At six o’clock next morning, all sail being then taken in and the ship proceeding under engines alone, boilers fed with blubber, we entered Leith Harbour, and anchored with both anchors as a precaution against the violent squalls that strike down from the hills.

Almost as the cables ceased their rumbling, a motor-launch was alongside bearing Mr. Hansen, of the whaling station, and Mr. Hussey, who had been appointed guard of honour to our well-loved leader. Mr. Hussey gave us all the news, which we were very greedy to hear. He had taken Sir Ernest Shackleton’s body to Monte Video, with the intention of escorting it home to England for a great public funeral, such as a man of our Boss’s heroism deserved, but Lady Shackleton had sent word that she desired the remains to be laid in an even more fitting resting-place—in South Georgia, the gateway to the Antarctic which he had by right of conquest made his own; the spot closely associated with one of the greatest of his many great exploits—that memorable journey in the dead of winter across the glaciers and rocky heights of the island, of which the whole world knows.

And so, over in the old pathetic graveyard of Gritviken, he was buried simply, the Shetland whalemen carrying the coffin, with no funereal pomp and circumstance, and the bareheaded Norwegian sea-fighters following him respectfully to his last resting-place. It was what he would have wished.

When the rocky grave was filled in, a simple wooden cross was erected, and on its arms Mr. Hussey placed the wreaths brought from Monte Video on behalf of Lady Shackleton, Mr. and Mrs. Rowett and the members of the Quest expedition. So the restless soul found rest at last; but his memory must endure, for Sir Ernest Shackleton was brave, not with the sudden hot courage of battle, but with the quiet, determined bravery that lasts through terrible, tedious days, when hope drifts sullenly away and leaves bleak despair.

But though his labours were ended, ours were not; much of his original programme remained to be carried out, and in order that this might be done, work was resumed with vigour under Commander Wild. Accordingly, after hearing Mr. Hussey’s news, all hands turned-to to clear the bunkers of the gear that had been stowed there aforetime; and whether it was the hard work or the change from recent ice surroundings, I know that, for one, I found the weather quite sultry and overpowering. Really it was very cold, but we began to wonder where we could lay our hands on tropical clothing, by reason of the thickening of our blood.

The general view of Leith Harbour gave me the idea of a smooth lake surrounded on all sides by abruptly rising hills. Short, precipitous glaciers come down at short intervals towards the shore; the lower steeps are splashed with snow, whilst the raw earth shows abundantly, though here and there is a heartening patch of green. The greater heights are eternally snowbound, and as often as not veiled in mist and thick clouds; and there is practically no flat land whatsoever; the whole island seems to stand on end, with the exception of a few acres at the far end of the harbour where the noisome whaling station lies.

Peaceful days followed, during which we worked hard and played as hard. Some of our party went fishing, and returned with great catches of coarse fish which compared unfavourably with the toothsome spoil of our northern waters. We played football; overhauled the ship fore and aft, aloft and below; entertained the Shetlanders with impromptu musical evenings, and generally joyed in a return to moving life. The weather was Scottish in its changeableness: sunny days alternating with bleak misty days, so that it was almost possible at times to believe that one was back at home and the happenings, at the best, but a vivid dream.

Whaling proceeded with great activity during this present stay of ours in South Georgia; whales were constantly being towed in and flensed, and the white smoke from the trying-works hung constantly over the busy station, whilst the reek of rendering oil was appalling. Fishing, in which sport I indulged frequently, proved an easy occupation, especially amongst the thick kelp which everywhere clings to the coast. All that was necessary was to drop over a hook with a piece of fat blubber attached, and a second or so later came a tug, and there was a fat fish. So greedy were these rock cod that often they would bolt the bare hook and not trouble us to rebait.

By way of a change from sport, I blacked down the rigging with tar and made a filthy mess of things in the process, smearing as much of the delectable mixture on myself as on the rigging, I think, and earning a severe choking-off for dropping tar on our immaculate—or nearly immaculate—decks.

Bridge in the evenings, with music, honest work, plenty of play, and there you have the record of our South Georgian days. One pleasant break, however, came when I was ordered away in the whaler with Mr. Douglas, Mr. Wilkins, Major Carr and Mr. Jeffrey, for a survey of Cape Saunders at the entrance to the harbour. We were towed by a greasy old motor-launch which the Norwegians employ for towing the whales about the harbour, but it gave us headway enough for our purpose. A heavy sea was running, however, and this made it impossible for us to land on the cape itself, so we turned back and got ashore a mile farther inland where the going was easier on account of a bit of smooth beach. Having landed—it was very hot clambering up the rocks—we took observations enough to satisfy the most critical of surveyors, then returned, but the weather having become worse during our activities, we got a thorough drenching before we regained the ship.

On Easter Saturday, April 15, we left Leith Harbour. The battered old Neko, a disreputable packet, entered harbour from Deception Island, her holds crammed to bursting with oil barrels, and, thanks to our wireless, we gave her G.M.T. as we steamed past her, for which she was very grateful as her chronometers had not been rated for long enough. It was cold as we steamed down the harbour; and the mountains, from which much of the snow had departed, were covered with drift. We were bound for the Stromness whaling station, which lies at the end of another arm of the bay; and on arriving there we went alongside the Norwegian steamer Perth. Our manoeuvres must have seemed clumsy to her crew, for a sudden gust of wind drove us down aboard her with such force that our bowsprit fouled one of her boat-davits and snapped like a match; so that next morning Dell and myself were early at work repairing the damage, stripping the broken spar of its tangle of foot-ropes, guys and outhauls, and the like. Here at Stromness we had fresh relays of visitors, both from the shore and the British steamer Woodville, which lay there; they wondered how we’d managed to win clear of the pack ice down farther south. Most of our after-guard went aboard the Woodville, where they were royally treated; but as the cook had departed on a holiday I helped Jimmy Argles and Oompah—a South African, whose real name was Young—to prepare lunch for the forrard party.

During the night following this day of carnival the wind increased to hurricane force again, and I was roused at 4 a.m. by the skipper yelling for a cork fender. His cries were almost drowned by a great crashing and rending; but the noise was the worst part of the business. We were rolling and churning against the Perth, thanks to the pressure of two whalers which lay outside us, but after they’d cleared out, the worst of our troubles were over. At ten o’clock we gave the Woodville a salute with our ensign and moved off, housing our boats in readiness for the rough weather that was only to be expected.

Out in the open we washed down, and as our hose was somewhat the “waur o’ the wear” we all got a satisfactory drenching, as a reminder that we were seamen and not shore-fellows. We entered Prince Olaf Harbour during the afternoon, where we tied up to a buoy. There is another whaling station here, and the backing of the great pinnacle rocks is very fine indeed. At 4 p.m. we went alongside the tank steamer Southern Isles and made fast for the night, during which the rain sluiced down in miniature Niagaras. Still, the rain laid the dust somewhat, which was a good thing, for our particular job next morning was to coal ship, and that as everyone knows is an uncleanly operation. From after breakfast until 5 p.m. we were hard at it: taking aboard 53 tons in that time. Argles, Young, Ross and myself shovelled on deck; three Portuguese trimmers from St. Vincent did the trimming below. To-day was Commander Wild’s birthday, and so, once we were bathed and presentable, we had a great dinner by way of celebration. After dinner he came down aft, where we drank his health generously, Jimmy Dell proposing a genuine sailor’s toast, “Long may your big jib draw,” and the night died away in song and story, in preparation for another muling day at coaling, which became hard work on account of the bright sun and considerable heat. But by noon we’d bunkered ninety tons in all—our quota; and after squaring up the decks and washing down I went fishing with Mr. Jeffrey and the skipper of the Southern Isles. During the day a large number of whales were brought in, and their swollen pink carcasses surrounded us on every hand, whilst their effluvia—phew! Whales and still more whales continued to arrive during the night, giving promise of a plentiful oil supply; and some of the whalers that entered were towing six whales apiece, each one as big as the ship itself.

But we cleared out of the immediate vicinity of the whales after breakfast and lay off Bird Island, a small, pleasantly green piece of land, where was plenty of tussock grass. Here we anchored, and whilst letting go the port anchor a joining shackle fouled in the compressor and broke short off like a carrot, so that we lost a good anchor and fifteen fathoms of cable. Mr. Wilkins and a few others went ashore in search of albatrosses, with which mighty birds the place was literally alive, many of them wheeling splendidly overhead or hovering like watchful hawks, whilst others squatted peacefully on the little hillocks which are their nests; though certain less peaceful members of the community squabbled fiercely, squawking like fishwives all the time, with their huge wings outspread to their utmost span. From a distance their uproar sounded precisely like the indignation of a world full of young pigs all being led to slaughter at one time.

Young albatrosses are good eating, and we killed some to replenish our larder. It was Commander Wild’s intention to remain here at Bird Island—well named—for several days in order to carry out an exhaustive survey, but the weather was not fair enough to permit our lying there, so we put back to Prince Olaf Harbour, there to await more favourable weather.

With good weather we got under way, housed the surf-boat, and steamed out into a moderate sea. We headed towards the bank at the north-west of the island, where we took exhaustive soundings, and the Quest, as though glad to be free from smooth water, gave an excellent display of liveliness. Lord! how we grew to loathe her dirty movements! It is easy enough to write of them in retrospect, but whilst they were happening our wearied bones and aching muscles caused loud protest in real deep-water curses, such as would have joyed the soul of the old-time Paddy Westers who went down to the sea in ships in a day when seafaring was seafaring.

The decks were thoroughly awash before very long, whole water piling methodically aboard at every roll and pitch; but spite of all this, having reached the bank, soundings commenced, and every hour, day and night, the machines were busy.

Maybe a brief description of the whole art of taking comprehensive soundings may appeal to the more scientifically minded of my readers. The skipper sets the ship on a definite course, and along this course we are steered steadily, with the lead constantly going, the depths ranging from one hundred to two hundred fathoms, until we fail to find bottom at three hundred. Knowing then that the ship is no longer above the bank, course is altered until soundings are picked up again; and so, by dint of a series of criss-crosses over the sea, the exact size, depth and relative shape of the bank is quite accurately learnt. Sounding is a delightful job, especially when you turn out for it during a cold, bleak, windy middle watch. The proceedings being illuminated by a flaring hurricane lamp, away goes the lead, one man “feeling” the wire as it whines over the lead, until there comes a sudden slackening of tension, whereupon the feeler cries, “Bottom,” and another man applies the brake, not suddenly for fear of mishap, but gently, collecting the strain by degrees. Then it is necessary to wind in the wire and weights by hand; and at “three hundred fathoms and no bottom,” on a deck that is as nearly vertical as ever a ship’s deck could be, with the ship curvetting friskily and water cascading aboard, it is excellent exercise. Watches of this kind can become very long and dreary.

It took three full days and nights of steady work to get an accurate charting of the bank, but when Commander Wild was satisfied that the work was thoroughly done we made back to Prince Olaf, and, anchoring there, had lunch in placid waters, greatly to our contentment of spirit. Our prayers of thankfulness went up high, they were so fervently uttered.

We remained at Prince Olaf for one clear day, spent chiefly in violent political arguments amongst our very mixed ship’s company; and then returned to Leith Harbour in heavy snow squalls, which covered the entire coast with glittering white. Fierce blizzards blinded us as we entered the harbour; and as the steam whistle lanyard carried away and I had to repair it, I found that my idea about the warmth of these latitudes was all wrong; it was cold—cold!

So strong was the wind that three attempts were necessary before we moored to the buoy. The winter now being properly set in, South Georgia looked a God-forsaken place enough to sadden any watching eyes.

On Friday, April 28, a general holiday was decreed for all hands. Fishing was attempted, but returning to the ship the boat was caught in a blizzard that necessitated a hard, cold pull; and the rest of the day was gorgeously spent in my bunk, delightfully reading and sleeping—with, perhaps, more sleeping than reading.

In Leith Harbour we rigged a new bowsprit to replace the one carried away and replenished our stores, and on May 2 left for Gritviken in very squally weather, the launch pulling us clear and the people ashore firing a salute of rockets. The last thing I heard as we moved off were the cheers of the honest Shetlanders. Outside the weather was glorious, and Mr. Wilkins put down his dredge, bringing up some beautiful samples of maritime life. Arriving at Gritviken at 1 p.m. we anchored with our big spare anchor, which required the entire ship’s company, together with half a dozen tackles and Portuguese windlasses to get overside. In the evening I went ashore with Commander Wild, Dr. Macklin and Dr. McIlroy to the magistrate’s house for a game of billiards. The magistrate, Mr. Binney, owned a remarkable dog, whose favourite diet appeared to be cigarette ash.

On May 3 a great work was commenced—our offering to our dead and revered leader. A great cairn was to be built on top of a high, noble bluff, commanding a magnificent view of the bay; and accordingly a large party put ashore, armed with shovels and picks, and, borrowing a couple of sledges from the magistrate, proceeded to the summit of the bluff. Mac commenced at once to dig out foundations; and as there were no suitable stones at hand, we others climbed a steep slope and quarried out the side of a hill a quarter of a mile away. Despite the labour this entailed we all worked with a will, for there was a definite feeling in all that Shackleton himself was directing our efforts as of old. His spirit seemed to hover over us, and we exulted in our tribute.

Mr. Douglas attempted to blast the rock nearer the side of the cairn, but had no success; so we continued our work all day, bringing the stones down the hill on the sledges, and by evening the cairn was three feet high.

Immediately after breakfast next day we went ashore again to continue our labours. Young ice had formed overnight on the water, and pulling the boat was no easy task. In order to expedite our work we lashed boxes on the sledges to increase their carrying capacity, but Dr. Macklin’s sledge came to grief at the foot of the slope and he had perforce to return to the magistrate’s for another. Up and down we went as hard as we could go, and in the course of the forenoon transported about ten tons of rock. Mac made an excellent job of the building, and whilst we ashore toiled hard, the engineers aboard fashioned a noble cross, and this was erected on the summit of the cairn in the afternoon.

On the day following the finishing touches were put to the cairn, and a brass plate was cemented in, bearing just a simple inscription, which said more than whole volumes, maybe:

SIR ERNEST SHACKLETON,
Explorer,
Died here January 5, 1922.
Erected by his comrades.

It was evening when this work was done, and in the waning light we gazed on the completed cairn standing out dark against the snow, and felt how grand and beautiful was its setting. How fitting it was for a monument to Shackleton! The dying sun made a lovely picture on the smooth frozen waters of the bay and enhanced the exquisite beauty of the white mountains beyond. We turned away and walked slowly homewards, not speaking much, because he seemed to be very near.

We left Gritviken on May 7—a Sunday—and steamed across to Cumberland Bay. On the way we passed Sir Ernest’s cairn, and the ship’s company stood to attention facing it in salute. The skipper afterwards remarked to me on the excellence of the selected site. It promised to stand there as a perpetual landmark to all who entered the bay. Gradually was lifted the inevitable pall of sadness that had clung about the Quest after our sorrowful labours.

At Gritviken we had secured a live black and white pig, and an instant hostility arose between this porker and Query; it was very amusing to watch their antics. Commander Wild went ashore with a hunting party and presently returned with four large deer, a welcome prospect of venison. They were skinned and cleaned and lashed up in the rigging. Next day, after landing the magistrate’s dog, which had somehow been left aboard, we steamed along the coast towards Royal Bay, where the German Antarctic Expedition of 1892-3 had wintered, and here, shortly after 2 p.m., we dropped anchor quite close to a great glacier that was rotten with crevasses. Great masses of ice kept constantly tumbling down with a continual rumbling, and as they entered the water they sent out waves towards us like the wash of a giant ship proceeding at full speed. The whole bay was covered with growlers and smaller fragments of ice. The surveying party promptly went ashore, and I accompanied them. A biggish surf was running, and the shore was very steep and very stony. Youthful enthusiasm prompting me to leap ashore with the painter, a roller promptly took me off my feet, carried me under the boat, threw me up on the beach and effectively drenched me. I returned aboard, changed and went fishing, which was a more peaceful pursuit. Then the survey party was collected without mishap and taken off aboard, the boat was hoisted in and secured, for the last time our anchor was hoisted from the South Georgian bottom, and we set out on our journey to what is almost the last, loneliest sentinel of the British Empire, Tristan d’Achuna, or Tristan da Cunha; the spelling is optional, I believe. We kept a course along the moon-path, in order to avoid the growlers; and before I turned in at midnight I took a last long look at shimmering, moon-bathed peaks of the stern island that now meant so much to me.