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  CHAPTER II

  ADRIFT IN THE ANTARCTIC OCEAN

  My name is Adam More. I am the son of Henry More, apothecary, Keswick,Cumberland. I was mate of the ship Trevelyan (Bennet, master), whichwas chartered by the British Government to convey convicts to VanDieman's Land. This was in 1843. We made our voyage without anycasualty, landed our convicts in Hobart Town, and then set forth onour return home. It was the 17th of December when we left. From thefirst adverse winds prevailed, and in order to make any progress wewere obliged to keep well to the south. At length, on the 6th ofJanuary, we sighted Desolation Island. We found it, indeed, a desolatespot. In its vicinity we saw a multitude of smaller islands, perhaps athousand in number, which made navigation difficult, and forced us tohurry away as fast as possible. But the aspect of this dreary spot wasof itself enough to repel us. There were no trees, and the multitudeof islands seemed like moss-covered rocks; while the temperature,though in the middle of the antarctic summer, was from 38 to 58degrees Fahr.

  In order to get rid of these dangerous islands we stood south andwest, and at length found ourselves in south latitude 65 degrees,longitude 60 degrees east. We were fortunate enough not to find anyice, although we were within fifteen hundred miles of the South Pole,and far within that impenetrable icy barrier which, in 1773, hadarrested the progress of Captain Cook. Here the wind failed us, and welay becalmed and drifting. The sea was open all around us, except tothe southeast, where there was a low line along the horizonterminating in a lofty promontory; but though it looked like land wetook it for ice. All around us whales and grampuses were gambollingand spouting in vast numbers. The weather was remarkably fine andclear.

  For two or three days the calm continued, and we drifted alonghelplessly, until at length we found ourselves within a few miles ofthe promontory above mentioned. It looked like land, and seemed to bea rocky island rising from the depths of the sea. It was, however, allcovered with ice and snow, and from this there extended eastward asfar as the eye could reach an interminable line of ice, but toward thesouthwest the sea seemed open to navigation. The promontory was verysingular in shape, rising up to a peak which was at least a thousandfeet in height, and forming a striking object, easily discovered andreadily identified by any future explorer. We named it, after ourship, Trevelyan Peak, and then felt anxious to lose sight of itforever. But the calm continued, and at length we drifted in closeenough to see immense flocks of seals dotting the ice at the foot ofthe peak.

  Upon this I proposed to Agnew, the second mate, that we should goashore, shoot some seals, and bring them back. This was partly for theexcitement of the hunt, and partly for the honor of landing in a placenever before trodden by the foot of man. Captain Bennet made someobjections, but he was old and cautious, and we were young andventuresome, so we laughed away his scruples and set forth. We did nottake any of the crew, owing to the captain's objections. He said thatif we chose to throw away our own lives he could not help it, but thathe would positively refuse to allow a single man to go with us. Wethought this refusal an excess of caution amounting to positivecowardice, but were unable to change his mind. The distance was notgreat, the adventure was attractive, and so the captain's gig waslowered, and in this Agnew and I rowed ashore. We took with us adouble-barrelled rifle apiece, and also a pistol. Agnew took a glass.

  We rowed for about three miles, and reached the edge of the ice, whichextended far out from the promontory. Here we landed, and secured theboat by means of a small grappling-iron, which we thrust into the ice.We then walked toward the promontory for about a mile, and here wefound a multitude of seals. These animals were so fearless that theymade not the slightest movement as we came up, but stared at us in anindifferent way. We killed two or three, and then debated whether togo to the promontory or not. Agnew was eager to go, so as to touch theactual rock; but I was satisfied with what we had done, and was nowdesirous of returning. In the midst of this I felt a flake of snow onmy cheek. I started and looked up. To my great surprise I saw that thesky had changed since I had last noticed it. When we left the ship itwas clear and blue, but now it was overspread with dark,leaden-colored clouds, and the snow-flakes that had fallen wereominous of evil. A snow-storm here, in the vicinity of the ice, wastoo serious a thing to be disregarded. But one course now remained,and that was an immediate return to the ship.

  Each of us seized a seal and dragged it after us to the boat. Wereached it and flung them in. Just at that moment a gun sounded overthe water. It was from the ship--the signal of alarm--the summons fromthe captain for our return. We saw now that she had been driftingsince we left her, and had moved southwest several miles. The row backpromised to be far harder than the pull ashore, and, what was worse,the wind was coming up, the sea was rising, and the snow wasthickening. Neither of us said a word. We saw that our situation wasvery serious, and that we had been very foolhardy; but the words wereuseless now. The only thing to be done was to pull for the ship withall our strength, and that was what we did.

  So we pushed off, and rowed as we had never rowed before. Our progresswas difficult. The sea grew steadily rougher; the wind increased; thesnow thickened; and, worst of all, the day was drawing to a close. Wehad miscalculated both as to distance and time. Even if it hadcontinued calm we should have had to row back in the dark; but now thesun was setting, and with the darkness we had to encounter thegathering storm and the blinding snow. We rowed in silence. At everystroke our situation grew more serious. The wind was from the south,and therefore favored us to some extent, and also made less of a seathan would have been produced by a wind from any other quarter; butthen this south wind brought dangers of its own, which we were soon tofeel--new dangers and worse ones. For this south wind drove the shipfarther from us, and at the same time broke up the vast fields of iceand impelled the fractured masses northward. But this was a dangerwhich we did not know just then. At that time we were rowing for theship, and amid the darkness and the blinding snow and the dashingwaves we heard from time to time the report of signal-guns fired fromthe ship to guide us back. These were our only guide, for the darknessand the snow had drawn the ship from our sight, and we had to beguided by our hearing only.

  We were rowing for our lives, and we knew it; but every moment oursituation grew more desperate. Each new report of the gun seemed tosound farther away. We seemed always to be rowing in the wrongdirection. At each report we had to shift the boat's course somewhat,and pull toward the last point from which the gun seemed to sound.With all this the wind was increasing rapidly to a gale, the sea wasrising and breaking over the boat, the snow was blinding us with itsever-thickening sleet. The darkness deepened and at length had grownso intense that nothing whatever could be seen--neither sea nor sky,not even the boat itself--yet we dared not stop; we had to row. Ourlives depended on our efforts. We had to row, guided by the sound ofthe ship's gun, which the ever-varying wind incessantly changed, tillour minds grew all confused, and we rowed blindly and mechanically.

  So we labored for hours at the oars, and the storm continuallyincreased, and the sea continually rose, while the snow fell thickerand the darkness grew intenser. The reports of the gun now grewfainter; what was worse, they were heard at longer intervals, and thisshowed us that Captain Bennet was losing heart; that he was giving usup; that he despaired of finding us, and was now firing only anoccasional gun out of a mournful sense of duty. This thought reducedus to despair. It seemed as if all our efforts had only served to takeus farther away from the ship, and deprived us of all motive forrowing any harder than was barely necessary to keep the boat steady.After a time Agnew dropped his oar and began to bail out the boat--awork which was needed; for, in spite of our care, she had shipped manyseas, and was one third full of water. He worked away at this while Imanaged the boat, and then we took turns at bailing. In this way wepassed the dreary night.

  Morning came at last. The wind was not so violent, but the snow was sothick that we could only see for a little distance around us. The shipwas nowhere visible, nor were t
here any signs of her. The last gun hadbeen fired during the night. All that we could see was the outline ofa gaunt iceberg--an ominous spectacle. Not knowing what else to do werowed on as before, keeping in what seemed our best course, thoughthis was mere conjecture, and we knew all the time that we might begoing wrong. There was no compass in the boat, nor could we tell thesun's position through the thick snow. We rowed with the wind,thinking that it was blowing toward the north, and would carry us inthat direction. We still hoped to come within sound of the ship's gun,and kept straining our ears incessantly to hear the wished-for report.But no such sound ever came again, and we heard nothing except theplash of the waves and the crash of breaking ice. Thus all that day werowed along, resting at intervals when exhausted, and then resumingour labors, until at length night came; and again to the snow and iceand waves was added the horror of great darkness. We passed that nightin deep misery. We had eaten nothing since we left the ship, butthough exhausted by long fasting and severe labor, the despair of ourhearts took away all desire for food. We were worn out with hard work,yet the cold was too great to allow us to take rest, and we werecompelled to row so as to keep ourselves from perishing. But fatigueand drowsiness overcame us, and we often sank into sleep even whilerowing; and then after a brief slumber we would awake with benumbedlimbs to wrestle again with the oars. In this way we passed thatnight.

  Another morning came, and we found to our great joy that the snow hadceased. We looked eagerly around to see if there were any signs of theship. Nothing could be seen of her. Far away on one side rose a peak,which looked like the place where we had landed. Judging from thewind, which we still supposed to be southerly, the peak lay toward thenortheast; in which case we had been carried steadily, in spite of allour efforts, toward the south. About a mile on one side of us the icebegan, and extended far away; while on the other side, at the distanceof some ten miles, there was another line of ice. We seemed to havebeen carried in a southwesterly direction along a broad strait thatran into the vast ice-fields. This discovery showed how utterlyuseless our labors had been; for in spite of all, even with the windin our favor, we had been drawn steadily in an opposite direction. Itwas evident that there was some current here, stronger than all ourstrength, which had brought us to this place.

  We now determined to land on the ice, and try to cook a portion of ourseals. On approaching it we noticed that there was a current whichtended to draw us past the ice in what I supposed to be asouthwesterly direction. This confirmed my worst fears. But now thelabor of landing and building a fire on the ice served to interest usfor a time and divert our thoughts. We brushed away the snow, and thenbroke up a box which was in the boat, and also the stern seats. Thiswe used very sparingly, reserving the rest for another occasion. Thenwe cut portions from one of the seals, and laid them in thin strips onthe flames. The cooking was but slight, for the meat was merelysinged; but we were ravenous, and the contact of the fire was enoughto give it an attractive flavor. With this food we were greatlyrefreshed; and as for drink, we had all around us an endless extent ofice and snow. Then, taking our precious fragments of cooked meat, wereturned to the boat and put off. We could scarcely tell what to donext, and while debating on this point we fell asleep. We slept farinto the night, then awoke benumbed with cold; then took to the oarstill we were weary; then fell asleep again, to be again awakened bythe cold and again to pull at the oars. So the night passed, andanother day came.

  The snow still held off, but the sky was overcast with dark,leaden-colored clouds, and looked threatening. Ice was all around usas before; and the open water had diminished now from ten miles tofive miles of width. The ice on one side was low, but on the oppositeside it arose to the height of one hundred feet. We saw here, as wewatched the shore, that the current which had already borne us thusfar was now stronger than ever, and was carrying us along at a ratewhich made all efforts of ours against it utterly useless. And now adebate arose between us as to the direction of this current. Agnewsuddenly declared his belief that it was running north, while I wasfirm in the conviction that it ran south.

  "There's no use rowing any more," said Agnew. "If it runs south wecan't resist it. It's too strong. But I always like to look on thebright side, and so I believe it runs north. In that case there is nouse rowing, for it will carry us along fast enough."

  Then I proposed that we should go ashore on the ice. To this Agnewobjected, but afterward consented, at my earnest request. So we triedto get ashore, but this time found it impossible; for the iceconsisted of a vast sheet of floating lumps, which looked like theruin of bergs that had been broken up in some storm. After this I hadnothing to say, nor was there anything left for us but to driftwherever the current might carry us.

  So we drifted for some days, Agnew all the time maintaining that wewere going north, while I was sure that we were going south. The skyremained as cloudy as ever, the wind varied incessantly, and there wasnothing by which we could conjecture the points of the compass. Welived on our seal, and for drink we chewed ice and snow. One thing wascertain--the climate was no colder. Agnew laid great stress on this.

  "You see," said he, "we must be going north. If we were going south weshould be frozen stiff by this time."

  "Yes; but if we were going north," said I, "we ought to find itgrowing warmer."

  "No," said he, "not with all this ice around us. It's the ice thatkeeps the temperature in this cold state."

  Argument could do no good, and so we each remained true to ourbelief--his leading him to hope, and mine dragging me down to despair.At length we finished the last fragment of the seal that we hadcooked, and, finding ourselves near some firm ice, we went ashore andcooked all that was left, using the remainder of our wood for fuel,and all that we dared to remove from the boat. Re-embarking with this,we drifted on as before.

  Several more days passed. At last one night I was roused by Agnew. Hepointed far away to the distant horizon, where I saw a deep red glowas of fire. We were both filled with wonder at the sight, and wereutterly unable to account for it. We knew that it could not be causedby the sun or the moon, for it was midnight, and the cause lay on theearth and not in the skies. It was a deep, lurid glow, extending alongthe horizon, and seemed to be caused by some vast conflagration.