Frank Hurley's Journal - October 27, 1915
"Chips expects to complete the coffer dam tonight, and great hopes are entertained for its success. The dam is being filled with sawdust and cement, which, it is anticipated, will be carried by the flowing water into the interstices of the structure, and form a hydraulic seal.
During the morning, all hands go down onto the floe and remove an immense embankment of ice debris, which has piled up against our starboard quarter, high above the bulwarks. All, including Sir Ernest, continue turns with the pumps which are able to keep pace with the inflowing water.
We have just finished lunch, and the "ice mill" is in motion again. Closer and closer approaches the pressure wave on our starboard, like a huge frozen surf. Immense slabs are rafted up to its crest, which topple down and are overridden by a chaos of crunched fragments. Irresistibly, this stupendous power marches onward, grinding its way through the 5 foot floe surrounding us. Now it is within a few yards, and the vessel groans and quivers. I am quickly down on the moving ice with the cinema, expecting every minute to see the sides, which are springing and buckling, stave in. The line of pressure now assaults the ship, and she is borne onto the crest of the ridge. Immense fragments are forced under the counter and wrench away the stern post. Sir Ernest and Captain Worsley are surveying the vessel's position from the floe, when the carpenter announces that the water is gaining rapidly on the pumps, and all hands are ordered to stand by to discharge equipment and stores onto the floe. The pumps work faster and faster and someone is actually singing a "shanty" to their beat. The dogs are rapidly passed down a canvas chute and secured on the floe followed by cases of concentrated sledging rations, sledges and equipment.
By 8 p.m., all essential gear is floed, and though the destruction of the ship continues, smoke may be observed issuing from the galley chimney - the cook is preparing supper! All hands assemble in the wardroom to partake of the last meal aboard the good old ship. The meal is taken in silent gravity, whilst the crushing is in progress, and an ominous sound of giving timbers arises from below. We are practically immune, however, to "ice utterances", and our sadness is for the familiar scenes from which we are being expelled. The clock is ticking away on the wall as we take a final leaving of the cosy wardroom, that has for over twelve months being connected with pleasant associations and fraternal happiness. Before leaving, I went below into the old winter quarters, the Ritz, and found the water already a foot above the floor. The sound of splintering beams in the darkness was a little too imposing, so that I left in a hurry. Sir Ernest hoists the blue ensign at the mizzen gaff to three lusty cheers, and is last to leave. All equipage and boats are moved some three hundred yards, as the floes are in active commotion in the vicinity of the ship.
During the dim hours of midnight, the calm frigid atmosphere is resonant with the eerie noises of working pressure and the hideous booming of splintering timber from the ship.
Apparently the vessel is the nucleus of the disturbance, for we are surrounded by a labyrinth of grinding ridges and a maze of cracks of which she is the focus. By some curious happening, the emergency light becomes automatically switched on, and an intermittent making and breaking of the circuit, seems to transmit a final signal of farewell."
NOTE: It's interesting to note in this journal entry, Hurley comments repeatedly on what his leader is doing throughout a very busy day and incredible ordeal.
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