving the sky a littered appearance; not so these Sierra
summer midday clouds. All are beautiful with smooth definite outlines
and curves like those of glacier-polished domes. They begin to grow
about eleven o'clock, and seem so wonderfully near and clear from this
high camp one is tempted to try to climb them and trace the streams that
pour like cataracts from their shadowy fountains. The rain to which they
give birth is often very heavy, a sort of waterfall as imposing as if
pouring from rock mountains. Never in all my travels have I found
anything more truly novel and interesting than these midday mountains of
the sky, their fine tones of color, majestic visible growth, and
ever-changing scenery and general effects, though mostly as well let
alone as far as description goes. I oftentimes think of Shelley's cloud
poem, "I sift the snow on the mountains below."




CHAPTER VI

MOUNT HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA


_July 26._ Ramble to the summit of Mount Hoffman, eleven thousand feet
high, the highest point in life's journey my feet have yet touched. And
what glorious landscapes are about me, new plants, new animals, new
crystals, and multitudes of new mountains far higher than Hoffman,
towering in glorious array along the axis of the range, serene,
majestic, snow-laden, sun-drenched, vast domes and ridges shining below
them, forests, lakes, and meadows in the hollows, the pure blue
bell-flower sky brooding them all,--a glory day of admission into a new
realm of wonders as if Nature had wooingly whispered, "Come higher."
What questions I asked, and how little I know of all the vast show, and
how eagerly, tremulously hopeful of some day knowing more, learning the
meaning of these divine symbols crowded together on this wondrous page.

Mount Hoffman is the highest part of a ridge or spur about fourteen
miles from the axis of the main range, perhaps a remnant brought into
relief and isolated by unequal denudation. The southern slopes shed
their waters into Yosemite Valley by Tenaya and Dome Creeks, the
northern in part into the Tuolumne River, but mostly into the Merced by
Yosemite Creek. The rock is mostly granite, with some small piles and
crests rising here and there in picturesque pillared and castellated
remnants of red metamorphic slates. Both the granite and slates are
divided by joints, making them separable into blocks like the stones of
artificial masonry, suggesting the Scripture "He hath builded the
mountains." Great banks of snow and ice are piled in hollows on the cool
precipitous north side forming the highest perennial sources of Yosemite
Creek. The southern slopes are much more gradual and accessible. Narrow
slot-like gorges extend across the summit at right angles, which look
like lanes, formed evidently by the erosion of less resisting beds. They
are usually called "devil's slides," though they lie far above the
region usually haunted by the devil; for though we read that he once
climbed an exceeding high mountain, he cannot be much of a mountaineer,
for his tracks are seldom seen above the timber-line.

[Illustration: APPROACH OF DOME CREEK TO YOSEMITE]

The broad gray summit is barren and desolate-looking in general views,
wasted by ages of gnawing storms; but looking at the surface in detail,
one finds it covered by thousands and millions of charming plants
with leaves and flowers so small they form no mass of color visible at a
distance of a few hundred yards. Beds of azure daisies smile confidingly
in moist hollows, and along the banks of small rills, with several
species of eriogonum, silky-leaved ivesia, pentstemon, orthocarpus, and
patches of _Primula suffruticosa_, a beautiful shrubby species. Here
also I found bryanthus, a charming heathwort covered with purple flowers
and dark green foliage like heather, and three trees new to me--a
hemlock and two pines. The hemlock (_Tsuga Mertensiana_) is the most
beautiful conifer I have ever seen; the branches and also the main axis
droop in a singularly graceful way, and the dense foliage covers the
delicate, sensitive, swaying branchlets all around. It is now in full
bloom, and the flowers, together with thousands of last season's cones
still clinging to the drooping sprays, display wonderful wealth of
color, brown and purple and blue. Gladly I climbed the first tree I
found to revel in the midst of it. How the touch of the flowers makes
one's flesh tingle! The pistillate are dark, rich purple, and almost
translucent, the staminate blue,--a vivid, pure tone of blue like the
mountain sky,--the most uncommonly beautiful of all the Sierra tree
flowers I have seen. How wonderful that, with all its delicate feminine
grace and beauty of form and dress and behavior, this lovely tree up
here, exposed to the wildest blasts, has already endured the storms of
centuries of winters!

The two pines also are brave storm-enduring trees, the mountain pine
(_Pinus monticola_) and the dwarf pine (_Pinus albicaulis_). The
mountain pine is closely related to the sugar pine, though the cones are
only about four to six inches long. The largest trees are from five to
six feet in diameter at four feet above the ground, the bark rich brown.
Only a few storm-beaten adventurers approach the summit of the mountain.
The dwarf or white-bark pine is the species that forms the timber-line,
where it is so completely dwarfed that one may walk over the top of a
bed of it as over snow-pressed chaparral.

How boundless the day seems as we revel in these storm-beaten sky
gardens amid so vast a congregation of onlooking mountains! Strange and
admirable it is that the more savage and chilly and storm-chafed the
mountains, the finer the glow on their faces and the finer the plants
they bear. The myriads of flowers tingeing the mountain-top do not seem
to have grown out of the dry, rough gravel of disintegration, but rather
they appear as visitors, a cloud of witnesses to Nature's love in what
we in our timid ignorance and unbelief call howling desert. The surface
of the ground, so dull and forbidding at first sight, besides being rich
in plants, shines and sparkles with crystals: mica, hornblende,
feldspar, quartz, tourmaline. The radiance in some places is so great as
to be fairly dazzling, keen lance rays of every color flashing,
sparkling in glorious abundance, joining the plants in their fine, brave
beauty-work--every crystal, every flower a window opening into heaven, a
mirror reflecting the Creator.

From garden to garden, ridge to ridge, I drifted enchanted, now on my
knees gazing into the face of a daisy, now climbing again and again
among the purple and azure flowers of the hemlocks, now down into the
treasuries of the snow, or gazing afar over domes and peaks, lakes and
woods, and the billowy glaciated fields of the upper Tuolumne, and
trying to sketch them. In the midst of such beauty, pierced with its
rays, one's body is all one tingling palate. Who wouldn't be a
mountaineer! Up here all the world's prizes seem nothing.

The largest of the many glacier lakes in sight, and the one with the
finest shore scenery, is Tenaya, about a mile long, with an imposing
mountain dipping its feet into it on the south side, Cathedral Peak a
few miles above its head, many smooth swelling rock-waves and domes on
the north, and in the distance southward a multitude of snowy peaks, the
fountain-heads of rivers. Lake Hoffman lies shimmering beneath my feet,
mountain pines around its shining rim. To the northward the picturesque
basin of Yosemite Creek glitters with lakelets and pools; but the eye is
soon drawn away from these bright mirror wells, however attractive, to
revel in the glorious congregation of peaks on the axis of the range in
their robes of snow and light.

[Illustration: Cathedral Peak]

Carlo caught an unfortunate woodchuck when it was running from a grassy
spot to its boulder-pile home--one of the hardiest of the mountain
animals. I tried hard to save him, but in vain. After telling Carlo that
he must be careful not to kill anything, I caught sight, for the first
time, of the curious pika, or little chief hare, that cuts large
quantities of lupines and other plants and lays them out to dry in the
sun for hay, which it stores in underground barns to last through the
long, snowy winter. Coming upon these plants freshly cut and lying in
handfuls here and there on the rocks has a startling effect of busy life
on the lonely mountain-top. These little haymakers, endowed with
brain stuff something like our own,--God up here looking after
them,--what lessons they teach, how they widen our sympathy!

An eagle soaring above a sheer cliff, where I suppose its nest is, makes
another striking show of life, and helps to bring to mind the other
people of the so-called solitude--deer in the forest caring for their
young; the strong, well-clad, well-fed bears; the lively throng of
squirrels; the blessed birds, great and small, stirring and sweetening
the groves; and the clouds of happy insects filling the sky with joyous
hum as part and parcel of the down-pouring sunshine. All these come to
mind, as well as the plant people, and the glad streams singing their
way to the sea. But most impressive of all is the vast glowing
countenance of the wilderness in awful, infinite repose.

Toward sunset, enjoyed a fine run to camp, down the long south slopes,
across ridges and ravines, gardens and avalanche gaps, through the firs
and chaparral, enjoying wild excitement and excess of strength, and so
ends a day that will never end.

_July 27._ Up and away to Lake Tenaya,--another big day, enough for a
lifetime. The rocks, the air, everything speaking with audible voice or
silent; joyful, wonderful, enchanting, banishing weariness and sense of
time. No longing for anything now or hereafter as we go home into the
mountain's heart. The level sunbeams are touching the fir-tops, every
leaf shining with dew. Am holding an easterly course, the deep cañon of
Tenaya Creek on the right hand, Mount Hoffman on the left, and the lake
straight ahead about ten miles distant, the summit of Mount Hoffman
about three thousand feet above me, Tenaya Creek four thousand feet
below and separated from the shallow, irregular valley, along which most
of the way lies, by smooth domes and wave-ridges. Many mossy emerald
bogs, meadows, and gardens in rocky hollows to wade and saunter
through--and what fine plants they give me, what joyful streams I have
to cross, and how many views are displayed of the Hoffman and Cathedral
Peak masonry, and what a wondrous breadth of shining granite pavement to
walk over for the first time about the shores of the lake! On I
sauntered in freedom complete; body without weight as far as I was
aware; now wading through starry parnassia bogs, now through gardens
shoulder deep in larkspur and lilies, grasses and rushes, shaking off
showers of dew; crossing piles of crystalline moraine boulders, bright
mirror pavements, and cool, cheery streams going to Yosemite; crossing
bryanthus carpets and the scoured pathways of avalanches, and thickets
of snow-pressed ceanothus; then down a broad, majestic stairway into the
ice-sculptured lake-basin.

The snow on the high mountains is melting fast, and the streams are
singing bank-full, swaying softly through the level meadows and bogs,
quivering with sun-spangles, swirling in pot-holes, resting in deep
pools, leaping, shouting in wild, exulting energy over rough boulder
dams, joyful, beautiful in all their forms. No Sierra landscape that I
have seen holds anything truly dead or dull, or any trace of what in
manufactories is called rubbish or waste; everything is perfectly clean
and pure and full of divine lessons. This quick, inevitable interest
attaching to everything seems marvelous until the hand of God becomes
visible; then it seems reasonable that what interests Him may well
interest us. When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it
hitched to everything else in the universe. One fancies a heart like our
own must be beating in every crystal and cell, and we feel like stopping
to speak to the plants and animals as friendly fellow mountaineers.
Nature as a poet, an enthusiastic workingman, becomes more and more
visible the farther and higher we go; for the mountains are
fountains--beginning places, however related to sources beyond mortal
ken.

I found three kinds of meadows: (1) Those contained in basins not yet
filled with earth enough to make a dry surface. They are planted with
several species of carex, and have their margins diversified with robust
flowering plants such as veratrum, larkspur, lupine, etc. (2) Those
contained in the same sort of basins, once lakes like the first, but so
situated in relation to the streams that flow through them and beds of
transportable sand, gravel, etc., that they are now high and dry and
well drained. This dry condition and corresponding difference in their
vegetation may be caused by no superiority of position, or power of
transporting filling material in the streams that belong to them, but
simply by the basin being shallow and therefore sooner filled. They are
planted with grasses, mostly fine, silky, and rather short-leaved,
_Calamagrostis_ and _Agrostis_ being the principal genera. They form
delightfully smooth, level sods in which one finds two or three species
of gentian and as many of purple and yellow orthocarpus, violet,
vaccinium, kalmia, bryanthus, and lonicera. (3) Meadows hanging on ridge
and mountain slopes, not in basins at all, but made and held in place
by masses of boulders and fallen trees, which, forming dams one above
another in close succession on small, outspread, channelless streams,
have collected soil enough for the growth of grasses, carices, and many
flowering plants, and being kept well watered, without being subject to
currents sufficiently strong to carry them away, a hanging or sloping
meadow is the result. Their surfaces are seldom so smooth as the others,
being roughened more or less by the projecting tops of the dam rocks or
logs; but at a little distance this roughness is not noticed, and the
effect is very striking--bright green, fluent, down-sweeping flowery
ribbons on gray slopes. The broad shallow streams these meadows belong
to are mostly derived from banks of snow and because the soil is well
drained in some places, while in others the dam rocks are packed close
and caulked with bits of wood and leaves, making boggy patches; the
vegetation, of course, is correspondingly varied. I saw patches of
willow, bryanthus, and a fine show of lilies on some of them, not
forming a margin, but scattered about among the carex and grass. Most of
these meadows are now in their prime. How wonderful must be the temper
of the elastic leaves of grasses and sedges to make curves so perfect
and fine. Tempered a little harder, they would stand erect, stiff and
bristly, like strips of metal; a little softer, and every leaf would lie
flat. And what fine painting and tinting there is on the glumes and
pales, stamens and feathery pistils. Butterflies colored like the
flowers waver above them in wonderful profusion, and many other
beautiful winged people, numbered and known and loved only by the Lord,
are waltzing together high over head, seemingly in pure play and
hilarious enjoyment of their little sparks of life. How wonderful they
are! How do they get a living, and endure the weather? How are their
little bodies, with muscles, nerves, organs, kept warm and jolly in such
admirable exuberant health? Regarded only as mechanical inventions, how
wonderful they are! Compared with these, Godlike man's greatest machines
are as nothing.

Most of the sandy gardens on moraines are in prime beauty like the
meadows, though some on the north sides of rocks and beneath groves of
sapling pines have not yet bloomed. On sunny sheets of crystal soil
along the slopes of the Hoffman Mountains, I saw extensive patches of
ivesia and purple gilia with scarce a green leaf, making fine clouds of
color. Ribes bushes, vaccinium, and kalmia, now in flower, make
beautiful rugs and borders along the banks of the streams. Shaggy beds
of dwarf oak (_Quercus chrysolepis_, var. _vaccinifolia_) over which one
may walk are common on rocky moraines, yet this is the same species as
the large live oak seen near Brown's Flat. The most beautiful of the
shrubs is the purple-flowered bryanthus, here making glorious carpets at
an elevation of nine thousand feet.

The principal tree for the first mile or two from camp is the
magnificent silver fir, which reaches perfection here both in size and
form of individual trees, and in the mode of grouping in groves with
open spaces between. So trim and tasteful are these silvery, spiry
groves one would fancy they must have been placed in position by some
master landscape gardener, their regularity seeming almost conventional.
But Nature is the only gardener able to do work so fine. A few noble
specimens two hundred feet high occupy central positions in the groups
with younger trees around them; and outside of these another circle of
yet smaller ones, the whole arranged like tastefully symmetrical
bouquets, every tree fitting nicely the place assigned to it as if made
especially for it; small roses and eriogonums are usually found blooming
on the open spaces about the groves, forming charming pleasure grounds.
Higher, the firs gradually become smaller and less perfect, many
showing double summits, indicating storm stress. Still, where good
moraine soil is found, even on the rim of the lake-basin, specimens one
hundred and fifty feet in height and five feet in diameter occur nearly
nine thousand feet above the sea. The saplings, I find, are mostly bent
with the crushing weight of the winter snow, which at this elevation
must be at least eight or ten feet deep, judging by marks on the trees;
and this depth of compacted snow is heavy enough to bend and bury young
trees twenty or thirty feet in height and hold them down for four or
five months. Some are broken; the others spring up when the snow melts
and at length attain a size that enables them to withstand the snow
pressure. Yet even in trees five feet thick the traces of this early
discipline are still plainly to be seen in their curved insteps, and
frequently in old dried saplings protruding from the trunk, partially
overgrown by the new axis developed from a branch below the break. Yet
through all this stress the forest is maintained in marvelous beauty.

Beyond the silver firs I find the two-leaved pine (_Pinus contorta_,
var. _Murrayana_) forms the bulk of the forest up to an elevation of ten
thousand feet or more--the highest timber-belt of the Sierra. I saw a
specimen nearly five feet in diameter growing on deep, well-watered
soil at an elevation of about nine thousand feet. The form of this
species varies very much with position, exposure, soil, etc. On
stream-banks, where it is closely planted, it is very slender; some
specimens seventy-five feet high do not exceed five inches in diameter
at the ground, but the ordinary form, as far as I have seen, is well
proportioned. The average diameter when full grown at this elevation is
about twelve or fourteen inches, height forty or fifty feet, the
straggling branches bent up at the end, the bark thin and bedraggled
with amber-colored resin. The pistillate flowers form little crimson
rosettes a fourth of an inch in diameter on the ends of the branchlets,
mostly hidden in the leaf-tassels; the staminate are about three eighths
of an inch in diameter, sulphur-yellow, in showy clusters, giving a
remarkably rich effect--a brave, hardy mountaineer pine, growing
cheerily on rough beds of avalanche boulders and joints of rock
pavements, as well as in fertile hollows, standing up to the waist in
snow every winter for centuries, facing a thousand storms and blooming
every year in colors as bright as those worn by the sun-drenched trees
of the tropics.

A still hardier mountaineer is the Sierra juniper (_Juniperus
occidentalis_), growing mostly on domes and ridges and glacier
pavements. A thickset, sturdy, picturesque highlander, seemingly content
to live for more than a score of centuries on sunshine and snow; a truly
wonderful fellow, dogged endurance expressed in every feature, lasting
about as long as the granite he stands on. Some are nearly as broad as
high. I saw one on the shore of the lake nearly ten feet in diameter,
and many six to eight feet. The bark, cinnamon-colored, flakes off in
long ribbon-like strips with a satiny luster. Surely the most enduring
of all tree mountaineers, it never seems to die a natural death, or even
to fall after it has been killed. If protected from accidents, it would
perhaps be immortal. I saw some that had withstood an avalanche from
snowy Mount Hoffman cheerily putting out new branches, as if repeating,
like Grip, "Never say die." Some were simply standing on the pavement
where no fissure more than half an inch wide offered a hold for its
roots. The common height for these rock-dwellers is from ten to twenty
feet; most of the old ones have broken tops, and are mere stumps, with a
few tufted branches, forming picturesque brown pillars on bare
pavements, with plenty of elbow-room and a clear view in every
direction. On good moraine soil it reaches a height of from forty to
sixty feet, with dense gray foliage. The rings of the trunk are very
thin, eighty to an inch of diameter in some specimens I examined. Those
ten feet in diameter must be very old--thousands of years. Wish I could
live, like these junipers, on sunshine and snow, and stand beside them
on the shore of Lake Tenaya for a thousand years. How much I should see,
and how delightful it would be! Everything in the mountains would find
me and come to me, and everything from the heavens like light.

[Illustration: JUNIPERS IN TENAYA CAÑON]

The lake was named for one of the chiefs of the Yosemite tribe. Old
Tenaya is said to have been a good Indian to his tribe. When a company
of soldiers followed his band into Yosemite to punish them for
cattle-stealing and other crimes, they fled to this lake by a trail that
leads out of the upper end of the valley, early in the spring, while the
snow was still deep; but being pursued, they lost heart and surrendered.
A fine monument the old man has in this bright lake, and likely to last
a long time, though lakes die as well as Indians, being gradually filled
with detritus carried in by the feeding streams, and to some extent also
by snow avalanches and rain and wind. A considerable portion of the
Tenaya basin is already changed into a forested flat and meadow at the
upper end, where the main tributary enters from Cathedral Peak. Two
other tributaries come from the Hoffman Range. The outlet flows westward
through Tenaya Cañon to join the Merced River in Yosemite. Scarce a
handful of loose soil is to be seen on the north shore. All is bare,
shining granite, suggesting the Indian name of the lake, Pywiack,
meaning shining rock. The basin seems to have been slowly excavated by
the ancient glaciers, a marvelous work requiring countless thousands of
years. On the south side an imposing mountain rises from the water's
edge to a height of three thousand feet or more, feathered with hemlock
and pine; and huge shining domes on the east, over the tops of which the
grinding, wasting, molding glacier must have swept as the wind does
to-day.

_July 28._ No cloud mountains, only curly cirrus wisps scarce
perceptible, and the want of thunder to strike the noon hour seems
strange, as if the Sierra clock had stopped. Have been studying the
_magnifica_ fir--measured one near two hundred and forty feet high, the
tallest I have yet seen. This species is the most symmetrical of all
conifers, but though gigantic in size it seldom lives more than four or
five hundred years. Most of the trees die from the attacks of a fungus
at the age of two or three centuries. This dry-rot fungus perhaps enters
the trunk by way of the stumps of limbs broken off by the snow that
loads the broad palmate branches. The younger specimens are marvels of
symmetry, straight and erect as a plumb-line, their branches in regular
level whorls of five mostly, each branch as exact in its divisions as a
fern frond, and thickly covered by the leaves, making a rich plush over
all the tree, excepting only the trunk and a small portion of the main
limbs. The leaves turn upward, especially on the branchlets, and are
stiff and sharp, pointed on all the upper portion of the tree. They
remain on the tree about eight or ten years, and as the growth is rapid
it is not rare to find the leaves still in place on the upper part of
the axis where it is three to four inches in diameter, wide apart of
course, and their spiral arrangement beautifully displayed. The
leaf-scars are conspicuous for twenty years or more, but there is a good
deal of variation in different trees as to the thickness and sharpness
of the leaves.

After the excursion to Mount Hoffman I had seen a complete cross-section
of the Sierra forest, and I find that _Abies magnifica_ is the most
symmetrical tree of all the noble coniferous company. The cones are
grand affairs, superb in form, size, and color, cylindrical, stand
erect on the upper branches like casks, and are from five to eight
inches in length by three or four in diameter, greenish gray, and
covered with fine down which has a silvery luster in the sunshine, and
their brilliance is augmented by beads of transparent balsam which seems
to have been poured over each cone, bringing to mind the old ceremonies
of anointing with oil. If possible, the inside of the cone is more
beautiful than the outside; the scales, bracts, and seed wings are
tinted with the loveliest rosy purple with a bright lustrous
iridescence; the seeds, three fourths of an inch long, are dark brown.
When the cones are ripe the scales and bracts fall off, setting the
seeds free to fly to their predestined places, while the dead spike-like
axes are left on the branches for many years to mark the positions of
the vanished cones, excepting those cut off when green by the Douglas
squirrel. How he gets his teeth under the broad bases of the sessile
cones, I don't know. Climbing these trees on a sunny day to visit the
growing cones and to gaze over the tops of the forest is one of my best
enjoyments.

_July 29._ Bright, cool, exhilarating. Clouds about .05. Another
glorious day of rambling, sketching, and universal enjoyment.

_July 30._ Clouds .20, but the regular shower did not reach us, though
thunder was heard a few miles off striking the noon hour. Ants, flies,
and mosquitoes seem to enjoy this fine climate. A few house-flies have
discovered our camp. The Sierra mosquitoes are courageous and of good
size, some of them measuring nearly an inch from tip of sting to tip of
folded wings. Though less abundant than in most wildernesses, they
occasionally make quite a hum and stir, and pay but little attention to
time or place. They sting anywhere, any time of day, wherever they can
find anything worth while, until they are themselves stung by frost. The
large, jet-black ants are only ticklish and troublesome when one is
lying down under the trees. Noticed a borer drilling a silver fir.
Ovipositor about an inch and a half in length, polished and straight
like a needle. When not in use, it is folded back in a sheath, which
extends straight behind like the legs of a crane in flying. This
drilling, I suppose, is to save nest building, and the after care of
feeding the young. Who would guess that in the brain of a fly so much
knowledge could find lodgment? How do they know that their eggs will
hatch in such holes, or, after they hatch, that the soft, helpless grubs
will find the right sort of nourishment in silver fir sap? This
domestic arrangement calls to mind the curious family of gallflies.
Each species seems to know what kind of plant will respond to the
irritation or stimulus of the puncture it makes and the eggs it lays, in
forming a growth that not only answers for a nest and home but also
provides food for the young. Probably these gallflies make mistakes at
times, like anybody else; but when they do, there is simply a failure of
that particular brood, while enough to perpetuate the species do find
the proper plants and nourishment. Many mistakes of this kind might be
made without being discovered by us. Once a pair of wrens made the
mistake of building a nest in the sleeve of a workman's coat, which was
called for at sundown, much to the consternation and discomfiture of the
birds. Still the marvel remains that any of the children of such small
people as gnats and mosquitoes should escape their own and their
parents' mistakes, as well as the vicissitudes of the weather and hosts
of enemies, and come forth in full vigor and perfection to enjoy the
sunny world. When we think of the small creatures that are visible, we
are led to think of many that are smaller still and lead us on and on
into infinite mystery.

_July 31._ Another glorious day, the air as delicious to the lungs as
nectar to the tongue; indeed the body seems one palate, and tingles
equally throughout. Cloudiness about .05, but our ordinary shower has
not yet reached us, though I hear thunder in the distance.

The cheery little chipmunk, so common about Brown's Flat, is common here
also, and perhaps other species. In their light, airy habits they recall
the familiar species of the Eastern States, which we admired in the oak
openings of Wisconsin as they skimmed along the zigzag rail fences.
These Sierra chipmunks are more arboreal and squirrel-like. I first
noticed them on the lower edge of the coniferous belt, where the Sabine
and yellow pines meet,--exceedingly interesting little fellows, full of
odd, funny ways, and without being true squirrels, have most of their
accomplishments without their aggressive quarrelsomeness. I never weary
watching them as they frisk about in the bushes gathering seeds and
berries, like song sparrows poising daintily on slender twigs, and
making even less stir than most birds of the same size. Few of the
Sierra animals interest me more; they are so able, gentle, confiding,
and beautiful, they take one's heart, and get themselves adopted as
darlings. Though weighing hardly more than field mice, they are
laborious collectors of seeds, nuts, and cones, and are therefore well
fed, but never in the least swollen with fat or lazily full. On the
contrary, of their frisky, birdlike liveliness there is no end. They
have a great variety of notes corresponding with their movements, some
sweet and liquid, like water dripping with tinkling sounds into pools.
They seem dearly to love teasing a dog, coming frequently almost within
reach, then frisking away with lively chipping, like sparrows, beating
time to their music with their tails, which at each chip describe half
circles from side to side. Not even the Douglas squirrel is surer-footed
or more fearless. I have seen them running about on sheer precipices of
the Yosemite walls seemingly holding on with as little effort as flies,
and as unconscious of danger, where, if the slightest slip were made,
they would have fallen two or three thousand feet. How fine it would be
could we mountaineers climb these tremendous cliffs with the same sure
grip! The venture I made the other day for a view of the Yosemite Fall,
and which tried my nerves so sorely, this little Tamias would have made
for an ear of grass.

The woodchuck (_Arctomys monax_) of the bleak mountain-tops is a very
different sort of mountaineer--the most bovine of rodents, a heavy
eater, fat, aldermanic in bulk and fairly bloated, in his high pastures,
like a cow in a clover field. One woodchuck would outweigh a hundred
chipmunks, and yet he is by no means a dull animal. In the midst of what
we regard as storm-beaten desolation he pipes and whistles right
cheerily, and enjoys long life in his skyland homes. His burrow is made
in disintegrated rocks or beneath large boulders. Coming out of his den
in the cold hoarfrost mornings, he takes a sun-bath on some favorite
flat-topped rock, then goes to breakfast in garden hollows, eats grass
and flowers until comfortably swollen, then goes a-visiting to fight and
play. How long a woodchuck lives in this bracing air I don't know, but
some of them are rusty and gray like lichen-covered boulders.

_August 1._ A grand cloudland and five-minute shower, refreshing the
blessed wilderness, already so fragrant and fresh, steeping the black
meadow mold and dead leaves like tea.

The waycup, or flicker, so familiar to every boy in the old Middle West
States, is one of the most common of the wood-peckers hereabouts, and
makes one feel at home. I can see no difference in plumage or habits
from the Eastern species, though the climate here is so different,--a
fine, brave, confiding, beautiful bird. The robin, too, is here, with
all his familiar notes and gestures, tripping daintily on open garden
spots and high meadows. Over all America he seems to be at home, moving
from the plains to the mountains and from north to south, back and
forth, up and down, with the march of the seasons and food supply. How
admirable the constitution and temper of this brave singer, keeping in
cheery health over so vast and varied a range! Oftentimes, as I wander
through these solemn woods, awe-stricken and silent, I hear the
reassuring voice of this fellow wanderer ringing out, sweet and clear,
"Fear not! fear not!"

The mountain quail (_Oreortyx ricta_) I often meet in my walks--a small
brown partridge with a very long, slender, ornamental crest worn
jauntily like a feather in a boy's cap, giving it a very marked
appearance. This species is considerably larger than the valley quail,
so common on the hot foothills. They seldom alight in trees, but love to
wander in flocks of from five or six to twenty through the ceanothus and
manzanita thickets and over open, dry meadows and rocks of the ridges
where the forest is less dense or wanting, uttering a low clucking sound
to enable them to keep together. When disturbed they rise with a strong
birr of wing-beats, and scatter as if exploded to a distance of a
quarter of a mile or so. After the danger is past they call one another
together with a loud piping note--Nature's beautiful mountain chickens.
I have not yet found their nests. The young of this season are already
hatched and away--new broods of happy wanderers half as large as their
parents. I wonder how they live through the long winters, when the
ground is snow-covered ten feet deep. They must go down towards the
lower edge of the forest, like the deer, though I have not heard of them
there.

The blue, or dusky, grouse is also common here. They like the deepest
and closest fir woods, and when disturbed, burst from the branches of
the trees with a strong, loud whir of wing-beats, and vanish in a
wavering, silent slide, without moving a feather--a stout, beautiful
bird about the size of the prairie chicken of the old west, spending
most of the time in the trees, excepting the breeding season, when it
keeps to the ground. The young are now able to fly. When scattered by
man or dog, they keep still until the danger is supposed to be passed,
then the mother calls them together. The chicks can hear the call a
distance of several hundred yards, though it is not loud. Should the
young be unable to fly, the mother feigns desperate lameness or death to
draw one away, throwing herself at one's feet within two or three yards,
rolling over on her back, kicking and gasping, so as to deceive man or
beast. They are said to stay all the year in the woods hereabouts,
taking shelter in dense tufted branches of fir and yellow pine during
snowstorms, and feeding on the young buds of these trees. Their legs are
feathered down to their toes, and I have never heard of their suffering
in any sort of weather. Able to live on pine and fir buds, they are
forever independent in the matter of food, which troubles so many of us
and controls our movements. Gladly, if I could, I would live forever on
pine buds, however full of turpentine and pitch, for the sake of this
grand independence. Just to think of our sufferings last month merely
for grist-mill flour. Man seems to have more difficulty in gaining food
than any other of the Lord's creatures. For many in towns it is a
consuming, lifelong struggle; for others, the danger of coming to want
is so great, the deadly habit of endless hoarding for the future is
formed, which smothers all real life, and is continued long after every
reasonable need has been over-supplied.

On Mount Hoffman I saw a curious dove-colored bird that seemed half
woodpecker, half magpie, or crow. It screams something like a crow, but
flies like a woodpecker, and has a long, straight bill, with which I saw
it opening the cones of the mountain and white-barked pines. It seems
to keep to the heights, though no doubt it comes down for shelter during
winter, if not for food. So far as food is concerned, these
bird-mountaineers, I guess, can glean nuts enough, even in winter, from
the different kinds of conifers; for always there are a few that have
been unable to fly out of the cones and remain for hungry winter
gleaners.




CHAPTER VII

A STRANGE EXPERIENCE


_August 2._ Clouds and showers, about the same as yesterday. Sketching
all day on the North Dome until four or five o'clock in the afternoon,
when, as I was busily employed thinking only of the glorious Yosemite
landscape, trying to draw every tree and every line and feature of the
rocks, I was suddenly, and without warning, possessed with the notion
that my friend, Professor J. D. Butler, of the State University of
Wisconsin, was below me in the valley, and I jumped up full of the idea
of meeting him, with almost as much startling excitement as if he had
suddenly touched me to make me look up. Leaving my work without the
slightest deliberation, I ran down the western slope of the Dome and
along the brink of the valley wall, looking for a way to the bottom,
until I came to a side cañon, which, judging by its apparently
continuous growth of trees and bushes, I thought might afford a
practical way into the valley, and immediately began to make the
descent, late as it was, as if drawn irresistibly. But after a little,
common sense stopped me and explained that it would be long after dark
ere I could possibly reach the hotel, that the visitors would be asleep,
that nobody would know me, that I had no money in my pockets, and
moreover was without a coat. I therefore compelled myself to stop, and
finally succeeded in reasoning myself out of the notion of seeking my
friend in the dark, whose presence I only felt in a strange, telepathic
way. I succeeded in dragging myself back through the woods to camp,
never for a moment wavering, however, in my determination to go down to
him next morning. This I think is the most unexplainable notion that
ever struck me. Had some one whispered in my ear while I sat on the
Dome, where I had spent so many days, that Professor Butler was in the
valley, I could not have been more surprised and startled. When I was
leaving the university, he said, "Now, John, I want to hold you in sight
and watch your career. Promise to write me at least once a year." I
received a letter from him in July, at our first camp in the Hollow,
written in May, in which he said that he might possibly visit California
some time this summer, and therefore hoped to meet me. But inasmuch as
he named no meeting-place, and gave no directions as to the course he
would probably follow, and as I should be in the wilderness all summer,
I had not the slightest hope of seeing him, and all thought of the
matter had vanished from my mind until this afternoon, when he seemed to
be wafted bodily almost against my face. Well, to-morrow I shall see;
for, reasonable or unreasonable, I feel I must go.

_August 3._ Had a wonderful day. Found Professor Butler as the
compass-needle finds the pole. So last evening's telepathy,
transcendental revelation, or whatever else it may be called, was true;
for, strange to say, he had just entered the valley by way of the
Coulterville Trail and was coming up the valley past El Capitan when his
presence struck me. Had he then looked toward the North Dome with a good
glass when it first came in sight, he might have seen me jump up from my
work and run toward him. This seems the one well-defined marvel of my
life of the kind called supernatural; for, absorbed in glad Nature,
spirit-rappings, second sight, ghost stories, etc., have never
interested me since boyhood, seeming comparatively useless and
infinitely less wonderful than Nature's open, harmonious, songful,
sunny, everyday beauty.

This morning, when I thought of having to appear among tourists at a
hotel, I was troubled because I had no suitable clothes, and at best am
desperately bashful and shy. I was determined to go, however, to see my
old friend after two years among strangers; got on a clean pair of
overalls, a cashmere shirt, and a sort of jacket,--the best my camp
wardrobe afforded,--tied my notebook on my belt, and strode away on my
strange journey, followed by Carlo. I made my way though the gap
discovered last evening, which proved to be Indian Cañon. There was no
trail in it, and the rocks and brush were so rough that Carlo frequently
called me back to help him down precipitous places. Emerging from the
cañon shadows, I found a man making hay on one of the meadows, and asked
him whether Professor Butler was in the valley. "I don't know," he
replied; "but you can easily find out at the hotel. There are but few
visitors in the valley just now. A small party came in yesterday
afternoon, and I heard some one called Professor Butler, or Butterfield,
or some name like that."

[Illustration: _The Vernal Falls, Yosemite National Park_]

In front of the gloomy hotel I found a tourist party adjusting their
fishing tackle. They all stared at me in silent wonderment, as if I had
been seen dropping down through the trees from the clouds, mostly, I
suppose, on account of my strange garb. Inquiring for the office, I was
told it was locked, and that the landlord was away, but I might find the
landlady, Mrs. Hutchings, in the parlor. I entered in a sad state of
embarrassment, and after I had waited in the big, empty room and knocked
at several doors the landlady at length appeared, and in reply to my
question said she rather thought Professor Butler _was_ in the valley,
but to make sure, she would bring the register from the office. Among
the names of the last arrivals I soon discovered the Professor's
familiar handwriting, at the sight of which bashfulness vanished; and
having learned that his party had gone up the valley,--probably to the
Vernal and Nevada Falls,--I pushed on in glad pursuit, my heart now sure
of its prey. In less than an hour I reached the head of the Nevada Cañon
at the Vernal Fall, and just outside of the spray discovered a
distinguished-looking gentleman, who, like everybody else I have seen
to-day, regarded me curiously as I approached. When I made bold to
inquire if he knew where Professor Butler was, he seemed yet more
curious to know what could possibly have happened that required a
messenger for the Professor, and instead of answering my question he
asked with military sharpness, "Who wants him?" "I want him," I replied
with equal sharpness. "Why? Do _you_ know him?" "Yes," I said. "Do
_you_ know him?" Astonished that any one in the mountains could possibly
know Professor Butler and find him as soon as he had reached the valley,
he came down to meet the strange mountaineer on equal terms, and
courteously replied, "Yes, I know Professor Butler very well. I am
General Alvord, and we were fellow students in Rutland, Vermont, long
ago, when we were both young." "But where is he now?" I persisted,
cutting short his story. "He has gone beyond the falls with a companion,
to try to climb that big rock, the top of which you see from here." His
guide now volunteered the information that it was the Liberty Cap
Professor Butler and his companion had gone to climb, and that if I
waited at the head of the fall I should be sure to find them on their
way down. I therefore climbed the ladders alongside the Vernal Fall, and
was pushing forward, determined to go to the top of Liberty Cap rock in
my hurry, rather than wait, if I should not meet my friend sooner. So
heart-hungry at times may one be to see a friend in the flesh, however
happily full and care-free one's life may be. I had gone but a short
distance, however, above the brow of the Vernal Fall when I caught sight
of him in the brush and rocks, half erect, groping his way, his sleeves
rolled up, vest open, hat in his hand, evidently very hot and tired.
When he saw me coming he sat down on a boulder to wipe the perspiration
from his brow and neck, and taking me for one of the valley guides, he
inquired the way to the fall ladders. I pointed out the path marked with
little piles of stones, on seeing which he called his companion, saying
that the way was found; but he did not yet recognize me. Then I stood
directly in front of him, looked him in the face, and held out my hand.
He thought I was offering to assist him in rising. "Never mind," he
said. Then I said, "Professor Butler, don't you know me?" "I think not,"
he replied; but catching my eye, sudden recognition followed, and
astonishment that I should have found him just when he was lost in the
brush and did not know that I was within hundreds of miles of him. "John
Muir, John Muir, where have you come from?" Then I told him the story of
my feeling his presence when he entered the valley last evening, when he
was four or five miles distant, as I sat sketching on the North Dome.
This, of course, only made him wonder the more. Below the foot of the
Vernal Fall the guide was waiting with his saddle-horse, and I walked
along the trail, chatting all the way back to the hotel, talking of
school days, friends in Madison, of the students, how each had
prospered, etc., ever and anon gazing at the stupendous rocks about us,
now growing indistinct in the gloaming, and again quoting from the
poets--a rare ramble.

It was late ere we reached the hotel, and General Alvord was waiting the
Professor's arrival for dinner. When I was introduced he seemed yet more
astonished than the Professor at my descent from cloudland and going
straight to my friend without knowing in any ordinary way that he was
even in California. They had come on direct from the East, had not yet
visited any of their friends in the state, and considered themselves
undiscoverable. As we sat at dinner, the General leaned back in his
chair, and looking down the table, thus introduced me to the dozen
guests or so, including the staring fisherman mentioned above: "This
man, you know, came down out of these huge, trackless mountains, you
know, to find his friend Professor Butler here, the very day he arrived;
and how did he know he was here? He just felt him, he says. This is the
queerest case of Scotch farsightedness I ever heard of," etc., etc.
While my friend quoted Shakespeare: "More things in heaven and earth,
Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," "As the sun, ere he
has risen, sometimes paints his image in the firmament, e'en so the
shadows of events precede the events, and in to-day already walks
to-morrow."

Had a long conversation, after dinner, over Madison days. The Professor
wants me to promise to go with him, sometime, on a camping trip in the
Hawaiian Islands, while I tried to get him to go back with me to camp in
the high Sierra. But he says, "Not now." He must not leave the General;
and I was surprised to learn they are to leave the valley to-morrow or
next day. I'm glad I'm not great enough to be missed in the busy world.

_August 4._ It seemed strange to sleep in a paltry hotel chamber after
the spacious magnificence and luxury of the starry sky and silver fir
grove. Bade farewell to my friend and the General. The old soldier was
very kind, and an interesting talker. He told me long stories of the
Florida Seminole war, in which he took part, and invited me to visit him
in Omaha. Calling Carlo, I scrambled home through the Indian Cañon gate,
rejoicing, pitying the poor Professor and General, bound by clocks,
almanacs, orders, duties, etc., and compelled to dwell with lowland care
and dust and din, where Nature is covered and her voice smothered, while
the poor, insignificant wanderer enjoys the freedom and glory of God's
wilderness.

Apart from the human interest of my visit to-day, I greatly enjoyed
Yosemite, which I had visited only once before, having spent eight days
last spring in rambling amid its rocks and waters. Wherever we go in the
mountains, or indeed in any of God's wild fields, we find more than we
seek. Descending four thousand feet in a few hours, we enter a new
world--climate, plants, sounds, inhabitants, and scenery all new or
changed. Near camp the goldcup oak forms sheets of chaparral, on top of
which we may make our beds. Going down the Indian Cañon we observe this
little bush changing by regular gradations to a large bush, to a small
tree, and then larger, until on the rocky taluses near the bottom of the
valley we find it developed into a broad, wide-spreading, gnarled,
picturesque tree from four to eight feet in diameter, and forty or fifty
feet high. Innumerable are the forms of water displayed. Every gliding
reach, cascade, and fall has characters of its own. Had a good view of
the Vernal and Nevada, two of the main falls of the valley, less than a
mile apart, and offering striking differences in voice, form, color,
etc. The Vernal, four hundred feet high and about seventy-five or
eighty feet wide, drops smoothly over a round-lipped precipice and forms
a superb apron of embroidery, green and white, slightly folded and
fluted, maintaining this form nearly to the bottom, where it is suddenly
veiled in quick-flying billows of spray and mist, in which the afternoon
sunbeams play with ravishing beauty of rainbow colors. The Nevada is
white from its first appearance as it leaps out into the freedom of the
air. At the head it presents a twisted appearance, by an overfolding of
the current from striking on the side of its channel just before the
first free out-bounding leap is made. About two thirds of the way down,
the hurrying throng of comet-shaped masses glance on an inclined part of
the face of the precipice and are beaten into yet whiter foam, greatly
expanded, and sent bounding outward, making an indescribably glorious
show, especially when the afternoon sunshine is pouring into it. In this
fall--one of the most wonderful in the world--the water does not seem to
be under the dominion of ordinary laws, but rather as if it were a
living creature, full of the strength of the mountains and their huge,
wild joy.

From beneath heavy throbbing blasts of spray the broken river is seen
emerging in ragged boulder-chafed strips. These are speedily gathered
into a roaring torrent, showing that the young river is still gloriously
alive. On it goes, shouting, roaring, exulting in its strength, passes
through a gorge with sublime display of energy, then suddenly expands on
a gently inclined pavement, down which it rushes in thin sheets and
folds of lace-work into a quiet pool,--"Emerald Pool," as it is
called,--a stopping-place, a period separating two grand sentences.
Resting here long enough to part with its foam-bells and gray mixtures
of air, it glides quietly to the verge of the Vernal precipice in a
broad sheet and makes its new display in the Vernal Fall; then more
rapids and rock tossings down the cañon, shaded by live oak, Douglas
spruce, fir, maple, and dogwood. It receives the Illilouette tributary,
and makes a long sweep out into the level, sun-filled valley to join the
other streams which, like itself, have danced and sung their way down
from snowy heights to form the main Merced--the river of Mercy. But of
this there is no end, and life, when one thinks of it, is so short.
Never mind, one day in the midst of these divine glories is well worth
living and toiling and starving for.

Before parting with Professor Butler he gave me a book, and I gave him
one of my pencil sketches for his little son Henry, who is a favorite
of mine. He used to make many visits to my room when I was a student.
Never shall I forget his patriotic speeches for the Union, mounted on a
tall stool, when he was only six years old.

It seems strange that visitors to Yosemite should be so little
influenced by its novel grandeur, as if their eyes were bandaged and
their ears stopped. Most of those I saw yesterday were looking down as
if wholly unconscious of anything going on about them, while the sublime
rocks were trembling with the tones of the mighty chanting congregation
of waters gathered from all the mountains round about, making music that
might draw angels out of heaven. Yet respectable-looking, even
wise-looking people were fixing bits of worms on bent pieces of wire to
catch trout. Sport they called it. Should church-goers try to pass the
time fishing in baptismal fonts while dull sermons were being preached,
the so-called sport might not be so bad; but to play in the Yosemite
temple, seeking pleasure in the pain of fishes struggling for their
lives, while God himself is preaching his sublimest water and stone
sermons!

[Illustration: _The Happy Isles, Yosemite National Park_]

Now I'm back at the camp-fire, and cannot help thinking about my
recognition of my friend's presence in the valley while he was four or
five miles away, and while I had no means of knowing that he was
not thousands of miles away. It seems supernatural, but only because it
is not understood. Anyhow, it seems silly to make so much of it, while
the natural and common is more truly marvelous and mysterious than the
so-called supernatural. Indeed most of the miracles we hear of are
infinitely less wonderful than the commonest of natural phenomena, when
fairly seen. Perhaps the invisible rays that struck me while I sat at
work on the Dome are something like those which attract and repel people
at first sight, concerning which so much nonsense has been written. The
worst apparent effect of these mysterious odd things is blindness to all
that is divinely common. Hawthorne, I fancy, could weave one of his
weird romances out of this little telepathic episode, the one strange
marvel of my life, probably replacing my good old Professor by an
attractive woman.

_August 5._ We were awakened this morning before daybreak by the furious
barking of Carlo and Jack and the sound of stampeding sheep. Billy fled
from his punk bed to the fire, and refused to stir into the darkness to
try to gather the scattered flock, or ascertain the nature of the
disturbance. It was a bear attack, as we afterward learned, and I
suppose little was gained by attempting to do anything before daylight.
Nevertheless, being anxious to know what was up, Carlo and I groped our
way through the woods, guided by the rustling sound made by fragments of
the flock, not fearing the bear, for I knew that the runaways would go
from their enemy as far as possible and Carlo's nose was also to be
depended upon. About half a mile east of the corral we overtook twenty
or thirty of the flock and succeeded in driving them back; then turning
to the westward, we traced another band of fugitives and got them back
to the flock. After daybreak I discovered the remains of a sheep
carcass, still warm, showing that Bruin must have been enjoying his
early mutton breakfast while I was seeking the runaways. He had eaten
about half of it. Six dead sheep lay in the corral, evidently smothered
by the crowding and piling up of the flock against the side of the
corral wall when the bear entered. Making a wide circuit of the camp,
Carlo and I discovered a third band of fugitives and drove them back to
camp. We also discovered another dead sheep half eaten, showing there
had been two of the shaggy freebooters at this early breakfast. They
were easily traced. They had each caught a sheep, jumped over the corral
fence with them, carrying them as a cat carries a mouse, laid them at
the foot of fir trees a hundred yards or so back from the corral, and
eaten their fill. After breakfast I set out to seek more of the lost,
and found seventy-five at a considerable distance from camp. In the
afternoon I succeeded, with Carlo's help, in getting them back to the
flock. I don't know whether all are together again or not. I shall make
a big fire this evening and keep watch.

When I asked Billy why he made his bed against the corral in rotten
wood, when so many better places offered, he replied that he "wished to
be as near the sheep as possible in case bears should attack them." Now
that the bears have come, he has moved his bed to the far side of the
camp, and seems afraid that he may be mistaken for a sheep.

This has been mostly a sheep day, and of course studies have been
interrupted. Nevertheless, the walk through the gloom of the woods
before the dawn was worth while, and I have learned something about
these noble bears. Their tracks are very telling, and so are their
breakfasts. Scarce a trace of clouds to-day, and of course our ordinary
midday thunder is wanting.

_August 6._ Enjoyed the grand illumination of the camp grove, last
night, from the fire we made to frighten the bears--compensation for
loss of sleep and sheep. The noble pillars of verdure, vividly aglow,
seemed to shoot into the sky like the flames that lighted them.
Nevertheless, one of the bears paid us another visit, as if more
attracted than repelled by the fire, climbed into the corral, killed a
sheep and made off with it without being seen, while still another was
lost by trampling and suffocation against the side of the corral. Now
that our mutton has been tasted, I suppose it will be difficult to put a
stop to the ravages of these freebooters.

The Don arrived to-day from the lowlands with provisions and a letter.
On learning the losses he had sustained, he determined to move the flock
at once to the Upper Tuolumne region, saying that the bears would be
sure to visit the camp every night as long as we stayed, and that no
fire or noise we might make would avail to frighten them. No clouds save
a few thin, lustrous touches on the eastern horizon. Thunder heard in
the distance.




CHAPTER VIII

THE MONO TRAIL


_August 7._ Early this morning bade good-bye to the bears and blessed
silver fir camp, and moved slowly eastward along the Mono Trail. At
sundown camped for the night on one of the many small flowery meadows so
greatly enjoyed on my excursion to Lake Tenaya. The dusty, noisy flock
seems outrageously foreign and out of place in these nature gardens,
more so than bears among sheep. The harm they do goes to the heart, but
glorious hope lifts above all the dust and din and bids me look forward
to a good time coming, when money enough will be earned to enable me to
go walking where I like in pure wildness, with what I can carry on my
back, and when the bread-sack is empty, run down to the nearest point on
the bread-line for more. Nor will these run-downs be blanks, for,
whether up or down, every step and jump on these blessed mountains is
full of fine lessons.

[Illustration: VIEW OF TENAYA LAKE SHOWING CATHEDRAL PEAK]

[Illustration: ONE OF THE TRIBUTARY FOUNTAINS OF THE TUOLUMNE CAÑON
WATERS, ON THE NORTH SIDE OF THE HOFFMAN RANGE]

_August 8._ Camp at the west end of Lake Tenaya. Arriving early, I took
a walk on the glacier-polished pavements along the north shore, and
climbed the magnificent mountain rock at the east end of the lake, now
shining in the late afternoon light. Almost every yard of its surface
shows the scoring and polishing action of a great glacier that enveloped
it and swept heavily over its summit, though it is about two thousand
feet high above the lake and ten thousand above sea-level. This
majestic, ancient ice-flood came from the eastward, as the scoring and
crushing of the surface shows. Even below the waters of the lake the
rock in some places is still grooved and polished; the lapping of the
waves and their disintegrating action have not as yet obliterated even
the superficial marks of glaciation. In climbing the steepest polished
places I had to take off shoes and stockings. A fine region this for
study of glacial action in mountain-making. I found many charming
plants: arctic daisies, phlox, white spiræa, bryanthus, and
rock-ferns,--pellæa, cheilanthes, allosorus,--fringing weathered seams
all the way up to the summit; and sturdy junipers, grand old gray and
brown monuments, stood bravely erect on fissured spots here and there,
telling storm and avalanche stories of hundreds of winters. The view of
the lake from the top is, I think, the best of all. There is another
rock, more striking in form than this, standing isolated at the head
of the lake, but it is not more than half as high. It is a knob or knot
of burnished granite, perhaps about a thousand feet high, apparently as
flawless and strong in structure as a wave-worn pebble, and probably
owes its existence to the superior resistance it offered to the action
of the overflowing ice-flood.

Made sketch of the lake, and sauntered back to camp, my iron-shod shoes
clanking on the pavements disturbing the chipmunks and birds. After dark
went out to the shore,--not a breath of air astir, the lake a perfect
mirror reflecting the sky and mountains with their stars and trees and
wonderful sculpture, all their grandeur refined and doubled,--a
marvelously impressive picture, that seemed to belong more to heaven
than earth.

_August 9._ I went ahead of the flock, and crossed over the divide
between the Merced and Tuolumne Basins. The gap between the east end of
the Hoffman spur and the mass of mountain rocks about Cathedral Peak,
though roughened by ridges and waving folds, seems to be one of the
channels of a broad ancient glacier that came from the mountains on the
summit of the range. In crossing this divide the ice-river made an
ascent of about five hundred feet from the Tuolumne meadows. This entire
region must have been overswept by ice.

From the top of the divide, and also from the big Tuolumne Meadows, the
wonderful mountain called Cathedral Peak is in sight. From every point
of view it shows marked individuality. It is a majestic temple of one
stone, hewn from the living rock, and adorned with spires and pinnacles
in regular cathedral style. The dwarf pines on the roof look like
mosses. I hope some time to climb to it to say my prayers and hear the
stone sermons.

The big Tuolumne Meadows are flowery lawns, lying along the south fork
of the Tuolumne River at a height of about eighty-five hundred to nine
thousand feet above the sea, partially separated by forests and bars of
glaciated granite. Here the mountains seem to have been cleared away or
set back, so that wide-open views may be had in every direction. The
upper end of the series lies at the base of Mount Lyell, the lower below
the east end of the Hoffman Range, so the length must be about ten or
twelve miles. They vary in width from a quarter of a mile to perhaps
three quarters, and a good many branch meadows put out along the banks
of the tributary streams. This is the most spacious and delightful high
pleasure-ground I have yet seen. The air is keen and bracing, yet warm
during the day; and though lying high in the sky, the surrounding
mountains are so much higher, one feels protected as if in a grand
hall. Mounts Dana and Gibbs, massive red mountains, perhaps thirteen
thousand feet high or more, bound the view on the east, the Cathedral
and Unicorn Peaks, with many nameless peaks, on the south, the Hoffman
Range on the west, and a number of peaks unnamed, as far as I know, on
the north. One of these last is much like the Cathedral. The grass of
the meadows is mostly fine and silky, with exceedingly slender leaves,
making a close sod, above which the panicles of minute purple flowers
seem to float in airy, misty lightness, while the sod is enriched with
at least three species of gentian and as many or more of orthocarpus,
potentilla, ivesia, solidago, pentstemon, with their gay
colors,--purple, blue, yellow, and red,--all of which I may know better
ere long. A central camp will probably be made in this region, from
which I hope to make long excursions into the surrounding mountains.

On the return trip I met the flock about three miles east of Lake
Tenaya. Here we camped for the night near a small lake lying on top of
the divide in a clump of the two-leaved pine. We are now about nine
thousand feet above the sea. Small lakes abound in all sorts of
situations,--on ridges, along mountain sides, and in piles of moraine
boulders, most of them mere pools. Only in those cañons of the larger
streams at the foot of declivities, where the down thrust of the
glaciers was heaviest, do we find lakes of considerable size and depth.
How grateful a task it would be to trace them all and study them! How
pure their waters are, clear as crystal in polished stone basins! None
of them, so far as I have seen, have fishes, I suppose on account of
falls making them inaccessible. Yet one would think their eggs might get
into these lakes by some chance or other; on ducks' feet, for example,
or in their mouths, or in their crops, as some plant seeds are
distributed. Nature has so many ways of doing such things. How did the
frogs, found in all the bogs and pools and lakes, however high, manage
to get up these mountains? Surely not by jumping. Such excursions
through miles of dry brush and boulders would be very hard on frogs.
Perhaps their stringy gelatinous spawn is occasionally entangled or
glued on the feet of water birds. Anyhow, they are here and in hearty
health and voice. I like their cheery tronk and crink. They take the
place of songbirds at a pinch.

_August 10._ Another of those charming exhilarating days that make the
blood dance and excite nerve currents that render one unweariable and
well-nigh immortal. Had another view of the broad ice-ploughed divide,
and gazed again and again at the Sierra temple and the great red
mountains east of the meadows.

We are camped near the Soda Springs on the north side of the river. A
hard time we had getting the sheep across. They were driven into a
horseshoe bend and fairly crowded off the bank. They seemed willing to
suffer death rather than risk getting wet, though they swim well enough
when they have to. Why sheep should be so unreasonably afraid of water,
I don't know, but they do fear it as soon as they are born and perhaps
before. I once saw a lamb only a few hours old approach a shallow stream
about two feet wide and an inch deep, after it had walked only about a
hundred yards on its life journey. All the flock to which it belonged
had crossed this inch-deep stream, and as the mother and her lamb were
the last to cross, I had a good opportunity to observe them. As soon as
the flock was out of the way, the anxious mother crossed over and called
the youngster. It walked cautiously to the brink, gazed at the water,
bleated piteously, and refused to venture. The patient mother went back
to it again and again to encourage it, but long without avail. Like the
pilgrim on Jordan's stormy bank it feared to launch away. At length,
gathering its trembling inexperienced legs for the mighty effort,
throwing up its head as if it knew all about drowning, and was anxious
to keep its nose above water, it made the tremendous leap, and landed in
the middle of the inch-deep stream. It seemed astonished to find that,
instead of sinking over head and ears, only its toes were wet, gazed at
the shining water a few seconds, and then sprang to the shore safe and
dry through the dreadful adventure. All kinds of wild sheep are mountain
animals, and their descendants' dread of water is not easily accounted
for.

_August 11._ Fine shining weather, with a ten minutes' noon thunderstorm
and rain. Rambling all day getting acquainted with the region north of
the river. Found a small lake and many charming glacier meadows
embosomed in an extensive forest of the two-leaved pine. The forest is
growing on broad, almost continuous deposits of moraine material, is
remarkably even in its growth, and the trees are much closer together
than in any of the fir or pine woods farther down the range. The
evenness of the growth would seem to indicate that the trees are all of
the same age or nearly so. This regularity has probably been in great
part the result of fire. I saw several large patches and strips of dead
bleached spars, the ground beneath them covered with a young even
growth. Fire can run in these woods, not only because the thin bark of
the trees is dripping with resin, but because the growth is close, and
the comparatively rich soil produces good crops of tall broad-leaved
grasses on which fire can travel, even when the weather is calm. Besides
these fire-killed patches there are a good many fallen uprooted trees
here and there, some with the bark and needles still on, as if they had
lately been blown down in some thunderstorm blast. Saw a large
black-tailed deer, a buck with antlers like the upturned roots of a
fallen pine.

After a long ramble through the dense encumbered woods I emerged upon a
smooth meadow full of sunshine like a lake of light, about a mile and a
half long, a quarter to half a mile wide, and bounded by tall arrowy
pines. The sod, like that of all the glacier meadows hereabouts, is made
of silky agrostis and calamagrostis chiefly; their panicles of purple
flowers and purple stems, exceedingly light and airy, seem to float
above the green plush of leaves like a thin misty cloud, while the sod
is brightened by several species of gentian, potentilla, ivesia,
orthocarpus, and their corresponding bees and butterflies. All the
glacier meadows are beautiful, but few are so perfect as this one.
Compared with it the most carefully leveled, licked, snipped artificial
lawns of pleasure-grounds are coarse things. I should like to live here
always. It is so calm and withdrawn while open to the universe in full
communion with everything good. To the north of this glorious meadow I
discovered the camp of some Indian hunters. Their fire was still
burning, but they had not yet returned from the chase.

From meadow to meadow, every one beautiful beyond telling, and from lake
to lake through groves and belts of arrowy trees, I held my way
northward toward Mount Conness, finding telling beauty everywhere, while
the encompassing mountains were calling "Come." Hope I may climb them
all.

_August 12._ The sky-scenery has changed but little so far with the
change in elevation. Clouds about .05. Glorious pearly cumuli tinted
with purple of ineffable fineness of tone. Moved camp to the side of the
glacier meadow mentioned above. To let sheep trample so divinely fine a
place seems barbarous. Fortunately they prefer the succulent
broad-leaved triticum and other woodland grasses to the silky species of
the meadows, and therefore seldom bite them or set foot on them.

[Illustration: GLACIER MEADOW, ON THE HEADWATERS OF THE TUOLUMNE 9500
FEET ABOVE THE SEA]

The shepherd and the Don cannot agree about methods of herding. Billy
sets his dog Jack on the sheep far too often, so the Don thinks; and
after some dispute to-day, in which the shepherd loudly claimed the
right to dog the sheep as often as he pleased, he started for the
plains. Now I suppose the care of the sheep will fall on me, though Mr.
Delaney promises to do the herding himself for a while, then return to
the lowlands and bring another shepherd, so as to leave me free to rove
as I like.

Had another rich ramble. Pushed northward beyond the forests to the head
of the general basin, where traces of glacial action are strikingly
clear and interesting. The recesses among the peaks look like quarries,
so raw and fresh are the moraine chips and boulders that strew the
ground in Nature's glacial workshops.

Soon after my return to camp we received a visit from an Indian,
probably one of the hunters whose camp I had discovered. He came from
Mono, he said, with others of his tribe, to hunt deer. One that he had
killed a short distance from here he was carrying on his back, its legs
tied together in an ornamental bunch on his forehead. Throwing down his
burden, he gazed stolidly for a few minutes in silent Indian fashion,
then cut off eight or ten pounds of venison for us, and begged a "lill"
(little) of everything he saw or could think of--flour, bread, sugar,
tobacco, whiskey, needles, etc. We gave a fair price for the meat in
flour and sugar and added a few needles. A strangely dirty and irregular
life these dark-eyed, dark-haired, half-happy savages lead in this clean
wilderness,--starvation and abundance, deathlike calm, indolence, and
admirable, indefatigable action succeeding each other in stormy rhythm
like winter and summer. Two things they have that civilized toilers
might well envy them--pure air and pure water. These go far to cover and
cure the grossness of their lives. Their food is mostly good berries,
pine nuts, clover, lily bulbs, wild sheep, antelope, deer, grouse, sage
hens, and the larvæ of ants, wasps, bees, and other insects.

_August 13._ Day all sunshine, dawn and evening purple, noon gold, no
clouds, air motionless. Mr. Delaney arrived with two shepherds, one of
them an Indian. On his way up from the plains he left some provisions at
the Portuguese camp on Porcupine Creek near our old Yosemite camp, and I
set out this morning with one of the pack animals to fetch them. Arrived
at the Porcupine camp at noon, and might have returned to the Tuolumne
late in the evening, but concluded to stay over night with the
Portuguese shepherds at their pressing invitation. They had sad stories
to tell of losses from the Yosemite bears, and were so discouraged they
seemed on the point of leaving the mountains; for the bears came every
night and helped themselves to one or several of the flock in spite of
all their efforts to keep them off.

I spent the afternoon in a grand ramble along the Yosemite walls. From
the highest of the rocks called the Three Brothers, I enjoyed a
magnificent view comprehending all the upper half of the floor of the
valley and nearly all the rocks of the walls on both sides and at the
head, with snowy peaks in the background. Saw also the Vernal and Nevada
Falls, a truly glorious picture,--rocky strength and permanence combined
with beauty of plants frail and fine and evanescent; water descending in
thunder, and the same water gliding through meadows and groves in
gentlest beauty. This standpoint is about eight thousand feet above the
sea, or four thousand feet above the floor of the valley, and every
tree, though looking small and feathery, stands in admirable clearness,
and the shadows they cast are as distinct in outline as if seen at a
distance of a few yards. They appeared even more so. No words will ever
describe the exquisite beauty and charm of this mountain park--Nature's
landscape garden at once tenderly beautiful and sublime. No wonder it
draws nature-lovers from all over the world.

Glacial action even on this lofty summit is plainly displayed. Not only
has all the lovely valley now smiling in sunshine been filled to the
brim with ice, but it has been deeply overflowed.

I visited our old Yosemite camp-ground on the head of Indian Creek, and
found it fairly patted and smoothed down with bear-tracks. The bears had
eaten all the sheep that were smothered in the corral, and some of the
grand animals must have died, for Mr. Delaney, before leaving camp, put
a large quantity of poison in the carcasses. All sheep-men carry
strychnine to kill coyotes, bears, and panthers, though neither coyotes
nor panthers are at all numerous in the upper mountains. The little
dog-like wolves are far more numerous in the foothill region and on the
plains, where they find a better supply of food,--saw only one
panther-track above eight thousand feet.

[Illustration: _The Three Brothers, Yosemite National Park_]

On my return after sunset to the Portuguese camp I found the shepherds
greatly excited over the behavior of the bears that have learned to like
mutton. "They are getting worse and worse," they lamented. Not
willing to wait decently until after dark for their suppers, they come
and kill and eat their fill in broad daylight. The evening before my
arrival, when the two shepherds were leisurely driving the flock toward
camp half an hour before sunset, a hungry bear came out of the chaparral
within a few yards of them and shuffled deliberately toward the flock.
"Portuguese Joe," who always carried a gun loaded with buckshot, fired
excitedly, threw down his gun, fled to the nearest suitable tree, and
climbed to a safe height without waiting to see the effect of his shot.
His companion also ran, but said that he saw the bear rise on its hind
legs and throw out its arms as if feeling for somebody, and then go into
the brush as if wounded.

At another of their camps in this neighborhood, a bear with two cubs
attacked the flock before sunset, just as they were approaching the
corral. Joe promptly climbed a tree out of danger, while Antone,
rebuking his companion for cowardice in abandoning his charge, said that
he was not going to let bears "eat up his sheeps" in daylight, and
rushed towards the bears, shouting and setting his dog on them. The
frightened cubs climbed a tree, but the mother ran to meet the shepherd
and seemed anxious to fight. Antone stood astonished for a moment,
eyeing the oncoming bear, then turned and fled, closely pursued. Unable
to reach a suitable tree for climbing, he ran to the camp and scrambled
up to the roof of the little cabin; the bear followed, but did not climb
to the roof,--only stood glaring up at him for a few minutes,
threatening him and holding him in mortal terror, then went to her cubs,
called them down, went to the flock, caught a sheep for supper, and
vanished in the brush. As soon as the bear left the cabin, the trembling
Antone begged Joe to show him a good safe tree, up which he climbed like
a sailor climbing a mast, and remained as long as he could hold on, the
tree being almost branchless. After these disastrous experiences the two
shepherds chopped and gathered large piles of dry wood and made a ring
of fire around the corral every night, while one with a gun kept watch
from a comfortable stage built on a neighboring pine that commanded a
view of the corral. This evening the show made by the circle of fire was
very fine, bringing out the surrounding trees in most impressive relief,
and making the thousands of sheep eyes glow like a glorious bed of
diamonds.

_August 14._ Up to the time I went to bed last night all was quiet,
though we expected the shaggy freebooters every minute. They did not
come till near midnight, when a pair walked boldly to the corral between
two of the great fires, climbed in, killed two sheep and smothered ten,
while the frightened watcher in the tree did not fire a single shot,
saying that he was afraid he might kill some of the sheep, for the bears
got into the corral before he got a good clear view of them. I told the
shepherds they should at once move the flock to another camp. "Oh, no
use, no use," they lamented; "where we go, the bears go too. See my poor
dead sheeps--soon all dead. No use try another camp. We go down to the
plains." And as I afterwards learned, they were driven out of the
mountains a month before the usual time. Were bears much more numerous
and destructive, the sheep would be kept away altogether.

It seems strange that bears, so fond of all sorts of flesh, running the
risks of guns and fires and poison, should never attack men except in
defense of their young. How easily and safely a bear could pick us up as
we lie asleep! Only wolves and tigers seem to have learned to hunt man
for food, and perhaps sharks and crocodiles. Mosquitoes and other
insects would, I suppose, devour a helpless man in some parts of the
world, and so might lions, leopards, wolves, hyenas, and panthers at
times if pressed by hunger,--but under ordinary circumstances, perhaps,
only the tiger among land animals may be said to be a man-eater,--unless
we add man himself.

Clouds as usual about .05. Another glorious Sierra day, warm, crisp,
fragrant, and clear. Many of the flowering plants have gone to seed, but
many others are unfolding their petals every day, and the firs and pines
are more fragrant than ever. Their seeds are nearly ripe, and will soon
be flying in the merriest flocks that ever spread a wing.

On the way back to our Tuolumne camp, I enjoyed the scenery if possible
more than when it first came to view. Every feature already seems
familiar as if I had lived here always. I never weary gazing at the
wonderful Cathedral. It has more individual character than any other
rock or mountain I ever saw, excepting perhaps the Yosemite South Dome.
The forests, too, seem kindly familiar, and the lakes and meadows and
glad singing streams. I should like to dwell with them forever. Here
with bread and water I should be content. Even if not allowed to roam
and climb, tethered to a stake or tree in some meadow or grove, even
then I should be content forever. Bathed in such beauty, watching, the
expressions ever varying on the faces of the mountains, watching the
stars, which here have a glory that the lowlander never dreams of,
watching the circling seasons, listening to the songs of the waters and
winds and birds, would be endless pleasure. And what glorious cloudlands
I should see, storms and calms,--a new heaven and a new earth every day,
aye and new inhabitants. And how many visitors I should have. I feel
sure I should not have one dull moment. And why should this appear
extravagant? It is only common sense, a sign of health, genuine,
natural, all-awake health. One would be at an endless Godful play, and
what speeches and music and acting and scenery and lights!--sun, moon,
stars, auroras. Creation just beginning, the morning stars "still
singing together and all the sons of God shouting for joy."




CHAPTER IX

BLOODY CAÑON AND MONO LAKE


_August 21._ Have just returned from a fine wild excursion across the
range to Mono Lake, by way of the Mono or Bloody Cañon Pass. Mr. Delaney
has been good to me all summer, lending a helping, sympathizing hand at
every opportunity, as if my wild notions and rambles and studies were
his own. He is one of those remarkable California men who have been
overflowed and denuded and remodeled by the excitements of the gold
fields, like the Sierra landscapes by grinding ice, bringing the harder
bosses and ridges of character into relief,--a tall, lean, big-boned,
big-hearted Irishman, educated for a priest in Maynooth College,--lots
of good in him, shining out now and then in this mountain light.
Recognizing my love of wild places, he told me one evening that I ought
to go through Bloody Cañon, for he was sure I should find it wild
enough. He had not been there himself, he said, but had heard many of
his mining friends speak of it as the wildest of all the Sierra passes.
Of course I was glad to go. It lies just to the east of our camp and
swoops down from the summit of the range to the edge of the Mono Desert,
making a descent of about four thousand feet in a distance of about four
miles. It was known and traveled as a pass by wild animals and the
Indians long before its discovery by white men in the gold year of 1858,
as is shown by old trails which come together at the head of it. The
name may have been suggested by the red color of the metamorphic slates
in which the cañon abounds, or by the blood stains on the rocks from the
unfortunate animals that were compelled to slide and shuffle over the
sharp-angled boulders.

Early in the morning I tied my notebook and some bread to my belt, and
strode away full of eager hope, feeling that I was going to have a
glorious revel. The glacier meadows that lay along my way served to
soothe my morning speed, for the sod was full of blue gentians and
daisies, kalmia and dwarf vaccinium, calling for recognition as old
friends, and I had to stop many times to examine the shining rocks over
which the ancient glacier had passed with tremendous pressure, polishing
them so well that they reflected the sunlight like glass in some places,
while fine striæ, seen clearly through a lens, indicated the direction
in which the ice had flowed. On some of the sloping polished pavements
abrupt steps occur, showing that occasionally large masses of the rock
had given way before the glacial pressure, as well as small particles;
moraines, too, some scattered, others regular like long curving
embankments and dams, occur here and there, giving the general surface
of the region a young, new-made appearance. I watched the gradual
dwarfing of the pines as I ascended, and the corresponding dwarfing of
nearly all the rest of the vegetation. On the slopes of Mammoth
Mountain, to the south of the pass, I saw many gaps in the woods
reaching from the upper edge of the timber-line down to the level
meadows, where avalanches of snow had descended, sweeping away every
tree in their paths as well as the soil they were growing in, leaving
the bedrock bare. The trees are nearly all uprooted, but a few that had
been extremely well anchored in clefts of the rock were broken off near
the ground. It seems strange at first sight that trees that had been
allowed to grow for a century or more undisturbed should in their old
age be thus swished away at a stroke. Such avalanches can only occur
under rare conditions of weather and snowfall. No doubt on some
positions of the mountain slopes the inclination and smoothness of the
surface is such that avalanches must occur every winter, or even after
every heavy snowstorm, and of course no trees or even bushes can grow in
their channels. I noticed a few clean-swept slopes of this kind. The
uprooted trees that had grown in the pathway of what might be called
"century avalanches" were piled in windrows, and tucked snugly against
the wall-trees of the gaps, heads downward, excepting a few that were
carried out into the open ground of the meadows, where the heads of the
avalanches had stopped. Young pines, mostly the two-leaved and the
white-barked, are already springing up in these cleared gaps. It would
be interesting to ascertain the age of these saplings, for thus we
should gain a fair approximation to the year that the great avalanches
occurred. Perhaps most or all of them occurred the same winter. How glad
I should be if free to pursue such studies!

Near the summit at the head of the pass I found a species of dwarf
willow lying perfectly flat on the ground, making a nice, soft, silky
gray carpet, not a single stem or branch more than three inches high;
but the catkins, which are now nearly ripe, stand erect and make a
close, nearly regular gray growth, being larger than all the rest of the
plants. Some of these interesting dwarfs have only one catkin--willow
bushes reduced to their lowest terms. I found patches of dwarf vaccinium
also forming smooth carpets, closely pressed to the ground or against
the sides of stones, and covered with round pink flowers in lavish
abundance as if they had fallen from the sky like hail. A little higher,
almost at the very head of the pass, I found the blue arctic daisy and
purple-flowered bryanthus, the mountain's own darlings, gentle
mountaineers face to face with the sky, kept safe and warm by a thousand
miracles, seeming always the finer and purer the wilder and stormier
their homes. The trees, tough and resiny, seem unable to go a step
farther; but up and up, far above the tree-line, these tender plants
climb, cheerily spreading their gray and pink carpets right up to the
very edges of the snow-banks in deep hollows and shadows. Here, too, is
the familiar robin, tripping on the flowery lawns, bravely singing the
same cheery song I first heard when a boy in Wisconsin newly arrived
from old Scotland. In this fine company sauntering enchanted, taking no
heed of time, I at length entered the gate of the pass, and the huge
rocks began to close around me in all their mysterious impressiveness.
Just then I was startled by a lot of queer, hairy, muffled creatures
coming shuffling, shambling, wallowing toward me as if they had no
bones in their bodies. Had I discovered them while they were yet a good
way off, I should have tried to avoid them. What a picture they made
contrasted with the others I had just been admiring. When I came up to
them, I found that they were only a band of Indians from Mono on their
way to Yosemite for a load of acorns. They were wrapped in blankets made
of the skins of sage-rabbits. The dirt on some of the faces seemed
almost old enough and thick enough to have a geological significance;
some were strangely blurred and divided into sections by seams and
wrinkles that looked like cleavage joints, and had a worn abraded look
as if they had lain exposed to the weather for ages. I tried to pass
them without stopping, but they wouldn't let me; forming a dismal circle
about me, I was closely besieged while they begged whiskey or tobacco,
and it was hard to convince them that I hadn't any. How glad I was to
get away from the gray, grim crowd and see them vanish down the trail!
Yet it seems sad to feel such desperate repulsion from one's fellow
beings, however degraded. To prefer the society of squirrels and
woodchucks to that of our own species must surely be unnatural. So with
a fresh breeze and a hill or mountain between us I must wish them
Godspeed and try to pray and sing with Burns, "It's coming yet, for a'
that, that man to man, the warld o'er, shall brothers be for a' that."

How the day passed I hardly know. By the map I have come only about ten
or twelve miles, though the sun is already low in the west, showing how
long I must have lingered, observing, sketching, taking notes among the
glaciated rocks and moraines and Alpine flower-beds.

At sundown the somber crags and peaks were inspired with the ineffable
beauty of the alpenglow, and a solemn, awful stillness hushed everything
in the landscape. Then I crept into a hollow by the side of a small lake
near the head of the cañon, smoothed a sheltered spot, and gathered a
few pine tassels for a bed. After the short twilight began to fade I
kindled a sunny fire, made a tin cupful of tea, and lay down to watch
the stars. Soon the night-wind began to flow from the snowy peaks
overhead, at first only a gentle breathing, then gaining strength, in
less than an hour rumbled in massive volume something like a boisterous
stream in a boulder-choked channel, roaring and moaning down the cañon
as if the work it had to do was tremendously important and fateful; and
mingled with these storm tones were those of the waterfalls on the
north side of the cañon, now sounding distinctly, now smothered by the
heavier cataracts of air, making a glorious psalm of savage wildness. My
fire squirmed and struggled as if ill at ease, for though in a sheltered
nook, detached masses of icy wind often fell like icebergs on top of it,
scattering sparks and coals, so that I had to keep well back to avoid
being burned. But the big resiny roots and knots of the dwarf pine could
neither be beaten out nor blown away, and the flames, now rushing up in
long lances, now flattened and twisted on the rocky ground, roared as if
trying to tell the storm stories of the trees they belonged to, as the
light given out was telling the story of the sunshine they had gathered
in centuries of summers.

The stars shone clear in the strip of sky between the huge dark cliffs;
and as I lay recalling the lessons of the day, suddenly the full moon
looked down over the cañon wall, her face apparently filled with eager
concern, which had a startling effect, as if she had left her place in
the sky and had come down to gaze on me alone, like a person entering
one's bedroom. It was hard to realize that she was in her place in the
sky, and was looking abroad on half the globe, land and sea, mountains,
plains, lakes, rivers, oceans, ships, cities with their myriads of
inhabitants sleeping and waking, sick and well. No, she seemed to be
just on the rim of Bloody Cañon and looking only at me. This was indeed
getting near to Nature. I remember watching the harvest moon rising
above the oak trees in Wisconsin apparently as big as a cart-wheel and
not farther than half a mile distant. With these exceptions I might say
I never before had seen the moon, and this night she seemed so full of
life and so near, the effect was marvelously impressive and made me
forget the Indians, the great black rocks above me, and the wild uproar
of the winds and waters making their way down the huge jagged gorge. Of
course I slept but little and gladly welcomed the dawn over the Mono
Desert. By the time I had made a cupful of tea the sunbeams were pouring
through the cañon, and I set forth, gazing eagerly at the tremendous
walls of red slates savagely hacked and scarred and apparently ready to
fall in avalanches great enough to choke the pass and fill up the chain
of lakelets. But soon its beauties came to view, and I bounded lightly
from rock to rock, admiring the polished bosses shining in the slant
sunshine with glorious effect in the general roughness of moraines and
avalanche taluses, even toward the head of the cañon near the highest
fountains of the ice. Here, too, are most of the lowly plant people seen
yesterday on the other side of the divide now opening their beautiful
eyes. None could fail to glory in Nature's tender care for them in so
wild a place. The little ouzel is flitting from rock to rock along the
rapid swirling Cañon Creek, diving for breakfast in icy pools, and
merrily singing as if the huge rugged avalanche-swept gorge was the most
delightful of all its mountain homes. Besides a high fall on the north
wall of the cañon, apparently coming direct from the sky, there are many
narrow cascades, bright silvery ribbons zigzagging down the red cliffs,
tracing the diagonal cleavage joints of the metamorphic slates, now
contracted and out of sight, now leaping from ledge to ledge in filmy
sheets through which the sunbeams sift. And on the main Cañon Creek, to
which all these are tributary, is a series of small falls, cascades, and
rapids extending all the way down to the foot of the cañon, interrupted
only by the lakes in which the tossed and beaten waters rest. One of the
finest of the cascades is outspread on the face of a precipice, its
waters separated into ribbon-like strips, and woven into a diamond-like
pattern by tracing the cleavage joints of the rock, while tufts of
bryanthus, grass, sedge, saxifrage form beautiful fringes. Who could
imagine beauty so fine in so savage a place? Gardens are blooming in all
sorts of nooks and hollows,--at the head alpine eriogonums, erigerons,
saxifrages, gentians, cowania, bush primula; in the middle region
larkspur, columbine, orthocarpus, castilleia, harebell, epilobium,
violets, mints, yarrow; near the foot sunflowers, lilies, brier rose,
iris, lonicera, clematis.

One of the smallest of the cascades, which I name the Bower Cascade, is
in the lower region of the pass, where the vegetation is snowy and
luxuriant. Wild rose and dogwood form dense masses overarching the
stream, and out of this bower the creek, grown strong with many
indashing tributaries, leaps forth into the light, and descends in a
fluted curve thick-sown with crisp flashing spray. At the foot of the
cañon there is a lake formed in part at least by the damming of the
stream by a terminal moraine. The three other lakes in the cañon are in
basins eroded from the solid rock, where the pressure of the glacier was
greatest, and the most resisting portions of the basin rims are
beautifully, tellingly polished. Below Moraine Lake at the foot of the
cañon there are several old lake-basins lying between the large lateral
moraines which extend out into the desert. These basins are now
completely filled up by the material carried in by the streams, and
changed to dry sandy flats covered mostly by grass and artemisia and
sun-loving flowers. All these lower lake-basins were evidently formed by
terminal moraine dams deposited where the receding glacier had lingered
during short periods of less waste, or greater snowfall, or both.

Looking up the cañon from the warm sunny edge of the Mono plain my
morning ramble seems a dream, so great is the change in the vegetation
and climate. The lilies on the bank of Moraine Lake are higher than my
head, and the sunshine is hot enough for palms. Yet the snow round the
arctic gardens at the summit of the pass is plainly visible, only about
four miles away, and between lie specimen zones of all the principal
climates of the globe. In little more than an hour one may swoop down
from winter to summer, from an Arctic to a torrid region, through as
great changes of climate as one would encounter in traveling from
Labrador to Florida.

The Indians I had met near the head of the cañon had camped at the foot
of it the night before they made the ascent, and I found their fire
still smoking on the side of a small tributary stream near Moraine
Lake; and on the edge of what is called the Mono Desert, four or five
miles from the lake, I came to a patch of elymus, or wild rye, growing
in magnificent waving clumps six or eight feet high, bearing heads six
to eight inches long. The crop was ripe, and Indian women were gathering
the grain in baskets by bending down large handfuls, beating out the
seed, and fanning it in the wind. The grains are about five eighths of
an inch long, dark-colored and sweet. I fancy the bread made from it
must be as good as wheat bread. A fine squirrelish employment this wild
grain gathering seems, and the women were evidently enjoying it,
laughing and chattering and looking almost natural, though most Indians
I have seen are not a whit more natural in their lives than we civilized
whites. Perhaps if I knew them better I should like them better. The
worst thing about them is their uncleanliness. Nothing truly wild is
unclean. Down on the shore of Mono Lake I saw a number of their flimsy
huts on the banks of streams that dash swiftly into that dead sea,--mere
brush tents where they lie and eat at their ease. Some of the men were
feasting on buffalo berries, lying beneath the tall bushes now red with
fruit. The berries are rather insipid, but they must needs be wholesome,
since for days and weeks the Indians, it is said, eat nothing else. In
the season they in like manner depend chiefly on the fat larvæ of a fly
that breeds in the salt water of the lake, or on the big fat corrugated
caterpillars of a species of silkworm that feeds on the leaves of the
yellow pine. Occasionally a grand rabbit-drive is organized and hundreds
are slain with clubs on the lake shore, chased and frightened into a
dense crowd by dogs, boys, girls, men and women, and rings of sage brush
fire, when of course they are quickly killed. The skins are made into
blankets. In the autumn the more enterprising of the hunters bring in a
good many deer, and rarely a wild sheep from the high peaks. Antelopes
used to be abundant on the desert at the base of the interior
mountain-ranges. Sage hens, grouse, and squirrels help to vary their
wild diet of worms; pine nuts also from the small interesting _Pinus
monophylla_, and good bread and good mush are made from acorns and wild
rye. Strange to say, they seem to like the lake larvæ best of all. Long
windrows are washed up on the shore, which they gather and dry like
grain for winter use. It is said that wars, on account of encroachments
on each other's worm-grounds, are of common occurrence among the various
tribes and families. Each claims a certain marked portion of the shore.
The pine nuts are delicious--large quantities are gathered every autumn.
The tribes of the west flank of the range trade acorns for worms and
pine nuts. The squaws carry immense loads on their backs across the
rough passes and down the range, making journeys of about forty or fifty
miles each way.

The desert around the lake is surprisingly flowery. In many places among
the sage bushes I saw mentzelia, abronia, aster, bigelovia, and gilia,
all of which seemed to enjoy the hot sunshine. The abronia, in
particular, is a delicate, fragrant, and most charming plant.

[Illustration: MONO LAKE AND VOLCANIC CONES, LOOKING SOUTH]

[Illustration: HIGHEST MONO VOLCANIC CONES (NEAR VIEW)]

Opposite the mouth of the cañon a range of volcanic cones extends
southward from the lake, rising abruptly out of the desert like a chain
of mountains. The largest of the cones are about twenty-five hundred
feet high above the lake level, have well-formed craters, and all of
them are evidently comparatively recent additions to the landscape. At a
distance of a few miles they look like heaps of loose ashes that have
never been blest by either rain or snow, but, for a' that and a' that,
yellow pines are climbing their gray slopes, trying to clothe them and
give beauty for ashes. A country of wonderful contrasts. Hot deserts
bounded by snow-laden mountains,--cinders and ashes scattered on
glacier-polished pavements,--frost and fire working together in the
making of beauty. In the lake are several volcanic islands, which show
that the waters were once mingled with fire.

Glad to get back to the green side of the mountains, though I have
greatly enjoyed the gray east side and hope to see more of it. Reading
these grand mountain manuscripts displayed through every vicissitude of
heat and cold, calm and storm, upheaving volcanoes and down-grinding
glaciers, we see that everything in Nature called destruction must be
creation--a change from beauty to beauty.

Our glacier meadow camp north of the Soda Springs seems more beautiful
every day. The grass covers all the ground though the leaves are
thread-like in fineness, and in walking on the sod it seems like a plush
carpet of marvelous richness and softness, and the purple panicles
brushing against one's feet are not felt. This is a typical glacier
meadow, occupying the basin of a vanished lake, very definitely bounded
by walls of the arrowy two-leaved pines drawn up in a handsome orderly
array like soldiers on parade. There are many other meadows of the same
kind hereabouts imbedded in the woods. The main big meadows along the
river are the same in general and extend with but little interruption
for ten or twelve miles, but none I have seen are so finely finished
and perfect as this one. It is richer in flowering plants than the
prairies of Wisconsin and Illinois were when in all their wild glory.
The showy flowers are mostly three species of gentian, a purple and
yellow orthocarpus, a golden-rod or two, a small blue pentstemon almost
like a gentian, potentilla, ivesia, pedicularis, white violet, kalmia,
and bryanthus. There are no coarse weedy plants. Through this flowery
lawn flows a stream silently gliding, swirling, slipping as if careful
not to make the slightest noise. It is only about three feet wide in
most places, widening here and there into pools six or eight feet in
diameter with no apparent current, the banks bossily rounded by the
down-curving mossy sod, grass panicles over-leaning like miniature pine
trees, and rugs of bryanthus spreading here and there over sunken
boulders. At the foot of the meadow the stream, rich with the juices of
the plants it has refreshed, sings merrily down over shelving rock
ledges on its way to the Tuolumne River. The sublime, massive Mount Dana
and its companions, green, red, and white, loom impressively above the
pines along the eastern horizon; a range or spur of gray rugged granite
crags and mountains on the north; the curiously crested and battlemented
Mount Hoffman on the west; and the Cathedral Range on the south with
its grand Cathedral Peak, Cathedral Spires, Unicorn Peak, and several
others, gray and pointed or massively rounded.




CHAPTER X

THE TUOLUMNE CAMP


_August 22._ Clouds none, cool west wind, slight hoarfrost on the
meadows. Carlo is missing; have been seeking him all day. In the thick
woods between camp and the river, among tall grass and fallen pines, I
discovered a baby fawn. At first it seemed inclined to come to me; but
when I tried to catch it, and got within a rod or two, it turned and
walked softly away, choosing its steps like a cautious, stealthy,
hunting cat. Then, as if suddenly called or alarmed, it began to buck
and run like a grown deer, jumping high above the fallen trunks, and was
soon out of sight. Possibly its mother may have called it, but I did not
hear her. I don't think fawns ever leave the home thicket or follow
their mothers until they are called or frightened. I am distressed about
Carlo. There are several other camps and dogs not many miles from here,
and I still hope to find him. He never left me before. Panthers are very
rare here, and I don't think any of these cats would dare touch him. He
knows bears too well to be caught by them, and as for Indians, they
don't want him.

_August 23._ Cool, bright day, hinting Indian summer. Mr. Delaney has
gone to the Smith Ranch, on the Tuolumne below Hetch-Hetchy Valley,
thirty-five or forty miles from here, so I'll be alone for a week or
more,--not really alone, for Carlo has come back. He was at a camp a few
miles to the northwestward. He looked sheepish and ashamed when I asked
him where he had been and why he had gone away without leave. He is now
trying to get me to caress him and show signs of forgiveness. A wondrous
wise dog. A great load is off my mind. I could not have left the
mountains without him. He seems very glad to get back to me.

Rose and crimson sunset, and soon after the stars appeared the moon rose
in most impressive majesty over the top of Mount Dana. I sauntered up
the meadow in the white light. The jet-black tree-shadows were so
wonderfully distinct and substantial looking, I often stepped high in
crossing them, taking them for black charred logs.

_August 24._ Another charming day, warm and calm soon after sunrise,
clouds only about .01,--faint, silky cirrus wisps, scarcely visible.
Slight frost, Indian summerish, the mountains growing softer in outline
and dreamy looking, their rough angles melted off, apparently. Sky at
evening with fine, dark, subdued purple, almost like the evening purple
of the San Joaquin plains in settled weather. The moon is now gazing
over the summit of Dana. Glorious exhilarating air. I wonder if in all
the world there is another mountain range of equal height blessed with
weather so fine, and so openly kind and hospitable and approachable.

_August 25._ Cool as usual in the morning, quickly changing to the
ordinary serene generous warmth and brightness. Toward evening the west
wind was cool and sent us to the camp-fire. Of all Nature's flowery
carpeted mountain halls none can be finer than this glacier meadow. Bees
and butterflies seem as abundant as ever. The birds are still here,
showing no sign of leaving for winter quarters though the frost must
bring them to mind. For my part I should like to stay here all winter or
all my life or even all eternity.

_August 26._ Frost this morning; all the meadow grass and some of the
pine needles sparkling with irised crystals,--flowers of light. Large
picturesque clouds, craggy like rocks, are piled on Mount Dana, reddish
in color like the mountain itself; the sky for a few degrees around the
horizon is pale purple, into which the pines dip their spires with fine
effect. Spent the day as usual looking about me, watching the changing
lights, the ripening autumn colors of the grass, seeds, late-blooming
gentians, asters, goldenrods; parting the meadow grass here and there
and looking down into the underworld of mosses and liverworts; watching
the busy ants and beetles and other small people at work and play like
squirrels and bears in a forest; studying the formation of lakes and
meadows, moraines, mountain sculpture; making small beginnings in these
directions, charmed by the serene beauty of everything.

The day has been extra cloudy, though bright on the whole, for the
clouds were brighter than common. Clouds about .15, which in Switzerland
would be considered extra clear. Probably more free sunshine falls on
this majestic range than on any other in the world I've ever seen or
heard of. It has the brightest weather, brightest glacier-polished
rocks, the greatest abundance of irised spray from its glorious
waterfalls, the brightest forests of silver firs and silver pines, more
star-shine, moonshine, and perhaps more crystal-shine than any other
mountain chain, and its countless mirror lakes, having more light poured
into them, glow and spangle most. And how glorious the shining after the
short summer showers and after frosty nights when the morning sunbeams
are pouring through the crystals on the grass and pine needles, and how
ineffably spiritually fine is the morning-glow on the mountain-tops and
the alpenglow of evening. Well may the Sierra be named, not the Snowy
Range, but the Range of Light.

_August 27._ Clouds only .05,--mostly white and pink cumuli over the
Hoffman spur towards evening,--frosty morning. Crystals grow in
marvelous beauty and perfection of form these still nights, every one
built as carefully as the grandest holiest temple, as if planned to
endure forever.

Contemplating the lace-like fabric of streams outspread over the
mountains, we are reminded that everything is flowing--going somewhere,
animals and so-called lifeless rocks as well as water. Thus the snow
flows fast or slow in grand beauty-making glaciers and avalanches; the
air in majestic floods carrying minerals, plant leaves, seeds, spores,
with streams of music and fragrance; water streams carrying rocks both
in solution and in the form of mud particles, sand, pebbles, and
boulders. Rocks flow from volcanoes like water from springs, and animals
flock together and flow in currents modified by stepping, leaping,
gliding, flying, swimming, etc. While the stars go streaming through
space pulsed on and on forever like blood globules in Nature's warm
heart.

_August 28._ The dawn a glorious song of color. Sky absolutely
cloudless. A fine crop hoarfrost. Warm after ten o'clock. The gentians
don't mind the first frost though their petals seem so delicate; they
close every night as if going to sleep, and awake fresh as ever in the
morning sun-glory. The grass is a shade browner since last week, but
there are no nipped wilted plants of any sort as far as I have seen.
Butterflies and the grand host of smaller flies are benumbed every
night, but they hover and dance in the sunbeams over the meadows before
noon with no apparent lack of playful, joyful life. Soon they must all
fall like petals in an orchard, dry and wrinkled, not a wing of all the
mighty host left to tingle the air. Nevertheless new myriads will arise
in the spring, rejoicing, exulting, as if laughing cold death to scorn.

_August 29._ Clouds about .05, slight frost. Bland serene Indian summer
weather. Have been gazing all day at the mountains, watching the
changing lights. More and more plainly are they clothed with light as a
garment, white tinged with pale purple, palest during the midday hours,
richest in the morning and evening. Everything seems consciously
peaceful, thoughtful, faithfully waiting God's will.

_August 30._ This day just like yesterday. A few clouds motionless and
apparently with no work to do beyond looking beautiful. Frost enough
for crystal building,--glorious fields of ice-diamonds destined to last
but a night. How lavish is Nature building, pulling down, creating,
destroying, chasing every material particle from form to form, ever
changing, ever beautiful.

Mr. Delaney arrived this morning. Felt not a trace of loneliness while
he was gone. On the contrary, I never enjoyed grander company. The whole
wilderness seems to be alive and familiar, full of humanity. The very
stones seem talkative, sympathetic, brotherly. No wonder when we
consider that we all have the same Father and Mother.

_August 31._ Clouds .05. Silky cirrus wisps and fringes so fine they
almost escape notice. Frost enough for another crop of crystals on the
meadows but none on the forests. The gentians, goldenrods, asters, etc.,
don't seem to feel it; neither petals nor leaves are touched though they
seem so tender. Every day opens and closes like a flower, noiseless,
effortless. Divine peace glows on all the majestic landscape like the
silent enthusiastic joy that sometimes transfigures a noble human face.

_September 1._ Clouds .05--motionless, of no particular color--ornaments
with no hint of rain or snow in them. Day all calm--another grand throb
of Nature's heart, ripening late flowers and seeds for next summer, full
of life and the thoughts and plans of life to come, and full of ripe and
ready death beautiful as life, telling divine wisdom and goodness and
immortality. Have been up Mount Dana, making haste to see as much as I
can now that the time of departure is drawing nigh. The views from the
summit reach far and wide, eastward over the Mono Lake and Desert;
mountains beyond mountains looking strangely barren and gray and bare
like heaps of ashes dumped from the sky. The lake, eight or ten miles in
diameter, shines like a burnished disk of silver, no trees about its
gray, ashy, cindery shores. Looking westward, the glorious forests are
seen sweeping over countless ridges and hills, girdling domes and
subordinate mountains, fringing in long curving lines the dividing
ridges, and filling every hollow where the glaciers have spread
soil-beds however rocky or smooth. Looking northward and southward along
the axis of the range, you see the glorious array of high mountains,
crags and peaks and snow, the fountain-heads of rivers that are flowing
west to the sea through the famous Golden Gate, and east to hot salt
lakes and deserts to evaporate and hurry back into the sky. Innumerable
lakes are shining like eyes beneath heavy rock brows, bare or tree
fringed, or imbedded in black forests. Meadow openings in the woods seem
as numerous as the lakes or perhaps more so. Far up the moraine-covered
slopes and among crumbling rocks I found many delicate hardy plants,
some of them still in flower. The best gains of this trip were the
lessons of unity and interrelation of all the features of the landscape
revealed in general views. The lakes and meadows are located just where
the ancient glaciers bore heaviest at the foot of the steepest parts of
their channels, and of course their longest diameters are approximately
parallel with each other and with the belts of forests growing in long
curving lines on the lateral and medial moraines, and in broad
outspreading fields on the terminal beds deposited toward the end of the
ice period when the glaciers were receding. The domes, ridges, and spurs
also show the influence of glacial action in their forms, which
approximately seem to be the forms of greatest strength with reference
to the stress of oversweeping, past-sweeping, down-grinding ice-streams;
survivals of the most resisting masses, or those most favorably
situated. How interesting everything is! Every rock, mountain, stream,
plant, lake, lawn, forest, garden, bird, beast, insect seems to call
and invite us to come and learn something of its history and
relationship. But shall the poor ignorant scholar be allowed to try the
lessons they offer? It seems too great and good to be true. Soon I'll be
going to the lowlands. The bread camp must soon be removed. If I had a
few sacks of flour, an axe, and some matches, I would build a cabin of
pine logs, pile up plenty of firewood about it and stay all winter to
see the grand fertile snow-storms, watch the birds and animals that
winter thus high, how they live, how the forests look snow-laden or
buried, and how the avalanches look and sound on their way down the
mountains. But now I'll have to go, for there is nothing to spare in the
way of provisions. I'll surely be back, however, surely I'll be back. No
other place has ever so overwhelmingly attracted me as this hospitable,
Godful wilderness.

[Illustration: ONE OF THE HIGHEST MOUNT RITTER FOUNTAINS]

_September 2._ A grand, red, rosy, crimson day,--a perfect glory of a
day. What it means I don't know. It is the first marked change from
tranquil sunshine with purple mornings and evenings and still, white
noons. There is nothing like a storm, however. The average cloudiness
only about .08, and there is no sighing in the woods to betoken a big
weather change. The sky was red in the morning and evening, the color
not diffused like the ordinary purple glow, but loaded upon separate
well-defined clouds that remained motionless, as if anchored around the
jagged mountain-fenced horizon. A deep-red cap, bluffy around its sides,
lingered a long time on Mount Dana and Mount Gibbs, drooping so low as
to hide most of their bases, but leaving Dana's round summit free, which
seemed to float separate and alone over the big crimson cloud. Mammoth
Mountain, to the south of Gibbs and Bloody Cañon, striped and spotted
with snow-banks and clumps of dwarf pine, was also favored with a
glorious crimson cap, in the making of which there was no trace of
economy--a huge bossy pile colored with a perfect passion of crimson
that seemed important enough to be sent off to burn among the stars in
majestic independence. One is constantly reminded of the infinite
lavishness and fertility of Nature--inexhaustible abundance amid what
seems enormous waste. And yet when we look into any of her operations
that lie within reach of our minds, we learn that no particle of her
material is wasted or worn out. It is eternally flowing from use to use,
beauty to yet higher beauty; and we soon cease to lament waste and
death, and rather rejoice and exult in the imperishable, unspendable
wealth of the universe, and faithfully watch and wait the reappearance
of everything that melts and fades and dies about us, feeling sure that
its next appearance will be better and more beautiful than the last.

I watched the growth of these red-lands of the sky as eagerly as if new
mountain ranges were being built. Soon the group of snowy peaks in whose
recesses lie the highest fountains of the Tuolumne, Merced, and North
Fork of the San Joaquin were decorated with majestic colored clouds like
those already described, but more complicated, to correspond with the
grand fountain-heads of the rivers they overshadowed. The Sierra
Cathedral, to the south of camp, was overshadowed like Sinai. Never
before noticed so fine a union of rock and cloud in form and color and
substance, drawing earth and sky together as one; and so human is it,
every feature and tint of color goes to one's heart, and we shout,
exulting in wild enthusiasm as if all the divine show were our own. More
and more, in a place like this, we feel ourselves part of wild Nature,
kin to everything. Spent most of the day high up on the north rim of the
valley, commanding views of the clouds in all their red glory spreading
their wonderful light over all the basin, while the rocks and trees and
small Alpine plants at my feet seemed hushed and thoughtful, as if they
also were conscious spectators of the glorious new cloud-world.

Here and there, as I plodded farther and higher, I came to small
garden-patches and ferneries just where one would naturally decide that
no plant-creature could possibly live. But, as in the region about the
head of Mono Pass and the top of Dana, it was in the wildest, highest
places that the most beautiful and tender and enthusiastic plant-people
were found. Again and again, as I lingered over these charming plants, I
said, How came you here? How do you live through the winter? Our roots,
they explained, reach far down the joints of the summer-warmed rocks,
and beneath our fine snow mantle killing frosts cannot reach us, while
we sleep away the dark half of the year dreaming of spring.

Ever since I was allowed entrance into these mountains I have been
looking for cassiope, said to be the most beautiful and best loved of
the heathworts, but, strange to say, I have not yet found it. On my high
mountain walks I keep muttering, "Cassiope, cassiope." This name, as
Calvinists say, is driven in upon me, notwithstanding the glorious host
of plants that come about me uncalled as soon as I show myself. Cassiope
seems the highest name of all the small mountain-heath people, and as
if conscious of her worth, keeps out of my way. I must find her soon, if
at all this year.

_September 4._ All the vast sky dome is clear, filled only with mellow
Indian summer light. The pine and hemlock and fir cones are nearly ripe
and are falling fast from morning to night, cut off and gathered by the
busy squirrels. Almost all the plants have matured their seeds, their
summer work done; and the summer crop of birds and deer will soon be
able to follow their parents to the foothills and plains at the approach
of winter, when the snow begins to fly.

_September 5._ No clouds. Weather cool, calm, bright as if no great
thing was yet ready to be done. Have been sketching the North Tuolumne
Church. The sunset gloriously colored.

_September 6._ Still another perfectly cloudless day, purple evening and
morning, all the middle hours one mass of pure serene sunshine. Soon
after sunrise the air grew warm, and there was no wind. One naturally
halted to see what Nature intended to do. There is a suggestion of real
Indian summer in the hushed brooding, faintly hazy weather. The yellow
atmosphere, though thin, is still plainly of the same general character
as that of eastern Indian summer. The peculiar mellowness is perhaps in
part caused by myriads of ripe spores adrift in the sky.

Mr. Delaney now keeps up a solemn talk about the need of getting away
from these high mountains, telling sad stories of flocks that perished
in storms that broke suddenly into the midst of fine innocent weather
like this we are now enjoying. "In no case," said he, "will I venture to
stay so high and far back in the mountains as we now are later than the
middle of this month, no matter how warm and sunny it may be." He would
move the flock slowly at first, a few miles a day until the Yosemite
Creek basin was reached and crossed, then while lingering in the heavy
pine woods should the weather threaten he could hurry down to the
foothills, where the snow never falls deep enough to smother a sheep. Of
course I am anxious to see as much of the wilderness as possible in the
few days left me, and I say again,--May the good time come when I can
stay as long as I like with plenty of bread, far and free from trampling
flocks, though I may well be thankful for this generous foodful
inspiring summer. Anyhow we never know where we must go nor what guides
we are to get,--men, storms, guardian angels, or sheep. Perhaps almost
everybody in the least natural is guarded more than he is ever aware
of. All the wilderness seems to be full of tricks and plans to drive and
draw us up into God's Light.

Have been busy planning, and baking bread for at least one more good
wild excursion among the high peaks, and surely none, however hopefully
aiming at fortune or fame, ever felt so gloriously happily excited by
the outlook.

_September 7._ Left camp at daybreak and made direct for Cathedral Peak,
intending to strike eastward and southward from that point among the
peaks and ridges at the heads of the Tuolumne, Merced, and San Joaquin
Rivers. Down through the pine woods I made my way, across the Tuolumne
River and meadows, and up the heavily timbered slope forming the south
boundary of the upper Tuolumne basin, along the east side of Cathedral
Peak, and up to its topmost spire, which I reached at noon, having
loitered by the way to study the fine trees--two-leaved pine, mountain
pine, albicaulis pine, silver fir, and the most charming, most graceful
of all the evergreens, the mountain hemlock. High, cool, late-flowering
meadows also detained me, and lakelets and avalanche tracks and huge
quarries of moraine rocks above the forests.

[Illustration: GLACIER MEADOW STREWN WITH MORAINE BOULDERS 10,000 FEET
ABOVE THE SEA (NEAR MOUNT DANA)]

[Illustration: FRONT OF CATHEDRAL PEAK]

All the way up from the Big Meadows to the base of the Cathedral the
ground is covered with moraine material, the left lateral moraine of the
great glacier that must have completely filled this upper Tuolumne
basin. Higher there are several small terminal moraines of residual
glaciers shoved forward at right angles against the grand simple lateral
of the main Tuolumne Glacier. A fine place to study mountain sculpture
and soil making. The view from the Cathedral Spires is very fine and
telling in every direction. Innumerable peaks, ridges, domes, meadows,
lakes, and woods; the forests extending in long curving lines and broad
fields wherever the glaciers have left soil for them to grow on, while
the sides of the highest mountains show a straggling dwarf growth
clinging to rifts in the rocks apparently independent of soil. The dark
heath-like growth on the Cathedral roof I found to be dwarf snow-pressed
albicaulis pine, about three or four feet high, but very old looking.
Many of them are bearing cones, and the noisy Clarke crow is eating the
seeds, using his long bill like a woodpecker in digging them out of the
cones. A good many flowers are still in bloom about the base of the
peak, and even on the roof among the little pines, especially a woody
yellow-flowered eriogonum and a handsome aster. The body of the
Cathedral is nearly square, and the roof slopes are wonderfully regular
and symmetrical, the ridge trending northeast and southwest. This
direction has apparently been determined by structure joints in the
granite. The gable on the northeast end is magnificent in size and
simplicity, and at its base there is a big snow-bank protected by the
shadow of the building. The front is adorned with many pinnacles and a
tall spire of curious workmanship. Here too the joints in the rock are
seen to have played an important part in determining their forms and
size and general arrangement. The Cathedral is said to be about eleven
thousand feet above the sea, but the height of the building itself above
the level of the ridge it stands on is about fifteen hundred feet. A
mile or so to the westward there is a handsome lake, and the
glacier-polished granite about it is shining so brightly it is not easy
in some places to trace the line between the rock and water, both
shining alike. Of this lake with its silvery basin and bits of meadow
and groves I have a fine view from the spires; also of Lake Tenaya,
Cloud's Rest and the South Dome of Yosemite, Mount Starr King, Mount
Hoffman, the Merced peaks, and the vast multitude of snowy fountain
peaks extending far north and south along the axis of the range. No
feature, however, of all the noble landscape as seen from here seems
more wonderful than the Cathedral itself, a temple displaying Nature's
best masonry and sermons in stones. How often I have gazed at it from
the tops of hills and ridges, and through openings in the forests on my
many short excursions, devoutly wondering, admiring, longing! This I may
say is the first time I have been at church in California, led here at
last, every door graciously opened for the poor lonely worshiper. In our
best times everything turns into religion, all the world seems a church
and the mountains altars. And lo, here at last in front of the Cathedral
is blessed cassiope, ringing her thousands of sweet-toned bells, the
sweetest church music I ever enjoyed. Listening, admiring, until late in
the afternoon I compelled myself to hasten away eastward back of rough,
sharp, spiry, splintery peaks, all of them granite like the Cathedral,
sparkling with crystals--feldspar, quartz, hornblende, mica, tourmaline.
Had a rather difficult walk and creep across an immense snow and ice
cliff which gradually increased in steepness as I advanced until it was
almost impassable. Slipped on a dangerous place, but managed to stop by
digging my heels into the thawing surface just on the brink of a
yawning ice gulf. Camped beside a little pool and a group of crinkled
dwarf pines; and as I sit by the fire trying to write notes the shallow
pool seems fathomless with the infinite starry heavens in it, while the
onlooking rocks and trees, tiny shrubs and daisies and sedges, brought
forward in the fire-glow, seem full of thought as if about to speak
aloud and tell all their wild stories. A marvelously impressive meeting
in which every one has something worth while to tell. And beyond the
fire-beams out in the solemn darkness, how impressive is the music of a
choir of rills singing their way down from the snow to the river! And
when we call to mind that thousands of these rejoicing rills are
assembled in each one of the main streams, we wonder the less that our
Sierra rivers are songful all the way to the sea.

About sundown saw a flock of dun grayish sparrows going to roost in
crevices of a crag above the big snow-field. Charming little
mountaineers! Found a species of sedge in flower within eight or ten
feet of a snow-bank. Judging by the looks of the ground, it can hardly
have been out in the sunshine much longer than a week, and it is likely
to be buried again in fresh snow in a month or so, thus making a winter
about ten months long, while spring, summer, and autumn are crowded and
hurried into two months. How delightful it is to be alone here! How wild
everything is--wild as the sky and as pure! Never shall I forget this
big, divine day--the Cathedral and its thousands of cassiope bells, and
the landscapes around them, and this camp in the gray crags above the
woods, with its stars and streams and snow.

[Illustration: VIEW OF UPPER TUOLUMNE VALLEY, with arrow pointing to Mt
Ritter]

_September 8._ Day of climbing, scrambling, sliding on the peaks around
the highest source of the Tuolumne and Merced. Climbed three of the most
commanding of the mountains, whose names I don't know; crossed streams
and huge beds of ice and snow more than I could keep count of. Neither
could I keep count of the lakes scattered on tablelands and in the
cirques of the peaks, and in chains in the cañons, linked together by
the streams--a tremendously wild gray wilderness of hacked, shattered
crags, ridges, and peaks, a few clouds drifting over and through the
midst of them as if looking for work. In general views all the immense
round landscape seems raw and lifeless as a quarry, yet the most
charming flowers were found rejoicing in countless nooks and garden-like
patches everywhere. I must have done three or four days' climbing work
in this one. Limbs perfectly tireless until near sundown, when I
descended into the main upper Tuolumne valley at the foot of Mount
Lyell, the camp still eight or ten miles distant. Going up through the
pine woods past the Soda Springs Dome in the dark, where there is much
fallen timber, and when all the excitement of seeing things was wanting,
I was tired. Arrived at the main camp at nine o'clock, and soon was
sleeping sound as death.




CHAPTER XI

BACK TO THE LOWLANDS


_September 9._ Weariness rested away and I feel eager and ready for
another excursion a month or two long in the same wonderful wilderness.
Now, however, I must turn toward the lowlands, praying and hoping Heaven
will shove me back again.

The most telling thing learned in these mountain excursions is the
influence of cleavage joints on the features sculptured from the general
mass of the range. Evidently the denudation has been enormous, while the
inevitable outcome is subtle balanced beauty. Comprehended in general
views, the features of the wildest landscape seem to be as harmoniously
related as the features of a human face. Indeed, they look human and
radiate spiritual beauty, divine thought, however covered and concealed
by rock and snow.

Mr. Delaney has hardly had time to ask me how I enjoyed my trip, though
he has facilitated and encouraged my plans all summer, and declares I'll
be famous some day, a kind guess that seems strange and incredible to a
wandering wilderness-lover with never a thought or dream of fame while
humbly trying to trace and learn and enjoy Nature's lessons.

The camp stuff is now packed on the horses, and the flock is headed for
the home ranch. Away we go, down through the pines, leaving the lovely
lawn where we have camped so long. I wonder if I'll ever see it again.
The sod is so tough and close it is scarcely at all injured by the
sheep. Fortunately they are not fond of silky glacier meadow grass. The
day is perfectly clear, not a cloud or the faintest hint of a cloud is
visible, and there is no wind. I wonder if in all the world, at a height
of nine thousand feet, weather so steadily, faithfully calm and bright
and hospitable may anywhere else be found. We are going away fearing
destructive storms, though it is difficult to conceive weather changes
so great.

Though the water is now low in the river, the usual difficulty occurred
in getting the flock across it. Every sheep seemed to be invincibly
determined to die any sort of dry death rather than wet its feet. Carlo
has learned the sheep business as perfectly as the best shepherd, and it
is interesting to watch his intelligent efforts to push or frighten the
silly creatures into the water. They had to be fairly crowded and shoved
over the bank; and when at last one crossed because it could not push
its way back, the whole flock suddenly plunged in headlong together, as
if the river was the only desirable part of the world. Aside from mere
money profit one would rather herd wolves than sheep. As soon as they
clambered up the opposite bank, they began baaing and feeding as if
nothing unusual had happened. We crossed the meadows and drove slowly up
the south rim of the valley through the same woods I had passed on my
way to Cathedral Peak, and camped for the night by the side of a small
pond on top of the big lateral moraine.

_September 10._ In the morning at daybreak not one of the two thousand
sheep was in sight. Examining the tracks, we discovered that they had
been scattered, perhaps by a bear. In a few hours all were found and
gathered into one flock again. Had fine view of a deer. How graceful and
perfect in every way it seemed as compared with the silly, dusty,
tousled sheep! From the high ground hereabouts had another grand view to
the northward--a heaving, swelling sea of domes and round-backed ridges
fringed with pines, and bounded by innumerable sharp-pointed peaks, gray
and barren-looking, though so full of beautiful life. Another day of the
calm, cloudless kind, purple in the morning and evening. The evening
glow has been very marked for the last two or three weeks. Perhaps the
"zodiacal light."

_September 11._ Cloudless. Slight frost. Calm. Fairly started downhill,
and now are camped at the west end meadows of Lake Tenaya--a charming
place. Lake smooth as glass, mirroring its miles of glacier-polished
pavements and bold mountain walls. Find aster still in flower. Here is
about the upper limit of the dwarf form of the goldcup oak,--eight
thousand feet above sea-level,--reaching about two thousand feet higher
than the California black oak (_Quercus Californica_). Lovely evening,
the lake reflections after dark marvelously impressive.

_September 12._ Cloudless day, all pure sun-gold. Among the magnificent
silver firs once more, within two miles of the brink of Yosemite, at the
famous Portuguese bear camp. Chaparral of goldcup oak, manzanita, and
ceanothus abundant hereabouts, wanting about the Tuolumne meadows,
although the elevation is but little higher there. The two-leaved pine,
though far more abundant about the Tuolumne meadow region, reaches its
greatest size on stream-sides hereabouts and around meadows that are
rather boggy. All the best dry ground is taken by the magnificent silver
fir, which here reaches its greatest size and forms a well-defined
belt. A glorious tree. Have fine bed of its boughs to-night.

_September 13._ Camp this evening at Yosemite Creek, close to the
stream, on a little sand flat near our old camp-ground. The vegetation
is already brown and yellow and dry; the creek almost dry also. The
slender form of the two-leaved pine on its banks is, I think, the
handsomest I have anywhere seen. It might easily pass at first sight for
a distinct species, though surely only a variety (_Murrayana_), due to
crowded and rapid growth on good soil. The yellow pine is as variable,
or perhaps more so. The form here and a thousand feet higher, on
crumbling rocks, is broad branching, with closely furrowed, reddish
bark, large cones, and long leaves. It is one of the hardiest of pines,
and has wonderful vitality. The tassels of long, stout needles shining
silvery in the sun, when the wind is blowing them all in the same
direction, is one of the most splendid spectacles these glorious Sierra
forests have to show. This variety of _Pinus ponderosa_ is regarded as a
distinct species, _Pinus Jeffreyi_, by some botanists. The basin of this
famous Yosemite stream is extremely rocky,--seems fairly to be paved
with domes like a street with big cobblestones. I wonder if I shall ever
be allowed to explore it. It draws me so strongly, I would make any
sacrifice to try to read its lessons. I thank God for this glimpse of
it. The charms of these mountains are beyond all common reason,
unexplainable and mysterious as life itself.

_September 14._ Nearly all day in magnificent fir forest, the top
branches laden with superb erect gray cones shining with beads of pure
balsam. The squirrels are cutting them off at a great rate. Bump, bump,
I hear them falling, soon to be gathered and stored for winter bread.
Those that chance to be left by the industrious harvesters drop the
scales and bracts when fully ripe, and it is fine to see the
purple-winged seeds flying in swirling, merry-looking flocks seeking
their fortunes. The bole and dead limbs of nearly every tree in the main
forest-belt are ornamented by conspicuous tufts and strips of a yellow
lichen.

Camped for the night at Cascade Creek, near the Mono Trail crossing.
Manzanita berries now ripe. Cloudiness to-day about .10. The sunset very
rich, flaming purple and crimson showing gloriously through the aisles
of the woods.

_September 15._ The weather pure gold, cloudiness about .05, white
cirrus flects and pencilings around the horizon. Move two or three miles
and camp at Tamarack Flat. Wandering in the woods here back of the pines
which bound the meadows, I found very noble specimens of the
magnificent silver fir, the tallest about two hundred and forty feet
high and five feet in diameter four feet from the ground.

_September 16._ Crawled slowly four or five miles to-day through the
glorious forest to Crane Flat, where we are camped for the night. The
forests we so admired in summer seem still more beautiful and sublime in
this mellow autumn light. Lovely starry night, the tall, spiring
tree-tops relieved in jet black against the sky. I linger by the fire,
loath to go to bed.

_September 17._ Left camp early. Ran over the Tuolumne divide and down a
few miles to a grove of sequoias that I had heard of, directed by the
Don. They occupy an area of perhaps less than a hundred acres. Some of
the trees are noble, colossal old giants, surrounded by magnificent
sugar pines and Douglas spruces. The perfect specimens not burned or
broken are singularly regular and symmetrical, though not at all
conventional, showing infinite variety in general unity and harmony; the
noble shafts with rich purplish brown fluted bark, free of limbs for one
hundred and fifty feet or so, ornamented here and there with leafy
rosettes; main branches of the oldest trees very large, crooked and
rugged, zigzagging stiffly outward seemingly lawless, yet unexpectedly
stooping just at the right distance from the trunk and dissolving in
dense bossy masses of branchlets, thus making a regular though greatly
varied outline,--a cylinder of leafy, outbulging spray masses,
terminating in a noble dome, that may be recognized while yet far off
upheaved against the sky above the dark bed of pines and firs and
spruces, the king of all conifers, not only in size but in sublime
majesty of behavior and port. I found a black, charred stump about
thirty feet in diameter and eighty or ninety feet high--a venerable,
impressive old monument of a tree that in its prime may have been the
monarch of the grove; seedlings and saplings growing up here and there,
thrifty and hopeful, giving no hint of the dying out of the species. Not
any unfavorable change of climate, but only fire, threatens the
existence of these noblest of God's trees. Sorry I was not able to get a
count of the old monument's annual rings.

Camp this evening at Hazel Green, on the broad back of the dividing
ridge near our old camp-ground when we were on the way up the mountains
in the spring. This ridge has the finest sugar-pine groves and finest
manzanita and ceanothus thickets I have yet found on all this wonderful
summer journey.

_September 18._ Made a long descent on the south side of the divide to
Brown's Flat, the grand forests now left above us, though the sugar pine
still flourishes fairly well, and with the yellow pine, libocedrus, and
Douglas spruce, makes forests that would be considered most wonderful in
any other part of the world.

The Indians here, with great concern, pointed to an old garden patch on
the flat and told us to keep away from it. Perhaps some of their tribe
are buried here.

_September 19._ Camped this evening at Smith's Mill, on the first broad
mountain bench or plateau reached in ascending the range, where pines
grow large enough for good lumber. Here wheat, apples, peaches, and
grapes grow, and we were treated to wine and apples. The wine I didn't
like, but Mr. Delaney and the Indian driver and the shepherd seemed to
think the stuff divine. Compared to sparkling Sierra water fresh from
the heavens, it seemed a dull, muddy, stupid drink. But the apples, best
of fruits, how delicious they were--fit for gods or men.

On the way down from Brown's Flat we stopped at Bower Cave, and I spent
an hour in it--one of the most novel and interesting of all Nature's
underground mansions. Plenty of sunlight pours into it through the
leaves of the four maple trees growing in its mouth, illuminating its
clear, calm pool and marble chambers,--a charming place, ravishingly
beautiful, but the accessible parts of the walls sadly disfigured with
names of vandals.

_September 20._ The weather still golden and calm, but hot. We are now
in the foot-hills, and all the conifers are left behind, except the gray
Sabine pine. Camped at the Dutch Boy's Ranch, where there are extensive
barley fields now showing nothing save dusty stubble.

_September 21._ A terribly hot, dusty, sunburned day, and as nothing was
to be gained by loitering where the flock could find nothing to eat save
thorny twigs and chaparral, we made a long drive, and before sundown
reached the home ranch on the yellow San Joaquin plain.

_September 22._ The sheep were let out of the corral one by one, this
morning, and counted, and strange to say, after all their adventurous
wanderings in bewildering rocks and brush and streams, scattered by
bears, poisoned by azalea, kalmia, alkali, all are accounted for. Of the
two thousand and fifty that left the corral in the spring lean and weak,
two thousand and twenty-five have returned fat and strong. The losses
are: ten killed by bears, one by a rattlesnake, one that had to be
killed after it had broken its leg on a boulder slope, and one that ran
away in blind terror on being accidentally separated from the
flock,--thirteen all told. Of the other twelve doomed never to return,
three were sold to ranchmen and nine were made camp mutton.

Here ends my forever memorable first High Sierra excursion. I have
crossed the Range of Light, surely the brightest and best of all the
Lord has built; and rejoicing in its glory, I gladly, gratefully,
hopefully pray I may see it again.


THE END




INDEX


    _Abies concolor_ and _magnifica_. _See_ Fir, silver.

    Abronia, 228.

    _Adenostoma fasciculata_, 14, 19, 20.

    _Adiantum Chilense_, 17.

    Alpenglow, 220.

    Alvord, Gen. Benjamin, 183, 185, 186.

    Animals, domestic, afraid of bears, 107, 108.

    Animals, wild, in the Merced Valley, 43;
      clean, 18, 79;
      man-eaters, 211, 212.

    Antone, Portuguese shepherd, 209, 210.

    Ants, 8, 43-47;
      bite of, 46.

    _Arctomys monax_. _See_ Woodchuck.

    _Arctostaphylos pungens_. _See_ Manzanita.

    Avalanches, 216, 217.

    Azalea, "sheep poison," 22.

    _Azalea occidentalis_, 20.


    Baccharis, 20.

    Beans, as food, 81.

    Bear, cinnamon, adventure with, 134-37.

    Bear-hunting, 28-30.

    Bears, favorite feeding-grounds of, 28, 29;
      fond of ants, 46;
      fear of, 107, 108;
      very shy in Sierra, 108;
      raid sheep camps, 191, 192, 194, 207, 209, 210, 211.

    Billy, Mr. Delaney's shepherd, 6, 61, 62, 75, 80, 146, 147;
      his everlasting clothing, 129, 130;
      afraid of bears, 191, 193;
      quarrels with Mr. Delaney, 205.

    Birds, 68, 96;
      in the Merced Valley, 50, 65-67;
      water ouzel, 106, 107, 223;
      wrens, 170;
      on Mount Hoffman, 173-77;
      sparrows on Cathedral Peak, 251.

    Bloody Cañon, 214;
      origin of name, 215.

    Bluebottle fly, 139.

    Borer, 169.

    Boulders, in streams, 47-49;
      near Tamarack Creek, 100, 101.

    Bower Cascade, 224.

    Bower Cave, a marble palace, 25, 26, 262, 263.

    Bread, famine, 75-85;
      effects of the want of, 76, 77;
      sheep-camp, 82, 83.

    Brodiæa, 20.

    Brown, David, bear-hunter, 27-30.

    Brown's Flat, 25, 27, 262.

    Bryanthus, purple-flowered, 151, 161, 218.

    Buffalo berries, 226.

    Butler, Henry, 189, 190.

    Butler, Prof. J. D., strange experience of Muir with, 178-91.

    Butterflies, 160.


    _Calochortus albus_, 17.

    Camping, in the foothills, 10, 11;
      on the North Fork of the Merced, 32-74;
      at Tamarack Flat, 99;
      in the Yosemite, 122;
      near Soda Springs, 201, 229;
      alone, in Bloody Cañon, 220-22;
      on the Tuolumne, 232-53.

    Cañon Creek, 223.

    Carlo, St. Bernard dog, with Muir in the Sierra, 5, 6, 43, 57,
        59, 60, 62, 123, 124, 154, 181, 192, 193;
      afraid of bears, 116, 135;
      runs away, 232, 233, 255.

    Cascade Creek, 104, 259.

    Cassiope, 244, 250.

    Cathedral Peak, 154, 212, 231, 247, 250;
      well named, 146;
      a majestic temple, 198;
      view from, 248;
      height, 249.

    Cedar, incense (_Libocedrus decurrens_), 20, 21, 93.

    _Chamæbatia foliolosa_, 33, 34.

    Chinaman, shepherd's helper, 6, 9.

    Chipmunk, in the Sierra, 171, 172.

    Cleavage joints, 254.

    Clouds, 56, 73, 147, 148, 242, 243;
      sky mountains, 18, 19, 37, 39, 61, 133, 144, 145.

    Coffee, 82.

    _Corylus rostrata_, 65.

    Coulterville, 9, 17, 19.

    Crane Flat, 90, 92, 93, 260.

    Crows, 9, 248.

    Crystals, radiant, 153, 250;
      frost, 234, 236.


    Daisy, blue arctic, 218.

    Deer, black-tailed, 142.

    Delaney, Mr., sheep-owner, 6, 12, 25, 27, 36, 83, 103, 104, 112-14,
      194, 206, 233, 238, 246, 254, 262;
      engages Muir to go with his flock to the Sierra, 4, 5;
      describes David Brown's method of bear-hunting, 28-30;
      talks of bears in general, 107, 108;
      a big-hearted Irishman, 214.

    _Dendromecon rigidum_, 39.

    Devil's slides, 150.

    Dogwood, Nuttall's flowering, 64.

    Dome Creek, 121.

    Don Quixote, nickname for Mr. Delaney, 6, 12.


    Elymus (wild rye), 226.

    Emerald Pool, 189.

    Eskimo, 69.


    Fawn, baby, 232.

    Ferns, 40, 41.

    Fir, silver, 90-93, 98, 105, 257;
      cones, 91, 167, 168, 259;
      size, 143, 161, 162, 166, 260;
      age, 166, 167;
      leaves, 167.

    Fire, in woods, 19, 202, 203.

    Fishes, none in high Sierra lakes, 200.

    Flicker, 173.

    Floods, 48.

    Flowers, in Merced Valley, 33, 35, 36, 40, 58;
      at Crane Flat, 92, 93, 94;
      on Yosemite Creek, 109, 110;
      on Hoffman Range, 151, 152, 158, 160, 196;
      in Tuolumne Meadows, 199, 203;
      in Bloody Cañon, 218, 224, 225, 228, 230.

    Flowing, everything is, 236.

    Food, of bears, 28, 29, 46, 192;
      of squirrels, 18, 69, 74, 168;
      of Indians, 12, 46, 70, 226-28.

    Foothills, 3-31.

    Frogs, in the highest lakes, 200.

    Frost, crystals, 234, 236.


    Gallflies, 170.

    Glacial action, 101, 102, 196, 197, 200, 202, 203, 205, 208, 215,
        216, 224, 240, 248.

    Glacier meadows, 229, 230.

    Gold region, 55, 56;
      mines near Mono Lake, 105.

    Grasshopper, a queer fellow, 139-41.

    Greeley's Mill, 17, 20.

    Grouse, blue or dusky, 175, 176.


    Half-Dome, _or_ South Dome, 117, 122, 129.

    Hare, 9.

    Hare, little chief, 154, 155.

    Hazel, beaked, 65.

    Hazel Creek, 89.

    Hazel Green, 87, 261.

    Heat, in the foothills, 8.

    Hemlock, mountain (_Tsuga Mertensiana_), 151, 247.

    Hogs, 108.

    Horseshoe Bend, 13, 19.

    House-fly, on North Dome, 138, 139;
      on Mount Hoffman, 169.

    Hutchings, Mrs., landlady, 182.


    Illilouette, 189.

    Indian Basin, 121.

    Indian Cañon, 115, 122, 181, 186, 187.

    Indian Creek, 208.

    Indians, Digger, 12, 30, 31, 262;
      shepherd's helper with Muir, 6, 9, 10, 86, 90;
      anteaters, 46;
      their power of escaping observation, 53, 54, 58;
      an old woman, 58, 59;
      Chief Tenaya, 165;
      a hunter, 205, 206;
      food, 206, 226, 227;
      a dirty band, 218, 219;
      women gathering wild rye, 226.

    Ivy, poison, 26.


    Jack, the shepherd's little dog, 62, 63.

    Joe, Portuguese shepherd, 209, 210.

    Juniper, Sierra (_Juniperus occidentalis_), 110, 163-65.


    Lake Hoffman, 154.

    Lake Tenaya, 153, 155, 165, 195-97, 257;
      Indian name, 166.

    Landscape, sculpture of, 14;
      a glorious, 115, 116;
      features harmonious, 240, 254.

    Liberty Cap, 183.

    _Libocedrus decurrens_. _See_ Cedar, incense.

    Lichens, 259.

    Lightning, 15, 124, 125.

    Lilies, 36, 37, 59, 60, 225.

    _Lilium pardalinum_, 37.

    _Lilium parvum_, 94, 95, 121.

    Lily, twining, 50;
      on poison ivy, 26.

    Lily, Washington, 103.

    Linosyris, 20.

    Lizards, 8, 41-43, 65.


    Magpies, 9.

    Mammoth Mountain, 216, 242.

    Manzanita (_Arctostaphylos_), 88, 89;
      berries, 259.

    Meadows, three kinds of, 158, 159;
      glacier, 229, 230.

    Merced River, 189;
      North Fork of, 25;
      camp on, 32-74.

    Merced Valley, 13, 115.

    Mono Desert, 226.

    Mono Lake, 214, 226, 239;
      flowers around, 228.

    Mono Trail, 104, 109, 115, 195-213.

    Moon, startling effect of, 221, 222.

    Moraine Lake, 224, 225.

    Moraines, 102, 216, 224, 240, 248.

    Mosquitoes, Sierra, 169.

    Mount Dana, 199, 230, 233, 234, 239, 242.

    Mount Gibbs, 199, 242.

    Mount Hoffman, 230;
      height of, 149;
      watershed, 150;
      flowers, 151, 152, 158, 160;
      hemlocks and pines, 151, 152;
      crystals, 153;
      strange dove-colored bird, 176.

    Mount Lyell, 198, 253.

    Mutton, exclusive diet of, 76.


    _Neotoma_, 71-73.

    Nevada Cañon, 182.

    Nevada Fall, 187, 188, 207.

    North Dome, 131, 134;
      strange experience on, 178, 179.


    Oak, blue (_Quercus Douglasii_), 8, 15.

    Oak, California black (_Quercus Californica_), 15, 257.

    Oak, dwarf (_Quercus chrysolepis_), 161.

    Oak, goldcup, 50, 187, 257.

    Oak, mountain live, 38.

    Oak, poison, 26.

    _Oreortyx ricta_, 174, 175.


    Pictures, inadequate, 131.

    Pika, 154, 155.

    Pilot Peak Ridge, 32, 57, 65, 67, 84.

    Pine, dwarf (_Pinus albicaulis_), 152, 248;
      as fuel, 221.

    Pine, mountain (_Pinus monticola_), 152.

    Pine, Sabine, 12, 13, 263;
      cones, 12.

    Pine, silver, 52.

    Pine, sugar, 17, 18, 51, 88, 90, 93;
      cones, 50.

    Pine, two-leaved or tamarack, 99, 110, 162, 163, 257, 258.

    Pine, yellow, 15, 51, 52, 88, 93, 258;
      cones, 17, 18.

    Pino Blanco, 13.

    Poppy, bush (_Dendromecon rigidum_), 39.

    Porcupine Creek, 121, 206.

    Portuguese shepherds, 206, 207, 208-10.

    _Pseudotsuga Douglasii_, 93.

    _Pteris aquilina_, 40, 41.


    Quail, mountain (_Oreortyx ricta_), 174, 175.

    Quails, 9.

    _Quercus Californica_, 15, 257.

    _Quercus chrysolepis_, 161.

    _Quercus Douglasii_, 8, 15.


    Rabbits, cottontail, 9, 227.

    Raindrop, history of, 125-27.

    Range of Light, 236, 264.

    Rat, wood (_Neotoma_), 71-73.

    Rattlesnakes, 9;
      dog bitten by one, 63.

    _Rhus diversiloba_. _See_ Ivy, poison.

    Robin, 173, 174, 218.

    Rye, wild, 226.


    Sandy, David Brown's dog, 27, 28, 30.

    Saxifrage, giant (_Saxifraga peltata_), 35.

    Sedge, 34, 35.

    Seeds, 68.

    _Sequoia gigantea_, 93;
      grove of, 260, 261.

    Shadows, of leaves, 59;
      substantial looking, 233.

    Sheep, Mr. Delaney's flock, 5, 8, 9, 11, 61, 64, 86, 87, 256,
        263, 264;
      rate of travel, 7;
      camping, 10;
      poisoned by azalea, 22;
      profitable, 22;
      hoofed locusts, 56, 86;
      stray, 57;
      destructiveness of, 97, 195;
      crossing a creek, 111-14;
      have poor brain stuff, 114;
      raided by bears, 191, 192, 194;
      afraid of getting wet, 201, 202, 255.

    Shepherd, degrading life of the Californian, 23;
      in Scotland, 24;
      the oriental, 24;
      bed and food, 80, 81.

    Slate, metamorphic, 6, 8, 14, 34.

    Smith's Mill, 262.

    Soda Springs, 201, 229, 253.

    South Dome, 122, 129.

    Sparrows, 251.

    Spiders, 53.

    Spruce, Douglas, 93.

    Squirrel, California gray, 69, 70.

    Squirrel, Douglas, 18, 68-70, 96, 168.

    _Stropholirion Californicum_. _See_ Lily, twining.

    Sunrise, in the Yosemite, 124.

    Sunset, 53.


    Tamarack Creek, 100, 102, 106.

    Tamarack Flat, 90, 259.

    Tea, 80, 82.

    Telepathy, strange case of, 178-91.

    Tenaya, Yosemite chief, 165.

    Tenaya Creek, 156.

    Three Brothers, 207.

    Thunder, in the mountains, 122, 123, 125.

    Tissiack. _See_ Half-Dome.

    Tourists, 98, 104, 190.

    Trees and storm, 144.

    Tuolumne Camp, 232-53.

    Tuolumne Meadows, 198, 199.


    Vaccinium, dwarf, 218.

    _Veratrum Californicum_, 93, 94.

    Vernal Fall, 182, 183, 187, 188, 207.

    Volcanic cones, 228.


    Water, music of, 21, 49, 97, 106.

    Waterfalls, 34, 36, 47, 106, 118-20, 132, 187, 188, 223, 224.

    Water ouzel, 106, 107, 223.

    Waycup, 173.

    Weather, in the mountains, 36, 39, 56, 61, 67, 73, 235, 237,
        241, 245.

    Willow, dwarf, 217.

    Wind, at night, 21, 220.

    Woodchuck (_Arctomys monax_), 154, 172, 173.

    Wrens, story of a pair, 170.


    Yosemite Creek, 104, 107, 109, 118, 150, 154, 258.

    Yosemite Valley, 102, 104, 106, 107, 115-48, 187;
      a nerve-trying experience in, 118-20;
      sunrise in, 124;
      thunder storm, 124, 125;
      grandeur, 132, 133, 190.


    Zodiacal light, 257.


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/02-makefile/Makefile
================================================
# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat

isles.dat : books/isles.txt
	python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat

abyss.dat : books/abyss.txt
	python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat

.PHONY : clean
clean : 
	rm -f *.dat


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/02-makefile-challenge/Makefile
================================================
# Generate summary table.
results.txt : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	python testzipf.py abyss.dat isles.dat last.dat > results.txt

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat

isles.dat : books/isles.txt
	python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat

abyss.dat : books/abyss.txt
	python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat

last.dat : books/last.txt
	python countwords.py books/last.txt last.dat

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
	rm -f results.txt


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/03-variables/Makefile
================================================
# Generate summary table.
results.txt : *.dat
	python testzipf.py $^ > $@

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat

isles.dat : books/isles.txt
	python countwords.py books/isles.txt isles.dat

abyss.dat : books/abyss.txt
	python countwords.py books/abyss.txt abyss.dat

last.dat : books/last.txt
	python countwords.py books/last.txt last.dat

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
	rm -f results.txt


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/03-variables-challenge/Makefile
================================================
# Generate summary table.
results.txt : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	python testzipf.py $^ > $@

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat

isles.dat : books/isles.txt
	python countwords.py $< $@

abyss.dat : books/abyss.txt
	python countwords.py $< $@

last.dat : books/last.txt
	python countwords.py $< $@

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
	rm -f results.txt


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/04-dependencies/Makefile
================================================
# Generate summary table.
results.txt : testzipf.py isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	python $^ > $@

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat

isles.dat : books/isles.txt countwords.py
	python countwords.py $< $@

abyss.dat : books/abyss.txt countwords.py
	python countwords.py $< $@

last.dat : books/last.txt countwords.py
	python countwords.py $< $@

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
	rm -f results.txt


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/05-patterns/Makefile
================================================
# Generate summary table.
results.txt : testzipf.py isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	python $^ > $@

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat

%.dat : countwords.py books/%.txt
	python $^ $@

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
	rm -f results.txt


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/06-variables/Makefile
================================================
include config.mk

# Generate summary table.
results.txt : $(ZIPF_SRC) isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ > $@

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat

%.dat : $(COUNT_SRC) books/%.txt
	$(LANGUAGE) $^

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
	rm -f results.txt


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/06-variables/config.mk
================================================
# Count words script.
LANGUAGE=python
COUNT_SRC=countwords.py

# Test Zipf's rule
ZIPF_SRC=testzipf.py


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/06-variables-challenge/Makefile
================================================
LANGUAGE=python
COUNT_SRC=countwords.py
ZIPF_SRC=testzipf.py

# Generate summary table.
results.txt : $(ZIPF_SRC) isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ > $@

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : isles.dat abyss.dat last.dat

%.dat : $(COUNT_SRC) books/%.txt
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ $@

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
	rm -f results.txt


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/07-functions/Makefile
================================================
include config.mk

TXT_FILES=$(wildcard books/*.txt)
DAT_FILES=$(patsubst books/%.txt, %.dat, $(TXT_FILES))

# Generate summary table.
results.txt : $(ZIPF_SRC) $(DAT_FILES)
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ > $@

# Count words.
.PHONY : dats
dats : $(DAT_FILES)

%.dat : $(COUNT_SRC) books/%.txt
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ $@

.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f $(DAT_FILES)
	rm -f results.txt

.PHONY : variables
variables:
	@echo TXT_FILES: $(TXT_FILES)
	@echo DAT_FILES: $(DAT_FILES)


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/07-functions/config.mk
================================================
# Count words script.
LANGUAGE=python
COUNT_SRC=countwords.py

# Test Zipf's rule
ZIPF_SRC=testzipf.py


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/08-self-doc/Makefile
================================================
include config.mk

TXT_FILES=$(wildcard books/*.txt)
DAT_FILES=$(patsubst books/%.txt, %.dat, $(TXT_FILES))

## results.txt : Generate Zipf summary table.
results.txt : $(ZIPF_SRC) $(DAT_FILES)
	$(ZIPF_EXE) $(DAT_FILES) > $@

## dats        : Count words in text files.
.PHONY : dats
dats : $(DAT_FILES)

%.dat : books/%.txt $(COUNT_SRC)
	$(COUNT_EXE) $< $@

## clean       : Remove auto-generated files.
.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f $(DAT_FILES)
	rm -f results.txt

## variables   : Print variables.
.PHONY : variables
variables:
	@echo TXT_FILES: $(TXT_FILES)
	@echo DAT_FILES: $(DAT_FILES)

.PHONY : help
help : Makefile
	@sed -n 's/^##//p' $<


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/08-self-doc/config.mk
================================================
# Count words script.
LANGUAGE=python
COUNT_SRC=countwords.py
COUNT_EXE=$(LANGUAGE) $(COUNT_SRC)

# Test Zipf's rule
ZIPF_SRC=testzipf.py
ZIPF_EXE=$(LANGUAGE) $(ZIPF_SRC)


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/09-conclusion-challenge-1/Makefile
================================================
include config.mk

TXT_FILES=$(wildcard books/*.txt)
DAT_FILES=$(patsubst books/%.txt, %.dat, $(TXT_FILES))
PNG_FILES=$(patsubst books/%.txt, %.png, $(TXT_FILES))

## all         : Generate Zipf summary table and plots of word counts.
.PHONY : all
all : results.txt $(PNG_FILES)

## results.txt : Generate Zipf summary table.
results.txt : $(ZIPF_SRC) $(DAT_FILES)
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ > $@

## dats        : Count words in text files.
.PHONY : dats
dats : $(DAT_FILES)

%.dat : $(COUNT_SRC) books/%.txt
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ $@

## pngs        : Plot word counts.
.PHONY : pngs
pngs : $(PNG_FILES)

%.png : $(PLOT_SRC) %.dat
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ $@

## clean       : Remove auto-generated files.
.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f $(DAT_FILES)
	rm -f $(PNG_FILES)
	rm -f results.txt

## variables   : Print variables.
.PHONY : variables
variables:
	@echo TXT_FILES: $(TXT_FILES)
	@echo DAT_FILES: $(DAT_FILES)
	@echo PNG_FILES: $(PNG_FILES)

.PHONY : help
help : Makefile
	@sed -n 's/^##//p' $<


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/09-conclusion-challenge-1/config.mk
================================================
# Count words script.
LANGUAGE=python
COUNT_SRC=countwords.py

# Plot word counts script.
PLOT_SRC=plotcounts.py

# Test Zipf's rule
ZIPF_SRC=testzipf.py


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/09-conclusion-challenge-2/Makefile
================================================
include config.mk

TXT_DIR=books
TXT_FILES=$(wildcard $(TXT_DIR)/*.txt)
DAT_FILES=$(patsubst $(TXT_DIR)/%.txt, %.dat, $(TXT_FILES))
PNG_FILES=$(patsubst $(TXT_DIR)/%.txt, %.png, $(TXT_FILES))
RESULTS_FILE=results.txt
ZIPF_DIR=zipf_analysis
ZIPF_ARCHIVE=$(ZIPF_DIR).tar.gz

## all         : Generate archive of code, data, plots, summary table, Makefile, and config.mk.
.PHONY : all
all : $(ZIPF_ARCHIVE)

$(ZIPF_ARCHIVE) : $(ZIPF_DIR)
	tar -czf $@ $<

$(ZIPF_DIR): Makefile config.mk $(RESULTS_FILE) \
             $(DAT_FILES) $(PNG_FILES) $(TXT_DIR) \
             $(COUNT_SRC) $(PLOT_SRC) $(ZIPF_SRC)
	mkdir -p $@
	cp -r $^ $@
	touch $@

## results.txt : Generate Zipf summary table.
$(RESULTS_FILE) : $(ZIPF_SRC) $(DAT_FILES)
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ > $@

## dats        : Count words in text files.
.PHONY : dats
dats : $(DAT_FILES)

%.dat : $(COUNT_SRC) $(TXT_DIR)/%.txt
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ $@

## pngs        : Plot word counts.
.PHONY : pngs
pngs : $(PNG_FILES)

%.png : $(PLOT_SRC) %.dat
	$(LANGUAGE) $^ $@

## clean       : Remove auto-generated files.
.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f $(DAT_FILES)
	rm -f $(PNG_FILES)
	rm -f $(RESULTS_FILE)
	rm -rf $(ZIPF_DIR)
	rm -f $(ZIPF_ARCHIVE)

## variables   : Print variables.
.PHONY : variables
variables:
	@echo TXT_DIR: $(TXT_DIR)
	@echo TXT_FILES: $(TXT_FILES)
	@echo DAT_FILES: $(DAT_FILES)
	@echo PNG_FILES: $(PNG_FILES)
	@echo ZIPF_DIR: $(ZIPF_DIR)
	@echo ZIPF_ARCHIVE: $(ZIPF_ARCHIVE)

.PHONY : help
help : Makefile
	@sed -n 's/^##//p' $<


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/09-conclusion-challenge-2/config.mk
================================================
# Count words script.
LANGUAGE=python
COUNT_SRC=countwords.py

# Plot word counts script.
PLOT_SRC=plotcounts.py

# Test Zipf's rule.
ZIPF_SRC=testzipf.py


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/countwords.py
================================================
#!/usr/bin/env python

import sys

DELIMITERS = ". , ; : ? $ @ ^ < > # % ` ! * - = ( ) [ ] { } / \" '".split()


def load_text(filename):
    """
    Load lines from a plain-text file and return these as a list, with
    trailing newlines stripped.
    """
    with open(filename) as input_fd:
        lines = input_fd.read().splitlines()
    return lines


def save_word_counts(filename, counts):
    """
    Save a list of [word, count, percentage] lists to a file, in the form
    "word count percentage", one tuple per line.
    """
    with open(filename, 'w') as output:
        for count in counts:
            output.write("%s\n" % " ".join(str(c) for c in count))


def load_word_counts(filename):
    """
    Load a list of (word, count, percentage) tuples from a file where each
    line is of the form "word count percentage". Lines starting with # are
    ignored.
    """
    counts = []
    with open(filename, "r") as input_fd:
        for line in input_fd:
            if not line.startswith("#"):
                fields = line.split()
                counts.append((fields[0], int(fields[1]), float(fields[2])))
    return counts


def update_word_counts(line, counts):
    """
    Given a string, parse the string and update a dictionary of word
    counts (mapping words to counts of their frequencies). DELIMITERS are
    removed before the string is parsed. The function is case-insensitive
    and words in the dictionary are in lower-case.
    """
    for purge in DELIMITERS:
        line = line.replace(purge, " ")
    words = line.split()
    for word in words:
        word = word.lower().strip()
        if word in counts:
            counts[word] += 1
        else:
            counts[word] = 1


def calculate_word_counts(lines):
    """
    Given a list of strings, parse each string and create a dictionary of
    word counts (mapping words to counts of their frequencies). DELIMITERS
    are removed before the string is parsed. The function is
    case-insensitive and words in the dictionary are in lower-case.
    """
    counts = {}
    for line in lines:
        update_word_counts(line, counts)
    return counts


def word_count_dict_to_tuples(counts, decrease=True):
    """
    Given a dictionary of word counts (mapping words to counts of their
    frequencies), convert this into an ordered list of tuples (word,
    count). The list is ordered by decreasing count, unless increase is
    True.
    """
    return sorted(list(counts.items()), key=lambda key_value: key_value[1],
                  reverse=decrease)


def filter_word_counts(counts, min_length=1):
    """
    Given a list of (word, count) tuples, create a new list with only
    those tuples whose word is >= min_length.
    """
    stripped = []
    for (word, count) in counts:
        if len(word) >= min_length:
            stripped.append((word, count))
    return stripped


def calculate_percentages(counts):
    """
    Given a list of (word, count) tuples, create a new list (word, count,
    percentage) where percentage is the percentage number of occurrences
    of this word compared to the total number of words.
    """
    total = 0
    for count in counts:
        total += count[1]
    tuples = [(word, count, (float(count) / total) * 100.0)
              for (word, count) in counts]
    return tuples


def word_count(input_file, output_file, min_length=1):
    """
    Load a file, calculate the frequencies of each word in the file and
    save in a new file the words, counts and percentages of the total  in
    descending order. Only words whose length is >= min_length are
    included.
    """
    lines = load_text(input_file)
    counts = calculate_word_counts(lines)
    sorted_counts = word_count_dict_to_tuples(counts)
    sorted_counts = filter_word_counts(sorted_counts, min_length)
    percentage_counts = calculate_percentages(sorted_counts)
    save_word_counts(output_file, percentage_counts)

if __name__ == '__main__':
    input_file = sys.argv[1]
    output_file = sys.argv[2]
    min_length = 1
    if len(sys.argv) > 3:
        min_length = int(sys.argv[3])
    word_count(input_file, output_file, min_length)


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/plotcounts.py
================================================
#!/usr/bin/env python

import numpy as np
import matplotlib.pyplot as plt
import sys
try:
    from collections.abc import Sequence
except ImportError:
    from collections import Sequence

from countwords import load_word_counts


def plot_word_counts(counts, limit=10):
    """
    Given a list of (word, count, percentage) tuples, plot the counts as a
    histogram. Only the first limit tuples are plotted.
    """
    limited_counts = counts[0:limit]
    word_data = [word for (word, _, _) in limited_counts]
    count_data = [count for (_, count, _) in limited_counts]
    position = np.arange(len(word_data))
    width = 1.0
    ax = plt.axes()
    ax.set_xticks(position)
    ax.set_xticklabels(word_data)
    plt.bar(position, count_data, width, color='b')
    plt.title("Word Counts")
    ax.set_ylabel("Counts")
    ax.set_xlabel("Word")
    try:
       plt.margins(x=0)
    except ValueError:
       return


def typeset_labels(labels=None, gap=5):
    """
    Given a list of labels, create a new list of labels such that each label
    is right-padded by spaces so that every label has the same width, then
    is further right padded by ' ' * gap.
    """
    if not isinstance(labels, Sequence):
        labels = list(range(labels))
    labels = [str(i) for i in labels]
    label_lens = [len(s) for s in labels]
    label_width = max(label_lens)
    output = []
    for label in labels:
        label_string = label + ' ' * (label_width - len(label)) + (' ' * gap)
        output.append(label_string)
    assert len(set(len(s) for s in output)) == 1  # Check all have same length.
    return output


def get_ascii_bars(values, truncate=True, maxlen=10, symbol='#'):
    """
    Given a list of values, create a list of strings of symbols, where each
    strings contains N symbols where N = ()(value / minimum) /
    (maximum - minimum)) * (maxlen / len(symbol)).
    """
    maximum = max(values)
    if truncate:
        minimum = min(values) - 1
    else:
        minimum = 0
    
    # Type conversion to floats is required for compatibility with python 2,
    # because it doesn't do integer division correctly (it does floor divison
    # for integers).
    value_range=float(maximum - minimum)
    prop_values = [(float(value - minimum) / value_range) for value in values]
    
    # Type conversion to int required for compatibility with python 2
    biggest_bar = symbol * int(round(maxlen / len(symbol)))
    bars = [biggest_bar[:int(round(prop * len(biggest_bar)))]
            for prop in prop_values]
    
    return bars


def plot_ascii_bars(values, labels=None, screenwidth=80, gap=2, truncate=True):
    """
    Given a list of values and labels, create right-padded labels for each
    label and strings of symbols representing the associated values.
    """
    if not labels:
        try:
            values, labels = list(zip(*values))
        except TypeError:
            labels = len(values)
    labels = typeset_labels(labels=labels, gap=gap)
    bars = get_ascii_bars(values, maxlen=screenwidth - gap - len(labels[0]),
                          truncate=truncate)
    return [s + b for s, b in zip(labels, bars)]


if __name__ == '__main__':
    input_file = sys.argv[1]
    output_file = sys.argv[2]
    limit = 10
    if len(sys.argv) > 3:
        limit = int(sys.argv[3])
    counts = load_word_counts(input_file)
    plot_word_counts(counts, limit)
    if output_file == "show":
        plt.show()
    elif output_file == 'ascii':
        words, counts, _ = list(zip(*counts))
        for line in plot_ascii_bars(counts[:limit], words[:limit],
                                    truncate=False):
            print(line)
    else:
        plt.savefig(output_file)


================================================
FILE: episodes/files/code/testzipf.py
================================================
#!/usr/bin/env python
from countwords import load_word_counts
import sys

def top_two_word(counts):
    """
    Given a list of (word, count, percentage) tuples, 
    return the top two word counts.
    """
    limited_counts = counts[0:2]
    count_data = [count for (_, count, _) in limited_counts]
    return count_data


if __name__ == '__main__':
    input_files = sys.argv[1:]
    print("Book\tFirst\tSecond\tRatio")
    for input_file in input_files:
        counts = load_word_counts(input_file)
        [first, second] = top_two_word(counts)
        bookname = input_file[:-4]
        print("%s\t%i\t%i\t%.2f" %(bookname, first, second, float(first)/second))



================================================
FILE: index.md
================================================
---
permalink: index.html
site: sandpaper::sandpaper_site
---

Make is a tool which can run commands to read files, process these
files in some way, and write out the processed files. For example,
in software development, Make is used to compile source code
into executable programs or libraries, but Make can also be used
to:

- run analysis scripts on raw data files to get data files that
  summarize the raw data;
- run visualization scripts on data files to produce plots; and to
- parse and combine text files and plots to create papers.

Make is called a build tool - it builds data files, plots, papers,
programs or libraries. It can also update existing files if
desired.

Make tracks the dependencies between the files it creates and the
files used to create these. If one of the original files (e.g. a data
file) is changed, then Make knows to recreate, or update, the files
that depend upon this file (e.g. a plot).

There are now many build tools available, all of which are based on
the same concepts as Make.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  prereq

## Prerequisites

In this lesson we use `make` from the Unix Shell. Some previous
experience with using the shell to list directories, create, copy,
remove and list files and directories, and run simple scripts is
necessary.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  prereq

## Setup

In order to follow this lesson, you will need to download some files.
Please follow instructions on the [setup](learners/setup.md) page.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::




================================================
FILE: instructors/instructor-notes.md
================================================
---
title: Instructor Notes
---

Make is a popular tool for automating the building of software -
compiling source code into executable programs.

Though Make is nearly 40 years old, and there are many other build
tools available, its fundamental concepts are common across build
tools.

Today, researchers working with legacy codes in C or FORTRAN, which
are very common in high-performance computing, will, very likely
encounter Make.

Researchers are also finding Make of use in implementing reproducible
research workflows, automating data analysis and visualization (using
Python or R) and combining tables and plots with text to produce
reports and papers for publication.

## Overall

The overall lesson can be done in 3.5 hours.

Solutions for challenges are used in subsequent topics.

A number of example Makefiles, including sample solutions to challenges,
are in subdirectories of `code` for the corresponding episodes.

It can be useful to use two windows during the lesson, one with the terminal
where you run the `make` commands, the other with the Makefile opened in a text
editor all the time. This makes it possible to refer to the Makefile while
explaining the output from the commandline, for example. Make sure, though,
that the text in both windows is readable from the back of the room.

## Setting up Make

Recommend instructors and students use `nano` as the text editor for
this lesson because

- it runs in all three major operating systems,
- it runs inside the shell (switching windows can be confusing to
  students), and
- it has shortcut help at the bottom of the window.

Please point out to students during setup that they can and should use
another text editor if they're already familiar with it.

Instructors and students should use two shell windows: one for running
nano, and one for running Make.

Check that all attendees have Make installed and that it runs
correctly, before beginning the session.

## Code and Data Files

Python scripts to be invoked by Make are in `code/`.

Data files are in `data/books`.

You can either create a simple Git repository for students to clone
which contains:

- `countwords.py`
- `plotcounts.py`
- `testzipf.py`
- `books/`

Or, ask students to download
[make-lesson.zip][zipfile] from this repository.

To recreate `make-lesson.zip`, run:

```bash
$ make make-lesson.zip
```

## Beware of Spaces!

The single most commonly occurring problem will be students using
spaces instead of TABs when indenting actions.

## Makefile Dependency Images

Some of these pages use images of Makefile dependencies, in the `fig` directory.

These are created using [makefile2graph],
which is assumed to be in the `PATH`.
This tool, in turn, needs the `dot` tool, part of [GraphViz][graphviz].

To install GraphViz on Scientific Linux 6:

```bash
$ sudo yum install graphviz
$ dot -V
```

```output
dot - graphviz version 2.26.0 (20091210.2329)
```

To install GraphViz on Ubuntu:

```bash
$ sudo apt-get install graphviz
$ dot -V
```

```output
dot - graphviz version 2.38.0 (20140413.2041)
```

To download and build makefile2graph on Linux:

```bash
$ cd
$ git clone https://github.com/lindenb/makefile2graph
$ cd makefile2graph/
$ make
$ export PATH=~/makefile2graph/:$PATH
$ cd
$ which makefile2graph
```

```output
/home/ubuntu/makefile2graph/makefile2graph
```

To create the image files for the lesson:

```bash
$ make diagrams
```

See `commands.mk`'s `diagrams` target.

## UnicodeDecodeError troubleshooting

When processing `books/last.txt` with Python 3 and vanilla shell environment on
Arch Linux the following error has appeared:

```bash
$ python wordcount.py books/last.txt last.dat
```

```output
Traceback (most recent call last):
  File "wordcount.py", line 131, in <module>
    word_count(input_file, output_file, min_length)
  File "wordcount.py", line 118, in word_count
    lines = load_text(input_file)
  File "wordcount.py", line 14, in load_text
    lines = input_fd.read().splitlines()
  File "/usr/lib/python3.6/encodings/ascii.py", line 26, in decode
    return codecs.ascii_decode(input, self.errors)[0]
UnicodeDecodeError: 'ascii' codec can't decode byte 0xc3 in position 6862: ordinal not in range(128)
```

The workaround was to define encoding for the terminal session (this can be
either done at the command line or placed in the `.bashrc` or equivalent):

```bash
$ export LC_ALL=en_US.UTF-8
$ export LANG=en_US.UTF-8
$ export LANGUAGE=en_US.UTF-8
```

## Beware of different Make implementations!

The lesson is based on GNU Make. Although it is very rare, on some systems
(e.g. AIX) you might find `make` not pointing to GNU Make and `gmake` needs to
be used instead.

[zipfile]: files/make-lesson.zip
[makefile2graph]: https://github.com/lindenb/makefile2graph
[graphviz]: https://www.graphviz.org/





================================================
FILE: learners/discuss.md
================================================
---
title: Discussion
---

## Parallel Execution

Make can build dependencies in *parallel* sub-processes, via its `--jobs`
flag (or its `-j` abbreviation) which specifies the number of sub-processes to
use e.g.

```bash
$ make --jobs 4 results.txt
```

If we have independent dependencies then these can be built at the
same time. For example, `abyss.dat` and `isles.dat` are mutually
independent and can both be built at the same time. Likewise for
`abyss.png` and `isles.png`. If you've got a bunch of independent
branches in your analysis, this can greatly speed up your build
process.

For more information see the GNU Make manual chapter on [Parallel
Execution][gnu-make-parallel].

## Different Types of Assignment

Some Makefiles may contain `:=` instead of `=`. Your Makefile may
behave differently depending upon which you use and how you use it:

- A variable defined using `=` is a *recursively expanded
  variable*. Its value is calculated only when its value is
  requested. If the value assigned to the variable itself contains
  variables (e.g. `A = $(B)`) then these variables' values are only
  calculated when the variable's value is requested (e.g. the value of
  `B` is only calculated when the value of `A` is requested via
  `$(A)`. This can be termed *lazy setting*.

- A variable defined using `:=` is a *simply expanded variable*. Its
  value is calculated when it is declared. If the value assigned to
  the variable contains variables (e.g. `A = $(B)`) then these
  variables' values are also calculated when the variable is declared
  (e.g. the value of `B` is calculated when `A` is assigned
  above). This can be termed *immediate setting*.

For a detailed explanation, see:

- StackOverflow [Makefile variable assignment][makefile-variable]
- GNU Make [The Two Flavors of Variables][gnu-make-variables]

## Make and Version Control

Imagine that we manage our Makefiles using a version control
system such as Git.

Let's say we'd like to run the workflow developed in this lesson
for three different word counting scripts, in order to compare their
speed (e.g. `wordcount.py`, `wordcount2.py`, `wordcount3.py`).

To do this we could edit `config.mk` each time by replacing
`COUNT_SRC=wordcount.py` with `COUNT_SRC=wordcount2.py` or
`COUNT_SRC=wordcount3.py`,
but this would be detected as a change by the version control system.
This is a minor configuration change, rather than a change to the
workflow, and so we probably would rather avoid committing this change
to our repository each time we decide to test a different counting script.

An alternative is to leave `config.mk` untouched, by overwriting the value
of `COUNT_SRC` at the command line instead:

```
$ make variables COUNT_SRC=wordcount2.py
```

The configuration file then simply contains the default values for the
workflow, and by overwriting the defaults at the command line you can
maintain a neater and more meaningful version control history.

## Make Variables and Shell Variables

Makefiles embed shell scripts within them, as the actions that are
executed to update an object. More complex actions could well include
shell variables.  There are several ways in which make variables and
shell variables can be confused and can be in conflict.

- Make actually accepts three different syntaxes for variables: `$N`,
  `$(NAME)`, or `${NAME}`.
  
  The single character variable names are most commonly used for
  automatic variables, and there are many of them.  But if you happen
  upon a character that isn't pre-defined as an automatic variable,
  make will treat it as a user variable.
  
  The `${NAME}` syntax is also used by the unix shell in cases where
  there might be ambiguity in interpreting variable names, or for
  certain pattern substitution operations.  Since there are only
  certain situations in which the unix shell requires this syntax,
  instead of the more common `$NAME`, it is not familiar to many users.

- Make does variable substitution on actions before they are passed to
  the shell for execution.  That means that anything that looks like a
  variable to make will get replaced with the appropriate value.  (In
  make, an uninitialized variable has a null value.)  To protect a
  variable you intend to be interpreted by the shell rather than make,
  you need to "quote" the dollar sign by doubling it (`$$`). (This the
  same principle as escaping special characters in the unix shell
  using the backslash (`\`) character.)  In
  short: make variables have a single dollar sign, shell variables
  have a double dollar sign.  This applies to anything that looks like
  a variable and needs to be interpreted by the shell rather than
  make, including awk positional parameters (e.g., `awk '{print $$1}'`
  instead of `awk '{print $1}'`) or accessing environment variables
  (e.g., `$$HOME`).

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  discussion

## Detailed Example of Shell Variable Quoting

Say we had the following `Makefile` (and the .dat files had already
been created):

```make
BOOKS = abyss isles

.PHONY: plots
plots:
	for book in $(BOOKS); do python plotcount.py $book.dat $book.png; done
```

the action that would be passed to the shell to execute would be:

```bash
for book in abyss isles; do python plotcount.py ook.dat ook.png; done
```

Notice that make substituted `$(BOOKS)`, as expected, but it also
substituted `$book`, even though we intended it to be a shell variable.
Moreover, because we didn't use `$(NAME)` (or `${NAME}`) syntax, make
interpreted it as the single character variable `$b` (which we haven't
defined, so it has a null value) followed by the text "ook".

In order to get the desired behavior, we have to write `$$book` instead
of `$book`:

```make
BOOKS = abyss isles

.PHONY: plots
plots:
	for book in $(BOOKS); do python plotcount.py $$book.dat $$book.png; done
```

which produces the correct shell command:

```bash
for book in abyss isles; do python plotcount.py $book.dat $book.png; done
```

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

## Make and Reproducible Research

Blog articles, papers, and tutorials on automating commonly
occurring research activities using Make:

- [minimal make][minimal-make] by Karl Broman. A minimal tutorial on
  using Make with R and LaTeX to automate data analysis, visualization
  and paper preparation. This page has links to Makefiles for many of
  his papers.

- [Why Use Make][why-use-make] by Mike Bostock. An example of using
  Make to download and convert data.

- [Makefiles for R/LaTeX projects][makefiles-for-r-latex] by Rob
  Hyndman. Another example of using Make with R and LaTeX.

- [GNU Make for Reproducible Data Analysis][make-reproducible-research]
  by Zachary Jones. Using Make with Python and LaTeX.

- Shaun Jackman's [Using Make to Increase Automation \&
  Reproducibility][increase-automation] video lesson, and accompanying
  [example][increase-automation-example].

- Lars Yencken's [Driving experiments with
  make][driving-experiments]. Using Make to sandbox Python
  dependencies and pull down data sets from Amazon S3.

- Askren MK, McAllister-Day TK, Koh N, Mestre Z, Dines JN, Korman BA,
  Melhorn SJ, Peterson DJ, Peverill M, Qin X, Rane SD, Reilly MA,
  Reiter MA, Sambrook KA, Woelfer KA, Grabowski TJ and Madhyastha TM
  (2016) [Using Make for Reproducible and Parallel Neuroimaging
  Workflow and
  Quality-Assurance][make-neuroscience]. Front. Neuroinform. 10:2. doi:
  10\.3389/fninf.2016.00002

- Li Haoyi's [What's in a Build Tool?][whats-a-build-tool] A review of
  popular build tools (including Make) in terms of their strengths and
  weaknesses for common build-related use cases in software
  development.

## Return messages and `.PHONY` target behaviour

`Up to date` vs `Nothing to be done` is discussed in
[episode 2](../episodes/02-makefiles.md).

A more detailed discussion can be read on
[issue 98](https://github.com/swcarpentry/make-novice/issues/98#issuecomment-307361751).

[gnu-make-parallel]: https://www.gnu.org/software/make/manual/html_node/Parallel.html
[makefile-variable]: https://stackoverflow.com/questions/448910/makefile-variable-assignment
[gnu-make-variables]: https://www.gnu.org/software/make/manual/html_node/Flavors.html#Flavors
[minimal-make]: https://kbroman.org/minimal_make/
[why-use-make]: https://bost.ocks.org/mike/make/
[makefiles-for-r-latex]: https://robjhyndman.com/hyndsight/makefiles/
[make-reproducible-research]: https://zmjones.com/make/
[increase-automation]: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_F5f0qi-aEc
[increase-automation-example]: https://github.com/sjackman/makefile-example
[driving-experiments]: https://lifesum.github.io/posts/2016/01/14/make-experiments/
[make-neuroscience]: https://journal.frontiersin.org/article/10.3389/fninf.2016.00002/full
[whats-a-build-tool]: https://www.lihaoyi.com/post/WhatsinaBuildTool.html





================================================
FILE: learners/reference.md
================================================
---
title: 'FIXME'
---

## Glossary

## Running Make

To run Make:

```bash
$ make
```

Make will look for a Makefile called `Makefile` and will build the
default target, the first target in the Makefile.

To use a Makefile with a different name, use the `-f` flag e.g.

```bash
$ make -f build-files/analyze.mk
```

To build a specific target, provide it as an argument e.g.

```bash
$ make isles.dat
```

If the target is up-to-date, Make will print a message like:

```output
make: `isles.dat' is up to date.
```

To see the actions Make will run when building a target, without
running the actions, use the `--dry-run` flag e.g.

```bash
$ make --dry-run isles.dat
```

Alternatively, use the abbreviation `-n`.

```bash
$ make -n isles.dat
```

## Trouble Shooting

If Make prints a message like,

```error
Makefile:3: *** missing separator.  Stop.
```

then check that all the actions are indented by TAB characters and not
spaces.

If Make prints a message like,

```error
No such file or directory: 'books/%.txt'
make: *** [isles.dat] Error 1
```

then you may have used the Make wildcard, `%`, in an action in a
pattern rule. Make wildcards cannot be used in actions.

## Makefiles

Rules:

```make
target : dependency1 dependency2 ...
	action1
	action2
	...
```

- Each rule has a target, a file to be created, or built.
- Each rule has zero or more dependencies, files that are needed to
  build the target.
- `:` separates the target and the dependencies.
- Dependencies are separated by spaces.
- Each rule has zero or more actions, commands to run to build the
  target using the dependencies.
- Actions are indented using the TAB character, not 8 spaces.

Dependencies:

- If any dependency does not exist then Make will look for a rule to
  build it.
- The order of rebuilding dependencies is arbitrary. You should not
  assume that they will be built in the order in which they are listed.
- Dependencies must form a directed acyclic graph. A target cannot
  depend on a dependency which, in turn depends upon, or has a
  dependency which depends upon, that target.

Comments:

```make
# This is a Make comment.
```

Line continuation character:

```make
ARCHIVE = isles.dat isles.png \
          abyss.dat abyss.png \
          sierra.dat sierra.png
```

- If a list of dependencies or an action is too long, a Makefile can
  become more difficult to read.
- Backslash,`\`, the line continuation character, allows you to split
  up a list of dependencies or an action over multiple lines, to make
  them easier to read.
- Make will combine the multiple lines into a single list of dependencies
  or action.

Phony targets:

```make
.PHONY : clean
clean :
	rm -f *.dat
```

- Phony targets are a short-hand for sequences of actions.
- No file with the target name is built when a rule with a phony
  target is run.

Automatic variables:

- `$<` denotes 'the first dependency of the current rule'.
- `$@` denotes 'the target of the current rule'.
- `$^` denotes 'the dependencies of the current rule'.
- `$*` denotes 'the stem with which the pattern of the current rule matched'.

Pattern rules:

```make
%.dat : books/%.txt $(COUNT_SRC)
	$(COUNT_EXE) $< $@
```

- The Make wildcard, `%`, specifies a pattern.
- If Make finds a dependency matching the pattern, then the pattern is
  substituted into the target.
- The Make wildcard can only be used in targets and dependencies.
- e.g. if Make found a file called `books/abyss.txt`, it would set the
  target to be `abyss.dat`.

Defining and using variables:

```make
COUNT_SRC=wordcount.py
COUNT_EXE=python $(COUNT_SRC)
```

- A variable is assigned a value. For example, `COUNT_SRC`
  is assigned the value `wordcount.py`.
- `$(...)` is a reference to a variable. It requests that
  Make substitutes the name of a variable for its value.

Suppress printing of actions:

```make
.PHONY : variables
variables:
	@echo TXT_FILES: $(TXT_FILES)
```

- Prefix an action by `@` to instruct Make not to print that action.

Include the contents of a Makefile in another Makefile:

```make
include config.mk
```

wildcard function:

```make
TXT_FILES=$(wildcard books/*.txt)
```

- Looks for all files matching a pattern e.g. `books/*.txt`, and
  return these in a list.
- e.g. `TXT_FILES` is set to `books/abyss.txt books/isles.txt books/last.txt books/sierra.txt`.

patsubst ('path substitution') function:

```make
DAT_FILES=$(patsubst books/%.txt, %.dat, $(TXT_FILES))
```

- Every string that matches `books/%.txt` in `$(TXT_FILES)` is
  replaced by `%.dat` and the strings are returned in a list.
- e.g. if `TXT_FILES` is `books/abyss.txt books/isles.txt books/last.txt books/sierra.txt` this sets `DAT_FILES` to `abyss.dat isles.dat last.dat sierra.dat`.

Default targets:

- In Make version 3.79 the default target is the first target in the
  Makefile.
- In Make 3.81, the default target can be explicitly set using the
  special variable `.DEFAULT_GOAL` e.g.

```make
.DEFAULT_GOAL := all
```

## Manuals

[GNU Make Manual][gnu-make-manual]. Reference sections include:

- [Summary of Options][options-summary] for the `make` command.
- [Quick Reference][quick-reference] of Make directives, text manipulation functions, and special variables.
- [Automatic Variables][automatic-variables].
- [Special Built-in Target Names][special-targets]

## Glossary

[action]{#action}
:   The steps a [build manager](#build-manager) must take to create or
update a file or other object.

[assignment]{#assignment}
:   A request that [Make](#make) stores something in a
[variable](#variable).

[automatic variable]{#automatic-variable}
:   A variable whose value is automatically redefined for each
[rule](#rule). [Make](#make)'s automatic variables include `$@`,
which holds the rule's [target](#target), `$^`, which holds its
[dependencies](#dependency), and, `$<`, which holds the first of
its dependencies, and `$*`, which holds the [stem](#stem) with which
the pattern was matched. Automatic variables are typically used in
[pattern rules](#pattern-rule).

[build file]{#build-file}
:   A description of [dependencies](#dependency) and [rules](#rule)
for a [build manager](#build-manager).

[build manager]{#build-manager}
:   A program, such as [Make](#make), whose main purpose is to build or
update software, documentation, web sites, data files, images, and
other things.

[default rule]{#default-rule}
:   The [rule](#rule) that is executed if no [target](#target) is
specified when a [build manager](#build-manager) is run.

[default target]{#default-target}
:   The [target](#target) of the [default rule](#default-rule).

[dependency]{#dependency}
:   A file that a [target](#target) depends on. If any of a target's
[dependencies](#dependency) are newer than the target itself, the
target needs to be updated. A target's dependencies are also
called its prerequisites. If a target's dependencies do not exist,
then they need to be built first.

[false dependency]{#false-dependency}
:   This can refer to a [dependency](#dependency) that is artificial.
e.g. a false dependency is introduced if a data analysis script
is added as a dependency to the data files that the script
analyses.

[function]{#function}
:   A built-in [Make](#make) utility that performs some operation, for
example gets a list of files matching a pattern.

[incremental build]{#incremental-build}
:   The feature of a [build manager](#build-manager) by
which it only rebuilds files that, either directory
or indirectly, depend on a file that was changed.

[macro]{#macro}
:   Used as a synonym for [variable](#variable) in certain versions of
[Make](#make).

[Make]{#make}
:   A popular [build manager](#build-manager), from GNU, created in 1977.

[Makefile]{#makefile}
:   A [build file](#build-file) used by [Make](#make), which, by
default, are named `Makefile`.

[pattern rule]{#pattern-rule}
:   A [rule](#rule) that specifies a general way to build or update an
entire class of files that can be managed the same way. For
example, a pattern rule can specify how to compile any C file
rather than a single, specific C file, or, to analyze any data
file rather than a single, specific data file. Pattern rules
typically make use of [automatic variables](#automatic-variable)
and [wildcards](#wildcard).

[phony target]{#phony-target}
:   A [target](#target) that does not correspond to a file or other
object. Phony targets are usually symbolic names for sequences of
[actions](#action).

[prerequisite]{#prerequisite}
:   A synonym for [dependency](#dependency).

[reference]{#reference}
:   A request that [Make](#make) substitutes the name of a
[variable](#variable) for its value.

[rule]{#rule}
:   A specification of a [target](#target)'s
[dependencies](#dependency) and what [actions](#action) need to be
executed to build or update the target.

[stem]{#stem}
:   The part of the target that was matched by the pattern rule. If
the target is `file.dat` and the target pattern was `%.dat`, then
the stem `$*` is `file`.

[target]{#target}
:   A thing to be created or updated, for example a file. Targets can
have [dependencies](#dependency) that must exist, and be
up-to-date, before the target itself can be built or updated.

[variable]{#variable}
:   A symbolic name for something in a [Makefile](#makefile).

[wildcard]{#wildcard}
:   A pattern that can be specified in [dependencies](#dependency) and
[targets](#target). If [Make](#make) finds a dependency matching
the pattern, then the pattern is substituted into the
target. wildcards are often used in [pattern
rules](#pattern-rule). The Make wildcard is `%`.

[gnu-make-manual]: https://www.gnu.org/software/make/manual/
[options-summary]: https://www.gnu.org/software/make/manual/html_node/Options-Summary.html
[quick-reference]: https://www.gnu.org/software/make/manual/html_node/Quick-Reference.html
[automatic-variables]: https://www.gnu.org/software/make/manual/html_node/Automatic-Variables.html
[special-targets]: https://www.gnu.org/software/make/manual/html_node/Special-Targets.html





================================================
FILE: learners/setup.md
================================================
---
title: Setup
---

## Files

You need to download some files to follow this lesson:

1. Download [make-lesson.zip][zip-file].

2. Move `make-lesson.zip` into a directory which you can access via your bash shell.

3. Open a Bash shell window.

4. Navigate to the directory where you downloaded the file.

5. Unpack `make-lesson.zip`:
  
  ```source
  $ unzip make-lesson.zip
  ```

6. Change into the `make-lesson` directory:
  
  ```source
  $ cd make-lesson
  ```

## Software

You also need to have the following software installed on your computer to
follow this lesson:

### GNU Make

#### Linux

Make is a standard tool on most Linux systems and should already be available.
Check if you already have Make installed by typing `make -v` into a terminal.

One exception is Debian, and you should install Make from the terminal using
`sudo apt-get install make`.

#### OSX

You will need to have Xcode installed (download from the
[Apple website](https://developer.apple.com/xcode/)).
Check if you already have Make installed by typing `make -v` into a terminal.

#### Windows

Use the Software Carpentry
[Windows installer](https://github.com/swcarpentry/windows-installer).

### Python

Python2 or Python3, Numpy and Matplotlib are required.
They can be installed separately, but the easiest approach is to install
[Anaconda](https://www.anaconda.com/distribution/) which includes all of the
necessary python software.

[zip-file]: files/make-lesson.zip





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FILE: profiles/learner-profiles.md
================================================
---
title: FIXME
---

This is a placeholder file. Please add content here. 


================================================
FILE: requirements.txt
================================================
PyYAML
update-copyright


================================================
FILE: site/README.md
================================================
This directory contains rendered lesson materials. Please do not edit files
here.