The Home of the Blizzard: Being the Story of the Australasian Antarctic Expedition, 1911-1914Mawson, Douglas, Sir
History
The Home of the Blizzard: Being the Story of the Australasian Antarctic Expedition, 1911-1914
Mawson, Douglas, Sir
Antarctica -- Discovery and exploration; Australasian Antarctic Expedition (1911-1914)
Arriving on the 'Aurora' in the evening, we learnt that the ship's
company had had an adventure which might have been most serious. It
appeared that after dropping us at the entrance to Caroline Cove,
the ship was allowed to drift out to sea under the influence of the
off-shore wind. When about one-third of a mile north-west of the
entrance, a violent shock was felt, and she slid over a rock which rose
up out of deep water to within about fourteen feet of high-water level;
no sign of it appearing on the surface on account of the tranquil state
of the sea. Much apprehension was felt for the hull, but as no serious
leak started, the escape was considered a fortunate one. A few soundings
had been made proving a depth of four hundred fathoms within one and a
half miles of the land.
A course was now set for the northern end of the island.
Dangerous-looking reefs ran out from many headlands, and cascades of
water could be seen falling hundreds of feet from the highlands to the
narrow coastal flats.
The anchorage most used is that known as North-East Bay, lying on the
eastern side of a low spit joining the main mass of the island, to an
almost isolated outpost in the form of a flat-topped hill--Wireless
Hill--some three-quarters of a mile farther north. It is practically an
open roadstead, but, as the prevailing winds blow on to the other side
of the island, quiet water can be nearly always expected.
However, when we arrived at North-East Bay on the morning following our
adventure; a stiff south-east breeze was blowing, and the wash on the
beach put landing out of the question. Captain Davis ran in as near
the coast as he could safely venture and dropped anchor, pending the
moderation of the wind.
On the leeward slopes of a low ridge, pushing itself out on to the
southern extremity of the spit, could be seen two small huts, but
no sign of human life. This was not surprising as it was only seven
o'clock. Below the huts, upon low surf-covered rocks running out from
the beach, lay a small schooner partly broken up and evidently a recent
victim. A mile to the southward, fragments of another wreck protruded
from the sand.
We were discussing wrecks and the grisly toll which is levied by these
dangerous and uncharted shores, when a human figure appeared in front of
one of the huts. After surveying us for a moment, he disappeared within
to reappear shortly afterwards, followed by a stream of others rushing
hither and thither; just as if he had disturbed a hornets' nest. After
such an exciting demonstration we awaited the next move with some
expectancy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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